A/N: Chapter 32…Enjoy!
Edit: Changed a bit with Ian in the beginning to help introduce and explain a little about his character.
A Dreadful Monday
At his grandparent's house, Arthur lay wide awake in his old bedroom, his feet hanging off the end of the bed. Well, it wasn't only his room. Several generations of Weasleys had claimed this room as theirs. The furniture and layout hadn't changed, but toys, knickknacks, and posters had. He noticed the model car he had as a child still sat on the bookshelf. Over the years, he still visited his grandparents frequently, but stopped going into his bedroom because there was no reason to.
All night, he tossed and turned with no luck of falling asleep.
Finally, he heard muffled voices and the clatter of dishes downstairs. Had he managed not to get a wink of sleep? It was still too early for the sunrise, but his watch told him it was already 6:20. He lay there a few more minutes before he threw the covers back and sat up. After debating on whether to get dressed, shower, or throw on his house robe, Arthur decided on the shower.
When he went downstairs, the sun had begun peeking through the windows. He finished buttoning up his shirt as he entered the kitchen. This time when Gran offered to temporally charm his clothes to shrink a little, he accepted.
"I didn't expect you to be up so early," Gran commented.
"I never went to sleep," Arthur replied. "Tried to, but..." He shrugged.
"I'm not surprised. You haven't had a regular sleep pattern."
Arthur looked out of the window at the barn while he rolled up his sleeves. "Is Gramps already at it?" he asked.
"He still likes to get started first thing in the morning," Gran said as she set a steaming mug of tea fixed just how Arthur liked on the kitchen table.
Arthur hummed in response. The barn doors opened and a herd of sheep wandered out.
He brought himself away from the window and found his place at the table.
"After you eat, you should see if he'd like some help," Gran suggested, setting three heaping plates of bacon, sausage, and eggs in the center of the table. She took the liberty of filling up Arthur's plate.
"Another day maybe," he said. "I'm heading into work early today."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Gran asked. "Kingsley said to take as long as you need."
Arthur swallowed a forkful of eggs. "I'm not going to take advantage of being friends with the Minister."
"That wouldn't be taking advantage."
"Well, I have a lot to catch up on."
"I better make you a lunch, then," Gran said resolutely and set to making him three sandwiches. Arthur was ready to protest, but reminded himself it was no use with Gran. He would take the sandwiches and do his best to eat all three.
Gran sat down with him after making his lunch. Every now and then, she would put a few more pieces of bacon, a sausage, or some more eggs on his plate.
The fireplace roared to life in the sitting room. Gran bustled out of the kitchen to meet the new arrivals. A few seconds later, Penelope and Louisa came in unaccompanied.
"Good morning," Penelope yawned as she took a seat at the table.
Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. "Taking a while to wake up?" he asked.
Penelope gave a small nod as she nibbled on some bacon.
Little Louisa, on the other hand, was wide awake and full of energy. Arthur let her hop into his lap, pigtails bouncing. She, too, reached for a slice of bacon. Since the main plate was out of her reach, she settled for one off her uncle's plate. Arthur didn't mind. He had eaten more than he could and felt like he had barely made a dent.
"No!" Arthur heard Desmond blurt from the other room. He was certain Gran told his brother about the new living arrangement.
A few minutes later, Gran came back in. Desmond remained in the doorway.
"Arthur," he greeted with a tight smile.
"Relax, Desmond," Arthur said. He picked up Louisa as he stood and set her back down in the chair. "I was just leaving." He grabbed the bag with his lunch and said good-bye to Gran and the girls.
"Oh, Arthur," Gran said as she remembered something, "dinner will be ready at 6:30. Will you be home by then?"
"I don't think so. I thought I would look into something Kingsley mentioned," he answered.
Desmond followed him out of the kitchen. He seized the opportunity when Arthur stopped to summon his traveling cloak and put it on. "Another outburst like last weekend, and you will never see those girls again," Desmond warned in a hiss.
Ian and his youngest, 9-year-old Marie, came in the front door just then. The men's expressions softened while they greeted their niece. Their smiles returned to glares as soon as she disappeared into the kitchen.
"Alright, chaps?" Ian asked cautiously as he rested a hand on each of their shoulders, crutches dangling from his forearms. Desmond and Arthur both turned their glares on him. He promptly removed his hands from their shoulders and returned them to the handgrips, placed the crutches' rubber feet a few inches behind him, and took a small hop backward. (He was capable of doing so without the assistance of his forearm crutches, but they provided more stability and speed than his long leg brace alone.)
Arthur looked Desmond in the eye. "I'm sober now," he stated firmly.
Desmond scoffed. "We'll see how long that lasts," he sneered. He left Arthur and Ian at the front door to join the others.
The two older brothers stared after the younger. Ian frowned and shook his head before placing one crutch in the umbrella stand by the door.
"Well," he said. He patted Arthur's shoulder then hesitated. He gripped Arthur's bony shoulder and studied his older brother then frowned again. "Are you alright?"
Arthur shrugged Ian's hand off his shoulder. "I'm fine."
Ian didn't look convinced. "Well," he began again, "don't take Desmond seriously. It's nothing personal. You know he's had a problem with all of us at some point since Dad died. It's like if he can't be angry with Dad, he has to find someone else to be angry with."
"He has a legitimate reason this time," Arthur mumbled.
"Give me a few minutes and we can go into work together," Ian said with a smile.
"I'm going in early –"
"I always go in early," Ian said with a wave. "Just let me grab some of that sausage first." Without giving Arthur a chance to respond, he hurried into the kitchen, using a single crutch to help him along.
Arthur rolled his eyes. For Ian to be such a perfectionist, he could be quite scatterbrained at times – and that was before the accident. "No, Ian," he called, "we are not going into work together. I'm leaving now."
Ian popped his head out of the kitchen. He cocked it. "Aww, I was kind of excited about that," he said with a hint of disappointment.
The way Ian reminded him of a lost puppy – something Ian perfected when they were kids – gave Arthur a pang of guilt. "How about we plan on tomorrow?" Arthur suggested.
Ian's face lit up. "Okay!" he agreed, then he disappeared back into the kitchen.
oOoOo
The Ministry was fairly empty. Arthur only passed a handful of people on his way to the Minister's office. None of them seemed to pay him any attention, thankfully.
As he entered the outer office, he was relieved to see that Percy had yet to arrive. Arthur knocked on the door to the Minister's inner office. Kingsley's deep, booming voice called for him to enter.
"Arthur!" Kingsley beamed. He made his way around his desk and enveloped the other man in a hug, slapping his back instead of patting it. Arthur hugged him back, but not as fiercely. "You didn't have to come in today," he said, stepping back.
"I needed to," Arthur replied. "I also need to thank you," he said sincerely.
Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "I didn't do anything."
"You cared," Arthur quietly said then looked away and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, I was wondering what to do about last week - workwise."
"You could put some sick days toward last week. You've saved up a lot over the years," Kingsley suggested, going along with Arthur's subject change. "Perkins stepped up last week and got a good bit of the minor things taken care of for the department, so you're not as far behind as you may think, and I'm sure he could catch you up on the specifics."
Arthur nodded. That was good of Perkins. They had worked together for nearly thirty years and had been friends just as long. He had been counting on that work to keep him distracted, though. Nonetheless, he would make sure to thank Perkins.
Kingsley leaned on his desk. "There has also been a reassignment. You have a new liaison with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," he informed.
That was a relief. Arthur didn't care how it happened or who initiated the change. If it meant he didn't have to see that McGrath bloke again, he was all for it.
"Now, I wanted to give you a heads up." Kingsley crossed his arms. "The man from the Hog's Head came in last week." Arthur's heartrate quickened. He sat in one of the leather chairs in front of Kingsley's desk and rubbed his face while he listened to the rest. "He wants to press charges. However, I managed to convince him to give it another week and think it over some more. I made sure he knew that you're a good man that is going through a lot right now – without details, of course - but this is an unsavory character. I told him I would let him know when you were back at work. So, you shouldn't be surprised to see us in your office at some point today. No one else has come forward and you're lucky Aberforth is a friend, so you should be fine on those fronts."
Arthur should have expected someone to press charges. With Rita Skeeter telling that he was no a department head, it would make him more desirable to sue. However, he couldn't blame the man if he wanted to sue, unsavory character or not. Arthur nodded as he stood. "Okay. Thank you," he said.
"There's one more thing, Arthur," Kingsley said, standing up straight. "Our deal."
Arthur sighed. "Counselling twice a week and checking in with you once a week," he recited.
"And," Kingsley summoned a stack of slips of paper from a drawer, "you need to have one of these signed after each session. Whenever you check in with me, you can give me the two slips for that week, or the previous week, depending on when you decide to go."
Arthur took the stack and frowned. Kingsley didn't trust him either? Well, he was strongly against the idea when it was brought up – and still was to an extent.
As if sensing what Arthur was thinking, Kingsley said, "Arthur, I do trust you," he assured, "but this is needed for documentation. You are not the only person who has to do this. The only reason you are turning it into me is because you are a department head. It will also help in the future if someone else does come forward wanting to sue. Think of it as a safety net. This is proof that you're getting help."
Arthur understood. He didn't like the thought of having to stay and talk to someone after the meeting, but he didn't have a choice. "Alright," he conceded.
"There are flyers for the counselling sessions on the table outside if you don't want anyone to see you getting them in the department," Kingsley offered.
That meeting with Kingsley was a lot more informative than Arthur expected. He almost wished he hadn't gone to see Kingsley that morning. For now, he would focus on the present, not what may or may not happen in the next several hours.
In the outer office, Percy still had not come in. It was still a bit early, even for Percy, Arthur supposed.
He found the table in which Kingsley spoke. Pamphlets and flyers lay neatly fanned out and organized by topic. The flyers for the counselling services sat on the left. Arthur picked up the yellow parchment. The services were alphabetized by type. Alcohol was right at the top. Briefly, Arthur thought about going to anger management, but he was fairly certain that was caused by his drinking. He thought grief counselling might be better. He shook his head. Skimming down the rest of the list showed nothing else that would be relevant. With how his family was and examining his own recent behavior, he decided alcohol was the best fit.
Under that section was a list of times and rooms: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 6:00 p.m. in Room 735; Tuesday and Thursday mornings at 7:30 in Room 731; Saturday at noon in Room 730. Wow! That was almost every day of the week. Either there were only a handful of people that attended each meeting or there were more people in the same boat as he was. The Ministry was a big place with thousands of employees, not to mention their families. Arthur thought about which way he would rather have it. If there weren't many people, less people would know he was there. If there were more people, it would be easier for him to blend in. Arthur wasn't sure which he preferred.
Arthur hastily folded up the flyer and stuck it in his pocket as someone entered. It was Percy. For a second, Arthur thought about sliding out before his son noticed him, but decided he should probably talk to him.
As Percy got settled in at his desk, Arthur approached. "Good morning, Son," he said apprehensively.
Percy's head snapped up. "Father," he said with a curt nod. "I'll let the Minister know you're here."
"No need. I've already seen him." A tense silence overcame father and son before Arthur decided what to say. "How was the rest of the reception?" he asked nervously.
"Not that great, thanks to you."
Arthur's guilt and shame intensified. He didn't know what he expected. It would have been difficult to save the reception after his outburst. Hopefully, Audrey wasn't too terribly upset about it and Arthur was sure she wouldn't be angry with Percy for his father's actions. "How's Audrey?" he asked.
"She's fine."
"And you?"
"If there is something you want to say, say it," Percy snapped.
"I wanted to apologize again," Arthur confessed. "I am sorry, Son."
"Is that all?" Percy asked. There was more he wanted to say, but Arthur couldn't manage to voice any of it. Besides, Percy didn't seem to want to hear it. When Arthur didn't say anything, Percy said, "I'm taking Mum's advice. From now until I say otherwise, we are merely colleagues."
Arthur rubbed his forehead. "I understand," he said. As he exited the office, he realized how badly he needed to prove to his family that he was serious now.
The next few hours were uneventful. Yes, people whispered when he passed them in the hall and his secretary seemed to not want to come near him. He tried to ignore them. Perkins seemed rather indifferent during their one-on-one meeting. For the most part, he remained in his office and caught up on work he missed and more work coming in. A few times, Arthur took the yellow flyer out and read over it again. For lunch, he only managed to eat one and a half sandwiches; at least, he tried.
Come late afternoon, there was a knock on his office door. His secretary stuck her head in and informed him the Minister and another man were there. Arthur told her to let them in. He stood and braced himself as they entered.
"Good afternoon, Minister," Arthur greeted professionally.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley," Kingsley reciprocated and shook his hand. "This is Dougal Abernathy. I believe the two of you have previously met."
"Hello, Mr. Abernathy," Arthur said, shaking his greasy hand. Immediately afterward, he discretely wiped his hand on his trousers.
Dougal Abernathy gave Arthur a yellow-toothed grin before plopping down in the leather armchair. A few teeth were missing, he noticed; Arthur hoped that wasn't because of him. Arthur and Kingsley also took a seat.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Mr. Abernathy, I feel the need to apologize for last weekend. I do hope I didn't cause you too much trouble," Arthur said sincerely.
"'Pologize all yeh want. I'm still gonna sue," Abernathy said. He looked around the office. He nodded. "Nice office like this. Department head – That's what the paper said, right?" he asked, a devious glint in his eye.
Arthur gave a curt nod.
"I'm sure yeh make a lot o' money, eh?"
Neither Arthur nor Kingsley responded.
"When I firs' found out, I was gonna take yeh for all yer worth."
Oh, shite. This could not be happening. Arthur's heart raced and his throat closed up, but he schooled his features.
"But then," Abernathy continued with a raised finger, "yer buddy here," he jabbed his thumb at Kingsley, "he told me some good stuff yeh did and asked me to think about it. So I thought, and changed me mind. See, I hated that ole, nose-less freak. From what Shackle-whatever told me, you did a lot to help stop him."
Arthur glanced over at Kingsley whose lips were pressed in a thin line before nodding again.
Abernathy leaned forward and flung matted, brown hair out of his face. The other two men eyed him warily. "So, this is what I want. Pay my hospital bills and give me another," he scrunched up his face as he thought, "four hundred Galleons, fer pain and sufferin', ya know."
Arthur whistled internally. Before his promotion, four hundred Galleons would have been more than a month's salary. Now that he made triple that, there was enough money for Molly at the Burrow, his flat, all the booze he could drink, and extra expenses with plenty left over. And with him not drinking anymore, they would be saving a substantial amount, he imagined; he hadn't added up how much he had been spending, but it was a lot. Not to mention, what they hadn't spent that was sitting in their vault. "That's reasonable," Arthur said. "I appreciate you reconsidering."
Kingsley stood. "Mr. Abernathy, why don't I escort you where you can have the official paperwork drawn up?" he offered.
Abernathy and Arthur stood and shook hands.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Arthur collapsed into his chair and put his face in his hands. He let out a deep breath. That was close. Too close, for Arthur's liking. However, the urge to drink that he had been pushing down all day increased tenfold. He took out the yellow parchment again.
Monday night at 6:00 in Room 735. Okay, he just had to make it a few more hours. Hopefully, it would help as much as Kingsley made it seem, and trying on his own hadn't worked, so maybe this would.
oOoOo
The hours ticked by. Arthur continued to work in his office until the last possible moment when he had to go to the start-of-week department meeting. The tension could be cut with a knife, but he tried to ignore it and acted as normal as possible. After the meeting, he spent the last hour and a half before the counselling session working in his office.
After he stepped out of the lift on Level 7 and turned down a few hallways, his heart pounded What if he saw someone he knew? What if that someone saw where he was going but wasn't going to the same place? What if other people knew who he was? What if someone asked why he was there? What if he had to talk?
He decided to focus on the room numbers instead. 719…721…723…725…727…729…731...
"Arthur, m'boy!" a voice called from behind him.
Oh shite, Arthur thought. He plastered a smile across his face and turned around. "Amos!" he greeted just as jovially.
"What on earth are you doing all the way down here?" Amos asked with a pat on Arthur's back.
Arthur's eyes grew wide. "Oh – I – um – you know –" he floundered.
"Here for the meeting? Room 735?" Amos asked quietly, saving Arthur from any further stammering.
Arthur stared at the man.
"I'm headed there myself," Amos said.
Arthur furrowed his eyebrows.
"Cedric," Amos said in answer. "Then when Alanna passed a few months later, I couldn't handle it."
Arthur remembered how distraught and inconsolable Amos was after his son's death and how much worse he became after his wife's. Back then, he couldn't imagine what it must be like to lose your wife and your only son within months of each other, and he still couldn't imagine it. He didn't want to.
"Anyway, I've been coming to this for a little over a year now. I go to the grief counselling about once a week as well if you want to join. It really helps." Amos glanced at his watch. A few people had passed while they talked in the hall as well. "We best get in there. Almost time to start."
The two men started walking the last few yards to Room 735. Suddenly, Amos stopped. "Oh, Arthur, there's something you might ought to know," he said. "He's either already in there or he isn't coming tonight, but Conner McGrath usually comes on Monday."
Arthur glanced at the door. "Oh…" He bit his bottom lip.
"Don't let that stop you from coming," Amos continued. "I understand that is a delicate situation, but if you need to be here…" he trailed off. "Besides, Monday is always a busy night - not the busiest, mind - so you may not even notice each other."
Arthur would have rather Amos not told him any of that because his anxiety became that much worse. He knew he needed to give it a try. Everything was riding on it. "Let's go," he told Amos and followed him in.
Amos wasn't kidding when he said Monday was a busy night. The large conference room that was set up in an auditorium style with a few rows of chairs facing a podium contained about thirty people. A lot, he didn't recognize. Some, he thought he'd seen in passing around the Ministry over the years. The only people he saw that he knew were Amos and Conner. Most people talked amongst themselves. A few already had their seats and kept away from other people.
A dark-haired woman called Amos over. After refusing the invitation to join them that Amos extended him, Arthur found where he smelled coffee coming from in the back of the room.
"Mind passing the creamer?" a young man asked since it was on the other side of Arthur. Arthur handed him two individually packaged creamers after setting down the pot of coffee. "I'm Peter, by the way," he introduced himself as he stirred in the creamer.
Arthur grunted in response. He did not feel like talking, and he was not going to introduce himself if he didn't have to. All he wanted was for the meeting to start, so it could get over with. He picked up his black coffee and passed Peter. However, the younger man followed and continued the nonexistent conversation.
"So, you know Amos?" Peter asked.
"Since Hogwarts," Arthur replied shortly then sipped his coffee.
Peter's face lit up. "Oh! Were you in Hufflepuff, too?"
"No."
"Well, Mrs. Norris was still a pain though, right?"
"I don't know who that is."
"You know, Filch's cat," Peter clarified.
Arthur snorted. "Filch wasn't the caretaker when I was there."
Silence fell between the two. Even though Arthur found this to be an opportune time to find a seat, he didn't in case Peter or someone else decided to sit next to him. He and Peter sipped their coffee in silence.
Arthur noticed Peter had stopped sipping his coffee and was staring at him. "What are you looking at?" Arthur shot.
Quickly, Peter looked away. "Sorry. I – er - the – um - I noticed the scars," he stammered, scratching the back of his neck. "I was curious, but I wasn't going to say anything. I'm sorry," he apologized again, ears pink and eyes wide.
Arthur subconsciously rubbed the side of his neck and down where the scars disappeared under his shirt. He, then, buttoned and adjusted the collar of his shirt. When he realized he used the hand with the jagged scar on the back, he quickly stuffed it in his pocket. He narrowed his eyes at the young man. "We just finished a war. Use some common sense," Arthur snapped.
Peter apologized again before going to join another group. Admittedly, he was a bit tough on the boy. The kid – well, not kid because he was around Charlie's age - may have realized this was his first time and decided to be friendly and make him feel a little more comfortable, and Arthur repaid him with a bad attitude.
Near the front of the room, the tall Irishman laughed with a grey-haired woman and blonde-haired man that Arthur didn't recognize. Conner didn't seem to notice him. The room was rather full. Arthur didn't have a problem with any of that. More people there meant less people would notice him. He finally came to the conclusion he preferred larger meetings.
A thin witch called for everyone to take a seat. Arthur sighed with relief. He took an aisle seat on the very last row, so he could make a quick escape, then he realized it wouldn't make a difference because he had to have a paper signed afterward.
Amos joined Arthur. Having a friend there wasn't bad, Arthur thought.
After the thin witch talked for several minutes, she opened it up for others to share. Usually, the person speaking remained in their seat. Occasionally, someone would stand behind the podium. Some talked about how great they were doing while others talked about their struggles. A few shared revelations they recently had or tips they found helpful. Arthur didn't catch a lot of what was said because he was too busy drawing patterns in his foam cup. Some of what he did hear, he could relate to.
When Conner spoke, Arthur found himself paying close attention, even though that was the last person he wanted to listen to.
"I've not been doing so well…There's this woman who I have grown quite fond of – well, I love her, to be frank," Arthur's empty cup made a faint cracking noise and his teeth ground together, "but nothing can come from it. For the first time since my wife left me a few years ago, I was happy. This woman made me genuinely happy. We would see each other nearly every day." The cup crumbled in Arthur's hand, cracking loudly. Everyone ignored it except for someone across the aisle, the woman in front of him, and Amos who put a hand on his shoulder and hissed in his ear that he could step out if he needed. That would only bring more attention to him, Arthur thought. He remained seated and set the broken pieces of the cup on the floor. "Recently, we've stopped seeing each other as much. And – uh – it's been hard…This weekend, I actually bought a bottle," Conner admitted. "I took it home and stared at it for hours before I finally poured a glass. I smelled it and stared at it some more. I didn't end up drinking anything. I'm not sure if I would have. What stopped me was that an owl came from her, asking how I was and if I wanted to come over -"
In one swift movement, Arthur stood, turned, and was out the door. Amos was close on his heels. Amos gently closed the door behind them and cast Muffliato. Arthur wanted to keep going, but he had sat through over half of that meeting and he was not going to end up having to go to three that week. He decided to pace furiously instead. For the first time in his life, Amos waited before he spoke.
"The nerve!" Arthur blurted.
"Arthur, he doesn't even know you are here," Amos calmly stated.
"He just told all those people in there!" he fumed.
"That is what we do here. If the person finds the context significant, they include it," Amos explained. "Conner didn't use any details. No one knows –"
"If they read the Daily Prophet, they have a damn good idea!" Arthur interrupted.
The next few minutes, Amos kept his mouth shut and let the redhead blow off some steam. When Arthur finally stopped pacing, Amos asked, "Are you ready to go back in now?"
Arthur took a deep breath. He nodded.
Someone else was speaking when they reentered. No one seemed to notice their temporary absence.
After the meeting wrapped up, Arthur was glad Conner had his back turned and was too busy talking to notice him approach the head witch – Natasha, it turned out was her name – and have his slip signed for Kingsley. As soon as that was taken care of, Arthur slipped out, eager to get as far away as possible.
Arthur only got back to his grandparents' a little over half an hour past dinnertime. Gran heated up a huge plate of food for him. Both Gran and Gramps sat at the table with him while he ate. Despite his grandparents' various attempts to get him to talk about his day, he didn't. What he did say was short and snarky. Nope, he should not have agreed to live with them, he thought.
