MollyWobbles

Unforgiveable (iv)

"It's alright," Gideon said, keeping his voice light and even. William was shaking in his hold.

Merlin. How did Arty do it all these years? The hard bits like this—it was bloody impossible.

Playlist:
1. "The Long Song" by Murray Gold (especially potent if you imagine Bill singing)

(CW: Imperio content)

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Part V: Unforgiveable (iv)

Gideon

July 11, 1981

"It's a reliable tip," Fabian bit off. "Dumbledore himself—"

Rowena's cap. Ronnie could howl. Gideon couldn't think around the noise.

Little sap had Grindylow flu, and his misery echoed so loudly, it felt like the roof might crash down on them.

"It's a death march, that's what it is," Molly snapped.

Molly was distraught. Acting like she was fine, but she wasn't.

The Burrow was in pieces.

Freddie and Georgie were crying on the rug, and Charlie had withdrawn to the hide behind the sofa under a blanket. Charles. Hiding. Whole world had gone to pot.

Molly shuffled from one side of the kitchen to the other. "I don't know where he put it—" Molly rasped. "When Fred had it, it calmed him right down."

She was going on about some homemade potion recipe, white-faced and panting as she clutched her stomach.

Fabian looked at Gideon. "I'll look, Molls," he said, scooting towards the mess of potions supplies. "You—you sit down." He didn't add the last word, and the unspoken "please" hung tensely in the air.

But Molly wouldn't. It was like she didn't know how to land without Arthur there. None of them did.

"He used to—to hold them when they were feeling poorly," she rambled, opening the cutlery drawer. Then she closed it, blinking. Turned.

When was the last time she'd slept?

"Molly," Gideon said. "Sit down."

Molly's nostrils flared. She didn't look at him.

His sister was unrecognizable.

"Daddy—" George's cry spiked in the other room. "Daddy, up—"

Fabian's eyes closed.

Molly's wrist pressed to her mouth.

He'd had about enough. Dangerous or not. He wouldn't let the opportunity slip by.

"We're going, Molly," Gid said. "It's just a matter of when."

"No," Molly said. "He might wake up—"

Gideon shook his head. Arty wasn't snapping out of it. Not on his own.

And Gideon wouldn't see this pull them apart. He refused. He

Would

Not.

Gideon loved those little boys so much his heart threatened to capsize, but he wasn't their daddy. They might like to rough house with him and Fabian. They might jump and yell and sing with them, Freddie and George might screech their names and babble when they apparated in to knock on that front door in their special pattern—