Author's Notes: Molly/Arthur fluff. Because I'm sick of angst.

That's right, beyotches. I went there.

But seriously, I thought it was time for some good, old-fashioned humorous fluff. Which is why I'm posting this and, later, Oh, Ron. Because I heart Ron and Hermione.

Unbeta'd. What can I say? I'm a rebel.

Da Nibest Boy In Da Whole School

Well, that was it, then. It could no longer be denied.

Arthur Weasley was going crazy, and it had nothing to do with the piles and piles of work that had begun to haunt his dormitory, living in his pillow and under his trunk. It had nothing to do with the homicidal amount of Prefect meetings that he'd been forced to hold on account of the fact that he was Head Boy. It had nothing to do with the rise of the Dark Lord. It had nothing to do with the fact that the Gryffindor Quidditch team just couldn't seem to win any matches.

And it had everything to do with one Molly Prewett.

She was a simple enough girl, really. Not particularly beautiful, although pretty in her own right—she was pleasantly plump, a smile always lighting her face, and her eyes twinkling.

Well—except when she was angry. Arthur seemed to recall several occasions when she brought seventh-year males to tears.

It wasn't that he fancied Molly, or anything. Sure, she was all right, and he could certainly see why a bloke would want to date her, but he wasn't attracted to her in that way.

Was he?

Of course he wasn't. It was just that she'd been everywhere lately—he'd turn around, and there she'd be, smiling and offering someone something to eat.

Arthur thought that, even if Molly suddenly grew disgustingly obese and pimply and stupid, it wouldn't hinder her options of a husband, because any witch, wizard, and squib would be glad to marry her if only for her cooking. In fact, Arthur himself was in love with it.

In love with the food, of course. It had nothing to do with the girl who actually made it. Obviously not.

But in recent weeks, Arthur had found himself in Molly's company more and more often—and by no fault of his own! She always stayed after prefect meetings to help clean up, she would find him in the Common Room late at night doing homework and offer to correct his messily-done essays, she would sneak into his dormitory just before class — minutes, really; how did she managed to run to her classroom on time? — and wake him up, shove a deliciously tasty something-or-other into his hand and order him to get a move on so he could make it to class on time because his homework was tucked neatly into his bag and don't worry about making his bed and cleaning up, because she would do it for him.

In all honesty, Arthur knew he'd be failing classes if it wasn't for that girl.

Funny, wasn't it? The girl most troubling him was the only thing keeping him alive.

She was a lovely girl, that Molly. She kept sneaking into his head as he strolled down the corridors, kept popping up in the oddest places as though to remind him to think of her.

Anyway, Arthur was sure at this point that he had cracked. Because why else would he possibly be bringing her dinner, cooked by Arthur himself (and he'd had to literally battle it out with the House Elves to earn that privilege), while she sat sick in the Hospital Wing? Obviously it was polite to visit her, after everything she'd done for him, but this was a bit extreme.

The dinner in itself, no. The card and hand-knitted sweater, though…

"Mr. Weasley?" A surprised voice startled him from his thoughts. He offered a meek smile.

"Hullo, Madam Pomfry," he muttered. "Um, I was just wondering if, um, maybe I could, um, see Molly? Prewett? I brought her – uhm – things. To make her feel better. Because she's sick. But you know that, right? Of course, I don't know why I asked – "

Madam Pomfry put a kind hand on his shoulder. "That's quite enough, Mr. Weasley," she said with a smile. "But I'm afraid it's entirely too late to be visiting young Miss Prewett now. Her brothers have just gone and while this is all very sweet of you … "

"Ardur?" Both the Head Nurse and Head Boy turned at the sound of the mucus-filled voice. "Ib dat you?"

Arthur pushed eagerly passed the irritated nurse. "Yes!" He cried, and pulled aside the curtain that surrounded Molly's bed. She grinned at him from her position beneath the covers. Her eyes and nose were red as her hair, and tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes from sneezing. "How are you feeling?" Arthur asked gently, wondering why his heart was beating to fast.

Molly shrugged. "I'be been bedder," she laughed. "I'be more worried aboud you. You aren'd doo overwhelbed wib all dat work, are you?"

It was amazing, really, that she could be worried about him when she was the one stuck in the Hospital Wing. "I, ah, brought you some things," he mumbled then, because the moment seemed right. He put the tray in front of her. "I don't know if you've already eaten, but … " He trailed off in embarrassment.

This was a bad idea. Of course she had eaten! It was nearly ten! Honestly, what was he thinking?

"Dank you!" She exclaimed. "Dis ib so sweet. I have already eaden, but I can keeb id fresh wib a charm and use id domorrow … " she paused. "Did you have dis specially made, Arthur? Because id ibn'd what I had for dinner donight, which wab whad de rest of de school had."

He blushed red. "Er – yeah," he muttered. "But it's no big deal or anything."

Molly grinned at him. "Wow, dats so nice!" She sat up and kissed him quickly on the cheek, and then looked horrified. "Oh no!" She cried. "Now you'll get sick, too!" She hastily wiped the skin where her lips had touched. "I'be so sorry, I never dink!"

He laughed. "I'll be all right," he assured her, feeling much braver now that the dinner-part was finished. "I brought some other things as well." He leaned down and shoved the card and sweater into her lap. "I made them."

The sweater, he realized, was rather unattractive and a moment too late he thought that he probably shouldn't have claimed responsibility for it. He winced, but Molly just beamed.

"You da sweedest boy in da whole wibe world, Ardur Weably!"

Arthur blushed. "Thanks," he muttered, "It was nothing."

"It wabn't nuding. You're da nicest boy ib school," Molly insisted. She smiled broadly at him, and Arthur thought that she had never looked so beautiful.

He wasn't sure was he was thinking, as he leaned down. Molly's eyes widened, but she didn't move. His head screamed at him, What are you doing, you fool! She doesn't want you to kiss her, she's sick! Are you MAD?

His only answer was yes.

He never had a chance to worry about it, though, because suddenly Molly pushed him away. His cheeks burned.

"I'be sick," she admonished. "Whad if you got sick, too? I'd neber forgib myselb!" She sighed. "I'd like you to kibb me, Ardur, but when I'm better and not halb a mess."

Arthur stared. "You do?" He asked. "Really?"

"Ob corb!" Molly protested grouchily. "Why do you dink I'be been pracdically stalking you? Anyway – you need to get some sleeb. I'll see you tomorrow."

He strode passed a smiling Madam Pomfry into the corridor and smiled in the dark. He let out a sneeze.

Oh well, he thought. I guess they'll be two of us in there tomorrow.

He couldn't find it in him to be disappointed.