So much for once a week. Molly's up.
ix. the highest form of flattery
She was the reclaimed artist, the l'artiste.
Fashion forward with the cute little dresses and dainty flats. With the longlong rust colored hair and deep brown eyes. She constantly lugged at least two blank sketchpads with her, just to be ready for that moment of inspiration.
Her drawings were delightful, her paintings were picturesque. Her sculptures surprised, those delicate mobiles must of hung in every girls' dorm, regardless of house. Even her photography had a different sort of elegance, the way the subjects moved about.
There was only one medium that she lacked in- and it was her way with words.
She could speak well of course,
(as if Percy Weasley would let one of his daughters not be eloquent)
But between her mouth and the written something was lost.
She cursed it, it was a j a g g e d scar on her reputation.
(But here's the kicker, no one knew)
.
She told herself it was a simple mistake, an accident. Molly Weasley didn't cheat.
(Not until Friday, December 13 of her sixth year that is.)
It was a contest, a contest. A contest she was expected to win, even if no one had seen any of her writing.
Flitwick wanted a poem, a simple thing really. All to get the school in the Christmas Spirit.
Write. Crumple. Toss. Write. Crumple. Toss.
It was a pesky routine that wouldn't go away.
Until that day.
.
"Marnie, I hear you're submitting a poem for the contest?"
The shy Ravenclaw nodded and gathered her papers quickly as Transfiguration ended. Molly caught the title of one and her eyebrow raised.
"That's a fantastic title." The other girl blushed rose and hustled out of the room with a whispered thanks.
In her hurry she didn't notice the parchment that fluttered to the floor behind her. However someone did- and they snatched it up before anyone was the wiser.
.
Shaky hands placed the final product on Professor Flitwick's desk. He gave Molly a warm smile.
"I cannot wait to read it."
She nodded with a quick smile before hustling out of the room, heart poundpoundpounding.
(shaking with regret... and a slight quiver of victory)
And as far as she could tell, no one else would know.
.
She (tried to) forget about it for the next two weeks but the words seemed to swim around her everywhere. In her books, her essays, on notices and chocolate frog cards.
She avoided the topic like the plague, and she reveal and information.
(and it's kind of funny, because some thought she was being modest, others though she was being shy but no one expected the real reason. Then again, it wasn't something she was trying to advertise.)
The day before Christmas Eve arrived sooner than expected for her, and she entered the Great Hall that morning head bowed. Everyone was bustling around, making sure to grab back borrowed items before they headed home for the holidays. She busied herself with breakfast and even the grandgorgeousglittering decorations couldn't soothe her mind.
Tiny Professor Flitwick was standing on a small stool at the head of the Hall, trying frantically to get everyone's attention. It wasn't until everyone (sort of) had quieted down that he spoke.
"I want to thank everyone who entered my contest and would like to read and announce the winning poem for you all!" Some students rolled their eyes, going back to their conversations (stupid Slytherins), while others listened attentively (Marnie Reynold, herself).
"The poem goes thus..." Flitwick's squeaky voice traveled through the Great Hall and suddenly the room felt all too small for her. Out of the corner of her eye she say Marnie's jaw drop in disbelief.
She made for the exit, stumbling into the corridor but still hearing the Professor's voice ring through the school.
And her stomach kept on turning at each word.
.
She had made it halfway to the dungeons when she heard the footsteps.
"You are such a prick, you know that?"
Molly turned around, duly surprised. Dominique stood a good fifteen paces behind her, a glass of pumpkin juice in one hand and half a piece of toast in the other.
"A real prick." she repeated.
"What are you talking about?" Molly exclaimed, feigning innocence.
(but her heart was racing because if there was anyone who wouldn't fall for it, it would be Dominique)
"What am I talking about? What am I- That isn't your poem! How big of a moron do you take me for?"
(Bluff called.)
"So what? No one cares! No one knows, no one doubts me, everyone is happy!" she spat.
"Oh no one? How about Marnie? I'm sure she does. And Flitwick, he probably wouldn't appreciate the knowledge now would he? 'Cause I really she tell him y'know. Me being a prefect in all. And what would dear Lysander say if he knew his girlfriend was a cheater? Perhaps he would wonder if you cheated in relationships too?" Dominique said, finishing her toast.
"Shut up! You wouldn't tell, it'd ruin your reputation too. I still don't even know how you were made a prefect. And I know you wish you were fucking my boyfriend but your word against mine? Are you daft? My word against yours? You two may be friends, but let's face it. You're just the pathetic little wanna be tough girl who plays with the guys because the girls don't want to be associated with her!"
Molly stopped her rant short, not knowing where all these words were coming from. Dominique was standing before her, slack jawed.
"You're like my sister. You are a fucking carbon copy! Is that all you know how to do? Copy people? People say imitation is the highest form of flattery but you know what I say? I saw it's for unimaginative little bitches who think they were born with a silver spoon in their mouth!" Dominique dropped her glass on the ground and walked away, not bothering to pick it up.
Molly sank to the ground against the wall, observing the broken glass around her.
A lovely picture she thought. But then another thought came to her.
A lovely picture. But what is a picture? Just an imitation, a copy of what had really been there.
Alright, so I had about ten different versions of the ending before I decided on this. Did I make them too mean?
Oh, (I never thought I would actually ask this) if you like the story enough to favorite, drop me a review first to say why? Criticisms always help.