QLFC Reserve League

S1, R1

Chaser 1: Molly & Arthur

TW: Breif Swear

Molly walks through Hogwarts, gripping the mysterious missive in her hands. It was parchment of a lower–quality than she was used to—she is Heiress Prewett after all—and it's incredibly telling. It means that whomever sent it is a muggleborn, half-blood, or a poor pureblood and there aren't many who would have the gall to send a missive to her, asking for a private audience.

Despite all the words and training her Aunt Muriel had instilled in her, Molly continues to go to the Shrieking Shack, the appointed meeting place.

Her mind continues to ponder over who they could be, who had sent it to her, when everybody knows that her twin brothers were fiercely protective of her, despite being two years younger than her. Fabian and Gideon had decreed, as the Twin Lord–Heirs to the Prewett estate, that she will not be accepting any courting requests until she is 17 years old.

Molly was not pleased with the request—she could make her own decisions for herself, thank you very much—but went along with it lest she receive a scathing letter from her Aunt Muriel. Despite her age, Aunt Muriel was of sharp wit and an even sharper tongue when she was angry with one of them.

Her birthday is in 2 months, a mere 34 days, and yet… here she is, walking to what most assuredly is a courtship offer. She'll have to spell the person to silence otherwise Hogwarts will be in the know almost immediately and Molly does not especially relish the idea.

She glances back down at the missive in her grasp, reading it over despite the fact that she could recite it from heart by now, looking for any clues that she might have missed. The penmanship is exceptional, neat, tight, loops that tell a good tutor and yet the parchment quality says that they have little money. A peculiar pairing, Molly thinks to herself as she begins to tread on lightly snowed grass.

She pulls her coat tighter around her, reapplying her disillusionment charms and murmuring frosting charms on the ground so that her foot prints freeze over and are hidden.

The Shrieking Shack is still and haunting in the bare rays of moonlight that illuminate her steps and Molly shudders, burying her nose into the soft fur of her coat. She carefully constructs a tactful refusal to the courtship she may receive, wording in an open-ended way that may signify her willingness to approach them again after her coming of age.

Not that she would actually accept. Her heart belonged to another and Molly doubted that it was him.

Molly floats herself over the fence and trudges to the Shack, spelling all the snow off her and rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth.

There is a card on a transfigured table, slightly rickety as though the student isn't quite good at Transfiguration. Molly picks up the card after checking for any harmful spells and it comes back negative, so it's safe to touch.

I adore your temper; it's like a dragon, rearing for a fight.

Slightly bemused, Molly tucks the card into her pocket, cheeks faintly flushed. She'd never been told that her temper was something to be admired. But it's sweet that this person thinks so.

She continues on through the knotted entryway of the Shrieking Shack, stopping when a hooked sort of root has a card hanging from it with a string.

So this is what they were doing. Interesting.

Molly opens this card, makes it two lines down, before she starts laughing. This is the most horrendous poetry that she has ever read and Gideon had dabbled with it and those were eye-sores. But this truly took the cake and Molly trailed off into giggles, pressing the card to her bosom.

This person was adorable—it made her heart swell a little bit and she tucked the poetry card next to the other one. She continued on, ducking to miss a low hanging root despite her already short stature, and her heart skips a beat when she comes to the door.

She raps her knuckles on it lightly and it opens a little bit with a creak. Molly steps in and her heart stops at the bouquet that greets her. It's made of flowers that aren't from any florist in the UK, because there are faint handprints of dirt on the gold and red wrapping and a light smudge on the Prewett sky blue ribbon tying it together.

Handpicked and homegrown. Her heart fluttered. This was perhaps the most thoughtful offer she'd ever gotten.

Molly takes them, cradles them in her arms and looks around. Her eyes stop on bright red hair hidden by a shadow.

There are very few students that tall, with such bright red hair, and her heartbeat quickens. It couldn't be—

"Hello," she greets them. "Your dedication to your offering is admirable but I must—"

They step out of the shadow a little bit and the words die in her throat.

Molly wants to hit herself. How could she have not recognized the penmanship? How could she have not recognized the shoddy transfiguration?

It's Arthur Weasley, son of Septimus Weasley and Cedrella Weasley. He's comely, with the features of the Black Family but made rough by the Weasley genes and his eyes are bright blue and hair a shocking ginger.

His clothes are worn and patched but he stands tall, his face shining with a soft hopefulness. Molly swallows and knows that her Aunt would be horribly displeased with her if she accepted. But…

But Arthur was so kind, so sweet, so gentle, and Molly enjoyed her partnership with him during Potions and there was simply no way to deny that she was in love with him. His ramblings about muggles were cute, the way his hands talked in tandem with his voice, and how he was ever the peacekeeper.

"Arthur.

"Molly."

She cradles the flowers, traces the pattern of the petals with her eyes, before stomping her foot in such a way that it is incredibly reminiscent of a toddler. "Damn you, Arthur Weasley," she hisses before stalking up to him.

His blue eyes light up with hope and she tilts her head up at him. "When I turn 17, I wish to be married to you," she says with no preamble.

Arthur blinks, surprised, but then a smile breaks out on his face. It's an ear to ear grin. "Of course. Whatever you wish," he says softly.

I wish for you to be my husband, Molly thinks as she leans up and seals Arthur's mouth with a kiss.