Chapter Text
“I don’t-” the boy starts, looking around. He’s shaking- there’s so much blood. Is it his? Someone else’s? He doesn’t know what’s worse. “I can’t-”
“Shh,” the girl says, closing a steadying hand over his. “It’s alright, shh.”
The boy’s teeth start to chatter. He’s sitting on the ground- he couldn’t stand up if he wanted to. He feels light-headed. Must be his blood, then- but he can’t feel any pain. Can’t feel anything at all, really.
“What- what h-happened?” The boy asks, still looking around. His eyes can’t seem to focus.
“You were an idiot,” the girl says, then reaches one of her hands- bloody, now- to touch his cheek. “As per usual.”
She guides his face so that his eyes are trained on hers. She’s on the verge of tears, but there’s steel in her brown-eyed gaze. The boy feels himself relax, just a bit- shuddering as he does.
“You-” the girl’s voice cuts off, but then she clears her throat. “You jumped in front of me, pushed me back. Fought it off.”
“Fought what-”
The girl bites her lower lip. “Don’t- Arthur, don’t worry about it right now. We’re- look. Hey. Can you stand?”
Arthur shakes his head quickly. He’s so overwhelmed he feels tears well up in his own eyes. The girl closes her eyes, nostrils flaring. Then her eyes snap open, and the steel is back.
“Well. I’m not just sitting here to watch you bleed out. Lay down.”
Arthur is too tired and confused to argue- although, even if he had been in tip-top shape, he’d listen to her anyways. He knows better than to disobey this girl when she gets that tone. She guides him to the ground, arranging his limbs so they’re not so tangled up.
“This is going to hurt,” is the only warning he gets before there are sparks of white-hot pain bursting behind his eyes.
He lets out a choked gasp, and the girl grits her teeth, before forcibly relaxing her expression.
“It got you on the shoulder. I’m washing it out- lucky we had some vodka on hand, huh?”
“What- what got me?” Arthur gasps out, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t remember.”
Well- that’s not entirely true. They'd been walking back from the shop, having just bought a bottle of alcohol and some groceries. Then Arthur remembers a low growl coming from the alley they’d been walking by, a huge shape shifting in the darkness, the growl turning into a snarl, then movement, then- pain.
The girl has paused what she’s doing, and Arthur opens his eyes again. She’s pursing her lips. “What got me,” Arthur repeats.
The girl just shakes her head again, then tears the sleeve off of her sweater in one swift motion. Arthur would be impressed if he wasn’t so panicked.
Arthur lifts his good arm and grabs at her hand, stopping her from wrapping the sleeve around his shoulder. “Molly. Tell me.”
Molly’s eyes flash dangerously, and he lets his arm fall back. She continues dressing his wound. For a moment, Arthur is worried that she isn’t going to answer him. But then-
“Werewolf,” she says conversationally. “It’s gone now. Ran off. You got it good- in the eye, I think. I’ll never make fun of your pocket knife carrying habit ever again. Did you know the blade was silver? I didn’t, but a good thing it was-”
Arthur isn’t listening anymore.
“Molly,” Arthur says, feeling as though he’s a million miles away from himself.
“Yes?” Molly asks, looking at Arthur. She holds his gaze unflinchingly, because she’s Molly Prewett so of course she does.
Arthur can hardly hear himself as he dully says, “did it bite me?”
Molly doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
The rest of the night is a blur- Molly somehow manages to get them both back to Arthur’s flat. The next thing Arthur remembers is Molly swearing to herself as she rifles through his kitchen drawers.
“Arthur,” she snaps.
Arthur blinks as he comes back into himself. He's sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless. The odd sort of numbness has spread- which doesn’t seem like a particularly good sign.
“Needle and thread,” Molly says. “It won’t accio out of whatever drawer it’s in.”
“Next drawer down,” Arthur hears someone say. He thinks it might be him.
Arthur feels himself slip away again- the last thing he sees is Molly’s face, grim but determined.
Somehow he makes it to bed- Molly does, too. He’d hoped the first time he’d shared a bed with Molly would be- well. Not this, that’s for damn sure.
The morning sun is leaking in through the cracked windows of Arthur’s dingy flat. There’s not a lot of light, but it drives a spike of pain into Arthur’s head anyways. He groans, then immediately regrets it as Molly sits up straight and leans over him.
Her red hair is flying out of the messy braid she’d tied it into- it’s more flyaway than braid, at this point- and she’s in the same clothes she’d been in last night- although she seems to have sewed the sleeve back onto her sweater. There are bags under her eyes, her fingernails have dried blood underneath them, and her eyes are puffy from sleep and lack thereof.
She’s the most beautiful woman Arthur has ever seen. Not that that’s news, of course.
“Arthur,” Molly says, cool fingers brushing over his face.
Arthur has no time to respond before she’s pulling his blanket down to his waist, then relaxes. “It’s healing,” she says, relief bleeding into her tone.
Arthur has followed her gaze. He blinks- he’s still not wearing a shirt, but that’s the least of his concerns.
There, in a messy semi-circle over his shoulder and collarbone, is the very clear outline of a giant bite-mark. Even though it does look surprisingly healed, with nice neat stitches keeping the flesh together, Arthur feels bile rising up in his throat.
That’s- yes, that is undoubtedly a bite. There’s no way Arthur isn’t a werewolf. A werewolf.
He looks back up to Molly, who’s looking at him too. Her brown eyes are big and sad.
“Well,” Arthur says, then clears his throat. He blinks some tears back. “Well. It was- thank you, Molly. It was nice, um, to know you. I’d walk you out, but-”
Molly gets up and leaves without a word. Arthur leans back in the bed, letting the tears spill over and down his cheeks. That’s that, then. Goodbye, love of his life. Not that he’s going to blame her. Arthur’s a monster now, and- well. To be frank, his life is over- at just nineteen years old. The werewolf may as well have finished the job.
Arthur buries his face in his hands, trying to muffle the sobs. His shoulders are shaking so badly that he can feel the stitches pulling, but he can’t get himself to stop. Doesn’t want to stop. He deserves this now, deserves to hurt, deserves-
He hears the sound of someone putting something down on the nightstand, but doesn’t look up until he feels a dip in the bed beside him and arms encircle around him. Molly’s familiar scent envelops him (is it his imagination, or is it stronger now?) and she leans her head gently on his uninjured shoulder. She rubs his back.
Arthur cries harder, knowing he should push her away. He wants to tell her to go, to run, to forget he ever existed, but he can’t. He’s too selfish. Well, and he’s crying so hard he can hardly breath, let alone talk.
They sit like that for a long moment, Molly holding him as he cries. Finally, he seems to run out of tears. His teeth feel like they're buzzing, he’s cried so hard. He looks up from his hands and over at Molly, who once again meets his gaze unflinchingly.
“You need to drink this,” Molly says, holding a glass of water up to him. “You’ve lost a lot of water.”
Arthur doesn’t move, and she clicks her tongue at him before holding it up to his mouth and tipping it back. He splutters a bit, but he isn’t going to push her away, so he drinks.
Once Molly is satisfied, she puts the glass back down. Arthur wipes his mouth with a shaky hand. He can’t meet her gaze.
“You should go,” he says, tracing a circle in the blanket.
“Maybe,” Molly agrees. “But I’m not going to.”
Arthur closes his eyes. Despite the water, his head is still pounding. He’s cried too much.
“I’m a monster,” he whispers brokenly.
Molly actually laughs, and Arthur’s eyes snap open. He feels an extremely inappropriate burst of indignation.
“If you’re a monster, I’m a Malfoy,” Molly snorts, then sobers up. “Arthur, I’m not leaving you. I love you, you dolt.”
Arthur looks at her. She looks back. They just… look, for a long while.
“There’s a ring of amber around your pupils now,” Molly says, staring unabashedly.
“You’re beautiful,” Arthur says, a bit breathless. He hasn’t really heard her.
“I know,” Molly agrees, then reaches a hand up and brushes a lock of hair behind Arthur’s ears. “You are too.”
Arthur should probably tell her to go. He’s already poor- barely an assistant to an assistant to an assistant at the ministry. And now he’s a werewolf. He’s dangerous. Hell, he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to keep his job at all.
“You’re staying?” Arthur whispers instead of making any of those incredibly salient points.
“Couldn’t keep me away if you tried, darling,” Molly agrees.