[AN: Written for the Quidditch League Fanfic Competition Round 1, by Chaser 1 of the Falcons: an Arthur/Molly romance following the prompts: brush, postcards, and "Do not regret growing old".]
The red desert stretched in all directions further than the eye could see, with little to no variation anywhere: sand dunes with resilient little bushes every few metres, the rare bird or snake or kangaroo mob. It was anyone's guess what any of these animals drank, because what little water could be found was mostly muddy and barely drinkable.
The only evidence of human civilisation visible to a Muggle was a gravel track running north-south, and a steel sign, on which chipped paint read 'Alice Springs – 62 km'. A magical observer, on the other hand, would have seen the modest farmstead, surrounded by Muggle-repelling wards, somehow hiding behind the sign.
Two young British magicians, a witch and a wizard, popped into existence just outside it, and immediately gasped at the heat, which was a good five Celsius above the worst of a British summer, and it wasn't even half past ten yet.
"Merlin," gasped the witch, "how do they live with this heat?"
The wizard reeled, then pulled out a water bottle and drank a quarter of it, before offering the rest to her. "I have no idea. Let's get inside; I can't imagine Lestius or Clara putting up with this without a Cooling Enchantment."
They walked over to the little white building and knocked. After a moment, the door opened, revealing a little black-skinned girl in hiking shorts and a linen shirt; a breath of relieving cool air hit them.
"G'day," the girl said.
"Hello," said the wizard, taken aback; he had thought Australians were white. "We're friends of Clara; is she home?"
"Goin' over the books with the boss," she said. "One tick. Clara!"
She wandered off, and a moment later, another British witch came to the door, this one in a long-sleeved silvery outfit that looked like a cross between traditional robes and a space suit. Her face lit up when she saw her guests.
"Molly!" she chirped. "Arthur! Come in! I'll call Lestius. What brings you all the way out here?"
"Why can't we drop in on an old friend?" asked Molly, as she stepped forward to hug her former classmate. "We've been dying to know what you're doing all the way down here. This place is a wasteland."
"Yes, but it turns out it's a great wasteland for venomous snakes," said Clara. "Sue, put the kettle on! Lestius!"
The master of the house finally showed up. He wore the same silvery clothing Clara did.
"Hello," he said. "Molly Prewett and Arthur … Weasley, wasn't it? How do you do?"
He might have hesitated deliberately over Arthur's surname, as that family and his had certain differences of opinion; Arthur ignored it and smiled anyway.
"We thought we'd drop by," Arthur said. "We've been wondering what you could do out here; I wouldn't have thought anything could grow in this heat! I'm so glad you have Cooling Charms around the place."
"They need touch-ups every few days, but they're well worth it," Lestius agreed. "You don't want those black robes, either; reflective stuff is much cooler."
"Oh, we're not staying for too long," said Arthur.
"Why don't I show you around, then?" Lestius offered. "Let the girls catch up; I'm sure you'll be fascinated by my operation."
Molly nodded, and followed Clara to their kitchen. It was a cosy little affair, with the little girl finishing up the tea by the side. A few vases of native flowers lined the room. Under the window sill was a line of postcards they'd bought and sent to themselves while travelling the world for their honeymoon; the most eye-catching one was captioned "Wish I weren't here", from Canberra.
"Sue's the kid of one of our workers," Clara said off-handedly. "She's a great help around here; we haven't found a single House-elf. Lestius has been upset about it; it's a bit of a come-down for him."
"Why did he come out here, then?" Molly asked.
"Well, you know his father's a Death Eater?" Clara asked. "Ever since Lestius graduated, his parents have been on at him to join them. Of course, he's not interested in that. Possibly moving to the other end of the Earth was a little drastic, but he's nothing if not thorough. The best kind of Slytherin."
Molly smiled and nodded. Lestius had been in her year; he exemplified all the virtues the Sorting Hat credited Slytherins with, without being a thug. That was just enough for her to accept her Gryffindor friend's inter-House romance … barely.
"Of course, they refused to give him any money to get started with," Clara went on, "not with me being a Muggle-born, so we're rather in debt now, but after we clear our first few sales by May, we should be back in the black and ready to expand. But what about you? How are things back in dear old England?"
Sue handed them their cups of tea, set out a box of biscuits, and left. Molly sipped hers and put it down; it wasn't very good. Clara didn't seem to mind hers, though.
"Not so good, I'm afraid," said Molly. "Voldemort," for his name had not yet become superstitiously tabooed, "and his followers have been rioting in Diagon Alley. Every week come more reports of Muggle-borns being assaulted. And the Ministry does nothing to stop them. Half the Wizengamot are appeaseniks and the other are on his side. The papers are already calling it a war. Dumbledore's trying to organise a counter-movement, but we don't have their side's resources."
"Ah, so the real reason for the visit comes out," Clara said with an ironic smile. She had always been the cynical one. "You're wasting your time. Like I said, we're in debt; we can't offer a brass razoo."
"A what?" Molly asked.
"An Australian coin, worth a bit more than a Knut," said Clara. "And even after the sales, this farm is Lestius' brainchild and it'll be his money."
"He's against the Death Eaters, though, isn't he?" Molly asked.
"He's against fighting for them," Clara corrected. "There's a big difference between that and donating money to help fight them … especially with his father being one of them, even if he is estranged."
"Well, we weren't actually after money," said Molly. "We also don't have enough manpower. You're both strong magically; I know you got an O on your Herbs NEWT."
"Still wasting time," said Clara. "Farming is full-time work; if we went to help you, we'd never clear our debts. And Lestius isn't interested, and I'm not leaving him."
"Oh."
"I never got why you were so invested in fighting them, though," Clara continued. "Let the Muggle-borns come here; why die for them? You'll be fine, you're both blooded."
"Because what's right isn't always what's safest," said Molly.
Clara sighed. "I know. For what it's worth, I am sorry, and I don't approve of what Voldemort's doing. But I don't want to have to fight. I just want to live with Lestius." She played with her wedding ring. "Does it make me a bad person, if I want to live, even if other people die?"
Molly thought about it. She really could have used Clara's help; she was clever and insightful, and Dumbledore could use the extra wand. On the other, she wasn't going to come back no matter what, and it would be cruel to make her feel guilty for no reason. "Do not regret growing old," Molly said. "It is a privilege denied to many."
.. ... ...
"And here we are," said Lestius. He was fine in his reflective robes, but had given Arthur an umbrella against the sun. "This is our prize female, Shelly. As the locals say, isn't she beautiful?"
One of his workers was on watch and corrected him: "We say, in't she a beaut, Cobber."
The snake in question was bright green, about two metres long, sunning itself on a rock. A swathe of bandages covered its face.
"I know you Gryffindors don't like snakes," Lestius went on, "but when you actually work with them for a while, you start to appreciate them. They're really lovely creatures, not aggressive unless you provoke them, and that superstition about them being slimy is just bizarre."
"Is she hurt?" Arthur asked, indicating the bandages.
"No, no, those are for us," said Lestius. "To block her eyes. She's a Basilisk."
"… What?" Arthur asked. "You're raising a Dark snake?"
"What d'you mean, dark?" said the worker. "Look at her, she's almost pastel."
"Mature Basilisk parts are valuable," said Lestius. "She's immature, but in another six months, we'll be able to milk her teeth and use shed skin and teeth. We have another two, a male named Jack and another female, Anna, but Shelly's the biggest."
"How did you even get a Basilisk?" Arthur asked. "I thought they were controlled?"
"Not down here," said Lestius. "In the cities maybe, but out in the desert, the government doesn't care what we do, so long as we don't violate human rights or attract the ICW's attention. They don't really have much of a concept of Dark anyway. And I've bred them myself. I, ah, borrowed a few of my father's books on husbandry before we came down. How about you, then? What have you been doing with yourself?"
"Working for the Ministry," said Arthur. "Muggle Relations office. It's only an entry-level job, but it's a living, and if I keep at it, I'll move forward eventually."
"You were always good with details, weren't you," Lestius said thoughtfully. "You know … we could use an accountant. Clara and I have been doing it ourselves, but when I'm hunched over numbers, I'm not watching Shelly, and she needs it. You don't want to see the feral magical animals here; the Muggle ones are bad enough. We've had two other males eaten already."
"You want to hire me?" Arthur asked in surprise.
"I think you could do it," Lestius said. "Give it a few days and see how you go. I could pay better than the government, and you'd be well out of the situation with Voldemort. I'd trust you not to run off; half the locals are crooks."
"Who are the other half?" asked the worker.
"What do you say?"
Arthur thought for a moment, but no more. "I say thanks, but no thanks. Molly and I have family back in Britain; we can't leave them. And I don't want to leave the Muggle-borns. And, honestly, I'd rather not work with a Basilisk."
"They do grow on you," Lestius said. "Still, as you like. Write me from Britain, will you? I'd like to hear about Voldemort's gang firsthand; the papers don't really do it justice."
"I thought you weren't interested in him?" Arthur asked.
"Who's Voldemort?" asked the worker.
"A politician back home," Lestius said, then, to Arthur, "and I'm not interested in risking my life either way, but I still wouldn't mind hearing if, say, my father wound up in Azkaban. I still have to raise Shelly, and I want to see if Clara ever manages anything with the flowers." He pointed to a row of them, under eaves and what looked like some sort of permanent fountain charm: wattle, red-and-green kangaroo paw, bottle brush, and as many magical breeds. "She's been trying to hybridise them with herbs to make unreproduceable potions; says she'll have a monopoly and own the market. We just have too much to live for. Sorry, Arthur."
"It's fine," Arthur said. "We always knew you were a long shot. I just hope we'll win with who we have."
"The fate of the world shall be such as it deserves," Lestius said sagely.
.. ... ...
Arthur and Molly stayed at a Muggle hotel that night. They had thought the blistering heat would stay with them throughout, but apparently not: it dropped a full thirty Celsius at night, and they were only too happy to share a bed.
"So, what do you think?" Arthur asked.
"Nothing," Molly said in frustration. "No help. I suppose we should be glad that Lestius isn't going back to his father, but I really did hope that I could at least get Clara."
Arthur hugged her. "Molly. Lestius … he offered me a job here."
She stared at him. "You're not thinking of accepting? What about Dumbledore?"
"This isn't about him, or me," Arthur said. "It's about you. You don't have to worry about Voldemort. We can live our lives here, in peace, if you want."
"But," Molly said, confused, "I thought you loved Muggles, and Muggle-borns, you can't just leave them to the Death Eaters. And what do you mean, we?"
"Lestius said he didn't want to die," said Arthur. "He knows his father better than we do. It's going to get violent. And … I don't want to lose you." He folded his hands around hers. "I don't want either of us to die, either. I want to live with you, forever. I know I'm poor, and I can't imagine why you give me the time of day. I can't afford a ring or offer a honeymoon, and my salary can barely cover living expenses, but if you were there, that wouldn't bother me. … Oh, Merlin, I'm doing this wrong, I should ask your parents' permission first, but … to hell with it. Molly. Would you marry me?"
She stared at him for a full thirty seconds.
"Arthur," she said quietly, "you are a very foolish man. I don't want to lose you either, but we can't abandon those who cannot defend themselves just because we're afraid. We are Gryffindors, after all. Also, you're supposed to kneel, even if you don't have a ring, and you don't need to ask. Of course I'll be yours. I always have been."
They kissed, briefly, chastely, and hugged again.
"I'm yours, and always will be," she promised.
"It won't be easy," Arthur told her shoulder. "There'll be hardships, and Voldemort still means business. There's a very real possibility he'll win."
"If you're there," Molly replied, "it won't bother me either."