dreams don't always come true
(but keep dreaming, it's only in your dreams)
They were never meant to be, were they?
She's just a little writer, boxed away in the corner with dreams of publishing a book. Though she's loud most of the time and declares herself introverted, she sometimes longs to curl up with her paper, a quill, and write as much as she can.
But he's just a natural athlete, star of the show, the one that everyone's counting on. The boy claimed captain of the Quidditch team in his fourth year. Somehow, this Gryffindor seeker (everyone expected James or Albus to be Seeker, but he proved them wrong) is able to lead his team to victory every single match.
A lad like that belongs with a beautiful girl, star of the show. Someone who could lead the Hogwarts cheerleading squad if she wanted to.
(because, really, the captain always ends up with the cheerleader)
Someone like Dominique Weasley.
So she just hides herself away, content to be friends with him, because really, Molly, it's not possible. The two of them would never work out.
Well, they could, they just will never get the chance.
But she notices that every time she tries to write a story with a handsome boy, he ends up with brown hair and blue eyes.
Is it so bad to dream?
One day, she's sitting alone in the library during her break from classes. Quill flows along wrinkled sheets of paper, blue-green eyes that sparkle as she writes.
Then he's there, all blue eyes and brown hair, and she glances up to see him. Platonic look upon his face, he greets her, "Hello."
"Hi, Lysander," she says confidently, though of course it's all fake confidence and painted smiles, because she's never been confident around him.
"You're doing homework?" he inquires, motioning to her papers as if they're a curse. Well, to him, the really are. He's never been quite too good at writing or even spelling in general, always preferring to take the easy way out of things. They're opposites like that. But opposites are supposed to attract.
"No," She replies brusquely, brushing a piece of bright red hair out of her eyes. "I'm writing."
Interested, he positions himself beside her, peering down at her piece of paper. "What do you write about?"
"Anything and everything," she informs him, staring at him a little bit. Really, she can't resist. She never could.
Nodding, he smiles. "Right, because that clarifies things." A smirk takes over his face at his sarcastic remark.
What she really wants to say is you. But she figures he'll be a bit terrified if she says this, and he'll possibly run away screaming, so she just sighs and glances at him again. "Life. You know, about things that are going on in my life."
"Interesting," he nods. But then, smiling, he tells her, "Well, I've promised my friends that we'd practise for the Quidditch game during break today. I'll see you later, all right?"
"Bye," She whispers quietly, picking up the quill and wishing that she could actually put what she felt into words.
He knows she's a writer, she's sure of that. He's forever joking about her writing, not that he's ever read too much of it. Sometimes she wishes that she could just show something to him and let him divulge into her too-complicated mind. But then she remembers how much of a disaster that would be (ruining whatever depth of friendship they currently have).
Some of the time, she feels like he hates her or something. In her reality, she's cool, funny, and smart. But in reality reality, she's just a loud, annoying girl. It's probably the same in his reality, too.
(Their realities, she imagines, differ greatly.)
She doesn't really trust him- not really, because of course he's meant to hurt her again. Time, after time, after time, he's flirting with every girl in the class. Really, how can anyone figure out what he's thinking when he's so confusing?
And maybe, just maybe, they could be good for each other, because they're both too complex for reason to ever understand.
She's never had a taste for anything cliché. She prefers surprises, things that you would never expect to actually happen. So maybe that's why she likes him- someone that's so far out of her league, but still so far in her league because of her impeccable taste.
When her little sister Lucy whispers that they would be perfect for each other, in her mind she heartily agrees.
One day, in her quest to fully explore the grounds of Hogwarts, she comes upon a small pond. When she glances in, she sees her reflection. That's all she's ever been, really- a reflection. In one of those thousands upon thousands of books that she's read, she's sure she's read that somewhere. Humans are just a reflection—they reflect what they see.
She's a reflection of her cousins, all of the brightness and loudness that her entire family possesses. She's a reflection of her mum, the famed author. She's a reflection of her dad, always striving for perfection.
Peering into the pond, she realises that she's never really been her own person, has she? And maybe that's her problem. If she's always mirroring the actions of everyone else, she'll never be herself.
Isn't that what she's expected to do?
He approaches from behind, not even glancing at her as he passes by in his rush to get somewhere. Wide-eyed, she watches him go, so starstruck though he's never really been a star except in her mind. Well, perhaps in the mind of all the sport fans. But still, to them, he's just Lysander the Amazingly Talented Quidditch Player. To her, he's so much more.
But will he ever notice her? Sure, she's someone to joke around with in the classrooms, someone to ask for help with homework. But has he ever thought her beautiful? Has he ever wondered what it would be like to hug her?
Probably not, because she's just another girl in the sea of swimming faces, and even with her bold personality, there's nothing to stick out about her.
Except, perhaps, her writing. But he'll never see that.
For now, she'll just have to accept that they're not meant to be. Because, really, he's Lysander, star of Gryffindor, and she's Molly, little Gryffindor writer that no one ever notices, really.
Maybe one day she'll be able to fully realise this.
But for now, she just clings to her silly little dreams that haunt her mind.
Once upon a time I was falling in love, now I'm only falling apart.
A/N: here's just a little MollyLysander. I know it doesn't make sense, and really, it isn't meant to. It's just a little glimpse into Molly's mind and how she feels about him. I've taken a different perspective on Lysander here. This occurred after I watched *the guy I like* shoot a 3-pointer from almost half-court today and get it in. I was wondering if a jock could ever get a happy ending with a writer. Then I thought, no, probably not.
But still, he complimented me on an essay I did that I spent 40 minutes on. Seriously, if he thinks that's good….um….
Please review, just because that's the nice thing to do.