She didn't know when it had happened. It had sprung on her so very suddenly that she couldn't pin it down to a specific day, never mind a specific moment. All she knew for sure was that at one point or another she had gone past the point of saving and now had no hope of going back. Countless hours had been wasted away thinking about it. So many that she couldn't even place an estimated number to the amount of time she had spent laying awake into early dawn trying to explain her feelings to herself. It was as if something other worldly had taken over her body, pushing all rational thought away in the process and causing a mad scramble to take place in her mind as she desperately tried to understand the overwhelming realizations.

When one really thought about it, though, what was there to understand? There wasn't an exact definition for the emotions that were coursing through her. And she couldn't figure out who to talk to about it, because it was different for everyone. It could be a gift, a curse, worth dying over or worth living for. Anything! Love wasn't something that you placed in a box and expected to act how you wanted it to act. You'd tear yourself to shreds trying. People could be driven mad by it since love wasn't something to have taught to you in a classroom. Each person had to learn it on their own and take it in from experience. You simply had to throw yourself into the emotions of your heart and take the leap. However, once you fell there was no longer that safe barrier between you and possible heartbreak. There was no one to save you except for the one whom you desired. That was the risk.

And Merlin was she scared silly about the very idea.

Molly Prewett had been placed in Gryffindor for a reason. She was passionate and loyal, fiercely protective of those she cared about, and not exactly known for settling back to think things out before diving into a situation. So why the heck couldn't she just blurt out the three words that spoke of every feeling her boyfriend of six months invoked in her? It couldn't possibly be that hard, being that Allison Lovelett had told her boyfriend two weeks ago the same thing. If Lovelett -a Hufflepuff who could barely walk from the fourth floor to the third without thinking death was somehow upon her- could do it, then Molly was sure the task was just overly played up to seem more difficult than it really was.

The problem was that it didn't feel like it was merely played up to seem more difficult than it really was. Every single time she thought about it butterflies would erupt in her stomach and her breathing would get shallow. What if he didn't say it back? What if he laughed at her for thinking he could care about her in that way? Molly still didn't even understand why he had asked her out to begin with. She was short and not nearly as skinny as some of the other girls in her year were. She also had ordinary brown eyes, skin that was marred by a horrid amount of freckles, and she tended to talk too much.

Though, in her defense, he wasn't any better.

However, despite what others said she found it utterly adorable when he really got on a rant about one thing or another. There was nothing cute about her when she went on and on. She wasn't passionate about anything the way he was passionate about trivial things, such as the latest Muggle contraption that Professor Dumbledore had showed to him. The older man really shouldn't be fueling an obsession that was already too far out of hand. One time he went on for a full hour about the Muggle version of Wizarding quills and ink cartridges. Sometimes it truly frustrated her how he could love inanimate objects so very much and not her. Then she'd remember how happy she was when he was happy. Whenever he got overly zealous about what he was talking about his cheeks would flush brilliantly to clash with his red hair and his arms automatically would begin to wave about in the air while his hands made gestures that had absolutely no meaning whatsoever. If only everyone in the world could be half as content as he was in those moments, then they'd never have to worry about anything.

Molly's hand flew up to her forehead to roughly push back the slightly tangled red waves that were falling obnoxiously into her face. She sighed in frustration, not knowing what to do. Couldn't anything just be simple? Why couldn't she be able to perform a spell –legally- that would allow the boy she was completely enamored with to read her thoughts for a few seconds? Just long enough for him to get the hint without her being forced to pluck up the courage needed to spit out those terribly frightening words. Maybe she should just forget about telling him how she felt altogether. After all, it had been two weeks since her mind-numbing realization, and she still hadn't gotten them out no matter how hard she had tried. What was a few more weeks...or years?

"Now you wouldn't want to tear your hair from your scalp, would you?"

Looking up from her table in the library, Molly was unable to contain a smile at the sight of her boyfriend. It was really annoying to both be excited to see him as well as terrified. She couldn't seem to control her emotions in his company, her heart always screaming at her to just tell him already, while her mind held her back in the hopes of keeping whatever shreds of dignity she had left. Once he knew all bets would be off. Her heart would be his to crush and she didn't much like the idea of losing even an ounce of control over her own life. She was too strong-minded for it.

"There are these fascinating things called toupees, though," Arthur continued, sliding into the seat to her right and allowing his tall, lanky frame to sprawl every which way across it as he absently fidgeted his rectangular spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "Such strange minds Muggles have."

"Stop teasing me," Molly said, rolling her eyes without real zest while dropping her face into the palm of her hand as she rested her elbow on the table. "I thought you were going to lock yourself up in your dormitory for the day to do that Potions essay that's due tomorrow."

"It'll get done," he shrugged, reaching out to playfully push her chin up just a fraction. "No worries."

"You're too relaxed for your own good," she sighed, shaking her head at his antics as he plucked her quill out of her hand and twirled it around in his fingers.

"I don't understand why you feel it's a bad thing for me to want to spend more time with my girlfriend," Arthur said, making a playful face at her as she narrowed her eyes at how very exasperating he could be at times. So like a child. "Besides, you owe me after the other night."

Molly reached out after a long moment and gently pushed back his fringe so that she could look him straight in the eyes apologetically. She still felt horrible about that. Sometimes she didn't feel like she was worth half of what he did for her. That night he had somehow gotten around the charm on the stairwell to the Girls' dormitories in order to drag her out of bed and surprise her with a moonlight stroll around the grounds of the castle. It had been wonderful just being free to be alone under a full moon while everyone else was asleep. So romantic. Just holding hands, joking around and, for the majority of the time, kissing so lovingly that for a while all doubts of his feelings for her just drifted away as she melted into his arms.

Until they were caught, that is.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, watching with soft eyes as he pressed his cheek further into the palm of her hand when she dropped it from his forehead to the side of his face. "You've been to the Hospital Wing like you promised, right?"

"'Course, Mollywobbles," he said, chuckling to himself as she scoffed at the nickname he had decided on even before he'd asked her to be his girlfriend. "Old man Pringle didn't get me too bad."

"Now all of a sudden you're as tough as a mule?" Molly dropped her hand, yanking her quill back from his grasp before gesturing to him in a reprimanding manner with it. "You were considerably less calm about it the following morning."

"'Ey!" Arthur exclaimed with a laugh, leaning forwards so that her body was almost entirely engulfed in the shadow of his. One hand slid to rest on the back of her chair, while the other took her hand to gently prod the quill from her hold. "Fine. I admit that it wasn't nearly as pleasant as I made it out to be. Want to see the scars?"

The suggestive waggle of his eyebrows kept her from truly falling into her anxiety over how badly he'd been hurt because of her. The caretaker, Apollyon Pringle, wasn't exactly known for going easy on the students that he punished. She'd been close to tears the entire day following the incident, not knowing what had happened to Arthur after Pringle had dragged him off after catching them in a heated snogging session just outside of the Main Entrance. She knew he wasn't lying about having scars, but she also knew for a fact that his scars weren't in the location he was suggesting. The silly boy seemed to enjoy nothing more than teasing her. Damn her for finding it charming. Maybe that was what love was. Finding something to adore even in someone's faults.

Reaching out with both hands Molly enclosed one of Arthur's hands between her two palms. She looked down at the contact, feeling a tingle run through her from there to her toes. He felt so right to be around. Was that love? Feeling like if you died in that moment you would know that you died after an extraordinary life, because you had managed to put someone before yourself in a countless number of ways before it all ended and that alone meant you had done something spectacular. Maybe she was too young to feel that way, though. What if age was a factor in it all too? Just another doubt to weigh down the freedom of her heart to do as it felt was right.

"Molly," Arthur murmured, his beautiful blue eyes trained on their hands as well. His mouth opened one more time as if to speak, before closing. Molly looked up in confusion as he scowled and shook his head at something that neither of them had said. His eyebrows were furrowed and his body was rigid as if preparing itself for something.

"Arthur?" Molly said back, ducking her head downwards so that she could meet his eyes.

"I love you," he blurted out, his voice cracking as it caught in the back of his throat. His cheeks flushed cherry red and his eyes widened as if out of the two of them he had most surprised himself. He jerked back suddenly, like he had only just remembered that he had said it in front of an audience, causing his spectacles to fall off his nose and drop onto the desk with a clack.

Molly was frozen in place, now holding on to his hand much tighter than she had been before, though Arthur wasn't about to say anything on the topic. At first she felt oddly annoyed with herself for not getting it out first. She'd been so frightened by the prospect of him not feeling the same way, that she hadn't even given him the chance to prove her wrong. And now here she was after all of those hours of pathetic anxiety, being showed just how clueless she had been. Then, she felt overwhelming relief flow through her body, causing her to sag at being free from the torturous act of being the first to say how they felt. There Arthur went saving her from her fears...even though he was one.

"Molly?" Arthur prompted with his eyes wide in nervous shock as he looked at her.

"What?" Molly replied absently, her head tilted to the side as she thought of all of the times that she could have just spat it out. He'd of said it back no matter how she had done it. It was Arthur, after all, and he didn't care about such fruitless things such as who said "I love you" first, and where.

"I, er, was just wondering...," he began, scratching at the back of his head with the hand that Molly didn't have firmly in her clutch still.

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed, a second away from slapping herself in the forehead.

She smiled.

"I love you, too."

As soon as she said the words it was like everything fell into place. His smile in return was so brilliant that she felt for sure she would be able to live a happy life if that answering smile was always there to greet her. Sure, he wasn't proposing that they spend forever together by means of a few basic syllables; yet, she felt like it was a step towards one of those beautiful romances that always are talked about in famous poems and such. He was perfect for her and he had saved her from that fall that all buoyant romantics make in the hope that their loved one will catch them before they hit the ground. Sure, love wasn't something you learned in books or by others; but she felt positive that if she was going to learn from experience with anyone...it'd be him.

AN: This was actually written for a challenge over at HPFF like a few of my other stories were. I really should stop doing them, but I just get this weird feeling all of the time that I need to stop concentrating so much on Hermione fics. It's when I think that, that I automatically go find a challenge. I just need the reassurance that I can write something that's not her, I guess. I don't know. I'm just strange like that :D Either way I hope you enjoyed this! I wasn't aiming for it to be absolutely breathtakingly amazing -and I know it's not- but I hope you at least thought it was cute. I have a Pansy/Harry one-shot in the works, two Hermione/Theo's (1 one-shot and 1 multi-chapter), and I'm trying to stay ahead on Behind Your Smile (my Cedric/Hermione). Be sure to review! I love the feedback.