A/N: Here’s the first of three parts of “Molly’s Love Story”, a random idea brought to me by a conversation between Molly and Ginny in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince where Ginny mentions Molly and Arthur eloping. This chapter has little to no intentional humor in it, but the others will be funnier, though this isn’t necessarily a comedy. Anyway, please read and review! Oh, and guess what I don’t own. Yep, that’d be it.
The halls of Hogwarts were deserted as Molly Prewett tiptoed through them, muddy, cold, and furious. It was far past curfew, and the halls were silent. She prayed that her thick now-ex-boyfriend wouldn’t do anything stupid to get them caught. Hopefully he’d learn his lesson and cry his way back up to the Ravenclaw Tower to nurse his wounded ego and bloody nose.
Of course, she should have known better with Jack Lowood.
“Molly! Babe, come back!”
She spun on her heel, grinding her teeth, and marched back down the stairs she’d just climbed to find Jack at the bottom holding a bouquet of conjured roses in one hand and using the other to stem the flow of blood from his probably broken nose. He grinned at her, flashing the smile that had every girl in Hogwarts swooning. “Hey there, gorgeous.”
Molly stomped toward him, leaving muddy footprints behind her, and grabbed him by the front of his soaking wet robes. “You moron, Lowood. What the hell is your problem? Yelling after me in the middle of a dark hallway past curfew? When Dumbledore comes out here to find us, what do you think he’s going to do?”
“Dumbledore’s a nutcase, Molly. He’s obsessed with Mudblood rights and—shit!”
He dropped the roses and the bloody handkerchief and slipped to his knees, groaning. Molly glared down at him, her knee still slightly extended.
“Don’t ever talk about Professor Dumbledore like that again, you son of a bitch. And shut up before you get us caught.”
Molly was about to leave him lying on the floor and return to her dormitory when she heard it.
“Jack, someone’s coming!” she snarled under her breath. “Get up!”
He seemed afraid to disobey her and climbed to his feet.
“What do we do?” he whispered frantically as Molly scanned the hall, desperate for a place to hide. If her mother found out about her life at Hogwarts . . .
And then his lips were against hers, crushing hers, just as the footsteps came around the corner.
She was getting rather tired of having to physically abuse him, Molly decided as she gave him her best right hook.
Jack staggered backward, swearing profusely and rubbing his cheek.
“What the hell is your problem?” Jack shouted, advancing toward her.
“Is there a problem here?”
Jack jumped away as a tall figure stepped into the patch of moonlight they had been standing in.
Molly knew who he was vaguely: head boy, poor pureblood heritage, Gryffindor Quidditch captain and Keeper (Molly never went to the games; she couldn’t care less about sports), good student, all-around nice guy. Not her type at all—she preferred the boys with more of a reputation. Much more fun, she felt.
Jack glowered. “No, definitely not. What do you want, Weasley?”
“I wanted to see what was going on, Jack. I thought I’d make sure everything was all right. Apparently it wasn’t. And I’d thank you not to take that tone with me, please.”
Jack rolled his eyes but said nothing else.
“You can go now, Jack,” Molly said coldly. “I’m done with this.”
Jack paused for a moment before turning, snatching the roses, and storming off toward the Ravenclaw Tower. He left her standing, suddenly freezing in her wet robes, in the middle of the hall alone with this boy she’d never talked to. He stepped toward her, noticing her shivering frame, and slid off his sweater, wrapping it around her. She looked up, surprised. She thought boys only did that in books.
“You’re all right?” he asked kindly.
“Fine,” she said. “Really. Thanks.”
He smiled at her, and in that moment Jack’s grin seemed smug and strained compared to this genuine show of happiness.
“I always knew we’d break up outside the castle in the rain,” she muttered. “So perfectly dramatic.”
“Jack is a bit of a prima donna,” he agreed with her.
Molly turned her eyes on his handsome face fully. “I’m sorry, but what was your name again?”
“Arthur,” he answered, guiding her up the stairs.
“Arthur,” Molly repeated under her breath, feeling his warm hand on her arm.
| | * | | * | |
She had been home for a quarter of a day and was already going mad.
Molly had known her mother would be furious if she found out that her daughter, a high-standing young witch with “so much potential to marry into a near-royal family”, was dating Arthur Weasley, the hardly-Pureblood son of Muggle lovers whose whole family lived in unashamed poverty. She would not understand. She could not understand: Rinalda Prewett did not understand love. She understood money and clout. So Molly had decided to keep her relationship a secret from her mother, a feat she had pulled off for the duration of her seventh year.
And then that goddamn cousin Ophelia had gone and written to her mother.
Molly shuddered remembering the scene that had unfolded on the platform that evening. When she closed her eyes, she could still see her mother, small and graceful, dressed in her finest robes, speaking to poor Mrs. Weasley, a plump little woman surrounded by many redheaded children. She could still hear her voice. Her mother’s cold, sharp voice.
“The mere thought of your son speaking to my daughter is shameful, and I can assure you that Molly will see the severity of what she has done. My husband is quite high up in the Ministry, a fact you cannot claim, I do believe, and if I catch wind of your son even considering trying to talk to my daughter, I will have him thrown into the lowest cell in Azkaban. If you will now excuse me, I must get my daughter home, as she has a gala to attend in her honor tonight, and I do hope we won’t have to speak again. Oh, and you’ve got a rip in your robes, did you know? I must suggest you fix that; it looks dreadfully low class. Come, Molly.”
Molly squeezed her eyes shut and gripped her pillow tightly in both hands to keep from breaking something. There was really no other option. She couldn’t get around it.
She had to leave.
Still in her dress robes from the stupid gala she’d been forced into attending, Molly stood and snatched her wand from the bedside table. With a flick, a small suitcase appeared. With another, it packed itself neatly with some clothes, the essentials, and a picture of her with her arms around Arthur by the lake at Hogwarts. Disregarding her bare feet, she moved onto her balcony and swung her leg over expertly onto the lattice. She had snuck out many times before to meet other boyfriends when her mother thought she was with another “excellent suitor”. But when Molly’s feet hit the hard ground, the lawn flooded with light.
Her mother stood in the nearest doorway, watching her.
“Did you really think, Molly, that I wouldn’t put up an alarm?” Rinalda laughed. “Goodness, if you hadn’t inherited my good looks I don’t know how I’d possibly manage to marry you off. After you get over this silly rebellious ‘I’m-in-love’ phase, then we can—Molly Prewett!”
Her mother continued to shout alternately for her and for the house elf to come run her down as Molly sprinted toward the line of safe Apparition. She crossed it just as Hephaestus, the house elf, launched himself at her. Spinning on the spot, she caught her last glimpse of the childhood home that had been her hell and was gone.
A/N: I know it's short, but the other two chapters will be more lengthy. I promise. Updates will be a bit slow, I’m afraid, as the life of an honors student is not one to allow much free time. That’s okay, though. I’m over it now. :) Please, please, please review!