She was perfect. Everyone knew it. She knew it. Prefect, Head Girl, spotless record, top of the class. She was the girl that every parent dreamed their child would grow up to be. And if their child couldn't be like her, then they wanted their child to hang out with her. But despite all of those credentials and the fact that she wasn't half bad looking either, Molly didn't have many friends. Well, many real friends. She was quite popular. Everyone wanted to be around her, wanted to be her. She relished it. It was what she lived for, the admiration of her peers. But, sometimes, late at night, she couldn't help the hallow feeling that crept into her stomach.

She usually brushed it off and pretended she had never felt like that. After all, she was Molly Weasley, she was never sad or down or had an off day. She just didn't. She was perfect, and everyone knew it.

She was perfect. But not in the way everyone thought she was. Lysander knew it, even if no one else did. She was smart, but she worked incredibly hard at everything she did. She pretty, beautiful in fact, but incredibly insecure. She always had toast for breakfast with strawberry jelly on it. Jelly that she always scraped off, but jelly that she first spread on, every morning, without fail. She was punctual, too punctual, but always worried that she was late. She double knotted the shoe on her right foot, but not the one on her left. She could be funny and genuine when she thought no one was looking, and her real smile, so rarely seen, was the most perfect thing about her.

Molly Weasley was perfectly unperfect, you see and that fascinated Lysander Scamander to no end. He wasn't one to pay attention to the opposite sex most of the time. He was a Ravenclaw after all, and his eyes unusually never strayed from the binding of one of his many worn books. But from the first time that he had caught a glimpse of Molly during their sorting, he had been hooked. No other girl could capture his attention, because Lysander only had eves for Molly Weasley.

The years had slipped by, one by one, and Lysander had watched her. He couldn't bring himself to speak to her, because there was the worry that she would want nothing to do with him was always clawing at the back of his mind. He always told himself that he was just waiting for the right moment. But now their seventh year was already half way over, and Lysander knew his moments were limited. Christmas holidays were right around the corner, and there was one last Hogsmede trip scheduled before the close of 2020. Hogsmede was beautiful during Christmas time, and Lysander knew that it would be the perfect place for him to bring his perfect Molly.

Now all he had to do was ask her- a daunting task if there ever was one.

Molly was a creature of routine. She woke at exactly 6:42 every morning. She got dressed, combed out her hair, applied her makeup, slipped into her shoes, and was one her way to the Great Hall no later then 7:35 every morning. She sat in the exact same place at the Gryffindor table between her friends Janice Longbottom and Sarah Fisher. She had one glass of orange juice (half filled), a cup of tea (which she only ever took three sips out of) and a single slice of toast which always had to have strawberry jelly on it( she always scraped it off-there was something calming about the cleansing of the toast). Then after a few minutes of pleasant chit chat with Janice and Sarah, it would be back up to Gryffindor common room to gather her school things and then she would be off to transfiguration, arriving at 8:23 (two minutes early).

But today was no ordinary day. Molly woke up at the same time she did every morning, got dressed, combed her hair, slipped into her shoes and was down to breakfast by 7:35. She sat between Sarah and Janice as she did every morning- so far nothing was out of place. It was not until she began scrapping the strawberry jelly off of her toast that something went amiss.

"Hello, Molly."

Molly's head snapped up so quickly that she strained her neck, knocking Janice in the nose as she reached up to rub it, "Oh ow, damnit. Sorry Janice…"

"Are you alright Molly?" one Lysander Scamander asked, looking quite concerned as he leaned across the table slightly.

"Yes, of course." Molly snapped, flushing, still rubbing her neck as she looked up at Lysander. Lysander. What was he doing over here? She thought angrily, her stare turning into a glare as she studied him, wide blue eyes, high cheekbones, topped by a shock of blonde hair; he looked very much like his mother, Luna Lovegood, who Molly had run into a handful of time at her Uncle Harry's parties. She was strange. Molly didn't know why he was over here, interrupting her day. They weren't friends, they didn't talk. Sure he was smart, second in the class in fact, but they were nothing a like. Molly's eyes roamed critically over Lysander's stained shirt and wrinkled pants. He had an ink stain on his face and parchment sticking out of his pockets. No, they were nothing alike. Molly was neat, Molly was ordered, Molly was perfect. Lysander was chaos personified, and perfect Molly did not like chaos.

"What do you want?" she asked, rather too harshly, she had to admit, Lysander's smile faltered a bit before he gathered himself and forced it onto his face again.

'Well…um….there was-I mean-there is," he wrung his hands (also ink stained nervously, "a Hogsmede trip coming up…." Sarah giggled, "And…and I was wondering…if-er, you wanted to go to Hogsmede…with…uh…me?"

Molly just looked at him. Whatever she had expected him to say, it certainly wasn't that. She was, well, popular. Not that Lysander was at the bottom the food chain or anything, but she was certainly way out of his league.

"Not a chance." She said coolly, ignoring the way her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the heartbroken look in his huge blue eyes, and checked her watch, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

She didn't. She hadn't even fished scraping the jelly off her toast, much less taken her two sips of tea, but none of that mattered to Molly at the moment. All she wanted to do was get away from the boy with the sad, strange, blue eyes.

She arrived in Transfiguration fifteen minutes early instead of her usual two, and found that she had nothing to occupy her mind with. Five minutes before class was to begin, her classmates began to file in. Janice plopped down in the seat next to her.

"So…" she began, allowing the air to whistle out of her front teeth.

"Yes?" Molly asked, knowing full well what Janice was about to say.

"So that was a little…harsh."

"So what?" Molly snapped, pulling out her Transfiguration book and practically slamming it on her desk.

"Soooo," Janice replied, "He's not that bad. In fact, he wasn't even bad. He's actually really cute."

"It doesn't matter how 'cute' he is; I would never go out with him." Molly sniffed, "I just don't go for his type."

"Right." Janice rolled her eyes, "I forgot, you go for oafs like Neil Bernstein."

"He's not an oaf!" Molly exclaimed, "He's actually quite charming when we're alone."

"Oh yeah, if by charming you mean totally oblivious to social cues and only interested in sticking his tongue down the throat of every living thing that moves."

"You just don't know him like I do." Molly sighed impatiently, "He's really just a sensitive guy trapped behind a brutish exterior."

Janice stared at her as though she had sprouted another head, "Right, okay, sure, whatever you say Molly."

"Well it doesn't matter what you think anyway!" Molly exclaimed, "Neil's asked me to meet him at the Three Broomsticks next weekend."

"You mean he didn't even ask you on a proper date?" Janice exclaimed incredulously, but Molly didn't answer, for at that moment Professor Carmichael entered the room, cutting off all conversation. As the class began, Janice was left to marvel at her friend's stupidity in the silence of her own mind.

He'll be here soon. Molly thought, staring morosely into her third butterbeer, every now and then glancing hopefully at the entrance to the tavern.

She had been there on time, as always, at two thirty sharp. She had ordered a butterbeer while she waited on Neil, figuring he was only minutes behind her. But then five minutes had turned into ten, which turned into thirty, which slipped into an hour.

Now, three hours later, Molly sat alone at the back of the pub, alternatively staring at the door and her watch. She refused to give up, to admit that he wasn't coming. She refused to let herself be stood up. Molly Weasley was nothing if not persistent.

And finally, finally, her persistence paid off. She heard that wonderful booming laugh that had always drawn her to Neil, and turned expectantly towards the door. Neil was there, as tall and handsome as she imagined he would look, that wicked grin spread across his face, his dark eyes shining with excitement and mirth. A light dusting of snow covered his sandy hair, which he was brushing away. He was charming; he was wonderful he was….holding hands with Hilary Morton.

Molly felt that she had been punched in the stomach. She waited till Neil and his date sat down in a booth at the other end of the tavern before she hastily got up and, not caring if she made a scene, ran from the bar.

She found refuge in the alley between Zonko's joke shop and Honeydukes. Only when she was sure she could not be seen crouched behind the bins did she allow herself to cry. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have not seen…?

"Hello Molly." A horribly familiar voice broke the silence in the alley.

No! He was the last person she wanted to see at that moment, but she had no choice. Slowly Molly raised her tearstained face to meet Lysander Scamander's calm, blue eyes.

He looked quite nice; she had to admit, standing there in his blue coat and hat, which were almost the exact shade of his eyes. But Molly didn't have time to dwell on such airy thoughts; instead, she glared defiantly up at him, "Come to have a go, have you?" she spat, "Go on then, I deserve it for the way I treated you." She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat.

"No, I hadn't." Lysander countered quietly, "Though I do agree that you deserve it. I came to see if you were alright. You appeared quite…distressed."

"How did you find me?" Molly questioned petulantly, ignoring his comment.

"I was coming out of Honeydukes when I saw you run into the alley." Lysander answered, holding out the bag of candy clutched in his hand, 'Would you like some?"

"I-what? Oh…no." Molly flushed, her brow furrowing in confusion, "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I like you." He answered simply, shrugging.

"I'm sorry for what I said before," Molly said, meeting his eyes fully for the first time, "It was harsh and cruel, and you didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

"It was all of those things." Lysander agreed, "But you're already forgiven."

He studied her on the ground for a moment, "You're starting to turn blue, my dear, might I suggest another venue for this conversation?"

Molly nodded and he helped her to her feet. Slowly the pair made their way out of the alleyway and down Main Street, pausing every couple of yards to marvel at the shop's Christmas displays.

Eventually they found themselves outside of Madam Puddifoot's tea shop. When Lysander suggested they go in to get out of the cold, Molly stared at him in amazement.

"What is it?" He asked in response to the expression of wonder on her face.

"It's nothing," she shook her head, "It's just that most boys hate it here."

"I can't say it's one of my favorite places," Lysander said, smiling down at her, "But I hear you talk about it an awful lot and I thought you might like to come."

"Thank you." She said, and it was the most heart felt thank you she had ever uttered.

"Shall we go in?" Lysander said, extending his hand to her.

Linking arms, Molly and Lysander pushed open the door to the tea shop, and, though the thought was perhaps a bit melodramatic, Molly rather felt as if they had pushed open the door to their future.