⧼ ewan mcgregor, cis male, he/him / “ob-la-di, ob-la-da” by the beatles + that funny tuft of weasley hair you share with all your sons, from baby bill in your arms for the first time to fred’s when you smoothed it back for the last time; the warm butter yellow of the light streaming through the windows of your ever-expanding home; smudges of grease and dirt on your hands when you reach to kiss your wife who miracle upon miracles, you can still make giggle. ⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that ARTHUR WEASLEY? i read a daily prophet article on them, once; the FIFTY-FIVE year old pureblood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be the HEAD OF THE MISUSE OF MUGGLE ARTEFACTS OFFICE. i’ve heard they can be quite AFFABLE & GENEROUS, but i don’t know… they came off very GULLIBLE & ABSENT-MINDED in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?
Arthur Weasley has had a life defined by love. He fell for Molly young, and he fell for her hard, and sometimes he still wants to dance with her in the kitchen like they’re kids again.
He defines himself by his family. While they may be Sacred Twenty-Eight, he has always worn their blood traitor status as the greater badge of honor. All he wants is for his children to be happy and safe. He’ll still call himself a father of seven, pause, and push on.
He will always be Fred’s father. And he would never dream of disrespecting James and Lily’s memory, but Harry was theirs, too.
He trusts his children to be able to make their own choices. He supports them in who they are, what they do, and who they love without condition, even if he’s confused at first. He was the one to look the other way when they sneaked out or slip them an extra sweet under the table or scrape together that money to buy them that present they couldn’t really afford.
While he may not always be the best at finding the words, he’ll always provide a shoulder to cry on. He tends to leave the disciplining up to Molly, but when he doesn’t, he’s not angry, just disappointed.
He’s always been a bit goofy, and he’s never been afraid to laugh at himself. He loves a bad joke more than a good one. And of course--he loves a dad joke. Please don’t talk to him before he’s had his first cup of tea of the day, he will not respond, and he’ll read the morning paper front to back without fail, even when it prints utter nonsense. He’s very much a creature of habit and likes his little comforts.
In his professional life (as professional as he could be called), Arthur is a bit scatter-brained and all-over-the-place, but he brings such enthusiasm and dedication to his job. He’s honest to a fault and while not mistrustful, he has a strong sense of integrity and especially in the sensitive nature of his office, interfacing with Muggles, he is cautious about intent as much as he wants to believe the best of people.
Arthur just loves to tinker away at his little machines. There’s nothing that makes him happier than a day of puttering around, and he’s quite enthusiastic about other people’s hobbies as well. The brilliance of many of his peers outshone him, but he is a competent and experienced wizard, knowledgeable about many odds and ends, and reliable most of all.
Arthur’s protective. He is brave. As gentle as he is, he’s unflinching in the face of danger. He’s always been ready to risk it all to do the right thing, even when he still has so much to lose. He’ll give in when he doesn’t think something matters, but if push comes to shove, he can be utterly immovable. He has few personal enemies, but he’s unlikely to change his mind about them.
He has been through two wars. He has seen and suffered so much. While Arthur carries his pain behind his breastbone, like they all do, it seems like the thump of his heart, still beating, having survived Nagini and so much else, is loud enough to drown it out.
After everything, he is still genuinely a cheerful and optimistic person. He sees now that their few years of peace have been disrupted, but he knows that they can still stand together and look after one another.
connections:
his WIFE and his kids or any other relatives, by blood or marriage! all the family threads
old friends and fellow hogwarts alumni so they can reminisce like the boomers they are
someone he can harass about the worldwide web? someone younger he has taken under his wing? someone who considers him a surrogate dad of sorts? (1/? - dudley dursley, an unexpected friend)
someone on the same side that he disagrees with respectfully or less than respectfully? an,, workplace rival?? i just think grumpy arthur would be hilarious
“I am, of course, hoping to be able to join William in celebrating with you – if that is alright with you and Molly, of course?” Even all of these years later, Fleur still occasionally worried that maybe she was not welcome at the Weasley family gatherings, lingering feelings of discomfort from the early days of her relationship with Bill. “Otherwise, I am sure that Gabrielle is somewhere around here, I could go and find her if I don’t have to go into work.”
Arthur looked startled and then immediately felt guilty. “Of course it’s all right! You’re part of the family,” he assured her. “We’re always happy to have you around, and bring Gabrielle as well, if she can deal with the lot of us.”
“I’m sorry, Monsieur Weasley, I just can not let you go on like this!” She was truly apologetic, but she also knew she would regret it if she didn’t say anything. Gabrielle decided to hold her tongue when it came to commenting on how he probably dressed when he was her age. “I’m sure she’ll love you no matter your fashion,” Gabrielle decided upon. She stared at the clothes around them, tapping her fingers to her lips as she thought. “Well, if we’re looking for something casual… You can never go wrong with sleek black pants. That way, you can have some fun patterns on top,” she pointed out. Grabbing a pair of what seemed to be black slacks and holding up two separate sweaters. “Which do you prefer?”
“Very diplomatic of you,” Arthur replied, amused by her answer. “I don’t think anyone has used ‘sleek’ to describe anything I’ve ever worn...” He studied the trousers. There wasn’t anything particularly objectionable about them, he decided. “I like this one.” He pointed at the sweater with blue in the pattern. “Have I made the wrong call again?”
“I agree,” even with her generally non-existent opinion on quidditch, she looked around fondly at the joy and passion on everyone’s faces. “Days like this do make all of the dread far easier to deal with,” a breath of fresh air compared to the Prophet headlines that she’d been seeing far too much of. “Do you have plans for the post-win celebration that is inevitable?”
“Ah, I’m hoping I can get as many of us together as possible! But I don’t doubt some of the family will be partying later into the night than I can manage these days,” said Arthur with a wry smile. “Hard to deny them that.” Ron and Ginny hadn’t had as much of a childhood as they were owed. “What about you, any plans?”
“A bit of color is okay… I think this is a little more than that, is all,” she tried to reassure him. Gabrielle didn’t want to absolutely discourage the other from wearing muggle clothes, or branch out with his robe wear; but she also didn’t want her in-laws to look horrible. She pursed her lips in thought, looking the other up an down. “Well.. A better fit, to start. It’s not very flattering. ANd it’s about three trends behind.”
“Oh, tell me how you really feel,” said Arthur, giving up with a laugh and hanging the shirt back up where he found it. “I don’t think I should be too trendy. I might give Molly a shock. If you’d believe it, I don’t even think I was particularly fashionable when I was your age...” He looked around at the assortment of clothes and, rather overwhelmed by it all, suggested, “Why don’t you pick the next one out?”
“No, no, that…” Gabrielle let out a soft sigh, trying not to be too obvious about it. “Mr. Weasley… You know. Maybe we should stick to wizarding robes for now? Not that you don’t look dashing, mais… I think it would just fit you better…”
Arthur looked down at the shirt with stripes of at least four different kinds and a very interesting sort of cut, then back up at Gabrielle. “But why can’t I wear a bit of color?” he asked, looking incredibly disappointed. “Oh, all right. What would you recommend, Gabrielle?” The Delacour and Weasley tastes did tend to clash. Apparently Gabrielle wasn’t prepared to indulge him--or at least throw up her hands and give up the way his own kids did when it came to his “fashion.”
“Unfortunately,” Fleur began, “I do not think that I’ll be able to stay tonight, I have to get back to the hospital tomorrow. But, if everything is still going on when I’m done with my shift, I’ll try and make my way back.” She nodded in understanding at Molly’s worry and discontent, “She isn’t the only one, I’m afraid. Things feel like they are … changing again,” a frown marred Fleur’s usually gentle expression, “Everyone’s worried.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Arthur genuinely. “They’re lucky to have you, though.” When she spoke about things changing, he frowned as well and shook his head. “That’s how I’ve felt as well. But I have to believe it won’t be what it was last time. We should be careful, but there’s no reason to lose our heads or to stop having fun altogether.” He gestured around. “We need days like this, too.”
“well…” pursed lips, raised eyebrows, narcissa thinks to what she knows of some of arthurs children. working in a joke shop. making… ridiculous novelty items and dangerous confectionarys. ODD to admit pride in such a thing, really, but then again : “we are different people, arthur.”
“a lot of people think that the harpies are going to win,” it’s a rather sudden turnaround, tacked on at the end. it feels out of place, especially given that narcissa herself seemed to have no care either way. there were no colors which could be construed as support for one side or the other in her ensemble, and that was how it would stay. the statement only comes clear as she continues, “in which case, then, we’d best hope she’s learned to spend wisely… however later in life it had to come.”
she chuckles openly, at his dig. the sting of lucius’ imprisonment had passed a long time ago, or had maybe never really existed - narcissa was a LOYAL wife, but she was a mother first, and a survivor second. the most important thing after he was sent to azkaban was to ensure that she and draco continued to live the sort of life they had become accustomed to, which she had done perfectly. “i might remind you that legally, my son is recognized as a victim of the same war as yours,” her answering smile is just as innocent, though her sharp tongue only just resists the urge to add that at least she had a 100% success rate in keeping her children alive during it. even narcissa wouldn’t stoop quite so low. “so… relieved that my draco didn’t serve punishment he didn’t deserve? of course i am.”
“That much has always been clear,” agreed Arthur very firmly. The swerve in the conversation threw him completely--made him turn and squint at her. Barely any bloody expression on her face as usual. “Merlin, does it all have to be about the money, Narcissa?” he demanded in exasperation. “If being through all we have--” On opposite sides from each other, he didn’t add. “--hasn’t taught us that you can’t take it with you, what will?”
Of course, a Quidditch win was also a transient glory. But it was about the experience, wasn’t it? The solidarity and the joy of the day, which Arthur was fighting inwardly not to let her spoil. Outwardly, he was mostly just fighting her.
Arthur had never been quite so good at keeping a straight face, and he couldn’t hide the spasm in his expression when she laughed. Draco had been a child, yes, but he couldn’t see Narcissa’s son as a victim when the bodycount was so high, when so many sons had never returned to mothers’ arms. He gave a slow nod, determined not to bite back something he didn’t really mean. Perhaps there’d been too much prodding at sore spots.
“Well. I’m looking forward to the game--I hope you enjoy it as well, if that’s something you’re capable of.” He squinted at her again. Whoever said blonds had more fun must not have ever met a Malfoy. Come to think of it, had he ever even heard one of them laugh before this? Spooky, that.
“ i think she tried to teach me once . ” the memory is brief but brilliant , captured in splintered technicolour : the 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 weight of ginny’s fingertips on her waist , a cacophany of laughter seeming never to end . summer heat warming the back of her neck , exposed arms ; a certain 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘦 , unblemished joy in the whole exercise . oh , how she longs to return to such innocence .
there’s still so much comfort in being around the weasleys , even if the gaping hole in the 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜 of their family unit digs a deep lump into her throat . it’s a dynamic so unlike her own , a large house bristling with people and laughter / not the 𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 that stifles the air of her own home . it’s all warmth and loveliness and familiarity rather than the 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊 she’s become acquainted with over the past years .
“ you’ve no idea ! ” a grin finds itself slowly etching itself unto 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚜 : nothing to do with the mention of a certain best friend , of course . “ ron would’ve cried had he seen this one . i just about cried . ” ( if there’s a flush to already - rosy cheeks , she’ll blame it on the butterbeer ! ) “ you’re right , no more shop talk . not when there’s all this 𝙚𝙭𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 going on ! ”
“Did she really? Still not for you, then?” Arthur asked. “I can fly all right, but I was never as mad for it as some.” He cleared his throat. “The Ford Anglia aside,” he conceded. Then again, Hermione hadn’t been on that particular joyride. Molly had been furious. The memory had been anxiety-inducing, then sheepish, and now bittersweet.
Arthur laughed at her continued story of the spiders, shaking her head. “Better you than me! All I’ve got to deal with is teapots enchanted to move like spiders--” A pause. “Shop talk.” Leaning back in his seat, he watched the players as they swooped through the air. “You know, I’m so proud of all of you,” he told her with sudden feeling. “Not just for the Quidditch, I mean. When I look at Ginny, Dudley, Susan, you--even with all that’s happening, I’m hopeful. You’ve got things figured out that we never did.”
So perhaps he was a bit oversentimental. Who could blame him? He might be the dad of a League winner in a number of hours. And a finalist was nothing to shake a stick at, either, though the old Weasley streak of competitiveness wouldn’t let him accept that so easily.
“well, statistically speaking, arthur, one of you was bound to make it big eventually.” if they had ensured nothing else, he and molly had certainly made sure of that. she’d never say aloud, of course ( it would be distasteful, and aside from the odd snide comment here and there these days, narcissa was trying hard to be on her best behaviour ), but seven shot in the dark at success was the ONLY reason she could fathom for even having seven redheaded children.
“draco tells me she’s quite the talent.” draco had never allowed such a kind word to slip past his lips in front of her, but she preferred this to admitting first that even bothered to follow quidditch, and second that she had the vaguest inkling of his DAUGHTERS career trajectory. lucius had been the one to so publicly care ; to funnel money into their sons school team, to make a show of minister box tickets, to insist on fucking peacocks outside of their tent. narcissa simply observed. “you and molly must be so proud-” she was trying very hard to IGNORE his ostentatious show of support, “and with a win like the league under her belt- ginny, isn’t it?- would surely be able to take good care of mum and dad.” she really doesn’t have to say all the things she thinks ginny ( horrid name, wasn’t it? ) should possibly invest in, with such winnings, since she isn’t her husband. lucius would have had to clarify he was thinking of their hovel. narcissa only needed a specific inflection.
“we received clearance for international apparation,” it sounded like there should have been an obviously at the end of that sentence. however far from GRACE they had fallen, the malfoy’s still had deep pockets - and friends in high places. “i’m… sure your journey back will be smoother?”
Arthur considered himself to be generally a patient and calm sort of individual. Really. But there was something about every bloody Malfoy that got his back up, immediately. “Yes. We’re very proud of all of our children,” he answered through a firmly clenched jaw, his leg bouncing agitatedly where he sat.
He was hoping against hope that Narcissa might have a box seat elsewhere from where she could look down upon the hoi polloi, as he had really been hoping to have a nice and relaxing time and not have to deal with this utter stuck-up nonsense.
And now a dig about their money situation. As if there weren’t more important things than being able to throw Galleons around. “Ginny can do with her winnings what she wishes. She’s her own person, just like Draco.” Arthur smiled at her innocently. “You must be so relieved that Draco didn’t...follow in Lucius’s footsteps.” Straight into Azkaban. Arthur couldn’t prove anything about her post-war business ventures, of course, wherever all that money was still coming from, but he thought that Lucius and Narcissa should probably be sharing a cozy marital cell.
“ she’s an incredible player . ” hermione jean granger , aged 𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚 - 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓 , still knows as much about quidditch as she did aged twelve , thirteen , fourteen / it’s not a lot , admittedly . she revels in the passion people have for it , though : finds it invigorating , calming in a 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 sense , to lose herself in something she doesn’t understand . huddled up in a harpies jumper and 𝒃𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 with the weasleys , it’s the calmest she’s felt in years .
“ way over was dreadful , as per usual . you don’t need to tell me twice about the portkey office . i used a particularly frightful one last month when an acromantula got loose in chelsea . bloody 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 , my ears still haven’t recovered . ”
“There were never enough brooms to go around at the house, but Ginny did end up our star player.” Despite how there had once always seemed to be a shortage, now that they were empty-nesters, every time he tried to enter the shed, brooms seemed to clatter down onto his head from every direction. There were memories tied to each kid taking their first flight, their first tumble.
And way in the back of the shed was that broom Fred had always reached for first, able to pick it out because of the handprint he’d once left after grabbing it in the course of some painting project. Arthur had gone in there once just to wrap his hand over the print. Just to remember. He hadn’t told George it was there; he didn’t know if he knew at all.
It was lovely to have Hermione sitting among them. He’d always appreciated her around the Burrow, though more often he could remember her sitting back with him and Molly while everyone else engaged in raucous pick-up games. She’d come to the Cup as well, he remembered. He’d never gotten the impression that she was a big fan; perhaps she simply liked the atmosphere around matches.
“An Acromantula! You are having adventures, aren’t you,” Arthur said with a laugh. “Ones that I don’t think Ron would envy.” Arthur never could forget Ron’s screaming at that damn Transfigured teddy bear. “I’m glad you got the time off to come out today. It’s a nice reprieve from just about everything, isn’t it. But don’t let me start or we’ll be talking shop all afternoon...”
“Oh, yes,” Fleur smiled towards her father-in-law, tightening her Holyhead-Harpies-green coat around herself. “Ginny is quite talented on the quidditch pitch,” she may not have been much into quidditch herself, but Fleur recognized true talent when she saw it, and Ginny Weasley had a special something about her when she played. “I know William is, ah, very proud of her – I can only imagine how thrilled you and Molly are for her, it certainly is exciting.”
Being at the game was a welcome reprieve from the current state of the wizarding world. Fleur did her best to not think about it too often, but working at St. Mungo’s she had become a sounding board for all sorts of horrors, even prior to the breakout and Dementor decision. “I would have to agree – my portkey was rather hectic as well.” She glanced around the nearby patrons, searching for another familiar face, “where are the others?”
“She is, she is, a great talent,” repeated Arthur with enthusiasm. At Fleur’s question, he looked around, then blinked. “Oh. I thought they were just here. They do have a way of getting underfoot and then disappearing just when you’re looking for them...” He shook his head with fond exasperation. “Are you staying the night here? I don’t know how long you can stay away from work. All this business very much isn’t my department, but they’ve got us all working long hours anyway, longer than Molly would like.”
“Can you believe it? Our Ginny in the finals!” Arthur was practically incandescent, unable to sit still. “Well, I can believe it, of course. Always knew she was going to be a Quidditch player for the history books, not that I can take credit for it. But isn’t it amazing?” Arthur was painted green and gold and was wearing a definitely overpriced WEASLEY jersey over his robes.
Of course, if it weren’t for Ginny, he would have gone for the Cannons. And it would probably be a house divided nevertheless. But today, nothing could dampen his enthusiasm. Not even the ever-present, vague yet inescapable sense of impending doom. It was Quidditch time, no time for all that.
“How was your trip over? Mine was a bit of a nightmare--but that’s the Portkey Office for you.” A loud laugh and then a quick look around to make sure no colleagues were in earshot.
Dudley wasn’t about to say it, but he didn’t fully understand the point of the Statue of Secrecy, even after working to uphold it for the past year or two. But then, he could see how jealousy and fear could taint the… well, the magic of it all. Sometimes at night, in the darkness of his bedroom, he let himself wonder how life could have been. What if both of them had escaped to Hogwarts? And sometimes, that voice that he longed to quiet would rear its selfish head and say it wasn’t fair that he was left behind. He tried not to amuse it often. “Don’t think I’m teacher material.”
He couldn’t help the flinch when Arthur reached out and grasped his shoulder - the echo of many bruises on that upper arm bloomed freshly anew. Dudley hoped that his recovery from that was graceful ( it wasn’t ), as he raised the nearest empty glass and smiled. “To better futures.”
The invitation extended, the olive branch in the air between them, was a carrot Dudley wanted to chase. He tried not to show the joy, or the excitement, on his face: he wanted to seem cool and detatched, but there was little chance he’d be seen as such with his flip-flopping emotions the past couple of minutes. “I’ve been in a few – ” it was like being on a film set, just as flat and just as inexplicable.
“Oh, is your wife… not a fan of… us?” He was glad for the brief reprive of Arthur speaking to the bartender, but the worry was clear in his voice. He’d heard horrible things, had them said to him already, about the distaste for non-magical people.
“Fair enough,” said Arthur easily. He wouldn’t want to leave the Ministry for a teaching position, either. No, he would much rather spring unsolicited and enthusiastic lectures on anyone who would indulge him. If Dudley stuck around, he would realize that soon enough.
Arthur dropped his hand when Dudley flinched, his expression openly concerned. “Everything all right?” He was old enough to know a lot of people who winced away from touch for a lot of reasons. He wasn’t going to pry, not right now, but it set suspicions ticking at the back of his mind.
Not a fan? The implication was so absurd in Arthur’s mind that it took a moment for him to understand what he was asking. “Oh no! No. Believe me, Molly hates that lot--erm, the one who think wix are better than people who don’t have magic--just as much as I do. She’s more combative about it than I am, even,” he said with affection and pride.
“She just doesn’t have any patience for my tinkering, that’s all. It was one time that I blew up the shed. One time!”
A shake of the head. “I promise she’ll welcome you. And cook you more food than you can eat in a week.” Harry had been like a son to both of them. He didn’t think inviting Dudley for lunch would heal that wound of loss. Nothing ever would--maybe nothing ever should. But it would be something productive to do, something helpful.
Putting that little extra bit of kindness and comfort out into the world, and that countered hate, countered that horrible ideology they just couldn’t stamp out, as well as hexes did sometimes.
“Nasty business with the Dementors, eh?” Arthur mused as he poured himself another cup of tea, maybe his fourth this morning, in the break room.
The funding situation at the Ministry had overnight gone from something he felt optimistic about during the gala to something he decidedly did not--he knew his office was going to suffer for certain with, as usual, more of the budget being allocated to the DLM. He probably had job security just because of seniority. And as for the decision itself, he had no idea what to think.
“How do you think it’s all going to shake out, in terms of the cases you take?” he asked Angelina curiously. “I mean--Azkaban without Dementors. I can’t even imagine, but I suppose it might affect sentencing...” Aurors definitely seemed more fallible and less powerful than the Dementors. He thought the big dark cold stone fortress was probably its own deterrent, but Arthur couldn’t exactly fathom the minds of Death Eaters.
