"You know he's gonna go cryin' to Gramps as soon as someone fixes his teeth," Bartholomew said when the circle re-formed a moment later.
"He better not," Great-Uncle Josiah grunted. "He's a grown man who brought that on himself and Costin doesn't need to deal with any shite right now – not when he just got home from the hospital last week." He took a sip from his flask. "He and Irene got more than they bargained for when they had seven kids; they got saddled with eight more and are stuck dealing with everyone's shite decades later. Tell me, what are you all going to do when you can't run to your grandfather to solve your problems anymore?" He looked around at Bartholomew, Lawrence, and Gerard before stopping on Arthur and adding, "Fight amongst yourselves?"
"Dicky –"
Great-Uncle Josiah held up a hand and cut Arthur off. "I'm not talking about what just happened with Dicky; I am well-aware it takes a good knock to put him in his place sometimes. Never before have I seen you or any of your brothers at each other's throats – and I'd never imagine it would come down to you and Trent. The two of you have been best mates since you were old enough to crawl – but something happens to your grandfather and two days later, you're ready to pummel each other.
"Have any of you thought about what'll happen when your grandparents aren't here anymore?" He looked around the whole group. "Costin and Irene won't always be around to settle any disputes. They won't always be here to keep everyone together. We're all getting older and before long, there will be no glue left to hold this family together. You'll all go your separate ways and live your own lives." He looked at Arthur again. "You and your brothers – you're the only ones I can see sticking together regardless. You've always been a tight-knit bunch." His gaze drifted around the group again before landing on Stuart. "I wish I had half as much faith in the rest of you. Even if you are able to stay together, what's going to happen to those six" – he gestured to Arthur – "and Dicky? They're gonna be left out – not intentionally, of course – but you, Lawrence, Clifford, Malcolm, and Roland will inform your own kids if something is going on with the family and no one will think to tell your nephews. You've already forgotten about Richard. It took a week before anyone thought to tell poor Dicky that his grandfather was in the hospital. No wonder he's in a worse mood than usual."
Uncle Stuart began, "I thought Cliffy would tell him since he was closest to Felix –"
"And apparently, Clifford thought you would tell him since you're the eldest," Great-Uncle Josiah cut in. "There was a breakdown in communication and everything was incredibly disorganized while your dad was in the hospital. No one took charge. You were all focused on your own individual families instead of the family as a whole. You'd think with three wars in the past eighty years, you'd have all sat down and figured out who'd take on your father's responsibilities if something happened to him."
"Naturally, I would take over for Dad."
"You were never born to be a leader, Stuart. You've proven that time and again. The sooner you accept that, the better."
"Fine," Uncle Stuart spat. "I reckon we'll have to sit down soon and discuss it then." He snatched the flask back from Arthur and took a swig.
An uncomfortable silence fell on the group.
Mason dropped the butt of his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. In an effort to get some conversation going, he cleared his throat and piped up, "So why is Dicky such a prick?"
This succeeded in changing the subject and gave Great-Uncle Josiah and Uncle Stuart something they both liked talking about.
Arthur took the flask back from Uncle Stuart. He tuned out most of Great-Uncle Josiah and Uncle Stuart tag-team explaining why Richard was the way he was. It's not like he hadn't heard the story a hundred times before.
Arthur's Uncle Felix drifted through life without a worry in the world until he decided to settle down at the age of forty. The woman he married, Doris, was one of his parents' friends, so she was nineteen years older than him, which meant her age (as well as some health issues) posed a problem as far as having a baby was concerned. After being told they had a very slim chance of conceiving and having a successful pregnancy, Felix and Doris tried for four years until they finally had Richard, whom they spoilt to no end. Several years later, however, Doris passed away from her poor health, leaving Felix to raise their son, and Felix felt so bad for Richard losing his mother he gave in to whatever the boy wanted. When Richard went off to Hogwarts a few years later, Felix's health gradually deteriorated over the next few years.
This was where the conversation captured Arthur's attention.
"– so Mum swears to this day that Felix died from a broken heart because he didn't take Doris's death well and Dicky leaving for school only made things worse," Uncle Stuart said, holding his hand out for the flask. When Arthur didn't notice, he swatted him in the arm. This gained Arthur's attention, and he handed over the flask.
Great-Uncle Josiah snorted. "What really killed him was malnutrition because he stopped eating properly and decided he was going to drink all his meals." He took a drag on his cigarette. "But I guess you could sugarcoat it and say a broken heart killed him since he started going downhill after Doris died and only got worse after Dicky went to school. If it makes Irene feel any better, I'm not going to argue with her about it. That was nearly thirty years ago anyway, so there's no point in bothering with it."
Once again hearing how his uncle died reminded Arthur of the physical state he himself had ended up in the previous autumn. He still hadn't regained all the weight he had lost (which he probably didn't need to anyway) and had only just reached a healthy weight a little less than a month ago. Perhaps, everyone's concern hadn't been completely unwarranted, especially his grandparents' and brothers'. One thing he did know for certain, though, was that he did not want to end up in that condition again.
Thinking back on both the recent and the distant past gave Arthur the first inkling he had forgotten something. He felt like it was important, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Well, if it really was that important, he'd surely remember what it was, wouldn't he? What he did know for sure was he felt a lot more relaxed than he had in a long time.
"Costin and Irene took Dicky in after Felix died," Great-Uncle Josiah continued, "but it was too late to undo a decade-and-a-half of bad parenting and they took pity on him since he'd just been orphaned. So, they didn't spoil him, per se, but they let him do what he wanted."
"They prob'ly didn't want to send him into shock either," Uncle Stuart added with a half chuckle. After taking a swig from his flask, he held it back out to Arthur. Lost in thought, Arthur did not notice, so Uncle Stuart nudged him in the arm with the flask. Arthur glanced down, mindlessly took it, and drank from it. "Poor boy had just lost his father, been uprooted from his luxurious, pampered lifestyle and dropped on a farm, and wasn't technically an only child anymore what with how there's always so many children running around that house. I mean, back then, Arthur and his brothers were there every bloody weekend and sometimes during the week, not to mention all the little ankle-biters they babysat."
Upon hearing his name, Arthur's attention was brought back to the conversation. "Actually, Molly and I were already expecting Bill when Dicky moved in with them, so it was just Neil, Ian, and Desmond."
Uncle Stuart waved off this minor detail.
"So Dicky's a prick because he was spoilt and still thinks the world revolves around him," Noah deduced. He took a puff from the cigar and passed it back to Benjamin.
"Pretty much," Lawrence replied. "And every couple years, someone has to knock him back down a peg or two."
"Shouldn't we be a little worried that Gramps will come out here after Dicky talks to him?" Benjamin asked.
"Dicky isn't goin' to Gramps," Gerard answered. "He's been downin' vodka all afternoon and Gramps can tell if someone's drunk from a mile away. Even Dicky's not that stupid."
"I don't know," Bartholomew said. "Gramps might be a little off his game after that knock to his head."
"Even if Dicky was stupid enough to rat 'imself out, along with the rest of us, there's nothing Costin can do anyway," Great-Uncle Josiah added.
"Gramps is the patriarch of the family," Benjamin reasoned. "He has authority over all of us – well, except you," he added to Great-Uncle Josiah.
"That may be true, but this isn't his house and it's not a rule he imposed. The worst he can do is tell Arthur or Molly or your parents," Uncle Stuart explained. "Arthur overrules Molly and has been out here drinking with us and you're in your twenties, so you're too old for your parents to do anything. There's nothin' for you to worry about – well, 'cept for Mason and Eli. They might worry, but the rest of us are in the clear," he added about the teens.
Gerard looked over at Arthur and narrowed his eyes. "You wanna tell us why there's a drinking ban?" he asked abruptly.
It finally struck Arthur like a Beater's bat hitting a Bludger that he wasn't supposed to be drinking.
"Oh – um..." His brows knit together as he thought of how to answer his cousin's question. Great-Uncle Josiah watched him closely. "Well, it's not just family here and – er – prob'ly don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable – and don't want anyone to get disorderly – You know how things tend to get out of hand at family gatherings."
As soon as he thought his answer was sufficient enough, he shifted his gaze to the flask in his hand while his relatives went on to discuss other things. He didn't notice Great-Uncle Josiah was unusually quiet and still watching him out of the corner of his eye.
He just threw away three months of sustained sobriety – the longest he'd gone in decades – and he didn't even notice? He had been fighting intense cravings since the moment he set foot in his shed and he didn't realize they disappeared once he took a drink? This was what Molly had been afraid of, wasn't it? Not only Molly, but everyone who knew how serious his problem was, had been concerned that he wouldn't say anything if he started struggling and would drink again, whether or not it was intentional.
Something else stuck out to Arthur as well, though. There was a big difference in his behavior and emotions this time compared to the previous year. Instead of behaving violently and aggressively, he was calm. Instead of feeling angry and miserable, he felt relaxed and content. He felt a hundred times lighter than he had in months – or years, even. He used to feel this way when he drank.
So...since he reacted the way he used to, managed to pace himself, and successfully maintained three months of sobriety, he could drink again, Arthur concluded. A few months away from alcohol returned the control he lost just like all the other times he cut back. Now, all he needed to do was convince Molly, which should be easy enough once she saw how much better he was behaving. That had been the problem after all, hadn't it? Now that the aggression was gone, there was no problem. Molly would see that and everything would return to normal; he could drink and they would monitor it like always.
He smirked at the flask then took a long pull of Firewhisky and savored the sweet burn as it slid down his throat.
"Welp, Bart was right," Lawrence said then took a drag on his cigarette.
Everyone followed Lawrence's gaze to the front of the house to see Gramps approaching, cane in hand, a new temporary appendage he'd acquired from his fall off the roof. Arthur immediately shoved the flask back at Uncle Stuart. A new gap formed in the circle to make room for Gramps. Great-Uncle Josiah conjured another stool in the space without getting up from his own.
"What's this I hear about Dicky's jaw getting broken?" Gramps asked casually, taking a seat.
"His jaw isn't broken," Great-Uncle Josiah dismissed.
"That's not what Ethel said," Gramps replied. His gaze drifted around the group, momentarily lingering on Arthur. "So, what happened?"
"He was being a bigger prick than usual," Lawrence answered with a shrug.
Benjamin added, "He was saying loads of foul stuff, Gramps."
"Dicky had plenty of warning, Costin," Great-Uncle Josiah stated. "He took things way too far this time."
Gramps didn't respond to his grandson, great-grandson, or brother. Instead, he focused all his attention on Arthur. "Arthur?"
"I was defending my wife," Arthur stated firmly.
"Was there not a better way to handle it than punching Dicky?"
"No."
"He wouldn't shut up, Gramps," Gerard jumped in. "You know how he gets sometimes. He wouldn't stop running his mouth. What was Arthur supposed to do, eh?"
"I know, I know...I said I'd come out here and ask – get both sides of the story. I figured Dicky was stirring up some trouble," Gramps said before standing up. "But, Arthur, I would like to speak with you for a moment."
Reluctantly, Arthur followed his grandfather away from the house. Gramps cast Muffliato even though no one paid them any more attention. The orb of light floating above the group by the house cast a shadow across half of his face.
"You know why Molly banned alcohol, don't you?" Gramps asked, leaning on his cane.
"Because of me," Arthur quietly answered, staring into the darkness to his right.
"For you," Gramps corrected. "So what are you doing out here with them?"
Arthur shrugged. "Talking."
"How are you handling being around all of that?"
Arthur glanced over at the house before looking toward his grandfather. "Fine."
"Have you been drinking?"
Arthur laughed. "Gramps, come on."
But Gramps didn't even chuckle. "Answer the question."
Arthur stopped laughing, but the incredulous smile remained plastered on his face. "You don't trust me?"
"All I did was ask a simple question, and all I want is a straight answer."
The smile disappeared now, too. "Well, I find that question insulting, so I'm not going to dignify it with an answer. I mean, just because I'm around alcohol, you automatically assume I've been drinking!" Arthur snapped, his incredulity immediately turning into indignation.
"I saw you," Gramps simply stated.
Arthur froze. "What?"
"I saw you drinking from Stuart's flask when I came around the corner and I saw you hand it back to him when you realized I was there. I wanted to give you the chance to tell me yourself. Let's go find some potion and get you sobered up."
Gramps put a hand on his grandson's shoulder to guide him back to the house, but Arthur did not budge.
"I'm not doing that. This is the most relaxed – the least stressed – I've felt in a very long time – years probably."
"I know you're going through a lot right now, but this is not the answer."
Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Gramps cut him off.
"Listen to me. You do not want to go down this path again. Remember what happened last year, what it did to you and your family? It nearly ruined your life, Son."
"That's not gonna happen this time," Arthur countered. "I've cut back plenty of times before. This time I just needed a little extra help."
"That's a lie and you know it," Gramps said a little more sternly than he intended.
"No, this is different. I have control again."
"You punched Dicky – You broke his jaw."
"That was before I started drinking," Arthur argued.
"Yes, and would you have been able to control yourself if you had already been drinking?"
"That doesn't matter because it didn't happen."
"It does matter!" Gramps boomed. "I'm not saying you can drink in the future, but you need to sort out these anger issues before you think drinking is ever an option. Your grandmother and I heard what happened between you and Trent in the waiting room and it sounded like things would've quickly escalated if Desmond hadn't physically inserted himself between you."
"Trent and I worked things out. He's even been over for dinner a few times since then. We're fine now."
"That's good, but that is not my point. I don't want you ever putting anyone in the position you put Desmond in that night, especially not family – and especially not your brothers," Gramps commanded. "Now let's get you sobered up."
"No. This is my house and I can do whatever I damn well please." Arthur took a step toward his grandfather and menacingly added, "If you say anything to Molly or my kids about this, I will never speak to you again. I'll tell them I can drink again when the time's right."
Gramps frowned.
Leaving that threat hanging in the air, Arthur started back toward the house, but Gramps's voice stopped him.
"It was always you," he stated evenly.
Arthur turned around. "I beg your pardon?"
Gramps turned to fully face him then continued, "You always had us the most concerned. Not Desmond. He acted out for attention and out of frustration, but you did it out of pure anger...You were such an angry child. Your grandmother and I thanked God when all that stopped because we'd been terrified that you would turn out just like your dad, because he had been the same way."
"Don't compare me to him," Arthur interrupted. "You said I'm nothing like him."
"No, I said you're a better man than he was," Gramps corrected. "You and all of your brothers share some of Septimus's traits. There's no denying it. There's no getting around it. Whether you like it or not, Septimus was still your father, so there will be parts of you that reflect that. You may not have a choice when it comes to some things, but you do when it comes to others – and what you choose to do makes all the difference. So if you ever think you're turning into him, you're doing it to yourself."
Without warning, Arthur grabbed Gramps by his shirtfront and balled up his fist.
"Are you going to hit me?" Gramps calmly asked, completely unfazed. "Go ahead. I won't tell anyone. It won't be the first time I was hit by one of my own – but it would be the first time it was intentional. Think about that. That's something even your father wouldn't do."
Arthur gritted his teeth and kept a tight grip.
"This isn't you, Arthur," Gramps said softly. "You're not a violent man. The drink has you angry and unreasonable."
Arthur lowered his fist, but still didn't loosen his grip on Gramps. "You always think you have the answer. You always think you know everything...but you don't. You're just a foolish old man who doesn't know how to mind his own fucking business," he snarled. "Piss off."
He finally released Gramps then stalked off to rejoin the others without a glance back. Upon his return, he immediately snatched the flask out of Uncle Stuart's hand and took a long drink. Everyone remained seemingly oblivious to what had just occurred, and Arthur ignored any and all conversation, anger simmering in the pit of his stomach.
A moment later, Arthur noticed Gramps watching him from the front corner of the house. Their eyes locked. Gramps frowned and gave a disappointed shake of his head before he disappeared the way he came.
Arthur heard Gerard mention the "Sacred Seven," a nickname he and his brothers had gotten from some of their cousins decades ago due to the "special treatment" they received from their grandparents. They all hated it. They never asked for any preferential treatment – or compensation, as Arthur liked to call it – from their grandparents. It wasn't their fault Septimus treated them so badly. Where Trenton embraced this nickname and turned it into a joke, Arthur never could let it roll off his back. The anger in his stomach turned rage.
As the rage boiled within him, he stepped toward Gerard and opened his mouth, a threat on his lips that Great-Aunt Ethel would have to mend two broken jaws that night...but then he stopped. Not a sound came out of his mouth. His advance halted. He turned his attention to the flask in his hand.
What am I doing? Arthur thought. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be out here with them. I don't even like these people that much. I'd rather be enjoying the party Molly worked so hard on...Gramps was right. I'm just lying to myself.
Without a word, Arthur turned around and handed the nearly empty flask back to his uncle on his way to the back garden. Yes, Gramps had gone in the front, but he couldn't face Gramps so soon after the way he treated him.
As he maneuvered through the crowd out back, he made sure to avoid his kids. He kept an eye out for Molly as well; he'd already scared her once that night, thinking he'd gotten drunk. He sure as hell wasn't going to again, not after seeing how upset it made her.
While dodging Kingsley, Arthur stumbled into Uncle Lawrence, Cousin Lawrence's dad. A chicken squawked and flapped its wings to rebalance itself on his shoulder, and Uncle Lawrence reached up to check that a chick was still nestled safely in his hair. He'd set all the chickens loose in the house earlier, but Arthur couldn't find amusement in his uncle's barmy shenanigans right now.
Arthur finally spotted Amos by the picnic table. He hadn't been sure who he was looking for until that moment, just who he was trying to avoid.
"Amos –" he began as he approached.
"Arthur, m'boy! Happy birthday!" Amos exclaimed.
"Can I have a word – in private?"
Once out of earshot from anyone else, Amos looked up at Arthur and said, "Is something the matter?"
Arthur crossed his arms. "Um...I-I drank...I'm drunk."
"Ah, I see," Amos said casually. He maintained the same nonchalant air as they talked. "By telling me, I'm assuming you believe that was a mistake?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any potion?"
"It's in the kitchen, but I don't want to run into Molly. I want to be sober when she finds out."
Amos nodded his understanding before pulling out his wand and Summoning a vial of Sober-Up Potion. Arthur drank it without hesitation then took a seat on the low garden wall facing the rolling hills covered in the shadow of night and rested his forearms on his knees while he waited. Amos stayed with him and remained silent.
About the time the potion took effect, Molly found them.
"Arthur, dear, are you alright?" she asked as she took a seat on the wall beside him. She placed a hand on his back. "Is your chest bothering you?"
Shaking his head, Arthur sat up straight. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. "I – uh – had to take a Sober-Up Potion," he mumbled.
Her brows knit together and her eyes narrowed. "You drank?" she asked.
Arthur took a deep breath, but did not reply.
Molly stroked his hair. "Arthur," she gently prompted, "what happened?"
He still remained silent. If he explained, he feared it would sound like excuses. If he apologized, he thought it would lose all meaning again.
Molly leaned forward in an attempt to get him to look at her. He wouldn't. "What happened?" she repeated.
Finally, Arthur spoke. "Didn't Gramps tell you?"
"No. I've not seen him in a while."
Merlin, how he wished Gramps would have told her despite his threat. It probably would have made this conversation a little easier.
When Arthur seemed to have gone silent again, Molly looked up at Amos, who stood in front of them. "Amos?"
Amos shook his head. "I don't know. He hasn't told me." He crouched down. Arthur lowered his gaze further. "Arthur...I think I have an idea of how you're feeling. You feel...ashamed and...guilty, right? Maybe a little scared?"
Arthur leaned forward again and rested his elbows on his knees before violently running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I didn't even mean to do it – I wasn't going to – I didn't want to."
"Well, you shouldn't feel ashamed and guilty if it was an accident," Molly said.
"No...No. I had been having intense cravings and I should've found you then, but I didn't even think about it – and once I realized what I was doing...I...I didn't want to stop – and I was really nasty to Gramps when all he wanted to do was talk some sense into me." An apology rolled off his tongue despite his fears. "I'm sorry I keep doing this."
"How did this happen?" Molly softly prodded. "Was there some alcohol we forgot about? Did you leave? Did someone bring some?"
Arthur nodded in answer to the last question.
"Someone brought some?" Molly repeated.
"A few people," Arthur clarified.
"Who?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does."
"No – because what are you going to do if I tell you?"
"I'll make them leave."
"No, Molly. Please do not get involved."
"No, it was a rule clearly stated on the invitations. If they can't respect that, then they have no right to be here."
"If I might add my two Knuts," Amos cut in. "Perhaps they don't necessarily have to leave, but the alcohol does need to be removed."
"Fine. I'll handle it myself," Arthur said.
Molly said, "No, you won't," at the same time Amos said, "That's not a good idea."
"Fine – alright. Just don't make a big deal out of this," Arthur conceded then told her who brought the booze.
"Right," Molly said as she stood. "Where are they?"
"On the side of the house." He gestured in the direction over his shoulder. However, Molly started toward the back door instead. Arthur jumped up and followed her. He stopped her after a short distance.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm getting your brothers because Mason and Elijah are still teenagers, Benjamin knows better, and it is past time Noah grew up," she said, not hiding her annoyance.
"I didn't think you were going to make this into a big deal."
"I'm not." She continued into the house.
"Molly, please. I can't deal with you right now along with everything else," Arthur said as he followed.
They found Alexander pouring himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Molly motioned for him to follow her. After a bewildered look at Arthur, who rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation, he grabbed his black coffee and followed. Arthur deliberately avoided looking at either of his grandparents sitting at the table.
Unsurprisingly, Trenton and Neil could be found on the porch in the "Designated Smoking Area."
"You two," Molly said abruptly, pointing at Trenton and Neil.
"What?" Trenton asked. The only response he got was a shrug from Alexander, so he and Neil followed. Neil placed his unlit cigarette behind his ear.
Despite his position near the back, Trenton stopped in his tracks first when he saw his son with a flask. "Elijah!"
Elijah's head snapped in his father's direction and he stood up straight from leaning against the house. The other three young Weasleys spun around.
Alexander squinted and said, "Benjamin?" at the same time Neil barked, "Noah! Mason!"
With an expression akin to one after seeing a Dementor, Benjamin quickly took the cigar out of his mouth and exclaimed, "Dad!"
The youngest of Neil's sons, Mason, said, "Shite." The eldest muttered, "Here we go again."
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Neil said. "I'm sick of this shit! Noah, you are twenty-four fucking years old and about to be married. When are you going to stop acting like a teenager – or at least show some damn respect?"
Noah scoffed, "You're one to talk. You know how big of a hypocrite you are?"
"Do you know how big of a disappointment you are?" Neil shot back. "Sometimes I wish you weren't even my son just so you wouldn't be my problem."
"That makes two of us," Noah muttered bitterly.
Turning his attention to Mason, Neil said, "And it's time you start to get your shit together now that you're out of Hogwarts. It's been months and you still don't have a job or any plan for your future. You'll be just like Noah and won't amount to anything if you keep fucking around. Why don't you take a page from Logan's book, eh? Don't get a girl knocked up, but grow up a little. Be the exact opposite of him." He jabbed a finger at Noah.
"Now, apologize to your aunt and uncle, both of you," Neil commanded.
"Bite me," Noah told his dad before stalking off toward the Apparition point. Mason, on the other hand, apologized to Molly and Arthur. Afterwards, Neil made Mason Apparate back to his mum's house, assuring him that he'd be Floo-calling her in a few minutes to make sure he went home and didn't go off with his brother. Neil took the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.
A few feet away, the conversation between Alexander and Benjamin went much more smoothly.
"Your mother and I raised you to be respectful and to have a good head on your shoulders," Alexander said calmly yet sternly.
"Yes, sir."
"You're not in Hogwarts anymore. You haven't been for six years. It's okay if you changed your mind about being a Healer, but you have to do something. You're not going to get a free ride for much longer, especially if you continue to act like this. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"That better not be one of my expensive cigars." Alexander pointed to the cigar at Benjamin's side.
"It's one of the ones from the top left of the humidor," Benjamin informed.
"So that is one of my most expensive ones."
"Y-Yes, sir."
"How long have you been stealing my cigars?"
"Once every now and then over the past few years."
"How many times do I have to tell you not to go into my study without asking my permission?" Alexander scolded. "I could have information on patients in there."
"I'm not gonna look at patient files. I just wanted a cigar."
"My God, Benjamin, you are twenty-four years old, living at home, and getting an allowance. Buy your own cigars."
"Mum would be okay with me smoking cigars?" Benjamin asked, not hiding his surprise.
"No, but you're an adult and have been doing it for years apparently. Your mother should be okay if you have an occasional cigar."
"Occasional? But you just said I'm an adult. I don't need your permission if I buy them myself."
"Well, I don't want you smoking cigars either. They're very healthy."
"Edward and James smoke them."
"And I didn't like it when they started either."
"You're a Healer and you have one a few times a week – every day for the past month, actually."
Alexander seemed to flounder for a split second then countered, "Just because other people do something doesn't mean you should too. You need to start thinking for yourself – Now give me that."
Benjamin handed over the half-smoked cigar, which caused Alexander to notice the watch on his wrist.
"Is that my Patek Philippe?" Alexander asked as he took the cigar.
"You let us borrow your watches all the time," Benjamin responded.
"Not that one. You know you're not allowed to wear that one. I'm the only person who's ever allowed to wear my Patek Philippe." Alexander lowered his voice to an angry whisper. "That's worth four times as much as any of my other watches. Do you know how hard I worked to get that?" He raised his voice back to a normal level. "I have half a mind to cut you off until you learn the value of a Sickle."
"I'm sorry," Benjamin said as they traded watches so that Alexander wore the Patek Philippe and Benjamin had the much less expensive Panerai.
"Here's what you can do," Alexander began. "Leave, preferably to go home" – he cast a sideways glance at Noah, who was waiting in the distance – "or you can ask your aunt and uncle if you can stay if you get rid of the wine and take a Sober-Up Potion."
Much to his father's relief, Benjamin chose the latter. He approached his aunt and uncle and meekly apologized, "I'm sorry, Uncle Artie. I'm sorry, Aunt Molly. Would it be okay if I stay?"
"Thank you. Yes, you can stay," Arthur answered before Molly had a chance to go on a tirade.
"Go get a potion from Gran. She should have some in her handbag," Alexander told Benjamin with a pat on the back. A crack sounded in the distance as Noah Disapparated.
"Sorry about that," Alexander apologized to his brother and sister-in-law.
"It's fine," Arthur assured, once again giving an answer before Molly could go off.
"If cutting him off doesn't change anything, I don't know what I'm going to do with him," Alexander said.
"You're really going to cut him off?" Molly asked.
Alexander nodded. "Yes. That's a discussion for at home, but now it's planted in his head so he won't be caught off guard and maybe it'll go more smoothly than if it came out of the blue."
"Have you ever had to cut one of your kids off before?" Arthur asked.
"No, but Benjamin..." He shook his head and sighed. "I just found out last week that he dropped out of Healer training seven months ago. He won't tell us what he's done with the money I gave him for tuition or what he's been doing every day, which is very unlike him. He would've at least discussed it with me and Margaret before making that decision. I'm willing to bet Noah played some part in it. Sometimes, I wish Benjamin hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor so then Noah wouldn't have had such a big influence on him."
"OI!" Neil, who had been finishing his cigarette nearby, exclaimed. "How about taking some fucking responsibility for your own son instead of blaming mine all the goddamn time, eh?"
"The only difference between Benjamin and my other five kids is Noah," Alexander retorted, "and he didn't give us any problems until he was put in a dorm with him either, so –"
"Or maybe you can't bear to admit that Benjamin hasn't lived up to your incredibly high expectations, so you blame it on someone else," Neil interrupted.
"You can't deny that Noah is the biggest troublemaker," Alexander rebutted.
Neil turned to Arthur. "Can I use your Floo? I need to call Lesley – Make sure Mason made it home."
"Of course."
Neil went toward the back while Alexander put the cigar between his teeth and headed to the front porch.
This argument was nothing new. Noah and Benjamin's friendship had been a point of contention for many years. As time progressed, the extent of the arguments dwindled. Nowadays, a few words would be exchanged before either Alexander or Neil (usually Neil) abruptly changed the subject or Gramps stepped in and things got swept under the carpet once again. Trenton tended to find some amusement in these exchanges, but his conversation with his own son was gradually escalating into an all-out shouting match at the moment, which while it was normal for Neil, It was highly unusual for Trenton to raise his voice with his kids.
"If your aunt and uncle ask something, you obey them. I don't care what it is. They don't even have to tell you why, because whatever it is, they'll have a damn good reason for it."
"Oh, like you didn't bring something," Elijah scoffed.
"No, I didn't – and I've not been complaining about it either. Do you have any idea what you could be jeopardizing by doing this? How 'bout thinking about other people for a change? Your mother and I raised you better th–"
"No, Dad," Elijah interrupted. "Mum raised us. You were hardly ever there – even when you were, you weren't – so you can't say anything."
"Fine," Trenton said, not arguing the point. "Then how would your mum feel if she saw you acting this way?"
"You have no right to talk about her or how she would feel!" Elijah exploded. "You never even cared about her!"
"I love her!" Trenton shouted in anguish. "I – love – her."
"Yeah? Is that why you jumped into bed with the next door neighbor a week after Mum died? You're glad to be free of her. Admit it! You've been celebrating ever since."
"You have it so wrong. You haven't got a clue!" Trenton looked dangerously close to tears, his face as red as a tomato. "She was everything to me!"
"You have a funny way of showing it!" Elijah shot.
Trenton's voice rose with each word. "Every day – Every fucking day, I wish it had been me instead of her!"
"So do I!" Elijah shouted just as loudly. "'Cause I'd much rather have Mum here instead of you! You're just – You're just a sperm donor," he spat. He stomped off toward the Apparition point leaving his dad standing there, speechless.
Arthur approached his elder brother. "Trent, what are you doing? Go talk to him. I wish I hadn't been so stubborn after my row with Percy."
Trenton merely stood there, watching his son walk away, stumbling every few steps. His eyes shone bright with unshed tears.
Arthur's heart ached for his brother – his best friend – but a few stern words were needed. "He reaches that Apparition point, and you may never see him again," he warned.
Trenton still did nothing.
"I know what he said to you must have stung, but he is hurting too," Arthur said softly. "Trent, you are that boy's dad. Now go after him."
"No. He's right. I've never been a dad," Trenton finally mumbled. "I fathered four children, but I've never been a dad."
"It's not too late to change that. It'll only be too late if something happens to you or them. Now stop being a fucking idiot and go to your son," Arthur pleaded.
Trenton tore his eyes from his retreating son and looked at his brother. "And what am I supposed to do?"
"Think what Gramps would do."
Trenton did not need to hear another word. He ran after his son and reached him just as he made it to the Apparition point. Grabbing his shoulder, he jerked him around and immediately enveloped him in his arms. Elijah did not pull away, but he did not give in either.
"Son, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you had to watch your mum die. I'm sorry I've not been there much, especially the past couple years. I'm sorry I've been so selfish. Never think – not for one second – never think that I don't love you, because I do. I love you, Son," Trenton choked.
Elijah finally gave in and returned the embrace. The dams broke. One of Trenton's hands moved to rest on the back of his head. Trenton had never been much of one for showing affection, but in that moment, he held his son tight and didn't care who saw.
When they broke apart, Trenton hastily wiped away the few tears he failed to contain and Elijah angrily scrubbed at his tear-stained cheeks.
"I think we should talk – just the two of us – sober – and get things out in the open," Trenton said quietly. "What do you say?"
Elijah merely nodded, sniffling and blinking furiously at the ground.
Trenton guided Elijah back toward the house with a hand on his back. They approached Arthur, Elijah still not lifting his gaze from the ground.
"Art, do you have some place Elijah and I can talk?"
But Molly answered before Arthur could this time. "Use our bedroom. There's Sober-Up Potion in the upper cabinet to the right of the kitchen sink," she replied in the same soft tone Trenton used.
"Cheers." Trenton took a couple steps toward the back garden with Elijah, but then turned back around. "You gonna be alright, Art?" he whispered so no one else could hear.
"Don't worry about me," Arthur waved off his concern. Trenton had something much more important to worry about than his brother's sobriety.
As Trenton and Elijah departed, Arthur found himself finally able to address his cousins and uncles.
"Alright. The rest of you need to leave," he announced.
"Why?" Bartholomew asked.
"You brought booze."
"You were just out here drinking with us," Uncle Stuart protested. "You drank most of my Firewhisky."
"Yes, and I shouldn't have."
"Maybe Dicky wasn't completely full of hot air this time," Gerard stated, staring straight at Molly.
Arthur used this opportunity to voice his threat from earlier, but this time he felt like it would stay a threat. "Another word out of you, Gerard, and Great-Aunt Ethel will have to mend another broken jaw tonight."
"You won't do anything," Gerard challenged. "Not with her here."
Without missing a beat, Arthur said, "Try me."
Gerard backed down. He and Uncle Stuart left without further provocation, but no apologies. Lawrence and Bartholomew apologized, and Arthur let them stay once they poured out their gin and mead, respectively. He figured they wouldn't stay too much longer, though.
Great-Uncle Josiah studied his great-nephew from his stool the whole time. He capped his own flask and slid it into his shirt pocket when Lawrence and Bartholomew walked away.
"These changes the past few months – alcohol bans, restricting it to the basement at your grandparents' house – that's for you, isn't it?" Great-Uncle Josiah asked softly.
Arthur merely stared at him. Great-Uncle Josiah had a mouth on him, but he knew how to be discreet when it mattered. Besides, he'd figure it out one way or another eventually. After a moment, Arthur said, "Yeah."
"And Costin was tryin' to talk some sense into you a little while ago, wasn't he?"
Arthur nodded. "Gramps tried, but I wasn't in a talking mood."
"Don't worry. He'll forgive you. He'd forgive you for anything. You're like a son to him – and that's not a bad thing, no matter what anyone says. Hell, he wouldn't've even cared if you did end up punchin' 'im."
The color drained from Arthur's face. "You saw that?"
"No one else noticed," Great-Uncle Josiah informed. "You grandfather – he's a better man than the rest of us. He and Irene would do anything for anyone, night or day, without expecting a thing in return. They've been doing this since long before you were born and they've been met with tempers and threats more often than not. They just want to make sure all is well in that big ol' family of theirs...and it never will be. There will always be somethin' – but that's who they are."
"But they don't deserve that. Gramps knows how big of a problem my drinking has become and how serious it is. All he was trying to do was help. It wouldn't really matter if I was just trying to cut back, but I can't drink at all anymore."
"Ah, yes. I remember when you've cut back before. You weren't all that friendly then either," Great-Uncle Josiah recalled. "How long had you gone this time?"
"Three months...Never gone that long before."
"Isn't easy, is it?"
Arthur frowned and shook his head.
"That's why I gave up on it decades ago. The longest I've gone is prob'ly...six months, and that's been about fifty or sixty years ago now. I can't tell you why some of us Weasleys can drink and never struggle with it while the rest of us become addicted. Luck of the draw, I s'pose. Just look at me and my brothers. Our dad was a drunk – he didn't beat us like yours did; he stayed disconnected, didn't have much to do with us – I've been drinkin' for about a hundred years now and it's torture for me to go more than a couple hours without it, Ambrose can take it or leave it, and Costin never touched it so who knows what would've happened there. The ones who never tried it, they have it right; they're the smart ones. But if any of us unlucky ones can get sober and stay sober, it's you. It might seem impossible, but you can do it."
"You couldn't."
"No...but your situation's different, you have different reasons for getting sober, and you have a lot more people supporting you through this. It depends on each individual's circumstances. So don't look at me and think, 'Uncle Josiah couldn't do it, so neither can I.' Don't look at the people who failed or never tried. Look at the people who succeeded."
Arthur scoffed. "No alcoholic Weasley has ever stayed sober – not any who had a serious problem anyway."
"Don't start overthinking things, dear," Molly warned.
"Well, I have quite a few years on you, so I know of a few who managed it," Great-Uncle Josiah said. "Your uncle Malcolm was one of the worst off."
"I've never seen Uncle Malcolm drink," Arthur said.
"He got sober before you were born, but there was a time he could drink anyone under the table – and I mean anyone – and there were several years where he couldn't go more than a few hours without a drink. You should talk to him about it sometime. He'd be better help than I ever could be." Great-Uncle Josiah got up from his stool and wore one of the most serious expressions Arthur had ever seen on his face. "Do whatever you have to to stay sober. Don't end up like me – and especially not like Stuart or Gerard...It's not fun...and it only gets worse. Know that I'm in your corner – and I'm sorry I encouraged you to join us and didn't stop Stuart."
"You didn't know," Arthur whispered.
"I'll be on the front porch if Ethel asks – That is, if it's okay with both of you," Great-Uncle Josiah added, looking from Arthur to Molly.
They both allowed him to stay. To Arthur's surprise, Molly didn't ask him to pour out his Firewhisky. She probably figured he would bring it before she invited him anyway, though, and now that he knew about Arthur's drinking problem, that was one more pair of eyes on him.
"Uncle Josiah," Arthur said, causing him to stop and turn around. "Thank you."
Great-Uncle Josiah grunted in response then continued on his way.
Once they were alone, Molly asked, "What did Gerard mean? What did Dicky say?"
"You don't wanna know," Arthur answered. "Thank you for letting me handle them. We could've avoided all of that chaos if you'd waited to tell Alexander, Neil, and Trent about their kids and let them deal with it at home, though."
"Well, I felt like it should've been dealt with then," Molly calmly stated.
Arthur sat on the stool Great-Uncle Josiah left next to the house. "If I say I can't deal with something at a certain time, then please listen to me." He rubbed his forehead. "You didn't make anything any easier on me." He leaned his head against the house and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry, love. Do you want to call it a night?"
"No. Everyone's still having a good time."
"But are you?"
"I just...need a minute."
Molly moved to stand between his legs and held his hands in hers. Leo the orange tabby cat trotted up to them and weaved between their legs.
"And I need to apologize to Gramps – and thank him," Arthur went on, eyes still closed.
Suddenly, he felt soft, warm lips on his. He returned the slow kiss. When she pulled away, he opened his eyes.
"What was that for?" he whispered.
She looked into his electric blue eyes. "I'm proud of you."
"But I drank."
"You didn't give into it and you were honest with me. That's what matters."
He stared at her in awe for a long moment. "I love you," he breathed.
She ran her hands through his hair and kissed his forehead. "I love you, too."
After giving Arthur afew more minutes to clear his head, they rejoined the party.