Scattered

Bill poured himself a full cup of coffee and set down the carafe; with a deep, contented sigh, he took a long sip. He was the only person at Liath Cuan who liked coffee, preferred it to tea actually, and selfishly, he rather enjoyed having a nice hot freshly-brewed pot all to himself.

"Sorry to keep you waiting long, son."

Bill smiled up as his father. "I haven't been, Dad, don't worry about it."

He watched his dad settle in at the table, reaching for his plate and tucking a napkin onto his lap. He looks tired, Bill thought. But then, of course he would be. I need to do more to help.

He carefully made small talk while his father ate, wanting to give him a chance to have a peaceful breakfast without worries. There was so much going on these days that most meals had some kind of agenda, some discussion of what needed to get done that day, some overlying plan that dominated conversation. He wanted his father to have a break from all that for once. It was nice for Bill, as well, to just sit and eat breakfast with his father, the way they'd done so many times before.

Bill could hardly remember a time when he was the only Weasley son; Charlie had come along fairly quickly. He did remember when it was just the two of them for a bit, until Percy, and the twins... and then Ron and Ginny. He'd hardly ever been the only son, but he'd always been the eldest, and he'd always felt, perhaps unfairly, that he was a little bit closer to Dad than the others were. Maybe because his father had been so young when he was born, not even quite twenty years old.

He realized, with a bit of a shock, that by the time his father was the age he, Bill, was now, he'd had seven children. Seven children, and just in his mid-thirties.

Bill had never given kids more than a passing thought, had never settled down with one witch for longer than a few months. He'd never had anything against the idea of marriage; his parents were a fantastic example, after all. But he'd had always been content to keep his options open, to explore the world a bit, to take his time. He'd made wonderful friends in Egypt and others in Rome; he'd even visited the Orient a few times and soaked up the exotic culture of the Wizarding community there, so different from anything he'd ever experienced. He'd met fascinating people and brilliant women, and a few he'd truly cared about. But he hadn't been especially eager to settle down, and for the first time, Bill found himself wondering if it was because he didn't think he could ever fill his father's shoes. Be the man, the husband and the father, that his father was.

"You seem distracted, Bill," his father said.

He smiled and shook his head. "Just early-morning grogginess," he said, and reached for the coffee carafe. "Another cup and I'll be wide awake."

"Your mother thinks all that coffee is bad for you."

"So she tells me," Bill replied, sharing a grin with his father. Bill had learned, much like his siblings after him, that Mum was only truly happy when she had something to needle them about.

"Well, what did you want to talk to me about, son?" his father asked, pushing his plate away and settling back comfortably in his chair.

"I was talking to Andy -- Andrew -- McFusty yesterday. He said something about Dumbledore that surprised me. I don't think he meant to; I think he thought I already knew, so I didn't make anything of it," Bill said. "But I confess I was surprised."

"He told you that Albus Dumbledore was a member of the McFusty clan, didn't he?" Arthur asked calmly.

"Not in so many words," Bill said, "but more or less. He called him 'Uncle Albus' and then he said something about clan gatherings when he was just a lad, how Uncle Albus never missed them even after he became a Hogwarts professor and all, and how proud the family was of him."

His father nodded, taking a long sip of tea. "Andrew's actual relation to Albus Dumbledore was, I believe, much more complicated than 'uncle'; they were probably more like second cousins three times removed, or something like that. But I believe all of the younger family members referred to him that way."

"So they are... were his family, then?" Bill asked.

"It's not a secret, at least not amongst us here on the island," his father replied. "As I understood it, though, for years Albus preferred not to make his family connections common knowledge. For their safety, during the first war, and later for their privacy. But yes: his mother was a member of the McFusty Clan, and her father the laird of this castle and this island. Its owner, and lord, essentially, though only a handful of people lived here even then. When the old fellow died, the lairdship passed to Albus. That's when he set the spells and charms that made Liath Cuan Unplottable, but he chose not to live here. He more or less closed up the place, and never told anyone at Hogwarts -- that we know of -- about it. Not until the night of the Order meeting, that is, where he cast the Charm of Remembrance."

Bill frowned. "What I don't understand is, what about Aberforth? Why isn't this his now, then?"

His father sighed. "Well, for one thing, we got a report that Aberforth died in the battle at Hogsmeade."

"Is the report reliable?"

"It is," his father replied regretfully.

"I never knew him, really," Bill said.

"No, none of us did, though Dung spent quite a bit of time around him." He paused, seeming to consider his next words. Finally he gave a little half-shrug and continued, "The truth is, Bill, Albus made it clear in his will that even if his brother were surviving, Liath Cuan was to be left to me. I don't have to tell you that I was more than a bit thrown off by that, but Albus insisted that his brother wasn't capable of taking on the stewardship of the Order or the castle and... having met the man... I'm forced to admit Albus was probably right."

Bill still felt confused. "What about the McFustys? Shouldn't the castle and the island have been left to them, as relatives?"

"Albus chose otherwise, which was his right to do. I think he felt the Order was his responsibility and his -- family -- just as much, if not more, than the McFustys were. And they respect his decision because in a sense, the island still does belong to Hamish McFusty and his family, just as much as it belongs to your mother and I. We 'own' the land on behalf of the clan; they have very specific legal rights to it. I couldn't simply sell the land without their consent, for example. Nor could I make them leave. We share this place, and I think that's what Albus intended all along: to bring together all of the people he cared about and provide for them, after his death."

Bill nodded, taking this information in. "There were a great many people who depended on him," he agreed. "It must have been, well, stressful at times. I know if it were me I would worry constantly about letting someone down."

"I'm sure Albus did worry. All the time. I certainly do," his father admitted.

"But you never have let us down, Dad," Bill reassured his father with a fond smile. "Not once."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not quite true, but I'm glad you feel that way, son."

The sound of strident voices drifted up the hallway towards the common room. Familiar strident voices, to Bill.

"Hermione!"

"Stop talking, Ronald."

"Don't you 'Ronald' me! Just stop for a second. I said I was sorry!"

"I heard you," Hermione replied in a haughty tone as she burst into the room. Ron was fast on her heels.

"Doesn't that matter?!"

"No, it really doesn't," Hermione shot back, whirling to face him. "Because every time you do this, you say you're sorry, and I forgive you, and you know I'll forgive you, which means you'll do it again."

Ron rolled his eyes and Bill shook his head. Stupid boy.

"Blimey, it's not like I committed some unforgivable crime on purpose," Ron was saying, throwing up his hands. "I just lost track of time."

"You left me waiting for you all evening," Hermione hissed, "because apparently you would rather hang out with your mates than be with me."

Ron laughed. Bill cringed. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it, now?"

Finally, Ron seemed to catch Hermione's tone and hear the hurt that was underneath her anger. "Come on, love. You know it is."

Hermione sighed and looked away. Bill watched her face as she struggled with her emotions. He glanced over at his father and they shared a thoughtful look. Neither Ron nor Hermione had noticed that the room was occupied.

"I hate being this way," Hermione said finally. "I hate being this upset. You lost track of time and you're a prat, and I shouldn't care, but I do. I do care, and I worry, and I wonder if I'm not giving you enough space, and then I worry I'm being too distant, and--"

"Wait a second," Ron interrupted her, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him. "I understand, you know. I feel the same way. And I know I'm a prat. Just imagine the extra burden of foreknowledge." Hermione laughed and buried her head in Ron's chest. "You've got a right to be upset with me," he continued. "Don't take it out on yourself."

They were silent a moment and then Hermione lifted her head and put her hands in Ron's hair, pulling his face down to hers. "You're right," she said, and covered his mouth with a bruising kiss.

Bill looked away uncomfortably. His father had turned his eyes toward the ceiling but Bill saw the twitchings of a smile on his face. He grinned in return and snuck a look back at the young couple, catching them just as they pulled apart. Ron looked, he couldn't help but notice, just a little bit smug.

But not for long.

"With that in mind... that's a small reminder of what you missed out on last night," Hermione said as she swept past Ron and headed towards the door. "And, for the record, what you're most definitely missing out on tonight."

Bill managed, somehow, to remain silent as Hermione left the room and even as Ron stood, dumbfounded, as he realized what she'd just said. Cursing under his breath, he left the room in a huff -- not, Bill noticed, in the same direction Hermione had gone. Finally, though, once both of them had left the room, Bill indulged in a hearty laugh at his brother's expense. He wasn't surprised that his father joined him.

"We all have to learn the hard way, don't we?" his dad said, chuckling.

"It seems we do," Bill agreed.

"Luckily enough, we Weasleys may be slow learners, but we do stick to our guns once we've got them all straightened out. I've no doubt Ron will figure out soon enough how to toe the line without crossing it." His father chuckled a bit more, but after a moment he gave Bill a thoughtful look. "Did you have a talk with him?"

Bill didn't have to guess what he was referring to. "I did. He didn't appreciate it much, but I still said it."

"Good," his father replied. "Your mother and I raised all of you to be respectful and responsible, and I know Ron will adhere to those values without being told, but it's still something every young man in love should hear."

Bill nodded, remembering when he'd gotten his own talk. They were lucky to have an understanding and liberal father; Arthur Weasley didn't expect his boys to be saints. But he did expect each of them to treat the girls and, later, the women in their lives with respect.

"I will admit, though," his father continued, "your mother and I tend not to worry so much in this case because we know what kind of young woman Hermione is. Your mother is incredibly fond of her, as am I. We both know she'll keep Ron in line."

"Um...I talked to her as well," Bill admitted.

His father gave him an amused look. "And how did that go?"

"Well, she didn't hex me, but it was pretty close."

"I'm glad you escaped unscathed," his father replied dryly, "but I'm not surprised it wasn't an entirely pleasant endeavor. Hermione knows her own mind."

Bill nodded, grinning a bit sheepishly. "I did rather botch it up a bit."

"Well, don't worry. Seems no harm done."

"Do you think they're too young?" Bill asked, curious to know his parents' feelings about this. He'd seen Ron and Hermione together for weeks, lived with them, and he knew what he thought about them. But he might be wrong.

"Are you asking me if they're too young for a physical relationship or if they're too young to be in love?" his father asked.

"Either," Bill shrugged. "Both."

"Just as well, because that was a bit of a trick question; it's the same answer regardless. The truth, Bill, is that I don't think so. I trust their judgment. More to the point, though, I think it's important to remember that Ron and Hermione aren't children anymore. They're of age and they've been forced to mature more than others their age, because of what they've seen and done already. Given that, I believe they have a right to make their own decisions in regard to the nature of their relationship."

"Does Mum agree?" Bill asked.

"Hrmph. Of course, it's only natural that your mother has concerns but you know, your mother is a tad cleverer than you children sometimes give her credit for. That woman has an amazing talent for knowing something, and yet not knowing it at the same time... if she doesn't want to know it. In other words, not as much got past her as you boys think, though I doubt you could ever get her to admit to knowing any of it. Not even with Veritaserum at your disposal."

Bill laughed. "And... the rest?"

His father smiled. "Your mother and I were no older than Ron and Hermione are now when we fell in love, and it wasn't long before we were married. So no, I don't think they're too young. I think they were lucky enough to find each other sooner, rather than later. Just as your mother and I were."

"You think they'll make it, then?" Bill couldn't help asking. "Like you and Mum have?"

"Oh, now, that's a question I can't really answer," his father said. "They're different people than we are, after all. It's true that Ron is much like your mother. Same temperament. Same loyalty. Same heart. But he's his own person, as well, with his own life experiences that have shaped him into the man he's going to be. And Hermione's a strong-willed young woman with a brilliant mind. I wouldn't call we Weasleys an unintelligent family by any means--"

"--but Hermione's different," Bill finished, nodding in agreement. "I know. She doesn't see it, herself, but she's enormously talented. It's not power, exactly, it's--"

"--the way she thinks," his father said. "Her creativity. Her ability to learn so quickly, and then to take what she knows and develop it further. Yes. Albus spoke of it frequently, as does Minerva. They both felt Hermione had an important future in the Wizarding world."

Bill grimaced, hearing the past tense in his father's words.

"Ron and Hermione will have to make a go of it just as any two people in love have to do," his father said. "They'll have to work at their relationship, and try to keep loving each other through the difficult times. What will happen in the long run? There's no way for anyone to know that. But I think your brother feels, and Hermione feels, that it's worth giving it a chance."

Bill smiled, feeling reassured. Deep down he'd wondered if he'd done the right thing, not trying to be more strict with Ron and Hermione. As the one in charge, as the eldest brother, should he have cracked down harder, made more rules? Would they have listened? Truthfully, he doubted it, and in the end he hadn't really believed he'd even had the right to try. Dad was right; they were of age, after all. And for the own sakes, if nothing else, it was better that they made their own way and made their own mistakes, and learned from them, than have been muddled about by his interference.

"You never stop worrying, though, when you're a parent," his father mused. "I told Ron that recently. Once you have children, it's just a given. You always will. I still worry about you, and you're a grown man."

"You don't have to worry about me, Dad," Bill said fondly. "I'm fine."

"I know you are," he replied. "You're a good person and a smart man, you're successful in your field, you're respected and well-liked. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Not to sound too much like your mother, but I do wonder if you're ever planning on settling down, though," he added.

Bill shrugged. "I can't say I've spent a lot of time thinking about that lately."

"Well, of course not. But that's just lately."

He sighed. "I don't know, Dad. I'm happy -- well, I mean I was happy -- with the way things were, in my life. I like traveling, and going different places, and meeting new people....

His father smiled. "And you miss that now, I know. Not all Weasleys are the stay-at-home types, son. I loved the Burrow more than any other place on this earth. I suspect your brother Ron felt much the same. I only hope he'll come to feel the same way about Liath Cuan, as I have.

"But it's different for you, I know," he continued. "You've put aside all your feelings for the past few months, and not allowed yourself to mourn your loss of freedom. But you have every right to mourn, son."

Bill shook his head. "No, I don't. Not when so many others have... lost so much more."

"Loss isn't something that should be compared. Of course some losses are harder to bear than others, and some leave wounds that can't be healed. But don't deny yourself the right to feel."

Bill sighed. "No one else understands me the way you do, you know that? None of my friends, or even Mum or Charlie."

"Not even Dora?" his father asked.

"Well, maybe Dora, too," Bill admitted ruefully.

His father seemed to hesitate a bit for the first time in their conversation. "You don't mind, do you Bill?" he asked finally.

Bill was confused. "Mind?"

"About Dora... and Remus."

"Why would I.... oh, no, Dad. It's not like that at all. It never was," Bill said. "Dora's my oldest friend. We were kids together. We grew up together. She's like a sister, a sister my own age, like a twin. Not like Gin; she's a baby sister, someone to look out for. Dora's more of an equal. But it was never romantic, not at all."

"To be honest, I didn't think it was," his father admitted with a frown. "But you didn't seem very happy when she told you about her involvement with Remus, so I wondered if I'd missed the obvious."

Bill sighed. "Dora read me the riot act about that."

"So if it wasn't jealousy, what was it?"

"Don't think badly of me, Dad," Bill said anxiously.

"Not possible," his father replied with a smile.

"Remus Lupin is a good man. I have a lot of respect for him. I trust him. I value his opinion. And I'm not prejudiced, I'm not, but.... "

"Ah," his father said, nodding in understanding. "You worry."

"I worry. It's just not going to be easy for her, being with him."

Bill felt both relieved at having shared his burden and uncomfortable at having voiced it aloud. He felt guilty every time he thought of his instinctual disapproval of Dora's relationship with Lupin; it wasn't a very enlightened attitude. His parents had raised him better than that, and he would've sworn he shared their views and values. But it seemed, when put to the test, he still had a long way to go.

"You judge yourself too harshly, Bill, you always have," his father said finally, with a sad smile. "I can only think that we put too much pressure on you, growing up. We wanted to teach you to be the best person you could be, and we always had faith in you. But along the way, I think we forgot to teach you how to have faith in yourself. Bill, did you harbor any 'misgivings' about Remus before he was involved with Dora?"

"No," Bill replied, confused. "But that's the point, it was easy to be open-minded in the abstract. As soon as it got personal, I let old and misguided prejudices take over."

"That's not it at all, son. The truth is, Dora won't have an easy time, loving Remus. There are special challenges they'll have to face because of his condition. Hardships. She knows this, and certainly no one knows it better than Remus himself. Your mother had a devil of a time convincing him to let himself love her back," his father said with a chuckle.

Bill felt miserable. "I know. He's thought of nothing but her welfare, all along. That's why it's really rotten of me to --"

"What?" his father interrupted. "Worry about your friend? No, Bill. That's what it means to love someone. You worry. I worried about Ron when I realized that with Harry Potter as a best friend he'd never be out of danger again, not until this war is over. That doesn't mean I blamed Harry, or didn't want them to be friends. You're worried about Dora because you care about her and want good things for her, instead of the difficulties you know she's going to face. You would worry just as much if the man she loved were another Auror, or a Muggle, or anyone, really, because when love is real, whether it's for Dora, or for Ron and Hermione, or for your mother and I, it's never easy, son. We both know that. But it's okay to worry, and to care, and to mourn, and to regret. It doesn't make you weak, or a lesser person." He reached out and gripped his son's shoulder. "You know, I've always believed in you, Bill, and so has your mother. The thing is, you just need to learn how to believe in yourself."

Bill let his father's words wash over him and felt the weight he'd been carrying around for so long begin, just a little, to lift. "I want to, Dad. I really do. For now, it's enough for me to know you have faith me."

"Never doubt that, Bill," his father said. "Now, finish your coffee and come with me to visit Hamish. It's a gorgeous day out, and your mother thinks that's the best time to clean the cupboards and the floors and who knows what else. I find I don't agree, but it's much nicer for me when I don't have to tell her that to her face."

Bill laughed. And that's how to toe the line without crossing it, he thought, shaking his head.