Scattered: Brief Lives

He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders around the room aimlessly. There are no windows to stare out of blankly, no tapestries on the walls to ignore, no gadgets to fiddle with. The room they wait in is cold, stone, bare, empty.

Of course, he is not alone. His wife and Poppy Pomfrey are at the far end of the room, closest to the door. Poppy is talking in a low, calm voice, relating some story or other having nothing to do with their current circumstances, all the while rearranging her supplies, her bottles and her potions, for what may come. Her main supply is upstairs, of course, in the Infirmary. Anyone injured will be transported there immediately... unless, of course, there isn't time for that. Unless it's worse.

Despite what her current activity represents, Poppy is talking, he knows, to keep Molly calm, and doing a fair job at it. He's glad, because for the first time in decades, in their married life together, he doesn't know how to reassure her. He doesn't know what to say to stop her from being afraid. Molly Weasley is a worrier, everyone knows this, but she seldom gives into fear. And when she has, Arthur's always been there to pull her back from it. Except for now, when his own heart is pounding and his own breaths are shaky.

A firm hand grips his shoulder tightly. He sighs at his own inattention. "Amos," he says. "I'm miles away." He laughs a little, humorlessly. "Of course, I wish I was miles away, with them. That's the problem."

"It isn't possible, Arthur," the other man says. He pulls out a hard wooden chair and gestures for him to sit. Arthur does, wiping his hands over his face. Amos joins him. "And even if--"

"And even if Molly and I could leave the island," Arthur finishes for him, "it still wouldn't have been a good idea. I'm not young enough for what they're doing, or skilled enough, like Remus."

"Neither of us are, my friend."

Arthur sits back and sighs. "And we can't leave, in any case. That was the price of making Liath Cuan safe and I'd pay it again in a heartbeat. So it doesn't matter where I wish I could be, in any case."

The two men sit in silence for awhile. Arthur sees Molly glance at him, nervously. She gives him a blank look and then, with a deep breath, turns back to Poppy and whatever distraction she can provide.

"When my boy died," Amos says quietly, "I thought I'd never believe in anything again. And for years I've been bitter and angry, a miserable man. There was nothing left in the world for me." He shakes his head. "Oh, I had my anger to keep me going, to give me a purpose. I wanted to make the people who took my son from me pay. The monster who did that. I wanted that more than anything. More than air to breathe. The Order was the best way to see that it happened, so I poured all the energy I had into it, every waking moment or every day.

"And then we came here. I was still bitter, still angry. But... something happened. Something... it was Shirley, first. She started to have some life in her eyes again. She wanted to get out of bed in the morning. First it was the Macmillan boy, all alone with no one to take care of him. Then, as the other kids started getting here... it gave her a purpose, you know? People to help. People to take care of. People to love again. Children to love again, though there's few of them you could still call that. They needed her, though, and she needed to be needed. It saved Shirley, it did. And she saved me, when I wouldn't have thought anything could."

Arthur nods. "I'm glad, Amos. I'm glad. You and Shirley both have done so much for all of us. I don't know what we'd have done without you."

Amos tells him simply, "But Arthur, you're the one who made that all possible. You've been there for all of us, every step of the way. And you're tired, old man, I know you are," he says with a small smile, "and it's time to let someone else carry it the rest of the way." He stops, then, and his breath catches. Arthur's head snaps up. For the first time, Amos falters. The old pain is still on his face. "If Cedric were alive today, he'd be out there right now," Amos says finally. "I know he would be. And so I know a bit how you're feeling, Arthur. I know it's hard to let them do it, instead of you. But we have to let them go, don't we? We don't have any choice."

Arthur says in a bare whisper, "I can stand to let them go, Amos, I can. It's just... how will I stand it if they don't come back? Or if they come back hurting? How can I stand it then, knowing I let them go?" he asks, despairing.

Amos meets his pain-filled eyes and smiles sadly. "Ah, but we don't have any choice there either, old man. You stand it because you have to, that's all." He grips Arthur's shoulder again, firmly, uncompromisingly. "But we'll all be together, whatever comes. That much I know."

Arthur wipes at his eyes and nods, unable to speak.

"Arthur!" his wife calls out, her voice filled with urgency.

He turns to face her and sees the silvery otter bounding into the windowless stone room. It is fading already, he sees, and he meets it halfway to take its message.

Bring Andrew and George now, it tells him. Bill and Charlie later.

"It's starting," he tells Amos, all the hope in the world in his voice, in his eyes, in his heart.

"It is," Amos agrees. "Let's bring them home."