I Will Try to Fix You

Prologue:

The Way We Were

"Erm...Professor Slughorn?" Arthur Weasley asked as he raised his hand tentatively. He hated interrupting any teacher, especially when they were wandering around giving criticism and helping students. Still, this couldn't be avoided. He only had five minutes until his meeting. Horace Slughorn, his portly Potions Master who only noticed the students who were particularly extraordinary, seemed to have not heard as he moved past Arthur's table and onto Tilly O'Brien's cauldron. Arthur fought the urge to sigh. The last thing he needed to do was make his professor mad.

"Hey," his best friend Michael Yates said thoughtfully as he looked over at Arthur. "Weren't you supposed to go to that meeting with McGonagall at some point today?" Now he really did let out a loud sigh and rolled his eyes. Honestly, the two of them had been friends since before their days at Hogwarts. You'd think he'd start having a better memory about what Arthur was up to!

"Yes, that's why I'm trying to get Slughorn's attention," Arthur said, waving him off. "Professor Slughorn!"

"Why didn't you just skip class?"

"I would never do that!" Arthur exclaimed, affronted. "That would really be rude! Professor Slughorn!!"

"Rude? What, like a professor ignoring you, because you're not good at Potions?" Michael smirked at his own remark and Arthur couldn't help but notice a couple of admiring Ravenclaw girls at a nearby table exchange a giggle with one another. Looking down into his cauldron, he saw that his murtlap essence, which was supposed to be milky yellow at this point, was now bright pink and bubbling ominously. Yes, it was safe to say that Arthur Weasley really was terrible at Potions, though he wasn't sure that that was the full reason why Slughorn seemed to dislike him.

Truthfully, Arthur thought it had something to do with Bilius. His brother had only graduated Hogwarts last year, and had been a bit of a big deal in the school. He was known for his good Quidditch skills, perfect potion making, skill in the dueling club, and good looks. Arthur, however, was the opposite. He honestly couldn't have cared less about playing Quidditch (though he did like to watch), he was terrible with potions, he had never wanted to try the dueling club (preferring to read books about Muggle dueling instead), and looked quite ordinary, except for the fact that he was rather tall. In fact, the only way in which Arthur truly stood out was that he had a rather unhealthy obsession with Muggles, which most students found weird and, quite frankly, disturbing. It seemed Professor Slughorn was in agreement with the student body.

Choosing to ignore his friend, Arthur tried once again to catch the attention of the teacher. "Professor Slughorn!!!" Raising his hand emphatically in the air, he took his eyes from his potion and nearly began jumping on the spot just to draw Slughorn's beady little eyes away from Tilly's perfectly yellow draught.

"Erm...Professor? I think Arthur wants you..." Tilly said quietly. She was a good sort of girl, the type that really didn't like unwanted attention (which, unfortunately, always came her way during Potions, since her mother was the Head of International Magical Cooperation).

"Oh..." Professor Slughorn said while turning around to see Arthur with his hand raised high in the air. He started to make his way across the room and only fully addressed him when he was right next to him. "What is it, Wimbey? Oh, good gracious!" Arthur, who had long since gotten used to being called one of various wrong names from this teacher, was shocked at the sudden outburst, and his eyes instantly darted down into his cauldron. His potion, which had been liquefied only moments before, was now the consistency of putty.

"Oh dear," Arthur said, his ears turning red at the sight of his potion. He could feel all eyes swivel over to him in the room, and he instantly wished that he would have heeded Michael's suggestion of just not coming to class for once.

"Well, I thought we were making murtlap essence, but you seemed to make bubble gum," Slughorn said with a jovial sort of laugh. Arthur felt anything but happy at his work, and really wished he were a meaner person than he really was. Maybe then he might have had the guts to stand up to Slughorn and his passive-aggressive teasing? "Ah, well...better luck next time."

That was another thing Arthur hated. Better luck next time. He seemed to hear that at the end of every Potions class. He would have thought that by now, Professor Slughorn would have given up on him ever having better luck. Apparently not. "Actually, sir...I was wondering if I could leave," he said, instead of allowing his angry thoughts to get the best of him. "My N.E.W.T. meeting is in two minutes and I should get going."

"Oh! Merlin's beard, boy, why didn't you say so?!" Slughorn exclaimed. Maybe because I can't get you to notice me for long enough to get out of this God-forsaken class?! Arthur thought. "Go on, then. Off with you!" He swept his arms, as if he could shove Arthur out of the door, and the boy didn't need a second thought. Hastily he picked up his already packed bag and rushed from the class, glad to be free of the hot room, the disappointing failures, and the teacher who couldn't even bother to remember his name.

As he ran down the hall, his feet pounding against the rough stone floor and his bag bouncing on his shoulder, Arthur reflected on just why he didn't want to be late to this meeting. It wasn't because he feared Professor McGonagall's wrath, even though she was definitely the last teacher most students wanted to make mad. It really didn't have anything to do with his desire to get out of Slughorn's class early, even though that certainly was a small sort of incentive. It wasn't even because the meeting pertained to what he would take in his N.E.W.T. years, even though this was yet another good reason to be in such a hurry (and was most certainly something he cared about).

No...the real reason why Arthur Weasley was currently tripping over his own feet as he vaulted up the marble staircase in the Great Hall was because the sooner he got there, the sooner he'd get to see her. That's right...Arthur had a crush on the Head of Gryffindor House, Minerva McGonagall.

He couldn't really say why he liked her so much. Maybe it was due to the way that she always wore her jet black hair into a tight bun so that every inch of her face was clearly visible? Or maybe it was that thin sort of smile (her lips curling up ever so slightly) that she exhibited anytime Arthur did something that made her happy? More than anything, he was quite certain that he was attracted to her personality. She was unbiased, fair, and completely and totally independent. If she had to, Minerva McGonagall could take care of herself. She didn't need anyone to come to her rescue. She was a self-reliant woman and it positively drove Arthur mad with admiration and, well...longing.

Screeching to a halt in front of her office, Arthur quickly scanned his watch and saw that he had thirty seconds until the start of the meeting. "How's my hair?" he asked a portrait of a sixteenth century mediwitch.

"You do not want to hear what I truly think," she replied in a lofty sort of voice that clearly told Arthur that she thought she was better than him.

"Is it bad?!" Arthur exclaimed, alarmed. He didn't want to go in there looking like he just crawled out of bed! Surely she'd scoff and give him the dreaded disappointed frown that he tried with all his might to avoid receiving from her. Hastily, he tried to flatten any stray strands of hair that may be on end with the palm of his hair in a desperate attempt to look good for a woman whom he knew he'd never be able to get or properly impress.

"Well, it has the appearance of everyone's hair this day in age. I just hate it," the mediwitch replied. Arthur sighed at the mediwitch, annoyed with the fact that she'd gotten him so worked up over nothing. But before he could make any sort of real retort, the office door swung open to reveal Professor McGonagall on the other side.

"Oh! Mr. Weasley!" she exclaimed, turning back to look at the grandfather clock in her study. "Is it that time already?"

"A minute late, actually," Arthur replied.

"Oh...good gracious, I've seemed to have lost all sense of time today," she said, turning back into the room and sitting quickly into her chair behind the desk. Her eyes, for whatever reason, were bloodshot, as though she'd been crying. Still, she put up a front of strength, and casually flicked her wand at a file cabinet in the corner. Arthur watched as his own file came zooming out of it and gracefully into Professor McGonagall's hand. Her calm demeanor didn't stop a little sniff that came from her to escape his notice, however.

"Are you alright, Professor?" he asked as gently as he could. A scenario began to form in his mind. What if he comforted her? Surely there was something upsetting her. What if he was the one who came to her rescue? True, he admired how she could take care of herself, but the image of a vulnerable McGonagall was lovely too.

"Oh, yes," she replied. "Just some personal, family issues. Nothing that should concern you. Thanks for inquiring, though."

Nope. He should have known. Minerva McGonagall was far too professional to allow her private life come in the way of her work life. She would never allow a student - even a student who felt so ardently about her (though Arthur had never told her about his feelings, as that would be mortifying and could potentially cause her to be out of a job) - to get involved in matters such as the ones that were obviously bothering her.

"Of course," Arthur responded.

"So, Mr. Weasley," she began, "you are now nearly done with your fifth year here, and I am obligated to ask you if you've given any serious consideration into what you would like to do with your life once you have completed your schooling?"

"Well...I know what I like to learn about," Arthur said uncertainly. "But I don't think there are many jobs offered in the field."

"Muggle Studies, then?" she questioned with a hint of a smile on her face. Arthur reddened, but only because she knew him so well. He could never be embarrassed of loving Muggles as much as he did.

"Well, yes," he said bashfully.

"Believe it or not, Mr. Weasley, there are actually jobs in the field." She reached down in a drawer in her desk and began rifling through it, talking as she looked for whatever she needed. "We don't often pass out this brochure, since most students are inclined to think Muggle Studies is a soft subject-"

"But it's not!" Arthur argued passionately. He knew Professor McGonagall didn't agree with the general opinion on Muggle Studies, of course, but he couldn't help but voice his own. "It's a fascinating study of a culture that too many witches and wizards separate themselves from!"

"Well, I quite agree with you," she said, passing the rather old brochure over to Arthur. He read the front in confusion, for he had never heard of the place advertised.

"The Wildermuth Center for Magical-Muggle Relations?" he questioned aloud. It was hard to imagine, especially since institutions like the Ministry of Magic made it their life work to disassociate the entire wizarding world from the mainstream Muggles. Could there really be a place in the world that actually promoted relationships between the two groups?

"Yes," McGonagall said with another one of those rare smiles. It took all of Arthur's strength not to allow his heart to melt at the sight of it. "It's an institution in Dublin that helps mixed couples and new families to our world adjust. It offers counseling sessions, lessons in wizarding and Muggle etiquette, and general classes for Muggles and wizards alike."

"What do the general classes teach?" Arthur asked while thumbing through the pamphlet. He couldn't help but stare at a picture of a baffled wizard using a tall, electrical appliance for the first time. He was pretty sure that Muggles called them "refredegators."

"Well, they teach Muggle families that have young children with magical abilities simple things about wizarding life, like how to use our currency, what Hogwarts is like, and places one can go to buy wizarding supplies. Then there are classes that help wizards and witches integrate into Muggle society, should they wish it. Unfortunately, less people sign up for those classes."

Arthur nodded knowingly. Of course wizards would be less inclined to learn about the Muggle world as their Muggle counterparts would learn about wizards. The thing was, magical people had a choice about whether they wanted to associate themselves beyond the realm of magic. Muggles who had kids with magical abilities had no other option really. They could, of course, learn everything little by little from their children, but he could imagine that getting frustrating. It would be better, in the long run, to just attend the school and learn all the basics before the child got back from their first year at Hogwarts.

"So, how would I get a job here?" Arthur asked. The pamphlet was rather vague on details such as these. It simply gave a mailing address so that one might contact by owl or Floo Network.

"First you should take all the right classes," McGonagall replied. "You certainly need Muggle Studies, of course. Transfiguration and Charms are a must, too. I would say you'd need Herbology as well and Potions."

"Potions?" Arthur asked wearily.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, even potions. You need to start working harder in that class. I know you dislike it, but the only way you'll be able to take N.E.W.T. level Potions is if you get at least an E on your O.W.L."

"I don't think that'll happen."

"Well, that's no way to approach it! Have a little faith in yourself. If you like, I can set up a tutor for you. I hear Tilly O'Brien is quite skilled with it?" Arthur liked Tilly, but he didn't think he could handle her for extended periods of time. She was kind, of course, but had a tendency to gossip if she got the chance.

"I don't know..."

"Look...do you want this position or not? The only other job that someone in Muggle Studies could possibly get besides this one is a job as a freelance writer for The Daily Prophet. Not exactly what I'd call a stable career."

Arthur thought it over carefully. It wouldn't be so bad to be a writer, but he knew that McGonagall was right. People didn't care about Muggles enough for him to be able to get a column or anything. He'd be living paycheck to paycheck, with no idea when such payments would be coming in. Deciding that it would be better to endure two more years of Horace Slughorn and study sessions with Tilly O'Brien, Arthur said, "You're right."

"I know I am!" McGonagall said rather hotly. Arthur felt ashamed of himself. He hated it when she saw any weakness in him.

"Any other classes I'll need to take?" Arthur wondered.

"History of Magic, since it's something the Muggles learn too," McGonagall answered. "Other than that, no. It's pretty basic."

"Right...what happens next?"

"Well, then you'd write to Wildermuth's. I'm pretty sure they ask all applicants to write an essay about why they're perfect candidates. You would do this during your final year here. If you are accepted (and I see no reason why you wouldn't be, given that you'll be a master in Potions by the time you're done with school), you'll take a yearlong internship at the institution where you will learn the ropes. After that year, you'll be ready to teach classes, run research, counsel...you'll basically be able to do anything they ask of you."

"Alright then," Arthur replied feeling suddenly confident. His stomach positively squirmed at the idea of doing something he was actually passionate about. He had never thought, not in a million years, that there would actually be a place in the world that catered to all his Muggle-loving needs.

"So...do we have an agreement? Are you going to be able to fulfill the requirements?"

"Yes, ma'am," Arthur said.

"Right...then you may return to class," McGonagall answered, nodding and Banishing his folder back into the file cabinet. Arthur stood up to leave the room and was almost to the door when he heard, "Oh, and Arthur?" He turned around in his place and looked back at the teacher he'd been so infatuated with for five years now. "Your hair looks fine."

Oh God. She knew.

* * *

"Don't you want somebody to love?! Don't you need somebody to love?! Wouldn't you love somebody to love?! You better find somebody to love!!" Molly Prewett screamed along with Jefferson Airplane. It was a newish Muggle song (brand new for her, at least). She only knew about it because her cousin who was a Squib and went to Muggle school had sent her the record long ago at Hogwarts. Now that she was home, she could play it as loudly as she wanted without the fear of looking ridiculous (not to mention that the record player didn't exactly work in her dormitory or, indeed, anywhere in Hogwarts).

"Molly!" her mother called into the room. Molly didn't hear.

"When the garden flowers, baby, are dead, yes, and your mind is full of red... Don't you want somebody to love?! Don't you need somebody to love?! Wouldn't you love somebody to love?! You better find somebody to love!!" She now began to jump up on her bed and dance ridiculously.

"MOLLY!!!!" Mrs. Prewett called again. Molly jumped at the rather faint sound of her mother's voice and whipped around as quickly as possible.

"WHAT?!" she answered. Her face was only slightly pink with embarrassment. Her mum had caught her many times behaving like this. Molly didn't bother to turn off the record. Whatever her mother needed, it would only take a few seconds. Mrs. Prewett would try to escape the "horrible Muggle racket" as fast as possible.

"THERE'S A LETTER FOR YOU!" her mother tried to shout above the music.

"A WHAT?!"

"YOUR HOGWARTS LETTER!!"

"WHAT?!?!"

"Oh, Merlin this is ridiculous! SILENCIO!!" The last syllable echoed throughout the room as the player was silenced. "Oh my goodness, I can hear my own thoughts!" Mrs. Prewett said dizzily, grabbing her own head. "I have your Hogwarts letter."

"Oh," Molly replied, a wicked smile on her face. "You should have just said so." Mrs. Prewett playfully slapped her daughter with the sealed envelope, and Molly quickly darted out of her middle aged mother's reach, giggling. "Hand it over, then." Mrs. Prewett obliged and stood in the doorway, watching as her daughter looked it over, weighing it in her hand. "Why are you hovering, Mum?"

"Well, it's just that it feels heavier than usual. You're going into your fifth year, you know...I thought...maybe..."

"Oh, don't make me laugh," Molly said sarcastically. "I may be a good student, but I've broken more rules than most of the other students combined. Dumbledore would be daft to make me a..." But at that precise moment, a small gold and red badge fell from the envelope, hitting the ground with a metallic thud. "Prefect?" Molly asked bewildered.

"Oh, my darling, I knew it!!" Mrs. Prewett positively screeched. Before her daughter could bend down to examine her new trinket, she was wrapping her arms tightly around her and positively cutting off her circulation. "This is such great news! Oh, we should throw a party!!"

"For the love of God don't!" Molly begged. She hated parties, especially those thrown in her honor.

"What a great way to meet new friends!" Mrs. Prewett declared.

"Statistically speaking, Mum, prefects are the most pathetic crowd of students in the school. I mean, look at Artie Weasley."

"What about him? He seems like a nice enough boy," Mrs. Prewett said.

"Mum, you've met him twice, both at parties of friends and he spent the entire evening sucking up to you all! He's duller than a butter knife. All prefects are."

"Oh, Molly, you need to stop being so judgmental. You'd have far more friends if you'd just be nice."

"I have friends!" Molly insisted.

"You have Charlotte. And the last I heard, you and her weren't speaking."

"Well, she's dating Ludo Bagman!" Molly said in a huff, feeling her face redden, as it always did when she spoke of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain. Merlin, he was dreamy. "She knows I fancy him!" Mrs. Prewett gave her daughter a condescending sort of look, as if to say that Molly was being ridiculous. "And I have other friends!" she snapped at her.

"Like who?"

"Mandy!"

"Mandy's a Squib."

"Oh, now look whose being judgmental," Molly said sarcastically.

"I meant that she doesn't go to your school. You need more friends at Hogwarts, dear. That's all I'm saying." Molly wished that she could snap back with something clever. She wished she could tell her mother how wrong she was. But she couldn't. The truth was, having no friends was Molly's constant complaint, and her one insecurity. She knew she could be likeable. She even recognized that some people did think so. But she distanced herself from most everybody. It was like she was too afraid to get close to anyone.

And who could blame her? Mr. Hadrian Prewett had long-since abandoned his family. Mrs. Ginevra Prewett had had to raise her three children on her own. The twins had turned out alright, even if they were quite the pranksters. But Molly...well, Molly had grown up being afraid of abandonment. When she was little, her father was everything to her. But he had left without a second glance. He hadn't cared if his three offspring grew up without him. And that had hurt more than Molly would have ever liked to admit.

So, she didn't argue with her mother. She knew the woman was right. It had to hurt, watching your daughter get close to people, only to have her reject them at the last second. It was almost as though Molly's own fear of rejection was turning her into her own worst nightmare: Her father.

"You're right, Mum," Molly said, suddenly feeling like crying. "I just...I don't want to go through it all again, you know?"

"Yes, I do," Mrs. Prewett responded sadly.

"I'll try this year," Molly said. "I'll...I'll work on being more...open."

"Good." Now her mother looked like she was about to cry. It was rewarding to see a child who had made so many wrong choices finally admit they had been wrong.

"I'll be friendly with the other prefects and...well, I was thinking...maybe I should try out for the Quidditch team?" Mrs. Prewett's eyebrows shot up at this. Molly knew why; she had said she had been thinking about it. That meant that this very problem had been on her mind a lot, and wasn't just something she was confronted with. Mrs. Prewett, who rarely had moments like these with her daughter, was shocked.

"There's an open spot on the team?" she asked excitedly.

"Beater," Molly said with a shrug. It was an odd position to try out for, she knew. Molly was actually very tiny, so a Beater's position wasn't necessarily ideal for her. But still, she knew she had the gumption for it. All she had to do was take her frustrations out on the Bludgers and other players. To be quite honest, it wouldn't be hard.

Mrs. Prewett looked a little nervous for her daughter, but any apprehension was left unaddressed. Instead, she said, "Well, you'll be needing a good broom, then. And we should probably get you a present for being made a prefect."

Molly smiled.

* * *

The tall glass of ale was nearly filled to the brim, but she didn't notice. She had actually drank far too much tonight to really be all that aware of anything. Stumbling slightly, Minerva McGonagall made her way over to the window of her Hogwarts apartments and stared out at the moonlit grounds. It was a very beautiful night, but her inebriation completely clouded any recognition of it. Instead, she saw a dreary sight, for she was now alone in the world, with no one to appreciate such views with.

Professor McGonagall usually wasn't such a heavy drinker. This was only a very recent development. Ever since that fateful day when she'd interviewed Arthur Weasley about what he wanted to do with his life, Minerva's had flipped on itself. You see, when Mr. Weasley knocked cautiously on her door, she had been upset, for she had just received the worst news she had ever gotten. Her father, a man of strength and security, had finally succumbed to cancer.

It wouldn't have hurt so much if she could have been there for him. He had had the disease for years. He would have died much sooner had he not had magical blood to fight it off. However, the disease raged and reared its ugly head until one day, it was all over.

I should have quit my job, she thought sadly. I should have been there for him until the very end. But no. Her job had been far too important at the time. Mr. McGonagall had insisted that she keep the job, and she quite readily acquiesced. She just loved it all too much. The children, the spells, the festive atmosphere. It all reminded her of her own adolescence, where she spent many days in the library looking up new spells and practicing Transfiguration. Where she had been able to lead Gryffindor to the Quidditch Cup four years in a row. Where she had been a favorite of the greatest Transfiguration teacher in the world, Albus Dumbledore.

But still, her father, the only family she had had left, should have come before the school. She had been blinded by her dratted sense of obligation and duty. In the end, she had chosen a building over the only other human being in the world that she loved.

Sighing in frustration, McGonagall moved back over to her desk, where she once again began perusing Arthur Weasley's file. It was an odd sort of obsession with her. He was a great student, if not a little eccentric, but his passion was absolutely infectious. It reminded her of her own fervent love of Transfiguration. Sure, she knew how Arthur felt about her. How could she not? He looked at her as most students his age looked at their peers. Sparkling eyes, wistful sighs, and pink cheeks were always common when he was around her.

Perhaps that was why she always felt better when she looked at his file? No, Minerva McGonagall did not return Arthur Weasley's affection. For one, it would be downright creepy. She was twenty years his senior and was supposed to be an authority figure, not a love interest! Secondly, it would cost her her job and reputation. She had already lost her father, so she wasn't about to jeopardize losing her career too. It was just comforting to know that out there, somewhere, there was somebody who actually cared for her. She wasn't alone in the world. There were people who still dearly wished her well in life.

Despite all of this, she knew that this couldn't go on forever. Arthur needed to realize that he was only sixteen years old. He couldn't be pining for a woman who was nearing forty for the rest of his school career. He needed to see people his age. That was why she had requested that Molly Prewett become the newest female Gryffindor prefect. Sure, Molly wasn't the easiest person to get along with, but Minerva knew the boys found her attractive. With her fiery attitude, bright red hair to match it, and stunningly golden brown eyes, who could resist her?

And besides that, Molly needed help too. After corresponding for years with Mrs. Prewett, Professor McGonagall had learned that Hadrian Prewett had left the family in quite the lurch. Molly had been emotionally scarred by it all. She had come to a point that she would intentionally push people away in order to keep her feelings from being crushed again. Well, McGonagall (after years of witnessing this first hand) was no longer going to stand for it. This year, both Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewett would be getting shoved in the right direction.

More than anything, Minerva felt her matchmaking was going to be the perfect distraction. She didn't think teaching classes was going to do the trick. She had barely survived the last few weeks of last term. No, she needed a real, true diversion in order to stem the guilt she felt at essentially abandoning her father. Not to mention that it would ease the pain. Her plans always had a way of clearing her head.

So, as she downed the rest of her ale and passed out on top of her desk, Minerva genuinely felt she was doing the right thing. It didn't matter if the students had a say in her plan or not. She was going to fix them, and she was going to heal her wounds. That was that.