MollyWobbles

Spoons (ix)

Arty had always ridden with the conductor.

Playlist:
1. "Yellow Submarine" by The Beatles (**in fic song)
2. "Artic" by Sleeping at Last (next morning at mention of Hogsmeade Station.)

[CW: Moderate CD]

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Spoons (ix)

Molly

June 22, 1968

"To Molly!" Fabian roared, leaping from the counter. The crowded shop of no-longer-seventh year students exploded into cheers. "Prefect no longer!"

In typical, obnoxious fashion, Gideon and Fabian threw a do to celebrate not her finishing of N.E.W.T.s, but her removal from prefect status.

Arthur's lake-damp arm was draped around her shoulder. He'd fallen into his back in the shallows while climbing out of the boat. In equally typical Arthur fashion, he didn't appear any less merry from it.

He kept looking at her left hand with a dazed sort of awe.

Reggie lifted a stein from his perch in front of an easel, which had been hung on the opposite end of the wall.

Fabian and Gideon wanted everyone to speak to the portrait tonight to "test it." But Reggie was a bit protective of his first, proper enchanted painting after catching Benjy trying to convince it that Fabian gave him free records whenever he liked.

Gideon was laughing with Janet as he flipped a vinyl into place. Anup and Pandora chatted over their feelings about the Potions N.E.W.T., and Fabian was listening as Philip discussed his newest theories about the natural habitat of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

The rest of the night was a blur of shouting, dancing, and crying with Olive and Meaghan because they'd somehow failed to realize that they'd not be roommates any longer.

It wasn't quite dawn when Alastor Moody burst into the shop.

He walked at a swift clip, and his shaggy hair was matted with something dark. His eyes roved around, furious and wild.

"Gideon!" he shouted.

Gideon lifted his head. He was sprawled on the counter, cradling a Quaffle that had made an appearance half-way through the evening. "Sorry?" he said.

Fabian faltered from his place near the spiral stairs. He and Olive were sitting side by side, chatting as they watched the street through the windows, waiting for sunrise.

Moody limped forward. "Now," he said.

Fabian leapt to his feet. "What's happened?"

"Train arrived back at Hogsmeade Station," Moody said. "Without its conductor."

A crash sounded across the room.

Arthur had dropped a dish of pumpkin pasties on his way back from the small kitchen on the second floor. The pastries tumbled down the iron stairs in rapid, little thuds. "No," he said, like Moody was proposing something ridiculous.

Alastor didn't look at Arthur. "Bones sent me to get you two," he rasped. "We need every tracker—"

"No," Arthur repeated. He was saying it odd. Like he was almost pleading. Like it was a matter that might be resolved if he disagreed enough.

Alastor turned on Arthur. "The faster we find him, the better his chances are," he said.

"No," Arthur said. "There's, um—"

Fabian and Gideon were already moving, apparating up to the top floor, shouting as they dragged on their gear.

Molly blinked.

For a moment, she saw Bilius, wailing as Reggie's father and Arthur's attempted to pull him away from the body. As his fingers ripped free from William's muggle robes.

For just a second, she heard Carolyn crying in a choked voice, saying, "Your kind will always be dangerous—please—please leave us alone. Please—"

The full force of it rose, sinking its claws into her. Gripping tight. Tearing.

"No—" Arty's quiet, angry refusal snapped her back into her body.

He stood with his hands limp at his sides, near the top of the stairwell.

"Charles is careful," Arthur said. "Charles knows to be careful, he and—" His voice choked as his eyes widened. "Helen."

Arthur pounded down the steps, hurtling for the street.

For Hogsmeade Station.

They found Helen sitting on the bench, there, clutching a wrapped bundle to her chest.

"They'll find him." Arthur was gasping, leaning on his knees as Molly caught up with him.

Helen's eyes were blank and flat.

The bundle in her arms made a loud, warbling sound.

"He usually takes her for a little stroll, after his last run of the night," Helen said. "She's out of sorts without it."

Molly sat on the bench beside the other woman.

"We'll wait here," Helen said. "Until he comes back."

The baby fussed.

Helen clutched the bundle a bit tighter. "Papa's coming back," she said. Her voice was deadened, without inflection.

The station was quiet, save for their little group. No life sang from the ticket booth or the little cottage that abutted its back end. The trees groaned across the tracks.

"They'll find him," Helen said, and here, her tone shook. "They'll find him, Verity."

They never found Charles.