AN: Written for The Pairing One Hour Challenge.

Prompts: Molly/Lorcan, "I wish they would stop talking about us."

Reviews are lovely. :)

Word Count: 661

They were looking at her.

Molly hated it when people looked at her. It happened to her far too often for her liking— that bright, vivid Weasley hair caught their eyes, and then they saw the mark on her face, and they didn't look away.

When she was little, her mother told her that the birthmark was the mark of the place an angel had kissed her. As she grew older, Molly rejected that story. The birthmark was too ugly to have anything to do with angels. Purple and splotchy, it covered most of her right cheek and part of her eye. No makeup or magic could hide it, no matter how hard she tried.

And she had tried.

She had tried for years.

Molly tugged self-consciously on her dress. She loved that dress. Made from shimmering turquoise silk, it was elegant and beautiful and perfect, all of the things Molly wasn't.

Lorcan squeezed her hand gently. "Are you okay?"

Lorcan. Molly bit her lip. Perfect, beautiful Lorcan, with his blonde hair and blue eyes. She still couldn't believe that he had asked her to the Yule Ball. Practically every girl in the entire school was in love with him— even Dominique, Molly's cousin, and everyone knew that she was the prettiest girl at Hogwarts.

But Lorcan hadn't asked Dominique to the ball.

He had asked Molly.

"I wish they would stop talking about us," said Molly. "I wish they would stop staring at us."

It had happened when they were hanging out in the common room: Lily, Lysander, Lorcan, and Molly. Lily and Lysander, as always, were acting all cute and happy, the picture of a perfect couple. Before long, they had disappeared to find snacks— a Hogwarts code word for snog in a cupboard.

Molly and Lorcan were left alone in the common room. Molly had stared down at her lap, willing Lorcan to get up and walk away.

But he didn't.

Instead, he began to talk to her. At first, she gave short replies, feeling awkward and shy. Soon, however, they were talking like old friends, laughing and joking and smiling. Nearly two hours slipped by, and suddenly, in a moment that Molly would never, ever forget, Lorcan leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

It was her first kiss, sweet and soft, and his gentleness made her like him even more.

Then he asked her if she would go to the ball with him, and of course, she said yes.

"Hey," said Lorcan. "Look at me."

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his.

"They're talking about us because we're awesome," he said firmly. "No other reason."

"That's not why they're staring, though," she said.

"They're staring because you're beautiful," he said.

She shook her head. "I'm not—

"Yes, you are," he said. "You are the most beautiful girl I've ever met. You're sweet, and kind, and funny, and you're beautiful inside and out. Just look."

Before she could protest, he wrapped his arm around her and turned her towards one of the gilt-framed mirrors that ornamented the Great Hall for the occasion.

Molly hated mirrors. She always had.

But that day, as Lorcan held her close to him, as Lorcan told her how beautiful she was, she tried to forget that.

She tried to forget that she hated mirrors.

She tried to forget the reason she hated mirrors.

She tried to forget the mark on her face.

Instead, she took in other things: her hair, bright and vivid, flowing over her shoulders. Her shining blue eyes. Her smooth, cream-colored skin. The golden freckles on her nose that Lorcan thought were cute.

"See?" said Lorcan.

And she did.

So right then, right in the middle of the Great Hall, not caring who saw her, not caring who stared, not caring who pointed and whispered and laughed, she turned towards Lorcan and kissed him on the lips, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her.

Maybe she didn't have the kiss of an angel.

She had the kiss of Lorcan Scamander, and that was enough for her.