MollyWobbles

Spoons (xiv)

A bad turn for the ministry, and a worse turn for the world.

Playlist:
1. "Darkness of Light" by Secession Studios

[CW: Minor CD]

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Part IV: Spoons (xiv)

Fabian

December 1, 1968

"Minister's dead."

Fabian fell out of bed and onto the floor. "Beg your pardon?" he croaked.

Gideon stared down at him, grim. "Died of illness during the night," he said. Gideon had deep, purple shadows marking his eyes, and his fiddle was perched on his shoulder. As Fabian watched, Gideon's jaw tightened, and he drew the bow across the strings in a jagged, scorching note.

Leach had looked right as rain in the atrium the day before.

"I'll believe that when Muriel plays for the Tornados," Fabe muttered.

Gideon quirked his brows up and issued a thin smile, still continuing in his butchering rendition of a cat yowling.

Bloody Hell.

It began to sink in, more and more.

Bloody Hell.

"The minister—" Fabian choked.

"Dearborn's leading an investigation," Gideon said, bow halting. "Seeing as it's a bit dodgy looking."

An understatement. Fabian gawked at the wall. A dull pounding had filled his ears.

Gideon lowered the fiddle and tossed Fabian's robes onto the bed. "Get up. The world's falling apart, and you're in your pants."

Fabian darted from the floor and began to throw his trousers on. "Molls know?"

Gideon ducked his head. "Not yet."

Fabian ground his molars together.

There were countless reasons why the news was a bit of a blow.

But on a personal level, his insides stung at the realization that the man their mum and dad had died to protect had packed it in early anyways.

"Well, isn't this a nice, piping cup of futili-tea," he muttered.

Gideon inspected his fiddle strings. "That's life, mate."

Must be taking it hard, to have such a nihilistic response. That was usually Fabian's routine.

Fabian loped to follow Gideon downstairs, following the sound of fiddle screech.

They were working to get clearance for a floo connection from their shop to London, but until they did, they had to either borrow another shop's or bother Dumbledore with it.

Wasn't exactly secure. Drove Bones and Moody barmy when they dashed in from Gladrags or something.

After packing his violin away, Gideon tossed Fabian his broom.

Fabian caught it and glanced at the portrait. "Keep an eye on things," he said, shoving his cloak over his inner robes.

Scarless Fabian clicked his tongue.

Nobby Leach.

Fabian swore.

On their way in towards the castle, Fabian banked west. He did a sweep by Olive's cottage at the edge of town.

Anxiety gnawed on his rib bones—like it needed to make sure she was alright.

She was already outside, wearing robes with a bright, striped pattern that marked the Hogwarts flight instructor and Quidditch specialist. She pulled her supply trunk onto the back of her broom, arranging the items with an excited smile.

He couldn't bring himself to tell her.

When she spotted him a ways off, she waved.

Fabian lifted a hand.

Swallowed.

Olive would be safe.

What happened to others—what happened to Leach—would not happen to Olive Smith.

He wouldn't let it.