and sometimes when you dream
(everything's going to fall apart)
you can touch the sky


Sometimes, she dreams (but don't tell anyone).

Her cousin, Lily, is supposed to be the dreamer. But truth is, she's got quite the imagination too, and when she puts it to use, it goes wild.

In her dreams, the world is open around her, and she can go anywhere- do anything- because at the moment, she, the writer, is oh-so-limited. Though she's never confessed it to her father, her dream is to travel around the world someday, writing books set in all of the places she visits.

She supposes her dreams symbolise the obvious restraints that have been placed on her.

At a party one night, a party that her Slytherin sister Lucy throws that's decorated like the land of her dreams in purples and blues and greens, Lysander Scamander asks her to dance.

The truth is that (though she won't admit it to anyone) she might have a teeny bit of admiration for Lysander Scamander. Admiration, though, that's it. So when he asks her to dance, she ecstatically accepts before leaning in a little bit so that she can inhale his soft cinnamon scent.

"Why are you doing this, Scamander?" She asks, her head nearly resting on his shoulder. "What is it that makes you want to dance with me?"

Spinning her around once, under the bright blue lights, he whispers to her, "You're different, Molly."

And different she obviously is. She's not the dreamer girl Lily or the rebel girl Lucyor the intelligent bookworm Rose or the dramatic girl Dominique. All she is, she's Molly, the one that can talk for hours, write for hours, imagine for hours and never get bored.

"I'm different," She repeats, staring into his fathomless blue eyes. "Out of all the things I'd wondered if you would say, that's the least of them. I thought you preferred girls that were, well, to put it nicely, all the same."

"What are you talking about, Molly?" He answers, spinning her around once again before pulling herself so close that she's lost her breath. She's nearly dazzled by the colour of his eyes and the gentle curves of his face and… what is this?

She stares at him, not giving in so easily. "Well, you've liked Merilyn Goyle and Aquarius Flint and even Dominique, so I thought your type was the material girl Slytherin."

"You think Dominique's a material girl?" He inquires, so obviously confused. The green (why green?) flower on his Muggle suitthat his mom got tailored for him because he refused to wear the dress robes stood out at him.

"Well, maybe not Dominique, but the other two," Molly objects. "Besides," She says, pulling lightly on the flower. "It's obvious that you go for Slytherin girls, showing that pride, even though you're in another house."

"Did you ever think that green means more than Slytherin?" Lysander asks, glancing over at her green dress that flows all the way to the ground.

She just nods once, smiling a little bit, but still looking very confused. "What do you mean?"

"Green is life, Molly," he says with a small sigh. "Besides, I'm just experimenting with my type…"

She wraps her arms around his neck, staring at him. "Experimenting with your type? But all of your girls, except Dominique, I suppose, they're all the same type of girl."

Slowly, his face twists into some sort of a tortured scowl as he stares at her. She's probably not supposed to be pointing out his obvious missteps. She's probably not even supposed to be here, dancing with him, because she's Gryffindor Molly and he obviously doesn't go for Gryffindors. But as he stares at her, she discovers that she doesn't care.

Someone has to put him in his place sometime.

He shakes his head at her again. "I told you that they're not the same type of girl…" They spin again, under the bright lights of the dance floor.

"And you told me that I'm different from all of them," She says quietly, her eyes searching the ground as she bites her lip. "You know that…"

He stares at her. Delicately, he reaches up to brush a red curl out of her face, as she stares at the ground, face burning. When she finally looks up to meet his eyes again, he speaks. "You're Molly, and of course you're different, but…"

"But what?" She pushes his hand away, tears burning at the edges of her eyes. "But it's not enough, is it? Nothing's ever enough for you, Lysander Scamander."

He stares at her. For some reason, she feels like his eyes are daggers, piercing into her heart, taking everything in there for their own. She doesn't like that at all. Her heart is her own and she's not about to share with this heartbreaker boy. Angrily, she shoves him off of her. "Shove off, Scamander."

With that, she turns and flees her multicoloured wonderland. It's obvious there's nothing held for her there.


She ends up on a street corner in her torn silk dress, wondering if this is what dreams are made of, because she wants no part in them.

Dreams are supposed to be late nights with princes, twirling around in ballgowns, happy, adoring looks on both of their fathers. Not sleeping in gutters as the cold air whirls around her. But that's where she ends up for the night. The cold tin of the rubbish bin feels even colder under her head

When she awakes, she's glad to realise that she's not dead (yet). She reeks of trash, though, and there are droplets of who knows what all over her clothes. Scowling, she picks herself up off of the ground, wrinkling her nose up at the smell. She'll probably tell her dad that she stayed the night at a friend's.

As soon as she arrives, she checks to ensure that her father's not there. When he's not, she quickly dashes upstairs with the intent of getting in the shower.

"Merlin, Molly, you reek," Lucy announces boldly from behind her. Blue eyes piercing her sister, she asks softly, "Where did you disappear to, then?"

"During the party?" Molly replies coolly for once. "Ask Lysander, as he obviously seems to prefer your type."

"Your type?" Lucy narrows her eyebrows. "I thought we'd gotten over the whole fact that I'm freaking in Slytherin, I enjoy being there, and it's not going to change anything. What, has the pure realization of the fact that Lysander's a loser hit you full force?"

"He's not a loser," Molly protests, numbly sinking against the wall. "He's just hard to please, that's all."

Lucy smiles at her sister, which, as Molly notes, is out of the ordinary for her. Sinking down beside her, she nods. "Lysander's just a loser that has no idea of real beauty when he sees it. You should just ignore him."

Her carefully crafted wall explodes and tears start to drift down her face. Unlike other Gryffindors, she's never been the type to cry loudly, only silently, which everyone swears is more heartbreaking. Wiping her tears away, she tells her sister quietly, "I slept on a trashcan because of him, Lucy. A freaking trashcan. But he… he doesn't care about me. He doesn't care about the fact that I'm different. He's quite content to date Slytherin after Slytherin, and me, I fit in nowhere. I couldn't take it anymore, and I couldn't come home, so I left and slept on a trashcan."

Comfortingly, Lucy rubs her back. "You know what you need? A good dose of revenge?"

"Revenge?" Molly's head snaps up. The concept is so foreign to her, so Slytherin- but at the same time, so inviting at the same time. A smile spreads across her face.

"Of course," Lucy says innocently. "You look awfully excited – are you in?"

Wiping the last of the tears away, she nods slowly. "I'm in. Shall we go for it?"

Lucy smiles quite evilly. Nodding, she says, "So this is what we're going to do-"


When she saunters into school the first day of seventh year, her red curls fall perfectly to her shoulders, and she's got eyeliner on to accentuate her blue eyes. Everything about her appearance now, in short, is perfect- and it's all thanks to Lucy.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a boy's jaw drop- Dawson Nott, she vaguely remembers, an old flame of Dominique's. Even better this way. Dominique took Lysander, now she can take Dawson. Not to mention she can see the look on Lysander's face when she does it…

Pretending the mention of Lysander doesn't make her heart hurt, she walks up to Dawson with a small smile upon her painted on face. "Hello, I don't believe we've met before. I'm Molly Weasley. Pleasure to meet you."

"No, the pleasure is all mine," Dawson replies with a charming smile. "The name's Dawson Nott, and it's amazing I haven't seen you around before. You're pretty good looking."

"You've met my cousin yes?" Molly says briskly, disregarding whatever leftover feelings he must have. "Dominique Weasley? And maybe my sister, Lucy Weasley?"

"You're Lucy's sister?" Dawson's eyes widen even more. "How come she's never told me how very pretty you are?"

Molly has to blush at that. Grinning and blushing, she says, "Why, thank you, my new charming friend."

"No problem-" Dawson begins to reply, but he's interrupted by an angry looking Lysander.

Ignoring Dawson's existence (as he did when Dawson was dating Dominique, she remembers), Lysander pulls her to the side. "What in the name of Merlin are you thinking, Molly?" His voice is rough, scratchy, and exactly the way she'd planned (hoped) that it would sound- so why does it hurt her so much?

She struggles against his strong grip. "I'm thinking, Lysander, that you should let me talk to whomever I want to, you obviously don't care at all."

In a moment of weakness, he releases her, but she doesn't immediately take off. Breathing heavily, she just stares at him, waiting to hear what he has to say, because she's determined to prove her Gryffindor qualities and be brave for once. Finally, he speaks, "You- you think I don't care about you?"

"I know," Molly replies, her eyes searching the ground. "I know that you don't care."

He looks at the ground again before meeting her eyes. In a soft voice, he says, "Molly, it's the opposite—"

"The opposite, is it?" She cuts in. "I suppose that you're going to go on some rant about how all those Slytherins you got with were just an attempt to find yourself and now that you've found yourself it's me you've wanted all along."

Slowly, he nods. But then, under his breath (almost), he says, "But you can't really blame me any more for going for all of those Slytherins, because now you've done the same thing."

And as he leaves her alone, she can't help but think that this isn't the way that dreams are supposed to go.


That night, when she dreams, she dreams of stormy waters, stone-cold hearts that have already been torn apart, flirting sessions with Slytherins, and Lysander.

When she wakes up in her dormitory, covered in sweat, she can't help but think that she should've been born the dreamer Weasley, if her imagination gets carried this far away from her. But some people always say that dreams are a sign of the heart's deepest desire.

Hopefully, her heart's deepest desire isn't Lysander.

But she knows that at the moment, something's not right.

She has to find Lysander, and she has to sort all of this out.


Nothing gets sorted out, because with them, nothing ever does. Everything just stays, bubbling up inside, for the rest of the school year.

It's not until one day after graduation that he comes up to her, his blue eyes swimming with something like emotion and indecision. "Molly, can I talk to you?"

"You're talking to me right now," She says coldly, as if that'll stop the rush of emotions.

"Not here," He replies. "Tomorrow, at the beach."

She raises an eyebrow. "And you're going to apologise?"

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. "Merlin, Molly, you're impossible. Why can't you just meet me there tomorrow and see what happens?"

"Fine," She says, putting a hand on her hip. "Fine, I'll see you there tomorrow."


The ocean breeze wafts through her hair, leaving water droplets, as she approaches the spot where the brunette boy sits on a rock. Without turning to face her, he says softly, "Molly."

"You knew it was me," She replies, sitting down.

He turns to face her. "I wouldn't forget. Correction- I couldn't forget, even if I tried."

She just stares at him, hearing the hidden implications behind his words. "Why me? I told you before; I'm not the same as all of them. I'm different. I'm shining Gryffindor and all, just like you, so there's no contradiction or whatever you've been looking for."

"How do you know what I've been looking for?" He runs his hand through his hair again like he does whenever he's nervous. "Merlin, Molly, we've got to stop fighting like this. I mean, I think we both know it-"

"We both know what?" Molly whispers, not realising how close she is to him.

"We both know this," He repeats, and then his lips are on hers.

This, she knows, this is the stuff dreams are made of.


"So, your- our- plan for revenge didn't exactly work, Luce," Molly says, pacing around the kitchen, her cheeks red.

"You made out with him," Lucy repeats, sounding disgusted. "And then he asked you out."

"Yes," She confirms, still pink.

"Oh well," Lucy groans. Then she begins to laugh, in fact, she laughs harder than she has in a while. "I knew that would happen. Slytherins are never wrong, Molly."

So Molly joins in with her sister's laughter, because she's happy for once- and Lucy seems happy too, though she doesn't know why.


When she writes next, it's a love story of huge proportions, in which they end up fighting because they're in some sort of denial.

Her imagination runs wild with her, and she adds in knights in shining armour and such.

She's fine with it, though, because she's already gotten her dream and her knight in shining armour.

A/N: Well, Bluey, I've finished your birthday present!

This is from your adopted sister & amy-zhie-ing Anon (but ssh, don't tell anyone!). Love you lots and sorry it's late! Hope you like it! :)