A/N: This chapter was written for the Hunger Games Competition, where I had to write a story using five out of ten provided prompts. I've used the following five:
- character: Molly Weasley
- word: fantastic
- class: flying lesson
- phrase: "What are we going to do now?"
- weapon: sword
"Hey love, how was your day?" Arthur kissed Molly gently.
"Fantastic," she grumbled. "I had this airhead in my ward today, that apparently thought it was 'funny' to mess around with other people's brooms. As a result, five others fell off it during some 'flying lesson' and I had to mend their bones. Five people broke their bones because of some stupid joke. Typically, the idiot himself came off with a mild concussion. He was grinning the entire time, saying it was the best joke he'd ever planned against his friends. If that's what friends do, who needs enemies? I hate people like that. As if we Healers haven't got enough on our hands already with the war that's growing every day!"
She threw her bag into a corner and sat down in the armchair by the fireplace. "Honestly, they think having other people break their bones is a joke," she huffed. She massaged her temples. "I swear, some people just give me a headache."
"Well, you're home now, so let's put it behind you," Arthur said. "Relax a little and your headache will be gone soon."
Molly took a deep breath and slowly let the air escape. "I'm sorry dear, here I am, ranting about my day, when I haven't even bothered to ask you how yours went."
"That's okay," Arthur said with a vague smile she couldn't quite place.
"Do tell me, how was your day?"
"It was…interesting," he hesitated. "We had this case today of an old Muggle, who owned some ancient Japanese sword. Apparently, someone thought it was amusing to jinx the sword so that it would follow the poor man around his house. We managed to lift the spell of it eventually."
"What happened to the old Muggle?"
"Killed. By the time we got there, it was too late to do anything for him. The sword had already sliced him up in tiny pieces."
Molly clasped her hands in front of her mouth. Her face went pale at the thought of it. "But that's horrible!"
Arthur nodded sadly. "Yes, it is. Like you said, don't you just hate people who think hurting others is a joke? I guess we all know who are behind this, but we can't do anything about it, really."
Both were silent for a moment as they thought of all the bad things they had heard happening so far, and that were bound to happen in the near future.
"Oswin was sick of it. Said he couldn't do his job anymore if this was what we were about to encounter from now on."
"I can imagine," Molly muttered. "I don't think I could have handled that if they'd brought him into the ward…" She shuddered at the thought.
"He wasn't the only one. I couldn't keep my food in at the sight of it. It was dreadful. And it took a while for us to get the jinx off. The damn sword nearly cut my fingers off. It's alright, I said almost, I've still got all ten of them," he added hastily when he saw Molly's horrified look.
Molly put an arm around her husband. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," she said. "And here I was, thinking my day had been terrible…"
"They offered me his job," Arthur said softly.
It took a moment or two for the message to sink in with Molly.
"Wait, they what?"
"I got offered Oswin's job."
"But what about Oswin?"
"Like I said, he said he couldn't do his job anymore. He resigned. So now I've been promoted to 'Head of the Department For Misuse Of Muggle Artefacts'. Ironic, isn't it, seeing as the Department only consisted of Oswin and myself."
"It's still a promotion?" Molly tried carefully.
Arthur shook his head. "No it isn't. I'll be doing the same work, for the same wages, but just get a different title. I don't care about titles."
"Still, I think we should celebrate," Molly said resolutely. "If only to get our minds off the terrible day we both had."
"What'd you suggest then? What are we going to do now to celebrate?"
Molly bit her lip. "It shouldn't be something too fancy," she thought out loud. "That would be a disgrace to that poor man who died… I can't think of anything really."
"You know, Molly, couldn't we celebrate it some other time? I really am not in the mood for something festive at the moment."
"Actually, neither am I. It feels wrong to celebrate in these circumstances. Maybe we can go someplace nice this weekend, just have dinner or something?"
"We'll do that," Arthur promised. He started massaging her shoulders and Molly sighed. She felt the tension go away with every movement Arthur made. "Thank you, that feels really good."
There was another moment's silence between them, as they each drew comfort from the other's company.
"Will you… will you be careful? With your job and all?"
"I think you have the higher-risk job," she replied. "After all, all I do is fix people."
"I know, but will you? I don't want to lose you."
"I will if you will. I couldn't bear to lose you either."
"I will," he promised.
"So next time, when there's a sword attempting to cut you into pieces, just run, okay? Don't be a hero. Even if it's your job, just run. I'd rather have you safe and in one piece, without a job, than have you dead or mutilated because you wouldn't run when you could have."
"Then I too shall attempt not to get myself killed at work," Molly said. She let out a shaky laugh and Arthur joined.
"Sounds like a plan to me," he smiled.
A/N: Slightlysmall pointed out to me that I had my years wrong and she was right. So I've changed the first two chapters to 1968 instead of 1967 to fix that. Thank you for noticing!