MollyWobbles

Part III: Eckeltricity (i)

Mark the time.

A/N: Playlist:

1. "Clocks" by Vitamin String Quartet
2. "Unsteady" by Vitamin String Quartet

[CW: MCD]

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Part III: Eckeltricity (i)

Arthur

February 6, 1966

Eckeltricity.

That was the only explanation for how his magic was thrumming—like a current from one of those wires had opened up, right into his chest.

His magic arced up his hand, into his wrist, where it splintered and branched along his arm until it sank into his heart, which was racing like mad.

Was he bloody dying?

Molly thought it was some sort of joke.

She didn't seem to understand.

"I—um—" Arthur fumbled.

What was going on? Had someone hit him with a Baubillious? But there was no one else in the corridor, and wouldn't something like that have hurt?

Accidental magic, maybe?

He flexed his hands, searching for something to say.

"—just remembered I've still got to do a Muggle Studies Essay," he said faintly.

Molly blinked. "You always do that class's work first," she said. She sounded a bit confused.

They'd only been joking around. He'd been teasing her—then—

What? What on earth? There was nothing particularly unique about their conversation. Molly didn't make a habit of tying his shoes. She was really doing it to be silly, really, and he'd been totally at ease just before. It made no sense.

She helped him up, and Arthur fought to steady himself at the surge in his magic.

Just—just like the last time.

Arthur frowned.

Later in life, Arty would puzzle over the pieces and wonder what, exactly, had prompted the wheels of fate to stop spinning and catch.

He would never quite know for certain. At that precise moment, however, he merely stole glances at her and wondered why the clock inside his chest had suddenly started to tick louder, as though he were meant to mark the time.

#

April 24, 1966, 5:45 a.m.

Arthur should've liked to sleep in.

But no. He dragged himself from bed in the wee hours of dawn, tripped over Reggie's dumped pile of sketchbooks and paints, and nearly faceplanted before Bode's on his way down to the common room. From there, he checked the parchment to see which prefect rounds he'd be on for the following week before lumbering back up the stairs to get dressed.

There, Arthur dug his least wrinkled jumper out of his over-stuffed trunk (the toaster oven was taking up more room than he'd like to admit), and tugged it on as he lectured himself on the uncomfortable dream he'd had.

Yet another one. Rubbish, really. This time, they'd snuck out of Hogwarts and gone walking at night, and he'd kissed her by the Black Lake like she was air to breathe.

He cleared his throat with a forceful cough.

No, he had no business pondering that. A pointless fixation. He'd made up his mind about it and everything. Besides, the blasted jittery zips seemed to get worse if he dwelt on it while he happened to be in closer proximity to her.