The crow of a rooster could barely be heard over the pouring rain. Arthur's breath rose in a fog in front of him. Warmth instantly washed over him when he stepped into the barn. He removed the hood of his charmed cloak from his head. If it wasn't for the rain-repelling charm, he would be absolutely drenched. Over the past week, he had taken to helping Gramps with the morning chores, and every time, it seemed it wanted to rain. That Saturday morning, they had already tended to the sheep, milked the half-dozen cows, fed the chickens, and fixed a hole in the fence.
"Take the cows some hay," Gramps said from behind Arthur. Sid the Sheepdog trotted past before he stopped and shook, water flying off him in all directions.
Knowing Gramps would lecture him again on the importance of physical labor, Arthur did not bother taking out his wand. He lifted the fifty-pound square bale and carried it across the barn before tossing it in with the cows.
Gramps sat down on a stool, Sid curling up on the floor next to him, and waited for Arthur to rejoin him. "I've been enjoying you helping out," he said as Arthur took a seat on another bale of hay.
"You have a lot to do on a daily basis," Arthur said. "When the older boys are on break, you should get them to help out some, or at least start using magic. One of these days, you're going to get hurt if you don't."
"That's not what I meant. What I meant was I'm enjoying spending time with you," Gramps rephrased. "You know, I haven't seen you much recently. The war kept you busy, then you were avoiding us."
"Who said I was avoiding you?" Arthur interrupted with a cock of his head.
Gramps snorted. "Your actions."
The younger Weasley's ears and neck grew red.
"And since you've been here, you always get home rather late," Gramps continued.
"Nine or ten o'clock is not late," Arthur pointed out.
"It is when you're over a hundred years old and wake up before dawn every morning," Gramps chuckled.
"I've had a lot of work to do..."
"Are you going to that counselling whatchamacallit Kingsley told you about?" he asked.
"I've been going on Monday and Friday," Arthur said absent-mindedly as he watched a small bird hop around on the edge of the hayloft.
"Is it helping?"
"I don't know, Gramps," Arthur snapped. "I've only been a few times."
Gramps leaned back against a post his stool sat in front of. "What are you doing the other nights?" he inquired innocently.
"Working."
"You're not –"
Arthur tore is attention away from the bird. "No, Gramps," he interrupted again. "I'm not drinking." And he was telling the truth. It had been a challenge, but he somehow managed to refrain. Most nights, he was stuck in his office with paperwork. Sure, he could bring it home, but that would only give his grandparents more opportunity to have a deep discussion with him about his life and recent behavior; he'd already had enough of that on Halloween.
The gray-haired wizard shrugged. "You don't talk to us anymore, Son."
Arthur pulled out a straw of hay. He idly began to break it into small pieces.
Gramps watched his grandson closely. "Why won't you talk to us?" he asked softly.
Arthur concentrated on his task.
Gramps stated, "I think it is past time we had that little chat."
Immediately, Arthur's eyes snapped up to his grandfather. "What chat?" he asked nervously, knowing full well what Gramps was talking about.
"The one I wanted to have at the wedding – and long before that."
Standing abruptly, Arthur said, "Let's just get back to work."
"Arthur - Arthur, sit back down," Gramps said from his stool. "It would be wonderful if you talked, but you don't have to. Just listen."
Arthur looked at the roof. "I think it's stopped raining. We could patch the leak in the roof," he suggested. While he was not looking forward to repairing the roof without magic, he would much rather do that than have this little chat with Gramps.
"Boy, get back here and sit down," Gramps commanded. Reluctantly, Arthur obeyed. He resumed his seat on the bale of hay.
"Why are you afraid? What do you think I'm going to say?" Gramps inquired gently.
"I don't know," Arthur sighed.
"I think you do," Gramps called him out. "Tell me."
Arthur put his elbows on his knees and scratched the back of his head. He stared at the bits of hay he had dropped on the floor. "That you're ashamed – That you're disappointed in me – That you agree with everyone else that I'm no better than my father," he confessed quietly.
Gramps leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "Arthur, look at me," he calmly commanded. It took a few seconds, but Arthur looked his grandfather in the eye. "None of that is true," he assured. "You are a good person – a great man - an amazing father. You have done more for your family and the wizarding world than anyone I know of. Yes, you have made mistakes, but that doesn't make you a bad person."
"You sound so sure," Arthur mumbled.
"I am." Gramps sat up. "You have overcome a slew of obstacles. You can get through this one, too. Arthur, you are one of the strongest people I know...but you need to learn to let your guard down and be open. Sometimes, being strong is actually a weakness, Son."
"I know, Gramps," Arthur said. He sat up as well. Pushing his hair back, he asked, "Is that all?"
"Not quite." Gramps turned his focus to his hands as he rubbed his thumb over some callouses and continued, "There is one more thing I think you should know. I don't think we've ever said this to you or any of your brothers." He sat up straight and looked Arthur in the eye again. "You're more than grandsons to us. You're like sons. Your grandmother and I feel like we raised you, and there is a special bond we have with you boys that we don't have with our other grandchildren because of that. So, when I call you 'Son,' it is not merely a term of endearment. It is much more."
Arthur bit his upper lip as his eyebrows knit together. A certain type of acceptance he had never experienced before overcame him. He always knew his grandparents loved him; there was never any question about that. But to love him as a son? He had never thought anyone ever loved him as a son, not even his own parents. He was at a loss for how to respond to this information.
Finally, he blinked at Gramps. "Um...Thanks, Gramps," he managed. "You know? You've always been more of a father to me than Septimus ever was."
"I'm glad I could be that for you. I hate I had to be, but I'm glad I could be," Gramps said. "And I hope you understand why we never took you all in full-time, because we would have in a heartbeat if your parents allowed us."
"I know."
After another moment of silence, Arthur stood and put his hand out to help Gramps up. The two embraced.
"I love you, Son," Gramps said as he held Arthur tightly.
"I love you, Gramps," Arthur responded as they both pulled back, "and I really appreciate all you've done for me."
"We'll always be there for you," Gramps assured. "Let's get back to work, shall we? Unless you want to talk more?"
"No, let's get back to it."
It was only a couple of hours before the two finished their chores for the morning. The rain eventually stopped, but the sun never came out. Arthur looked forward to an afternoon where he could relax. Weekends were the only time he had any free time, and the previous Saturday was Halloween which brought his entire extended family to his grandparents' house, and Sunday, he still had paperwork to catch up on. So, this was the first time in two weeks he could do absolutely nothing and enjoy it.
When they got back to the house, Gran had two large, steaming mugs of tea and a hefty lunch waiting for them.
"Arthur dear, you have a pile of letters here you haven't opened," Gran said, holding a stack of unopened letters.
"So you keep telling me," Arthur said evenly.
"I wouldn't have to keep telling you if you opened them."
Even after decades, Gran still felt the need to tell her grandsons what to do. Arthur had not thought of that when he agreed to move in. He took the letters and set them on the coffee table before sitting on the couch. "I'm a grown man. I will open my mail when I am good and ready."
"Don't talk back to your grandmother," Gramps chided half-heartedly as he sat in his armchair.
"I'm not –"
"Just do what she says, Son," Gramps calmly interrupted, scanning the newspaper for the place he had left off that morning.
Finally, Arthur conceded. It had been weeks since he last opened a letter. The sheer amount was overwhelming. Gradually, he made his way through. A few had been from Kingsley when he missed work. Some were from his brothers and his grandparents from the same week. He tossed those to the side, all of them irrelevant now. Other letters came from friends who were simply checking on him. Half the letters, Ginny had sent, asking how he was and why he wasn't owling her back. The most recent ones made it evident she had grown anxious. That was the exact reason why he had been avoiding opening them. For one, he was afraid of receiving scathing letters from Molly or the boys - which he had received no letters at all from them – and, then, he knew he would want to respond to any letters from Ginny.
Arthur stared at four words on Ginny's most recent letter: I love you, Daddy. It was in every one of her letters, but that one conveyed something the others hadn't.
After the wedding, he didn't have the opportunity to see his little girl. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. There was no telling how she would have reacted to him after his violent outburst. Part of him had hoped she would stop by his flat on her way back to Hogwarts, but he knew that would only cause more problems and that it would not be good for anyone. Her letters – those four words - perplexed him. Her unwavering loyalty, even when he acted abominably and everyone else deserted him, made him wonder what it was his little girl saw that no one else did.
Every fiber of his being wanted to write her back and ease her worry – to show her that he was still there and that he loved her. But if he wrote her after Molly so strongly forbade it and Molly found out, that might be the final straw. It felt like he had lost everything already, but it wasn't definite - Not yet, at least. Molly made it clear this was his last chance and he did not want to do anything to risk it, but he could not let Ginny continue to worry.
He went to speak, but something was preventing him from doing so. He swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat. "Gran," he said. Gran stopped reading her Witch Weekly magazine and looked expectantly at him. Gramps looked over the top of his reading glasses at him as well. "Could you do me a favor? Could you write to Ginny and let her know I'm okay and that she has to stop writing me?"
"Why can't –"
Gramps cleared his throat and shot Gran a look that told her he would explain later. It was far from subtle, but Arthur was grateful for Gramps's interruption and glad he wouldn't have to explain.
"Don't worry," Gramps assured Arthur with a sad smile. "We'll take care of it."
oOoOo
Hogwarts's Great Hall buzzed with excitement that Sunday morning. It was the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. Ginny sat at the Gryffindor table with Luna and Hermione, though none of them ate because they planned to have breakfast at the little café in the village. They could have headed straight down, but Ginny insisted they wait for the mail. Neither Luna nor Hermione minded, knowing exactly what Ginny was hoping would arrive.
Owls swooped in through the high windows. Ginny watched with anticipation as she had every morning for the past three weeks. What she waited for never came, but she watched nevertheless.
Harry's tawny owl dropped a letter in front of her. A few seconds later an old barn owl dropped another letter in front of her. Was this what she had been waiting for?
Without hesitation, she ripped the second envelope open. Disappointment washed over her when she noticed the handwriting was not her dad's. Her heart sank further as she read on.
"What is it, Ginny?" Luna asked.
Crumpling the paper and stuffing it in her pocket, Ginny stood abruptly and said, "It's nothing," before leading the way out of the Great Hall. Hermione grabbed Harry's letter and tucked it into her bag to give to Ginny later.
The letter practically ruined her Hogsmeade trip. All morning, Ginny couldn't stop thinking about what it said: her great-grandparents had written to tell her to stop sending letters to her dad. There was more to it than that, but that was essentially the whole point of the letter. It did partially ease her worry, finding out that her dad was alright, but it crushed her when it said to stop communicating with him with no explanation. He didn't even have the nerve to tell her himself!
The trio was coming out of Honeydukes when Charlie blocked their path. Ginny made to go around him.
"Ginny, wait," he said. "Can we talk?"
Ginny faced him. "Why?" she asked.
"Because we need to," Charlie answered. "You've been avoiding me for weeks."
"Yeah, well, you were avoiding me for months before that. You wouldn't even talk to me at my birthday party. You disowned me, remember?" she shot.
Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah...I'm sorry about that," he apologized. "I let my temper get the best of me."
Ginny crossed her arms. "You think that makes it all better?"
"No, but it would help if we talked. Do you want to come over for lunch? I bought a house just down the road."
After a moment's thought, Ginny agreed. She told Luna and Hermione she would catch up with them later then walked with Charlie to his house.
Once they were sat at the table with full plates of bangers and mash, Charlie asked, "How have things been?"
"Yeah, alright, I guess," Ginny answered, fiddling with here fork.
Her older brother quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah?" he asked skeptically.
"Well, no," she snapped, "but you don't want to talk about that." She looked him in the eye. "Why am I here?"
"I just thought we ought to talk," Charlie replied, "and Mum wanted me to check on you, since you left right after Percy's reception."
After the reception, Ginny wanted to stop by her dad's flat on the way back to Hogwarts, but George and Harry talked her out of it. In order to avoid Molly, she used the Floo at George's flat. Yes, what happened was a bit frightening, but she was more angry with her Mum than she was scared of her dad. Conner shouldn't have even been at the wedding, especially right after it seemed like her parents had made up. Her mum definitely should not have been dancing with him.
"You decided to talk to me because of her?" Ginny asked incredulously.
"Partly. I care about you, Ginny. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Well, I'm not. Dad hasn't been responding to any of my letters, and Gran and Gramps sent me one this morning telling me to leave him alone," she fumed.
Charlie unintentionally made a face that indicated he knew something that she didn't.
"What?" Ginny shot.
"Nothing," he quickly replied.
Ginny glared at him.
"Okay, look, don't be upset with Mum. She's only looking out for you."
"What did she do now?" Ginny sassed.
"She told him not to write you," Charlie stated flatly. "And no one else wants to hear from him right now, not even George."
Ginny blinked at Charlie as she processed this information. Knowing that it wasn't her dad's choice not to communicate with her made her feel a little better. On the other hand, her mother had no right to make that decision. It was understandable for her brothers, especially Percy, to be upset with their dad, but to cut him out of their lives completely? "I don't believe this," she burst out as she stood. "She's the one at fault here! Imagine how Dad must feel! None of his kids want to have anything to do with him and he isn't allowed to talk to the one who does?" she asked indignantly.
Charlie stood up as well, but more calmly. "You saw how he ruined Percy and Audrey's wedding reception – and then what happened two nights before that."
"Yeah, I was there. He almost died two nights before that because of Mother and Conner."
"Exactly, Ginny. Nothing is going to stop him from drinking. The less any of us are around that, especially you, the better," Charlie argued, "Besides, it sounds like he has Gran and Gramps and his brothers."
"So?"
"So?" Charlie repeated with a shrug.
"He should have his wife and his kids. Dad has always been there for us. Tell me one time he wasn't," Ginny challenged.
Charlie floundered. After a moment, he retorted, "That's different. We were never a danger to everyone around us. There is a line that you cross, and he crossed it miles ago!"
Not wanting to hear another word, Ginny stormed out of the house, leaving her lunch virtually untouched and her brother dumbfounded.