Thanks to the help of James Potter and friends, Arthur Weasley made the cut and became a starting beater on Molly Prewett's Gryffindor quidditch team. It might have been a bit of a scandal if there hadn't been an absolute uproar about another player.
The day of Gryffindor's first practice, James Potter, a lowly third year, stepped out on the pitch as the relief seeker. It set every other underaged quidditch hopeful in the school howling. But Professor McGonagall acknowledged the exception in the age limits for seekers, and supported her captain. Potter got to keep his personalized tunic and his spot on the Gryffindor bench. If only Lily Evans would notice…
But beyond gossip about her players, Molly's biggest worry on the afternoon of their first practice was the state of her broom. The day she broke away from Lucius Malfoy's kiss in the field house and stormed off, she had been so firm in her resolve to leave him that she had left her splintered broom behind too. By the time she went back for it, it was gone.
Bloody annoying. It must have been taken maliciously. No one else who played on a house team was small enough for a broom that size. And even if it did fit them, the mangled thing needed major repairs before it would be airworthy again. If she could have sent it home to Gid and Fab they might have been able to fix it. Having it stolen, sabotaged, was the worst possible outcome.
But there was nothing for it. She scuffed toward the field house, resigned to using one of the clunky school brooms for the day, like a first year at flying lessons. It would have to do until she could figure out something else.
And then, there is was, her broom sitting on the table, exactly where she'd left it. Only now, the splintered stick was mended, polished smooth and glossy. The brush end was so neat it looked like it might have been completely rebristled.
Molly gave a high, happy gasp and rushed at it. Yes it was her broom, good as new. It must have been repaired professionally, and at significant cost to someone. Was it McGonagall? No. It must have been…
Her heart lurched in her chest with the strangest feeling – half satisfaction, half dread. Lucius had done this. He must have taken it the last time they were here together. Now he had fixed her broom to show her how much she needed him, how she couldn't leave him. She read what all of this was meant to say. It said that she was bought and paid for, and she must stay with Malfoy, sneaking around even as Narcissa Black grew up and he began to court her, and as those Death Eater recruiters got closer and closer.
"Captain!" It was Sharlene calling from the pitch outside. Everyone was waiting.
There was no time to do anything but hop on this broom and get her new team started. Lucius Malfoy – he could mean whatever he wanted in paying someone to fix her broom. It didn't matter. She hadn't asked for it. She wasn't for sale and no matter what he paid, it didn't entitle him to anything she didn't want to freely give him. And what she wanted to give him was nothing. Nothing at all.
Wasn't it?
She tossed her puffy ponytail and bounced down to the pitch, sunlight gleaming off her shiny broomstick as she twirled it idly, like a majorette's baton. Everyone was too distracted with their own equipment and nervous energy to notice her as she came – everyone but Arthur Weasley. His expression was serious, his eyes locked on the broom in her hand.
"That cleaned up nicely, didn't it?" he said, the sound of something vaguely uneasy in what ought to have been harmless small talk.
But of course Weasley would remember how badly this broom was damaged the last time she flew, when he rescued her from falling off of it. Maybe he knew the rest too. Didn't he say he'd run into Lucius in the field house, complaining about being able to smell her perfume?
Her heart lurched again as she realized that, right now, in Arthur Weasley's sight, she looked like the sleazy side piece of some horrible rich boy. And that did matter. Molly felt her face flushing pink and she could only nod meekly at Arthur as she stood astride her broom and kicked off into the air.
First practices are always rough. The team fumbled their way through plays as Molly called them out, her voice growing hoarse and less spirited as they went on. It all ended when Potter caught the snitch before Sharlene. As he whooped, Sharlene overtook and tackled him, making a great show of theatrically but not too painfully punching Potter in the stomach. From the stands, his mates and her little sister Marlene cheered her on.
After dismissing everyone, Molly lingered in the field house, scowling at her immaculate broom as it lay on the table. If she knew Lucius Malfoy – and she did – he would be along shortly to gloat over her neediness, to gall her, and maybe to grab her and pull her close and…
Sure enough, there were footsteps behind her already. Molly spun around, her face stern. "Just what do you think – "
The angry words didn't get any further. Standing in the field house doorway wasn't Lucius Malfoy, but Arthur Weasley.
He waved a hand at her broom. "So how did it run? It looked ship-shape, but I couldn't test it properly myself. Not when it's so – erm, compact."
She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "How did – the broom run?"
Arthur's face was changing, a look of pain coming over it. "Yeah, your broom. After what happened, I brought it back to our workshop at home for repairs. Couldn't have done it without my Uncle Bilius and his heaps of spare parts and fixit spells. Even used a drop or two of Muggle wood glue. Hope you don't mind that but – oof!"
Molly had hopped across the floor and flung both her arms around Arthur's neck. She stood on tiptoe and pulled him down to her height, bending him nearly in half as he staggered to stay on his feet.
"You did this?" she said, her cheek warm and rosy against his neck. "You felt like you had to do this for me?"
Still stunned, Arthur stood stooped over her with his arms dangling at his sides. Molly Prewett was touching him. It wasn't a quidditch move, not first aid, not an accident. She was happy and hugging him, all soft and so close.
"Wake up, Weasley," his mind raged at him. "She can't very well throw herself into your arms unless you actually engage your arms."
He snapped out of it, overcorrecting and clamping his arms too quickly and tightly around her ribs. The force and surprise of it pushed a tiny squeal out of her. His head turned toward the sound, bringing his face into the fine wavy hair pulled back over her ear. She didn't smell like that perfume today, but like fresh air, and like something good to eat – a pound cake baked in a little tin for Christmas, the kind with lots of vanilla and a sprinkling of poppy seeds and maybe a zest of lemon.
"Had to?" he stammered. "No, but after you used up your last poultice on my arm, I wanted to fix something for you. And it wasn't too difficult."
She stood back, unlinking her arms from behind his head. "Well, next time you do me a favour, tell me beforehand so I don't worry I might owe my thanks to the wrong sort of person."
"Right," he said, warm blue eyes blinking furiously as he straightened his posture and smoothed his tunic. "Sorry."
"You needn't be," she said. In the low, golden evening sunlight, she saw one of her own red hairs clinging to the shoulder of Weasley's tunic. Or maybe it was one of his. Still standing close, she reached up and plucked it off of him, letting it fall to the floor.
With that, there was a low grumble from the doorway behind Arthur, a hiss of an obscenity, and the grinding of grit between the hard sole of a shoe and the dusty floor. Molly barely saw the flash of platinum hair disappearing from sight as someone trotted away from the field house. Lucius, just like old times, had come looking for her. Only now Arthur was here to repel him without a word.
Arthur gestured at him with his thumb. "What is with him? Puffing up his chest and stomping around here like a two-legged centaur – "
Molly began to laugh.
"Does he fancy you?" Arthur finished.
Molly fell silent, turning back to her broom to hide her flushed cheeks. She lifted her broom from the table to stash it in her locker. "What a ridiculous thing to say. He's betrothed to Narcissa Black. Everyone knows that," she said.
"That's not an answer," Arthur was quick to reply, his voice even.
"That's the only answer," Molly maintained.
Arthur forged on. "If Malfoy fancies you, it would explain a lot, actually." He slumped across the room and sat on the now empty table. He rubbed his neck where her face had been pressed to his skin. "That's why you've suddenly taken notice of me for the first time ever this year. You're playing me off Malfoy."
Molly didn't mean to slam the door of her locker. "That would be awful of me, wouldn't it?"
Arthur shrugged, looking down at his own over-large feet. "It would depend," he said. "It makes a difference whether you're doing it to try to lure Malfoy in, or to cast him off."
"Cast him off," she said in a rush, dropping all pretenses, confessing everything. "I admit it. We did have a bit of a – a fling. It was flattering, but that's not the same thing as making me happy. It didn't. And every day that passes – with Narcissa and then this Death Eater madness – it gets worse and worse."
"So just tell him off," Arthur said, his voice keeping its almost eerie evenness.
"I did," she raved. "Of course I did. But he seems to think he can change my mind if he keeps coming around and kissing up to me."
"Kissing up? Literally?"
"Yes," she said, her hands clenched in fists. "Literally, and figuratively too."
Arthur was nodding. "Figuratively, like, if he'd had your broom repaired."
"Exactly like that. By splashing around money that means nothing to him. By his spoiled, sneaky manipulation and by – well, I don't expect you to understand, Weasley. But," she squirmed where she stood, "Malfoy is quite magnetic, in his way. Hard to keep saying no to."
"Flaming trumped up centaur airs…" Arthur muttered.
She dropped her head into her hands, shaking it. "I'm so stupid."
Arthur tugged at one of her wrists, bringing her face back into his view. "You're not stupid. That's why you've gone and got me involved."
"You're involved, are you?" she said.
Arthur waved at the empty doorway. "You saw what just happened. He gets angry, but he always vanishes at the first whiff of me. You've seen it. It's like – well, have you ever heard of Kryptonite?"
Molly shook her head.
"It's from a Muggle comic book," Arthur began.
"Of course – "
"It's not real, just a made-up rock that leaves certain people powerless as soon as they get near it. That's what I am when it comes to Lucius Malfoy sniffing around you. I'm his Kryptonite." Arthur stood up from the table, towering over Molly again. "So go on and use me against him."
She sighed, shaking her head again. "Use you?"
He raised his eyebrows. "What? You had no problem with it before I realized you were already using me. It's better now that I know and I can consent to it, isn't it? If it keeps that monster off you, then use me."
"Stop saying it that way," she said, batting lightly at his chest.
"Fine, then – " Arthur glanced around the room, as if the words that would make her feel less like a heartless vamp would appear somewhere for him to read to her. "Then let me protect you, the way I do on the pitch. I haven't got very good at it yet, but the whole reason I'm on the team is because you trust I'll improve."
Molly sniffed a small laugh.
"I'm not joking," Arthur insisted. "This new movement against Muggles and the Muggleborn – I despise it, but I have no idea what to do about it. I plan on joining the Ministry in Muggle relations after I pass my NEWTS but until then, I feel helpless. At least let me save one person from their sneaky, evil ways."
He looked as if he might be reaching for her hand, but all Arthur did was tug at the cuff of her tunic. "At least let me save you, Molly." He tugged again at her sleeve, wobbling her arm.
She sighed deeply, a quaver in her breath. "So what do we do?" she said, shaking him off as she folded her arms over her middle, widening her stance, becoming the indomitable Captain Prewett again. "Hm? What? Should we stage a colossal public snog in the Great Hall at dinner tonight?"
Arthur' fell back a step. "Well that's not – exactly what I – but, I mean – if you – it would – I don't – "
"Keep your hair on, Weasley," she said, grinning over her shoulder as she flounced toward the door. "I didn't mean to scare you. No, if we're going to do this, we'll keep to the slow game that's already underway. That seems to be holding Malfoy off just as well as fireworks would anyway. You just keep flirting with me."
"Flirting?" Arthur said, alarmed. "What parts of it have been flirting?"
She rolled her shoulders. "You know. Keep talking to me in public, and giving me those eyes, and finding reasons to touch me. Little affectionate gestures and looks," she said, her face turned up to his. "Yes, just like that. Oh, and Hogsmeade. This weekend is the first Hogsmeade trip. We'll make a show of going together."
"How can we not go together? The whole school always goes together," he stammered, tripping after her as she turned to leave.
"Honestly, Weasley, you're not that dense," she said, nudging him into the door jamb.
"I might be," he said. "And it's probably for the best. Density is what everyone wants in a good chunk of Kryptonite."
