Arthur Weasley was fleeing again, this time from the library where he might have accidentally just confessed to Molly Prewett. He was following James Potter and Sirius Black as they dashed through what looked like a solid wall. The lads had been trying to be sneaky but couldn't seem to keep from laughing too loudly.

As he emerged on the other side of the false wall, Arthur staggered, scuffing his feet against the dusty stone floors of a secret passage where Filch had never mopped.

James and Sirius were not laughing anymore, both of them gaping at Arthur. James was scrambling to fold up a large parchment while Sirius jammed a quill into his pocket in a frantic hurry.

"Weasley!" Sirius said. "How did you – you didn't follow us in here, did you?"

Arthur nodded, squinting in the dim blue light. "Blimey. I heard the castle had passage ways. You found this yourself, lads?"

"No, no," Remus Lupin said, rushing in behind them. "We're just after our runaway pet rat."

"That's right!" Sirius said, pouncing on the excuse. "Wormy, old boy, Weasley's here, with those huge feet! Don't let him tread on you!"

"He's quite the explorer, our Wormtail," James took it up, unable to resist bragging, even when they were caught at something. "They say no one's been in the dungeons but Slytherins in hundreds of years but, I wouldn't put it past our Wormy to know every nook and cranny."

"That's a valuable familiar. Shall I help you find him then?" Arthur offered, eager to distract himself and ever curious. He looked over the lads' heads, shifting on his feet as if to set off into the depth of the castle himself. "How far does this passage go, anyway?"

"You can't!" said Sirius, hopping in Arthur's path.

"Why ever not?" he asked.

From behind Arthur, Remus bugged his eyes and shrugged. They had to get him out of there in case Peter came back from scouting for the map and slipped out of the rat form. He was not yet expert in holding onto it. If he slipped in front of Weasley, all their secrets might be revealed.

"Ha!" James burst. He had it. "Don't tell me you came through the wall with your wand still in your pocket, Weasley. We all knew to leave ours in the dorm."

Arthur felt for his wand. Yes, he had it.

James shook his head. "Sorry to tell you this, mate, but there's magical interference in the passage entrance."

"That's right," Sirius said, catching on. "Any wand that passes through is untrustworthy for about 24 hours afterward. Trust me, we learned that the hard way."

"Yeah," Remus said. "If I was you, I wouldn't use that on any spell that has to do with a living body for at least 24 hours. No healing or disillusioning or apparating – "

"Or disapparating," Sirius finished.

"And the interference gets worse the longer you leave a wand back here," James added. "I reckon if you don't leave in the next ten seconds, that wand will make a mess of anything NOT living too. Imagine that, no use of a wand at all for 24 hours."

Arthur inspected his wand, frowning. "You're having me on."

They were all speaking at once, pledging their sincerity and edging toward him, crowding Arthur back toward the passage entrance.

Before he realized what had happened, Arthur was back in the corridor. He raised his hand to the stone wall and found it solid again, as if the passage was never there. Those mad third years…

Shrugging, he tucked his wand into his pocket and went to dinner resolved to sit right below the teachers' dais where no one ever wanted to be. He'd eat as quick as he could and be gone so Molly wouldn't be put off by the sight of him and skip another meal. If she skipped too many, her cheeks might lose that apple-y look, and she might lose some of that bounce, that adorable wobble when she went flouncing around.

"Steady, Weasley," Arthur muttered to himself, punctuating it with a light slap to his own face.


Molly had forced herself not to chase Arthur out of the library. She then forced herself not to sit right under the teachers' noses with him at dinner, or to hang around the common room hoping he'd come down and sit with her by the fire so they could talk – or something.

On Monday, she moped to class, forcing more laughter with Sharlene and Kingsley, but feeling sick as soon as her eyes wandered toward the back of that head of red hair and that long, fine neck. Every time she opened her bag, she could smell the orange Arthur had given her and which she couldn't bring herself to either eat or stop carrying around. She couldn't keep it forever, but for now…

After class, she found an excuse to go walking alone in the forest gathering the plants she needed to brew balm for more poultices. The orange had been moved from her book bag to the large front pocket of her thick autumn jumper. It bumped against her stomach as she walked.

Forbidden though it was, the forest had stopped scaring Molly years before. Maybe she should have stayed vigilant anyway. That was what she thought when a twig snapped near her, broken under the foot of a heavy, stalking creature. What was it? A spider? No, they stepped lightly on their eight hairy legs. A centaur then? Stars, she hoped not. She didn't dare look, but –

"Molly?"

There was a hand on her shoulder and she choked back a squeal as she spun around.

"Lucius!" she said, hopping away from his touch. "What a place to come sneaking up on people. You scared the shade out of me!"

"I'm sorry," he said, shushing her, stepping much too close. "I've been trying to speak with you for days, but you've been in hiding."

She huffed. It was true enough, and it had nothing to do with him. "Well, I'm finished here and I'm going back to the castle," she said. "Whatever you want to say, you can tell me on the walk back."

"Wait," he said, his arms clamping around her, holding her hard against him, the ridiculous globe of the orange pushing into her stomach between them.

"Lucius, I can't – "

"I know," he said. "Not the way things are right now. I know. It's my fault, but – just listen."

"I am not listening to you unless you let me go."

"Fine," he said. "I'll let go. But not here."

With that, Lucius turned on the spot. They were just far enough outside school grounds to disapparate, and in a dizzying twist, they were somewhere else.

As promised, as soon as they appeared in the new place, Lucius let her go, keeping close, his little finger linked through hers. They were in a wide field, all its crops harvested, a bank of leafless trees hemming its edges. It could have been anywhere in the country.

She shook off his hand, reaching for her own wand. "No, Lucius," she said. "I never agreed to this and I'm going back."

"You don't even know where we are," he protested.

"So what? All I need to leave here is a destination," she said, her wand aloft.

"Expelliarmus."

"Lucius!" she said, furious at being disarmed.

"I'll give it back as soon as you hear me out," he said, tucking both of their wands into the back of his belt, under his jumper. "I give you my word."

"What is it then?" she bawled at him.

"It's dangerous," he said. "Things are about to get dangerous."

She tossed her head. "So I've heard. Thanks to your lot."

"It's your brothers too, Molly. They're off in London making enemies of very powerful people. They're incorrigible and eventually, it's going to involve you. I know it. And I – " He paused to take in a great gulp of air. "I can't bear it. If you wind up hurt in this, I'll…"

Molly folded her arms, widened her stance, waiting for him to finish. "You'll what?" she said. "Do the right thing? Act like a grown man with his own mind and tell your new friends you're not going along with their hate and their scare tactics?"

"They aren't just my friends. It's my family too. My parents. It's some of the most gifted and fearsome witches and wizards our world has ever known," he said, his voice hushed now, his hand reaching for hers, pulling it off her hip, holding it between them. "Molly, you can't resist them. No one can. Please…"

His grip on her hand became more settled, not restraining but caressing. It was tender. He'd been many things to her before – flirtatious, passionate, possessive, even protective– but never tender. There was a new and different magnetism to it.

She shook her head. "I don't see how my welfare is any of our business anymore," she said, though less severely now. "You have another girl to protect. One I daresay is more helpless than me."

His eyes flinched closed. "No one expects me to be faithful to a fifteen-year-old. Not for years, and by then everything will be different. By then, you might be safe." He tugged on her hand, pulling her in again, but gently. She let him move her, stepped into his arms as they closed around her.

He sighed into the crown of her hair. "I missed you."

Molly inhaled, his fancy store bought scent rushing into her head again. The wind lifted his hair and a tendril of it blew against her forehead, light as silk threads.

"Stay with me," he said, low and quiet. "I won't let anyone else touch you. It tears me to pieces. So be with me for as long as we can, Molly."

She kept silent and still, blinking against his chest. Above her, Lucius was bending toward her, and she was tilting her face to meet his, eyes not quite closed. And inside his robes, one of her hands was feeling along his waist, groping for her wand, moving to pluck it out of his belt. Her fingers had just brushed against its end when a giant crack sounded.

Lucius dashed away from her.

Standing before them now was a wizard just as tall and pale as Lucius, dressed in long, brocade robes and scowling, first up at the sky from which a light right was falling, and then at Lucius. This had to be his father, Abraxas Malfoy.

"Just as they said I'd find you," he thundered. "Out chasing after some hussy from school. Shameful, Lucius."

"Who's been telling you anything about me?" Lucius raged at Malfoy Sr.

"That Yaxley boy," he roared back. "He's a good lad. Responsible, unselfish. Came through our Floo and said you'd gone after – this person. You're lucky I traced you here."

Lucius stamped his foot, opened his mouth to fight back, but Abraxas was waving him away. "So this is her, is it? This is what you'd risk the renewal of our alliance with the House of Black and the favour of the Dark Lord over? The mousy brat sister of those Prewett blood-traitor barbarians."

"What did you call my brothers?" Molly said, squaring up.

"Molly, don't," Lucius said, trying to stand between them.

Abraxas shoved past him. "I said they're vile country vermin, newly infesting London, soon to be exterminated. No, they won't be troubling the Dark Lord for long, just as you won't be troubling the House of Malfoy, you filthy slut. Come along, Lucius."

And faster than either of the young people could react, Abraxas Malfoy had taken his son by the wrist and the pair of them had disapparated. It happened so fast Molly would have sworn she could still hear Lucius's voice on the air for an instant after he vanished.

They were truly gone – with her wand.

She uttered a high, enraged cry that reverberated across the lonely field. It couldn't have been due to magic, but just as if Abraxas had hexed her, it began to rain harder as he left. It was three o'clock on a late autumn afternoon. A degree or two lower in temperature and the rain would have been snow. Instead, it was a driving, cold rain, and Molly was alone in it, wandless, and with no idea where she was.

She looked around. Where was Lucius? Why didn't he send someone back with her wand? Should she wait here in case one of his awful people came back to show her some decency? Were they capable of that? And if she didn't stay here to wait, where else would she go? Where was the nearest Floo to get her back to Hogwarts, or at least out of the rain?

Cursing the Malfoys, she set off walking southeast only because it was downhill, into the shelter of the trees. She was already soaked, beginning to shiver. Running would help her stay warm, and get her out of the rain sooner, so she jogged along, her shoes and tights splashed with muddy water. There was a track at the bottom of the hill, a lane for Muggle farming equipment to move between fields. She rounded a corner, hoping to see a cottage or a church spire. There was nothing.

Where had he taken her?

By now, Molly's teeth were chattering. She held her fingers to her mouth, breathing on them. The relief of the warm air was fleeting. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her wool skirt, where her wand should have been.

How could she have been so unguarded around the Malfoys, even after all of Sharlene's warnings? What would Alastor Moody think of Sharlene's best friend now? What a disgrace.

And then, her knuckles were abraded by something hard that had fallen all the way to the bottom of her empty wand pocket. Molly stopped in her tracks.

"Kryptonite."

She drew the green crystal out into the open, the rain slicking its smooth, cut facets. Her fist closed over it and she held it to her chest, as she had lying beside Arthur on a picnic blanket at the Burrow hours before he'd kissed her and changed everything. She made a sound that was part laugh, part sob.

"Find me, Arthur. I don't know where I am, but I need you."

Still stopped on the road, she listened for – something. There was nothing but the sound of rain. Molly turned in a circle, peering through the grey light and the wet trees. She was still alone. A lump formed in her throat but she swallowed it down, wiping her eyes only once before she set off walking again.

It was nearly four in the afternoon, only about an hour or two of daylight left. She had to get somewhere, anywhere sheltered before the night and the cold truly set in. Her toes were stinging in her sopping leather shoes. Soon, they would be numb – less painful, but in more danger.

She walked on, getting slower and slower.

Then she heard it, a sound not unlike a train, but just in the rolling of its wheels, no steam. Was it a Muggle farmer on a tractor? She stared down the length of the muddy road but still saw nothing.

If she wasn't mistaken, the noise wasn't coming from along the road, but from overhead. Wind gusted, and she thought she saw a flash of blue in the rainy grey.

Her breath caught. Settling slowly onto the road behind her was a Ford Anglia, its windscreen beaded with rain, and Arthur Weasley gripping the wheel.