MollyWobbles

Spoons (xxviii)

Hello, Fred.
Hello, George.

Playlist (Highly suggested for this chapter):
1. "As the World Caves In" by Sarah Cothran (March 20)
2. "Stand By Me" by Florence + The Machine (March 21)
3. "I Found" by Amber Run (March 28)
4. "Already Gone" by Sleeping at Last (April 1, first part)
5. "Welcome Home, Son (Orchestral)" by Radical Face (April 1, when you see Arty)

(CW: Major CD)

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Part IV: Spoons (xxviii)

Fabian

March 20, 1978

His left arm wouldn't stop shaking from the Crucio damage. Mungo's said it would be a few more days before the symptoms subsided.

A stroke of good luck, they said, that it'd pinched the nerves in his shoulder and not his brain.

Fabian considered it a stroke of good luck that he'd pinned Montague to the wall with his own knife. Bloody turncoat.

"Sit still," Olive snipped. "The seam won't line up right if you're not sitting normally."

Fabian rolled his eyes. Canterbury watched him from the window seat, tail curling and uncurling. Crup gave a faded chirp on his perch by the couch.

Fabian's hands were too jittery for anything delicate, and Gideon was on a raid with Moody and Bones, hunting the sods who'd escaped the meeting they'd busted up in Wales. So Olive was fixing the torn sleeve on his auror coat.

"Thank you, Olive," Olive said, pulling the needle through again. "Thank you so much for sewing up my mangy old coat that's got so much spell repellant on it that I can't charm it fixed or do it myself."

Fabian smiled.

"You're such a good friend to me," Olive continued, pursing her lips in focus as she hunched closer. "I value your company."

"Yes," he said quietly.

Olive raised her gaze, and her cheeks went rosy.

Bugger.

They were far too close, with her tending to his sleeve like this.

Felt like some of the tremors through his arm might be from the sweet, gossamer fog glazing over his insides, rather than a curse off Montegue's wand.

Fabian swallowed and shifted back.

Olive dropped her focus to his arm, tying off the knot. "There."

Fabian flexed it back and forth, then brought it over his ribs so he could pin his wrist in place. He didn't like the way she looked at it trembling about.

Made him feel a bit ill, really.

Olive's shrewd gaze followed it anyways. "How'd it happen?" she asked. A note of concern softened the pragmatic flatness in her voice.

"Some Zonko's rubbish blew up in my face," he said, shrugging.

He should've thought that through. He'd used that excuse a few months prior.

Olive's look turned scathing. "Right."

The back of Fabian's neck heated.

"Almost thirty, and you're still a bloody liar," she said, climbing to her feet. "Some people grow out of that by adulthood."

Some people didn't have the safety of the Wizarding world riding on their shoulders.

"You know me," Fabian said. "Immature to the last." He tried a smarmy grin.