a.n.

mollylysander. "pretty little afterthought" belongs to s i l v e r a u r o r a entirely! :)

Prompts: sunlight, bed sheets, coffee.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not J.K. Rowling.

oh, oh, i want some more.

oh, oh, what are you waiting for?

take a bite of my heart tonight.

-Neon Trees.

It's her first time meeting him since they were children, and it's instantly girl-hates-boy and boy-hates –girl. She'd always been one to wiggle her (painted) toes in those rays of sunshine (not anymore). And he's the kind of guy that likes to sit in his (Ravenclaw) Common Room and strum a guitar, reciting lyrics of no point and that don't even make sense, goddammit.

She was innocent, sweet, Molly, until she got sorted into Slytherin, and then it became tangled bed sheets and low-cut shirts. And he'd known her since forever, and he'd hated who she'd become. So he became Lysander-the-guitar-player, with calloused fingers and a stream of profanity always slipping through his lips.

She'd always felt she had to measure up to him. But she can't write no pretty poem, she can't strum a guitar with her daintylittle fingers, or belt out a song in front of people, no less! She was no Gryffindor.

So she tried for reputation. She let loose those pretty red curls and bats those pretty hazel eyes. She swayed her petite little hips and bit her bottom lip. But no, after she did-the-deed with some Slytherin, or Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor (never a Ravenclaw), and they went back to their girlfriends, she was just some pretty little afterthought, wasn't she?

And yes, they kept coming back for more and more and more, and she was finally beating Lysander Scamander at something, wasn't she? And it was worth it, right?

But he paid no attention to her and her coffee-flavored kisses and her musky (dirty) after-sex smell.

And it was slowly breaking her, these silly little games she and Lysander seemed to be playing. And by the end of the sixth year (disastrousdangerous year) she shattered.

Everyone expected her to apologize to him for being a fucking bitch, but she never did. She just walked around empty corridors with blank eyes, no high heels clicking on the floor, no swaying hips.

And then everyone thought he was going to fix her, to mend that broken body, to stitch that torn heart.

He didn't. Everyone thought they'd fall in love, or live happily-ever-fucking-after, because they were so in love. They were a goddamned love/hate story.

But Lysander never fell prey to her coffee-flavored kisses and Molly never heard his songs and they were never Romeo and Juliet, not like Scorpius and Rose.

And the sad thing was, they could've been.

a.n.

please don't favorite without reviewing.