disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
written for: If You Dare, Pairing Set Bootcamp, Weasley Bootcamp, Battleship Competition, Ravishing Romance Competition.
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He meets her next to a shop corner down by the pond, his hands covered in muddy water. He's been out for the past three hours, supposedly picking up biscuits at the shop, but somehow, he'd ended up knee-deep in the pond, and the biscuits soiled. Mum'll murder him, but that's something he'll deal with later.
As far as he's going to catch one, through all the effort he's put in, he's having absolutely no progress. There'd been ten from the beginning, which had receded down to three, and then one, and then none.
How had each frog in the lake escaped his grasp? Shaking his head, the boy trudges out of the sand, falling back when he reaches the dark green ground on the other side. He sighs deeply, staring at the ruined biscuits, and wondering if he has it in him to buy more.
Before he decides, though, a girl emerges out of the trees to the front of him; for a minute, he thinks he's just died, and this is his welcome to the beyond - for an instant, it had seemed almost as if she'd pushed the trees out of the way.
Of course not, though, she didn't move the trees. The trees moved for her, along with the sun, coming to rest directly behind her head, making her gleaming red hair shine and the brown in her blue-brown eyes stand out.
Just as quickly, the moment is over, and the girl is stomping towards him, not even pausing to hike up her skirt as she marches her way over to where he's resting.
"Who're you?" he asks.
"Molly Prewett," she answers, sniffing daintily, all of a sudden trying to seem ladylike when just a second ago, she'd been smearing mud all over her dress. He nods; he doesn't know her - the Prewett's are a large family - but he's heard the name enough to know that it's probably better not to cross her.
"Arthur Weasley," he replies, sticking out a hand. She takes it after only a slight delay, and then bends down, looking at his drenched shoes.
"My Mum sent me here to tell you that your Mum wants you home by dinner," she blurts, everything rushing out suddenly. "Apparently the neighborhood is having some kind of get together."
"Oh," Arthur replies. "We get together enough, anyways," he adds, mumbling.
She giggles. Then, there's a slightly-awkward pause, until her bubbly, rich voice fills it again.
"What were you doing?" Molly wonders aloud, her eyes large and curious.
Arthur shrugs, acting nonchalant, as if it hasn't been his dream for ages. "Trying to catch a frog," he says effortlessly.
"A frog?" She's stunned for a moment, and then, quite suddenly, she breaks into laughter, the sort of laughter that can go on for days. "Why?" Molly chokes out, in between giggles.
"They're super cool," Arthur explains, his voice picking up as it becomes more passionate. "The way they live in water and land, the way they look slimy but are really quite smooth - "
" - the way they're disgusting and hop all over people," Molly finishes, wrinkling her nose. "I can't believe you like frogs, of all things."
"A frog is a great animal, Prewett."
"Prove it, Weasley."
For a moment, they at each other, his hands deep in his pockets, hers on her hips. "I think I will," Arthur finally answers. "Come here everyday, same time, and I'll prove it."
She looks at him strangely. There's a part of her that doesn't want to even look a frog, that doesn't want to touch one - but there is a hint of a challenge in his eyes, and Molly never backs down from a challenge.
"See you there," she answers after a slight pause, and then she runs as quickly as she can away from the pond, away from the strange boy with flaming red hair and muddy hands.
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