prompt: history
writer: Julia Claire

-:-

Molly had always been the smart one, the apple of their father's eye, but it wasn't like Lucy was jealous (of course not), because who would care about history books and marks and teachers when there were boys around.

She was good with boys, even if she wasn't as pretty as Victoire or Dominique. Lucy dressed to kill, caked on make-up, and had spent hours perfecting her smirk in the mirror. Coupled with the mysterious, slightly frightening aura that screamed Slytherin, she'd never had any trouble finding boyfriends.

She loved that - she loved that she was so much better a flirt than Molly, who may have been a genius in the classroom, but was awkward and stuttering and lost around boys. And that, really, was why she set her sights on Lysander Scamander, not because she liked her all that much, but because Molly did.

He was cute, though, with his big blue eyes and brown curls, and she reckoned it would be easy to snag him, especially when Molly's longwinded rants on History of Magic - she always said the stupidest things around boys - seemed to impress him so much.

She made a point of interrupting there conversations, and pulling him away from her, ignoring the hurt in her sister's eyes. It worked, the first few times, and she thought Lucy was in, just another smirk awy from breaking her sister's heart, until she saw him holding hands with her sister in the corridor.

It wasn't like it broke her heart, or any such nonsense, but if Lucy hated anything, it was failure.

The next time she saw him in the corridor, alone, this time, she grabbed his hand and yanked him in an abandoned classroom, whispering his name before throwing himself at her, leaning in to kiss him,

He pushed her away. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"

"Don't you want to kiss me, Lysander?" she breathed, leaning in closer, her lips pouting slightly, expecting him to cave because they always have.

"I'm going out with your sister!"

She rolled her eyes. "So?"

He tore himself from her grip, stomping out of the classroom. "I'm leaving..."

"You're really choosing her?" she said, her voice raising itself into a screamed, shocked at his resistance. "Over me?"

He turned to look her in the eyes. "You're mean, Lucy."

The door slammed, and she tried to laugh at his feeble old insult, but somehow, it got lodged in her throat.

The Scamanders always told the truth.

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