Many thanks to St Margaret’s and the University of Fluff, Nova Scotia, for teaching me how to write ‘fluff’.

Chapter I
It was February thirteenth and he still hadn’t bought her gift. How had he left it for so late? Drawing his robes closer around him in the cold, damp air, Arthur looked around for inspiration.

The year since leaving Hogwarts had shown him how essential Molly was to his life. He knew he wasn’t a mother’s dream for her daughter. As Junior Clerk in the Muggle Liaison Department, future opportunities were not thick on the ground. With four older brothers, there was no anticipation of a vast inheritance. The Weasleys had never been blessed with an abundance of gold to begin with. The Prewitts on the other hand, were quite comfortable; Mr Prewitt being the director of wool-gathering at a northern mill, which produced fabrics used by the finest robe makers. What would they think of a poor wizard such as himself daring to court their oldest daughter?

A bell jangled as Arthur pushed open the door to Schriben and Sons. His arrival was greeted with a shower of pink confetti. He jumped as an arrow, shot by a cupid floating above him, bounced off his chest.

‘Ah, a man already in the throes of love, I see.’

Arthur started at the voice that appeared to emanate from somewhere around his knees. Looking down he saw a woman dressed in ludicrous hot pink robes, edged with miles of ruffled lace.

‘Fredericka Annabel Schriben, at your service, sir. If I may be so bold…’

How could she not, Arthur thought wryly.

‘…you have the look of a man in a quandary. You, no doubt, are looking for the perfect gift for the love of your life. You have come to the right place, I assure you.’ She waved her hand expansively towards the racks of garish singing cards, extravagantly plumed quills, boxes of sweets that glinted and winked in the bright lights, all decked in more shades of pink and red than Arthur realised existed.

‘Here is just the thing, I think.’ With a flourish, she produced a vase full of roses whose tight buds immediately opened to full bloom, then closed again, each time giving off a strong perfume. ‘They are guaranteed to continue blooming for one year,’ Madam Schriben assured him.

‘No, I don’t think…’

‘Simpler tastes, perhaps...’ apparently from thin air, the witch presented him with another vase. It was filled with pansies of every colour. Their sweet upturned faces each made smacking kissing sounds.

‘Ah…no.’

‘Is she an old fashioned kind of girl?’ At Arthur’s relieved nod, Madam Schriben scrounged behind the counter and came up with a large bunch of daisies, tied with a simple red ribbon. Just as Arthur considered this bouquet, it burst into a jazzy chorus that ended with ‘I’ll sing to him, each spring to him, and worship the trousers that cling to him. Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, am I.’

‘Definitely not,’ Arthur pronounced firmly. ‘Thank you for your help,’ and before she could protest, he ducked out, leaving the bell ringing over the door in a disconsolate manner.

*********

She was nowhere to be found. The giggly, blushing girls in the Gryffindor Common Room hadn’t seen her since breakfast. He had finally snagged Jill, her roommate, as she hurried towards the portrait hole, distractedly late for a meeting with her latest beau.

‘I don’t know where she got to, Arthur, but she was upset. She was the only sixth year girl that didn’t get a Valentine this morning.’

‘B-b-but…’ he stammered.

She gave Arthur a disgusted look.

‘But I was coming here,’ he explained hesitantly.

‘And did she know?’ Jill snorted impatiently as she shoved out the portrait hole with a final glare of disdain.

Arthur stood there deflated. His shoulders sagged as he realised that Jill was right. He had wanted to surprise Molly and all he had done was make her upset and probably mad. Molly mad was not something he enjoyed. She had a temper on her, that one. Arthur could enjoy it when it was directed at someone else, but at him…he gave a shudder.

*********

There she was. Elbow deep in soil, repotting with manic vigour under the grey, rain-washed glass of greenhouse two. Her back was to the door but Arthur could tell from the set of her shoulders that the hard, filthy work had not lessened her anger. She set the newly resettled plant on the counter with a bit more vigour than necessary and reached for another terra cotta container. It slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor.

‘Oh…fiddlesticks,’ she exploded. Shoving her fringe off her face with her forearm, she flicked her wand at the shards and they reassembled on the bench.

Arthur quietly stepped behind her, placing his hands on the curve of her hip. She jumped and spun around, wand up defensively.

‘Arthur William Weasley, don’t you dare sneak up on me like that.’

Arthur grinned and leaned in for a kiss. She turned away abruptly, leaving his lips to land in the hastily gathered ponytail on the back of her head. Arthur dropped his hands. It was worse than he feared. He watched as she resumed potting the Flitterbloom cuttings violently. The silence was only broken by the squeaks and chirps of the plants protesting their rough treatment. Arthur stood helplessly watching her slam and bang the pots and tools about.

‘Hey,’ he said softly, touching the back of her earth smeared hand, ‘it’s not their fault.’

The pot was set aside and another snatched off the shelf.

‘I’m sorry.’

Her hands stilled, but she didn’t turn around.

‘I wanted to surprise you. None of the cards seemed right, and the flowers were just scary, so I decided to come in person to tell you,’ he hesitated. Molly turned around. He could see the trail of dried tears on her cheeks. ‘I couldn’t say it with an owl,’ he explained in desperation. He reached up and brushed a smudge of earth off her cheek, cupping her face in his broad hand. ‘I love you, Molly.’ He saw, with panic, tears well up and threaten to overflow her eyes. ‘Molly, I’m sorry! I just had to tell you. If you don’t feel the same, I understand. I shouldn’t have…’

She pressed her fingers against his mouth to stop his gibbering and laughed with tears now running down her face. ‘Silly boy.’ She removed her hand and as he opened his mouth to speak, she stretched up on her toes, looked right into his eyes and said ‘shhh,’ before stopping anymore arguments crossing his lips.




©Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered. Words & Music by Lorenz Hart & Richard Rodgers Recorded by Mel Torme, 1944

Chapter II

Nervously tugging at his robes and with a last minute check to make sure he had everything, Arthur took a deep, calming breath. No sense splinching yourself from nerves, he told himself. A fine how-do-you-do that would be, to arrive without an ear, or worse. Tonight was too important. He smoothed his hair down and patted his chest pocket, closed his eyes, took a breath and felt the now familiar compaction. He opened his eyes to find himself at the magnificent gates of Hogwarts. The school crest of wrought iron sealed the portal. In years past the gates had stood open in greeting, but that wasn’t safe in these dark days. Arthur reached out and pulled on the chain that hung from the gatepost. No bell was heard, but a flock of starlings took to air with chatter. In the distance Arthur could see the thin, tortured frame of Apollyn Pringle limping towards him.

‘Weasley. What do you want?’ he snarled when he reached the gate.

‘I’ve come to visit.’

‘Got permission?’

Arthur offered a roll of parchment through the gate. The caretaker unrolled it, inspecting it myopically. With a grunt of disappointment, he thrust it back at Arthur and grudgingly pulled the gate open just far enough to allow Arthur entrance by slipping sideways. Arthur nodded his head in thanks, but it was lost as the wheezing old man grumbled back up the path back towards the caretaker’s cottage.

This time he knew where to find her.

‘Same as last year,’ she had owled.

His long legs couldn’t get him across the grounds fast enough. In the last dying rays of the weak winter sun he hurried past the doors of the venerable old castle and headed for the row of glassed buildings in its shadow. He pulled open the door and the warmth of the greenhouse wafted a perfume of damp earth over him. Somewhere, in the distance, he could hear the faint strains of music. Hurrying down the rows of plants, he found her, once again, at the potting bench, cooing over a vine that had just begun to climb its trellis.

He stepped behind her silently and slipped his hands around her waist. She spun around, wandless, with her face alight.

‘You’re here,’ she breathed.

He bent down to capture her smiling mouth with his. For what seemed like forever, but not nearly long enough, she welcomed him. ‘I’m here,’ he murmured, as he tasted the soft skin below her ear.

She drew away from him just as he reached for her mouth again.

‘I fixed a Valentine surprise for you,’ reaching down for his hand and pulling him through the doorway to the small tool room.

The room had been transformed. A few torches along the walls lit the small room that had been swept and scrubbed. In one corner stood an old gramophone, from which emanated the music he had heard. Along the far wall was a small table, set for two and candlelit.

‘But I was going to take you….’ Arthur protested quietly.

‘I didn’t want to share you with anyone tonight,’ Molly said, pulling the hand she grasped up to her mouth and kissing it on the knuckles.

Arthur pulled her to him, keeping their clasped hand caught between them and wrapping his other arm around her waist. As they began to sway to the gentle tune playing, she leaned in to rest her head on his chest.

This is just the way I want it to be forever, Arthur thought, as he listened to her breathing and felt her slim figure moving in rhythm with his lanky form.

The song changed. A jazzy tune began. Molly changed her step to match his and soon they were involved in a complicated box step, with Arthur occasionally stepping out to twirl her under his upraised arm, then pulling her back in and catching her tightly once more. By the end of the song, they were both breathless with laughter. Collapsing into a chair, Molly grinned up at Arthur.

‘I think that calls for some refreshment!’

With a ‘pop’, dozens of delicious smelling dishes appeared on a sideboard next to the table.

‘You’ve had the house elves working like mad, I see,’ Arthur winked at her.

‘I’ll have you know, I made this myself!’

‘Hidden talents,’ Arthur teased. He leaned over her. ‘I want to know everything about you,’ he whispered as he caught her in another kiss, which was interrupted by Molly’s giggle.

‘You’re very suave tonight, Mr Weasley.’

Arthur’s ears turned a bright red as he took his seat and ducked his chin. Molly stood up suddenly and chattered nervously as she served up two plates. As she placed one of them in front of Arthur, she leaned over and whispered in his ear.

‘I’m yours to know, Arthur.’

Again his ears flamed, but there was a grin on his face this time.

They ate in comfortable companionship, occasionally relating an amusing anecdote or commenting on the food, but usually surrounded by the quiet clinking of silver on china. When the last of the pudding had disappeared, Arthur leaned back in his chair, groaning in satisfaction.

‘I could learn to get used to that,’ he grinned at her.

‘I enjoy cooking. Mumma insisted that we learn. From the very beginning, she had us down in the kitchen, chopping and measuring as she tended the pots. Essie was put out occasionally when we took over her kitchen, but she got used to it.’

‘Essie?’

‘Our house elf. She’s a wonder. Mumma says she could never tend to six children and the house without her.’

Arthur had gone quiet. A house elf. He could never give her a home with a house elf. What was he thinking? He couldn’t possible provide for her the way she deserved. Was he being selfish, loving her, wanting her?

‘Arthur?’ Molly’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

He looked up at her, and in that moment he knew. His father had told him something once that struck him with a force he couldn’t explain. Even now, years passed, he could hear his voice. ‘You will meet a lot of lovely girls. You will fall in love with more than one. But when you meet the woman you cannot live without, she will be the one to marry.’

Arthur stood up and reached for Molly’s hand. ‘Dance with me?’

She rose and he welcomed her into his arms. Together they again swayed to the music, closing out the rest of the world. Molly tucked her head against his chest again and Arthur revelled in the feel of her tiny, warm hands in his. He bent his head and rested his chin on the top of her head, occasionally placing a gentle kiss on the crown of her vibrant hair.

‘Molly, I want you to come to London with me.’

‘For a holiday?’

‘For longer.’

She tilted her head up so she could look at him, questioningly. ‘How long?’

Arthur took a deep breath. ‘Till death do us part.’

She blinked. ‘That’s a long time,’ she whispered. She looked down at their clasped hands. They had stopped dancing, but the music continued to play.

‘I’m asking you to marry me.’

Arthur waited, holding his breath.

‘Arthur, you’re so sweet,’ she hesitated.

His heart fell. She didn’t want him.

She lifted her chin. Arthur saw it in her tear-brimmed eyes. With a shout of laughter and triumph, he bent down and captured her mouth with his lips.

The gramophone continued to play its jazzy tune.
Couldn't sleep, and wouldn't sleep,
When love came and told me I shouldn't sleep
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.

©Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered. Words & Music by Lorenz Hart & Richard Rodgers Recorded by Mel Torme, 1944

Chapter III

Arthur looked at the box in his hand and grinned. It was perfect. He handed it to the clerk who set it on the wrapping counter. A jaunty red paper immediately began to busy itself with folds to enclose the package whilst a ribbon spool twisted and spun itself into an intricate bow. Coins were presented and Arthur was soon stepping out into the street with a shopping bag containing the precious parcel clutched in his hand. He whistled as he made his way down the busy street. He grinned to himself when he realised the majority of the shoppers were men. No doubt out on the same errand as he.

In the blink of an eye, he was home. He stood in the garden looking with a small bit of pride at the house he and Molly now called home. It wasn’t grand by any stretch of the imagination, but he could pride himself in the fact that he had done most of the work himself. He had found it whilst out on an investigation of an incident of rather nasty Muggle baiting. It had been a run-down stone hut on the verge of collapse, but many weekends of both manual and spell work had made it a tidy little nest. Molly had christened it ‘The Burrow’, and set about turning it into a proper home. The kitchen was her kingdom. The parlour was warm and welcoming, even if the furniture was second hand. As each child arrived, Arthur had expanded the house under the eaves. Growing children needed a growing house.

The front door burst open and two redheaded whirlwinds came flying towards him.

‘Daddy, daddy! Mummy’s barfing again! It’s gross!’ With that pronouncement each boy grabbed a thigh and stood on one of his feet as he began to take stiff-legged steps towards the house. Bill looked up at him with a grin. His two lower teeth were missing. ‘Mummy says we are demon children and she doesn’t know why she’s got herself into this again.'

‘Demonths!’ Charlie echoed with apparent relish.

‘Ah…yes. Well, why don’t you fine young demons stay out in the garden till I call you for tea and let mummy have a bit of a lie in.’

‘Mummy cook tea, but she barf!’ Charlie proclaimed.‘Yuck!’ they both squealed with glee.

Arthur gently disengaged them from his legs and they ran off towards the rope swing that hung from the ancient hickory tree, squabbling and shoving.

Arthur let himself into the kitchen door. Seated in a big squashy chair by the fire sat Molly. Her eyes were closed and her legs were tucked up under her skirt. A shawl she had knit was thrown over her shoulders. Arthur leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead and tucked the shawl more tightly around her. Without opening her eyes, she smiled and murmured a thank you.

‘Rough day?’

‘Hmmm.’‘The boys said you barfed over tea.’

‘Don’t remind me. Poor things must be starving. I’ll be up in a minute and finish it up.’

‘No, you rest. I’ll do it.’

She reached a hand out and patted his. ‘Dear man,’ she murmured with a small smile.

Arthur moved to the cooker. He prodded the flame higher under the kettle and then began assembling the chicken legs, potatoes and veggies that were all in the warming oven. As he pulled the meat from the dark compartment he heard a scuffle and turned to see Molly escaping the room at a run. He shook his head in sympathy and put the food on the table.

After laying out plates and cutlery, he went to the door.

‘Charlie, Bill, time for tea,’ he called. Soon he was busy filling plates and cups as the boys ravenously gobbled down the meal. Molly did not make an appearance. After setting the dishes to clean, he herded the boys up the stairs to the bath. Stripping them of their clothes while the tub filled with warm, scented water, the boys regaled him with stories of their day’s adventures. Apparently Charlie had spied a Nogtail on the edge of the paddock. Arthur made a note to himself to borrow his neighbour’s white dog. It wouldn’t do to allow the animal to stay.

Clean and sweet once more, Arthur tucked the boys into bed.

‘Tell us a story, Daddy!’ they begged.

‘Alright,’ Arthur agreed. ‘Once upon a time there was a family that lived on the edge of the wood. They lived in a cosy house. A mummy, a daddy and two little boys.’

‘Just like us!’ Bill crowed.

‘Just like us,’ Arthur agreed. ‘They were very happy.’ Charlie nodded happily and snuggled into Arthur’s side. ‘But one day a surprise happened. A baby fairy came to their house and told the mummy and daddy a new baby would soon be arriving.’

‘A baby fairy. What does it look like? Is it itty-bitty? Does it bite, like a doxie?’

‘No, baby fairies are very nice. They only bring good news, about new babies.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Well nothing yet. The mummy and daddy are still waiting for the new baby.’

‘When will they get it?’

‘Oh, in about six more months. Meanwhile, sometimes the mummy feels a bit sick, because the new baby grows in her tummy and the new baby doesn’t always like the smell of food. Sometimes the mummy is very tired because growing a baby is hard work.’

‘Hang on, is that why Mummy is so sick and tired all the time? Because she is growing a new baby?’

‘Yes, exactly,’ said Arthur, pleased that Bill had worked it out so well.

‘Will it be boy baby or girl baby?’ Charlie piped up for the first time.

‘Well, we won’t know until the baby gets here. It’s a surprise.’

‘I hope it’s a girl. I already have a baby brother.’

‘I not baby!’ Charlie sputtered.

‘Well, either one will be wonderful. We love both of you so much, we wanted another baby to love, too. We will have a great big wonderful family. Now it’s time for two demon children to go to sleep. Mummy will be in in a minute to tell you good night. Remember tomorrow to let her rest and help her all you can, so she can grow a good, big baby, alright?’

‘Okay, daddy. Good night.’

Arthur kissed each of them and snugged the blankets around them. With a slight flick of his wand, the lights dimmed, illuminating softly the ginger-coloured hair peeking out from under the covers.

Arthur was putting away the last of the dishes when Molly came into the kitchen.

‘Are they asleep?’

‘Yes, sound asleep.’ She came across the kitchen and slid her hands around his aproned waist. ‘That was a sweet bedtime story you told them,’ she said, resting her head against his back.

‘Yes, well I figured it was a good time to tell them.’ He turned around, wiping his hands on the apron. Molly grabbed the tie and gave it a yank, causing the apron to fall to the floor. ‘Why Mrs Weasley, are you sure you want to disrobe me?’

‘It’s just the apron, silly.’ Molly swatted at him playfully.

‘Feeling better?’ Arthur asked, leading her to the seat by the fire.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Up to some broth and bread?’

‘Maybe a bit.’

‘You need to eat.’ With a wave of his wand, a mug and plate appeared on the hearthside table.

Molly wrapped her hands around the mug and sipped slowly. ‘Mmmm. This will do. Thanks.’ Arthur, propped on the arm of the chair, stroked her hair as she nibbled on the crust of brown bread, occasionally dipping it into the steaming broth.

‘Budge over,’ Arthur said, squeezing into the chair. Once they were settled, Molly snuggled against him leaning onto his chest, her legs draped across his. He rested his hand on the slight bulge of her stomach. Arthur sighed with contentment. ‘I could stay like this forever,’ he whispered into her hair. He felt Molly nod against his chest. ‘I almost forgot. I brought you something.’ She whimpered slightly as he disturbed her to stretch out his wand. ‘Accio,’ he muttered. The parcel flew into his hand. ‘I found this today and thought it was perfect.’ He offered her the box. She took it and looked at it, stroking the fluffy bow and shiny paper. Arthur laughed. ‘Open it.’

It took all of his strength not to rip the paper and ribbon for her as she carefully untied the ribbon and opened each seal. She lifted the lid of the box and gasped.

‘It’s a charmed bracelet,’ he explained. ‘There is a charm for each of the children. It will change as they grow. See, this one is for the baby,’ he said pointing out a gold charm no larger than the head of a pin. ‘As they grow, the charms will grow and change shape. By the time they are adults the charms will be about this big and will just be a silhouette of their face.’ He waited for her to say something, but she just continued to tentatively touch the charms. ‘Is it alright?’

Molly looked up at him, her face aglow. ‘It’s perfect.’ She stretched out her arm. ‘Put it on me?’

Arthur took the delicate chain and, with difficulty, opened the clasp and wrapped it around her thin wrist. His fingers felt too big and the clasp shut around air several times before he got it closed. Molly twisted her hand in the air, admiring the bracelet as the firelight glinted off it. Arthur reached out and caught a strand of her hair, winding it through his fingers.

‘I’m sorry you had a rough day.’

‘I’ve had worse. I’ll live.’

Arthur ran the back of his hand down her cheek. ‘I wish I could get you a house elf, or something, you know… to help out.’

Molly snorted. ‘That’s silly. I’m pregnant, I’m not dying.’

‘I just wish I could…’Molly’s hand came up and covered his mouth. Arthur stilled. They both leaned back and resumed their admiration of the fire.

Arthur broke the silence. ‘Do you ever regret you said ‘yes’?’

‘Which time?’ Molly said, poking him in the ribs. It was Arthur’s turn to snort.

‘Mrs Weasley, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?’

‘Why Mr Weasley, I’d be honoured.’

Arthur stood and turned around, pulling her out of the chair. He pointed his wand at the wireless and as a soft tune began to pour from the box, he gathered her in his arms.

I'm wild again, beguiled again,

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I 


©Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered. Words & Music by Lorenz Hart & Richard Rodgers Recorded by Mel Torme, 1944