It was the perfect match.

They were the perfect couple.

Both from cheerful, good-natured, pure-blooded families; both with ginger hair and sandy freckles and quick, honest smiles. Both were a bit too kindly-hearted; both had patched robes and slower brooms and average grades.

They were the best of friends for years before they finally gave in and dated. And when they did date, their romance progressed with such lightning speed that everyone said it was fate. Both wanted children, a houseful of children, a Gryffindor houseful of children. She was short, and plump, and he was tall and thin. They complimented each other perfectly.

Before they were dating, they were a couple. No one could deny how often they touched, how easily their bodies curled against each other when they sat on the couch in the common room, snuggling as they talked. They'd often walk through the halls holding hands, their arms swaying casually-- and still they denied that they were together, laughing when people insisted that they were. She put up with his intense obsession with Muggles as easily as he put up with her incessant, sometimes nagging chatter. They told each other 'I love you' every time they greeted and said farewell from as far back as their third year, and by the fifth year they were kissing each other on the cheek tenderly as well. But it wasn't until the very end of their seventh year that they announced they were together. No one was surprised.

They bickered occasionally, sure, but their fights were rare and mild. They argued until they laughed, ending the quarrel with a good old- fashioned wrestling match, which he always won. She'd wind up pinned underneath him on the common room floor, laughing until she cried when he tickled her, sealing the mending of their relationship with a teasing, sweet, kiss.

Their wedding was simple, a little plain, but the smiling faces of the two made it lavish. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the two were in love. Nine months later Molly gave birth to their firstborn, and the happy couple seemed cemented in their bliss. A beautiful little boy that looked very much like a Weasley came into their lives, and nothing was more apparent than that the two were desperately in love with him. After five more boys, a girl finally appeared, and Molly, very tired and content, had no more children. From the outside, there was nothing more perfect than their loving, if a little shabby, family.

What no one knew was that the only times they fucked was when they were aiming for a kid. The Weasley kids knew that their folks spent hours in their bedroom with the door locked, and made the appropriately disgusted faces, but not even they knew that Arthur and Molly would merely cuddle up under the homemade quilt, reading. What no one saw were the piles of dirty magazines locked in the small bedside chest, or how many times each spouse had cheated on the other. No one knew, and no one cared. The family was happy.

They traded kisses endlessly, perhaps to make up for the silence in the bedroom. They weren't in love, but they loved each other deeply, and it didn't bother them. It's not that Arthur was particularly unattractive, or that Molly just couldn't be considered beautiful, for neither were true. They loved touching each other, they loved talking with each other, they loved sharing their thoughts and their children and their future. They just weren't in love. They couldn't be. They accepted that, and moved on. Divorce never entered their minds--it wasn't for love they married, but practicality. They were the perfect couple.

They were a match made in heaven. Perhaps they were so content because she didn't chide him if he worked so much overtime, or because he never asked about the bruises on her breasts and thighs. They knew it was better not to ask uncomfortable questions, especially when they already knew the answer. The question had been asked back in their third year, and answered, and finally embraced. Molly had her girlfriends, and Arthur had the men at his club, and the two couldn't have been happier.