Molly Prewett came bounding up the stairs of the Gryffindor girls' dormitory still munching on the grilled cheese sandwich she'd made herself in the kitchen as the elves were doing the washing up. She didn't mind the kitchen. It was not so very unlike a potions lab and that was her best class after charms. Aunt Muriel did all the cooking at home, but Molly suspected she might be able to get good at it herself someday.

She was admiring the last bite of her sandwich when her best friend and team seeker Sharlene McKinnon crowded through the bedroom door with her.

"We'll, here she is," Sharlene crowed as if speaking to someone else. "Our Molly, back from whatever den of iniquity she's lured innocent Arthur Weasley into this evening."

Molly scoffed. "Iniquity? Innocent? Weasley?"

Sharlene gave a coy smile. "Come, Molly. Weren't you just rolling around on the dining room floor with him?"

Molly smirked back at her. "It might have looked that way. But I was only getting 'round to telling him I've arranged for some private quidditch training for him, to improve his chances at the next tryouts."

Sharlene closed her hand around Molly's wrist and sat down hard with her on the edge of the bed.

"Ah, that is special treatment. So this new interest must mean you've finished with Mr. Lips," Sharlene said.

Molly glanced around the room as if to be sure no one was eavesdropping. Not even Sharlene knew for sure who Molly had been secretly snogging since Easter. But thanks to Molly's sensitive skin and Lucius's penchant ending their encounters with a single lovebite at the nape of her neck, where only a sharp-eyed best friend brushing out her hair could see it, Sharlene knew there had been someone.

"Answer me, Molly," she pressed. "I'll be nothing but pleased if you say it's true. Arthur Weasley is a good, safe choice. That's more than can be said for a growing number of boys at this school."

Molly blinked. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

Sharlene sighed. "You're from an old but humble family so you may not have noticed. Not yet. But if you were half-blood, like Marlene and me, you'd know that over the summer, things began to get…odd."

"That blood purity nonsense?" Molly said. "Gideon and Fabian have been grumbling about it. They clam up as soon as I come near, but…"

"Yes," Sharlene said. "And now it's making its way into the school. There were recruiters for that Riddle character spotted at the train station in Hogsmeade as we were arriving at school just a few days ago, targeting Slytherin House especially. Dad is scrambling to get something organized against it, but until someone big, like maybe Dumbledore, signs on, no one will take him too seriously. They're all in denial. But some of us don't have that luxury. So what I'm saying to you is, with things lining up this way, it's for the best if you've left…"

She paused, patting Molly's hand, deciding not to mention the name of the person she most suspected of being Mr. Lips. "It's better if you've moved on to someone like Weasley."

Molly grabbed at both Sharlene's hands. "Never mind me. Look at you. This has got you truly frightened." She searched Sharlene's face. "I've never seen you look so – betrayed. Our own people – how can they treat you like this?"

Sharlene shook her head. "Oh, I'll be fine. Dad and I can handle ourselves. It's Marlene I'm worried for. She's still so young. 13 years old and complete strangers hate her for no reason. And that anyone would be cruel to her just because Mum doesn't own a wand…"

"It's horrendous," Molly finished when Sharlene's voice broke, crushing her in a hug. "Just let anyone try to say an unkind word to Marlene or to you or to any other McKinnon in my presence – "

"That is lovely of you," Sharlene said, sitting back. "But for now, you can make me feel better by getting clear of Mr. Lips. Alright?"

Molly groaned through a giggle. "He's not – "

Sharlene cut her off before she could say any more. "I know he's rich and he's Slytherin. That's enough to worry me. Let's never speak of him again."

With a quick nod of her head, Molly agreed completely, though her hand did come up to rub the spot on her neck which hadn't been marked by Lucius Malfoy in months. She was remembering a leaflet that had fallen out of his robes as he'd given her his parting embrace at the end of last year. At first, she'd thought it was an invitation to the worst-named supper club ever. But she had a better idea now what a "Death Eater" might be. Hang it, Lucius. He'd better not be proud and stupid enough to…

"But," Sharlene went on, relieved to be making a quick end to the grave subject. "Weasley might not be as easy a conquest as he seems. Mind that Mary Elizabeth doesn't scratch your eyes out over him."

Molly huffed. "Mary Elizabeth is with Reg Cattermole, isn't she?" She was scooting across her bed, settling onto her pillow to read her potions book and maybe have a nap.

Sharlene huffed in return. "She would be if Cattermole had his way. Things are never so simple."

Molly sighed. "Mary Elizabeth needn't panic over me. Weasley is just a lark for now anyway."

"It looked pretty serious, there under the dining table," Sharlene said with a cluck of her tongue. "Be careful with Weasley. He's a bit funny but he has a good heart."

Molly's book snapped closed and she stared up at the canopy over her bed. "He does, doesn't he? I mean, I like Arthur well enough. He's easy to talk to. Says the strangest things, really. But not in an unpleasant way. And he's tall and I like his eyes and his skinniness has something surprisingly fit about it once you're up close. Did you see him catch me out of thin air today?"

Sharlene raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be much of a seeker if I'd let myself get distracted by something like that, would I?"

Molly gave a sudden gasp. "Oh! I forgot to check if it was bruised in that accident."

Sharlene turned to look as Molly hiked up her shirt and craned her neck to see her stomach over her bust as she lay on her back. If it weren't from the hiss Sharlene gave at the sight of it, she wouldn't have known she was indeed bruised.

"That wants essence of murtlap," Sharlene said.

Molly sat up with a frown, standing to get a look at her bruise in the mirror. "Murtlap reeks of fish. I was just telling Arthur Weasley that as I used up my last poultice on his arm."

"Hospital wing for you then," Sharlene said.

Molly whimpered to herself. "No, I'm not risking getting put on the injured list the first week I'm captain of the team."

"Well, you can't leave it. It's ghastly," Sharlene said.

Molly hung her head. "I do know where I can find some in the dorm. But it's going to mean intruding on Arthur Weasley again."

Sharlene spun her toward the door. "Then I think it's an excellent idea."

The pair of them marched up the stairs of the boys' dormitory where Sharlene knocked hard at the seventh years' door. "We need Weasley," she called through the wood.

There was some hooting and crashing inside before Kingsley finally opened up, shouting over his shoulder for Arthur to come report to the captain. He came tripping up behind Kingsley as if his feet were faster than the rest of him.

"Prewett! Yes, I've spoken with the lads. We're starting training tomorrow – "

"It's not that, Weasley," Sharlene said.

"You were right about my stomach," Molly said, taking it over. "I'll be needing some murtlap, if you can spare any."

Arthur looked guiltily at the pink plaster on his arm.

"Yes, that was my last one," she said. "You're welcome to it, but now you need to take care of me."

A howl rose up from the boys lounging around the room behind him. Arthur's ears went red but he gave a nod almost like a salute and knelt at his trunk, rummaging through bottles and a cache of glass orbs with thick metal stems that Molly did not recognize as a collection of Muggle light bulbs.

"Here it is." He was getting to his feet, holding the vial toward Molly, waiting for her to take it.

"I can't do it myself," she said. "Girls of a certain size – we have – we have a hard time seeing our own stomachs without a mirror."

At this, Arthur's whole head flushed red. He glanced around the room, looking for the mirror Mundungus had just vanished. "Oh," Arthur sputtered. "Then – how – then you – you want me – you want – help you to – "

Sharlene snatched the murtlap out of his hand and screwed off the top. There was no more hooting, only dead silence in the room as the boys froze, transfixed as Sharlene McKinnon stood in their doorway dabbing essence of murtlap on the band of bare white skin peeking over the waistband of Molly Prewett's capris as she held he hem of her jumper out of the way.

"It's first aid. Keep your hair on, boys," Sharlene snarled at them, breaking the silence.

The room returned to its usual activity as Sharlene closed the vial and tossed it back at Arthur. "Thanks, Weasley. We're off."

"Right, right," he was saying, recovering his senses. "Awfully sorry about the smell. I know you don't care for it, Prewett."

"Oh, that's right," Sharlene said, taking a pretty pink bottle from her own pocket. The perfume was how she knew Molly's Mr. Lips was a rich boy. It was a gift from him and it was a notoriously expensive brand from Paris. "I've brought along Molly's favourite scent to cover it up."

She spritzed the bottle into the air of the seventh year boys' dorm, covering herself, Molly, poor Kingsley, and especially Arthur. The rest of the boys were coughing and waving the scent out of the air as Sharlene towed Molly back down the stairs, whispering in her ear. "There, now if all of that doesn't imprint you on Arthur Weasley for life, maybe nothing will. One way or another, he'll be thinking of you all night."


The sun had barely risen as Arthur Weasley took to the pitch with James Potter and his mates for their first day of training.

Just as Sharlene had planned, he had woken up still able to smell Molly Prewett's perfume in his hair. It was pretty, and operated something like a mild mind control spell, making him think about Molly's tiny hands, and her white stomach – not a freckle on it, somehow – and her way of fussing over him that made him feel…things.

Still, her perfume was not a scent he wanted wafting off himself. But there would be no point showering it away until after the training.

Though he should have known the lads would be ribbing him about it.

"No perfume on game days," Potter bawled at him. "Honestly, Weasley. I can smell you coming up behind me."

With that, Potter darted away, pitching toward the ground as if he meant to use himself to drill for diamonds.

"Why does he have to fly like he's hoping to die young?" Arthur said, sitting back on his broom, not inclined to follow Potter into his death dive.

"I rather suspect he is," said the Lupin boy, hopelessly batting a bludger after Potter.

"As long as he dies for love, I think he'll be satisfied," said Black, diverting the bludger back toward Arthur, the Pettigrew boy squealing, almost ratlike as if whizzed by his head.

"Potter!" Arthur called after him. "How am I ever supposed to repay you for this training if you don't survive long enough for me to have anything to repay you with?"

The mad boy pulled out of his drop, cruising along the ground so low he could have extended his legs and touched the tips of the blades of grass with his toes. He gave a wild, open-mouthed laugh. "Pay it forward to my children. To my grandchildren too, for that matter. All of them."

"Grandchildren?" Weasley said.

"Look alive!" Black shouted at him, the second bludger cracking off his bat, and they were all off again.

Arthur was hot and filthy as they left the pitch. There was no time to get back to the dormitory for a shower so he stood in the field house, leaning his broom against the wall, about to strip off and clean up as best he could there. The water was running and he hadn't quite begun to pull his tunic off when a knock rang on the door. Without waiting to be invited inside, someone was entering, calling into the room.

"There's no point trying to avoid me if you're going to keep dousing yourself in that scent. It's like a beacon. You know I can sniff you out wherever you are, you little – Weasley!" It was Lucius Malfoy, recoiling in disgust at the sight of a tall, sweaty boy where he was expecting to find a small, kissable girl. He grit his teeth. "What are you doing in here?"

Arthur was genuinely taken aback. "In the Gryffindor change rooms? What in the actual stars are YOU doing in here?"

Lucius's jaw tightened further, his lip twitching at one end, as if he was fighting himself not to dignify Weasley's demand with a response.

"I'm washing up for class," Weasley said, his hand on the open door Malfoy stood in, as if to push it shut. "And I'd rather not have you gawking at me while I do it. So, if you please…"

A shadow fell over Malfoy's face, like a curse. But he said nothing, only turned on his heel with a swirl of his fine robes, and stormed away.