Molly Weasley was not a woman that was easily phased. She had survived two wars, birthed and raised seven children, and seen the world go crazy a dozen times over
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Molly wasn't entirely sure what she had been expecting. The image she had gathered up of Cecilia Jacobs, pureblood princess and Selwyn descendant and Slytherin queen, had her picturing a slightly indistinct version of Rosalyn, the tough-as-nails, sharp-tongued and class-obsessed girl with whom she had shared a classroom but split a cause back when they were children themselves
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"Really now, that's just entirely unnecessary-" Molly frowned, glancing up at the ceiling with that sort of look that, had it been directed at any sentient creature rather than a disembodied voice, would have been met with a cringe and an apology.
She turned her glance back to Cecilia, her expression softening even as she sat up straighter and firmer in her seat, her hands reaching forward across the table.
"I suppose I'd best be going. I'm very glad to have finally met you, however unfortunate the circumstances-"
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She turned her glance back to Cecilia, her expression softening even as she sat up straighter and firmer in her seat, her hands reaching forward across the table.
"I suppose I'd best be going. I'm very glad to have finally met you, however unfortunate the circumstances-"
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