Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Puzzle Pieces
Opposites attract.
And that – cliché and all – is the best he can do to explain why the hell he's going out with Lucy Weasley, the drama queen with the strawberry blonde hair and the terrible temper.
He's nothing like her, just plain old laid-back Lorcan Scamander, forever doomed to correcting people because he's the other twin, not Lysander. He's not the one who once flew Sirius Black's old motorbike over London or the mastermind who came up with all those Hogwarts pranks or the half-wild boy who works in Romania with Charlie Weasley or the (lucky, lucky) man who married Lily Luna Potter.
He's just Lorcan, and he draws the dragons his brother tames. He's the one that watched, the one that helped – the sidekick, the witness, the (occasional) worrier, the best man, not the groom.
It's always bothered him, so he can't understand why she puts up with it.
Because she's Lucy Weasley, and she's nothing like him by choice, because she so easily could have been that overlooked younger sister, the eternal second best. The rest of her family are veritable geniuses – her father an important Ministry official, her mother a famous scholarly author, her sister Head Girl, exactly the kind of student that leaves no choice for their younger siblings but to be disappointments.
So she should be the background music in her successful family, with her (less-than) average grades and her atrocious spelling and her habit of forgetting homework, except that she isn't. She doesn't accept her role in the wings, like Lorcan always has – she pushes her way into the spotlight because damn it all, she'll be the star.
And okay – she's got a pretty short fuse, and she goes off like a rocket and Merlin, and she's not perfect by any means, but she knows that; she glorifies in it. She laughs at Victoire and Molly in their pursuit of perfection, because she understands that it's like trying to hold the sun in your hands.
And so it's inevitable, he guesses, that he falls for her, because what onlooker can resist the starlet, in the end? He expects it to be unreturned, doubts that she will ever notice his careful, stolen glances – but she does more than notice. She reciprocates, and it stuns him.
"Why?" he'll ask her one night, when she's leaning against him on the couch, her short, plump figure such a contrast next to his long, lanky one.
"Why what?" she answers, bemused, and he smiles at the way she shines, so unknowingly.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the poor unlucky bastard that got stuck with me," she says, and laughs. "You put up with all my shit, Lorcan – don't act like I'm gracing you with my presence."
He looks at her, until she realizes he's serious.
"Come off it," she scoffs. "You calm me down when I'm full-on pissed, and... you're so funny, and –" She shrugs, because she's Lucy, and she's never been particularly articulate. "I dunno. Because you're you, I guess."
And so maybe he's the eye of her storm, like she's the light in his shadow – or maybe they're both just a bunch of rough edges that somehow fit together.
It doesn't really matter why, he decides, just as long as it is.