a/n: i've written quite a few drabbles for the drabble tag at ngfs, and i thought i'd make a collection of them here. :)
warning: this one includes incest and is femslash. if either of those things offends you, please don't read this.
bring in the storm
molly + lucy
i hear you calling in the dead of night
( overjoyed - bastille )
Looking back, it started a long time ago, with an empty bottle of sleeping pills and Audrey Weasley's obituary in the Daily Prophet plastered onto Lucy's locker at school, and Molly sneaking into the Hufflepuff dormitory to hold Lucy while she cried. It started with a Minister of Magic in the midst of a mental breakdown for a father, and expensive therapists who prescribed them yoga and meditation. It started with two girls who understood each other when nobody else could.
But now, in the middle - or the end? How could they know? - it was legs tangled together in unironed sheets and goodbye kisses that lasted too long and a shared apartment that nobody thought to check for suspicious activities. It was easy (scarily easy, if they thought about it) to erase the past. It was a by-product of the separation the wizarding world forced between itself and Muggle society; reinventing yourself, forgetting the existence you had before, was a matter of hair dye and a few spells. Although Molly knows they were lucky to have it so easy, she can't help but find herself missing the dark hair dancing in front of her face, and she can't deny that she likes it when the blonde starts to show in Lucy's roots.
Neither of them admitted that the situation was what it was. They didn't see other people, and they didn't stop being the way they were with each other, but they never, never said it out loud. There was always an excuse.
When they got married, they agreed that it was best for their own protection in the Muggle world. "If they know we're sisters, they might join the dots together. This way, we still get next-of-kin status, without the danger of being found."
It was a good excuse. It wasn't enough to convince either of them that this was okay.
Molly worried. She was well past worrying about her sexuality - she didn't struggle to admit who she was, any more; not in that sense, anyway. She worried almost exclusively about Lucy, and them. She worried about the electricity that ran through her veins when she kissed her sister. She worried about the ache in her bones that had settled seven years ago and only freed itself when her arms were wound around Lucy. She worried about what their family would say if they found them. She worried about the way she heard Lucy crying in her sleep, calling in the dead of night, like a prayer. She worried, most of all, because she knew that she wasn't good enough for Lucy, and she never could be.
It started with disaster and they both knew it would end in it, too.