Status: Finite.
Lucy's Eyes
she could never compare, no matter how hard she tried.
The still night was void of any disturbances that could possibly interrupt the peace that lingered in the air. The wind’s melancholy melody echoed through the night, rustling the leaves and brushing against the forest green blades of dewy grass. Bathing in the moonlight was none other than Lucy Weasley. The wind nipped delightfully at her ankles, a lost, almost dazed expression clouding over in her stormy gray eyes. The light of the moon spilled on her milky skin, making her appear considerably more at peace with her back against the rough surface of the bark that swallowed the tree trunk she was leaning against. She basked in the silence that surrounded her, glad that there were no voices ringing in her ears like bells.
It was past curfew, but she couldn't bother caring. Of course, she was fully aware of the consequences she'd face if she were to be caught with her back pressed delicately against a tree, gazing out into the ink colored lake. She couldn't sleep and she needed time to think about everything. As far as she was concerned, if she stayed quiet, she would come out unscathed. Besides, there were a plethora of realistic explanations she could dispense at will, should she run into any sort of trouble. She would be a liar if she said she didn't like the thrill of being out after hours, but it was taking a back seat to the thoughts swarming in her mind. Lucy Weasley wasn't a fighter, but the war raging inside of her could change that.
Her name was Lucy Weasley, and she was overlooked. It was a simple statement that meant so much. Everything about her screamed 'invisible', from her plain pale skin to her lankly body that lacked any sort of figure. She wasn't the elusive mesmerizing creature that men vigorously sought after. Oh how she wished, but alas, her wishes never came true. It was Molly Weasley II—always her sister. Molly was who everyone liked and wanted to be around. Boys pined after her, trying to snag her attention in hopes that perhaps they could snag her as well. Molly was the perfect catch, and Lucy was just the shadow, and shadows never meant anything.
Lucy had brown hair, not red. Molly had red hair. The only thing in common was the blue eyes, and Lucy's were even the wrong shade. They were too light, too silvery, and not blue enough. She bore more of a resemblance to Scorpius Malfoy, and he wasn't even in her family. Her family all had red hair, except for her mother, but Lucy was a natural born Weasley. She was supposed to have red hair, but no, Molly got it. Molly had everything. Molly was desirable, Molly was intelligent, Molly was kind, Molly was caring, Molly was motherly; there wasn't a single thing on this earth that Molly wasn't.
Molly was a Gryffindor. Lucy was put in Ravenclaw. She was a Weasley. She wasn't a Potter, she wasn't a Malfoy, she wasn't a Lupin, she was a Weasley, and Weasleys were Gryffindors. She didn't even fit in with her own family, who often spoke of their misadventures with one another. Her mother didn't even attend Hogwarts and she slipped into those conversations better than Lucy ever could. She didn't attain the same qualities of the rest of her family; what was wrong with her? She was too quiet, too careful—too much of all the wrong things. The damned Sorting Hat couldn't extend its grace to her, he couldn't place her where she belonged. She was part of the Weasley family after all, and while they accepted her for who she was, it wasn't enough.
Lucy still had hormones at fifteen, just like other fifteen year old girls did. She was normal at that aspect, and to put it simply, she wanted a boyfriend. No boys would even bother to give a quiet girl like herself the time of day, not like they would Molly. Beautiful, buxom, sixteen year old Molly who seemed to grow prettier with each day, unlike awkward, angled, fifteen year old Lucy, who only seemed to grow more lankly with each passing moment. Molly had a boyfriend and Lucy didn't. Molly had Lysander Scamander, while Lucy was destined to be with Lorcan Scamander, only not even he would give her so much as a fleeting glance. Lucy wanted Lysander—she always wanted Lysander, but it was Molly—it was always Molly—that got what Lucy wanted. Lorcan wanted Molly, Lysander wanted and had Molly, and Lucy was left to be on her own.
Molly was most important, Lucy wasn't. After all, Molly was named after their grandmother. Where did her parents get the name Lucy? Certainly, there had to have been someone in their family with a different name she could have been given, but no, they merely plucked a random name out of a hat and scrawled it on a paper, and voila, she was Lucy Weasley. Molly Weasley II had the name, the name that came from somewhere. Trust strong, sophisticated Molly to have a strong, sophisticated name, just as you could trust vulnerable, verecund Lucy to have a vulnerable, verecund name.
As the quiet, freckled girl with little self-esteem that went by the name of Lucy Weasley gazed longingly up at the glowing moon, with her ivory colored arms tightly wrapped around the knees that were clutched against her flat chest, she took a heaving sigh, trying to collect her thoughts, although one stood out the most.
In Lucy's eyes, she would never be good enough, not like Molly Weasley II.
It was past curfew, but she couldn't bother caring. Of course, she was fully aware of the consequences she'd face if she were to be caught with her back pressed delicately against a tree, gazing out into the ink colored lake. She couldn't sleep and she needed time to think about everything. As far as she was concerned, if she stayed quiet, she would come out unscathed. Besides, there were a plethora of realistic explanations she could dispense at will, should she run into any sort of trouble. She would be a liar if she said she didn't like the thrill of being out after hours, but it was taking a back seat to the thoughts swarming in her mind. Lucy Weasley wasn't a fighter, but the war raging inside of her could change that.
Her name was Lucy Weasley, and she was overlooked. It was a simple statement that meant so much. Everything about her screamed 'invisible', from her plain pale skin to her lankly body that lacked any sort of figure. She wasn't the elusive mesmerizing creature that men vigorously sought after. Oh how she wished, but alas, her wishes never came true. It was Molly Weasley II—always her sister. Molly was who everyone liked and wanted to be around. Boys pined after her, trying to snag her attention in hopes that perhaps they could snag her as well. Molly was the perfect catch, and Lucy was just the shadow, and shadows never meant anything.
Lucy had brown hair, not red. Molly had red hair. The only thing in common was the blue eyes, and Lucy's were even the wrong shade. They were too light, too silvery, and not blue enough. She bore more of a resemblance to Scorpius Malfoy, and he wasn't even in her family. Her family all had red hair, except for her mother, but Lucy was a natural born Weasley. She was supposed to have red hair, but no, Molly got it. Molly had everything. Molly was desirable, Molly was intelligent, Molly was kind, Molly was caring, Molly was motherly; there wasn't a single thing on this earth that Molly wasn't.
Molly was a Gryffindor. Lucy was put in Ravenclaw. She was a Weasley. She wasn't a Potter, she wasn't a Malfoy, she wasn't a Lupin, she was a Weasley, and Weasleys were Gryffindors. She didn't even fit in with her own family, who often spoke of their misadventures with one another. Her mother didn't even attend Hogwarts and she slipped into those conversations better than Lucy ever could. She didn't attain the same qualities of the rest of her family; what was wrong with her? She was too quiet, too careful—too much of all the wrong things. The damned Sorting Hat couldn't extend its grace to her, he couldn't place her where she belonged. She was part of the Weasley family after all, and while they accepted her for who she was, it wasn't enough.
Lucy still had hormones at fifteen, just like other fifteen year old girls did. She was normal at that aspect, and to put it simply, she wanted a boyfriend. No boys would even bother to give a quiet girl like herself the time of day, not like they would Molly. Beautiful, buxom, sixteen year old Molly who seemed to grow prettier with each day, unlike awkward, angled, fifteen year old Lucy, who only seemed to grow more lankly with each passing moment. Molly had a boyfriend and Lucy didn't. Molly had Lysander Scamander, while Lucy was destined to be with Lorcan Scamander, only not even he would give her so much as a fleeting glance. Lucy wanted Lysander—she always wanted Lysander, but it was Molly—it was always Molly—that got what Lucy wanted. Lorcan wanted Molly, Lysander wanted and had Molly, and Lucy was left to be on her own.
Molly was most important, Lucy wasn't. After all, Molly was named after their grandmother. Where did her parents get the name Lucy? Certainly, there had to have been someone in their family with a different name she could have been given, but no, they merely plucked a random name out of a hat and scrawled it on a paper, and voila, she was Lucy Weasley. Molly Weasley II had the name, the name that came from somewhere. Trust strong, sophisticated Molly to have a strong, sophisticated name, just as you could trust vulnerable, verecund Lucy to have a vulnerable, verecund name.
As the quiet, freckled girl with little self-esteem that went by the name of Lucy Weasley gazed longingly up at the glowing moon, with her ivory colored arms tightly wrapped around the knees that were clutched against her flat chest, she took a heaving sigh, trying to collect her thoughts, although one stood out the most.
In Lucy's eyes, she would never be good enough, not like Molly Weasley II.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hmm. I rather liked this. I always saw Lucy as a bit more of a quiet Ravenclaw in my mind once she was introduced.Comment?