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Making a Broken Heart by maraudertimes
Format: Short story collection
Chapter 1: Making Mistakes
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A.N.: These stories are part of a complete universe of stories called the Making it Universe, however, it is completely and utterly a stand alone story. You DO NOT have to read the other stories to have a complete understanding! It is it’s own story, it just happens to coincide with information from other.
This chapter/one-shot was also written for the FF Quidditch League with the prompts: Episkey (spell), 1089 words (did not fulfill this after editing), frost (word), shatter (word), as well as the HPFT Companion Piece Challenge by the ever wonderful Rumpel (rest of the one-shots written for this as well). Thank you also to my Betas, SpacesInMyMind (Sophie), Queen Bookworm the First
My breath condensed in the air around me, the fog-like cloud dissipating quickly. Too soon, the grass had been overrun with frost, my boots crushing the miniscule crystals as I made my way across the pitch, Air Wave Platinum in hand. The smooth wooden handle was cold, even through my gloves, and I shivered as a gust of wind blew by, rustling the sapphire robes that clung to my figure. I reached the middle of the pitch and looked up at the sky, my grip on the broom tightening as I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline course through my veins.
My right leg swung over the broom and in one fluid movement I bent my knees and kicked off, rocketing into the cold air above. One deep breath, and suddenly, I was at home. I leaned forward, coaxing my broom forward, gaining speed with every second I stayed crouched low to the handle. The stands raced by, red, green, blue, and yellow blurring together in my peripheral as the wind whistled in my ears. One lap. Two. Then three. Tears streamed down my cheeks, an unfortunate consequence of the harsh wind and my lack of goggles - I’d forgotten them in my room, and by the time I’d realized, it wasn’t worth it to go back.
I reached the far end of the pitch and slowed, circling around the posts before finally orienting myself towards the opposite end. And then I was off. Streaking down the field, I felt myself grow weightless with every moment until I bore almost no strain from gravity. This was my moment. I brought my left foot up onto the back of my broom, my teeth gritted from the effort I was making to stay balanced. Once I was sure that I was secure, I slowly started to bring my right foot up from its place on the foot grip but I began to shake. Balancing myself out, I tried again, but this time I began to wobble uncontrollably.
“No. No, no, no,” I breathed through a clenched jaw. “I’ve worked too hard at this to fail again.”
With renewed determination, I thrust my right foot onto the handle and stood up. I was flying. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. For a split second I was racing through the air, my arms outstretched like a bird, my auburn hair whipping around me like fire. It was a type of magic I had never before experienced. And then just like that, it was over.
My broom slipped out from under me, and instead of flying, I was falling. Instead of magic it was science, gravity gripping my body and pulling me back towards the earth where it thought I belonged. A sharp shriek resounded through my throat as I barreled towards the ground. I saw green, then blue, green, then blue, as I rolled around in the air, unable to stop my own momentum.
Get it together, Molly, I thought. You’re a witch. What can you do if you’re falling?
My wand! With a flourish, I pulled it out from my robes and screamed the only spell that I could think of. My descent slowed, but only slightly as I realized the one flaw in my thought process – the Levitation Charm wouldn’t work on me; it would only work on my clothes – and I was still falling towards the ground below. Pain rocketed through my wrist as I hit the earth, sharp and harsh at first and then slowly becoming a dull murmur. I cradled it instinctively and lowered my head, fighting back tears.
“Hey!” a voice suddenly cut through the otherwise silent air. “Hey, are you okay?”
I glanced up to see a figure clad in red running towards me. Tears in my eyes blurred my vision and I couldn’t tell who it was until they were right there, kneeling beside me.
“Merlin, I saw that fall. Are you alright?” Christopher Finnegan, captain of the Gryffindor team, asked as his eyes fell on my wrist.
I managed a weak smile and a watery chuckle. “Oh, just dandy.” My voice broke on the last word as a rush of pain raced through my wrist once more. “My broom,” I finally croaked out. “My broom, can you find it? Did it shatter?”
“No, I saw it land near the posts. I imagine it’ll be banged up, but I wouldn’t worry about it.” He reached for my wrist and I recoiled on instinct. With a reassuring look, he reached out once more and this time I let him, his long fingers closing around my hand. “Can you move it?”
I attempted to bend my wrist but stopped with a whimper. His brow furrowed as he tightened his grip on my hand. My wrist was slowly moved up, then down, then around in a circle, his hands doing the work as I stifled my cries.
“It seems broken, but it’s nothing that a small healing spell can’t fix.” He brandished his wand and gave me a comforting smile. “This might feel a bit strange. Episkey!”
My wrist suddenly felt very warm, strange compared to the cold assaulting the rest of my body, and then just as quickly, very cold again. The pain that had been radiating through me faded and I sighed, my breath turning into a fog again just as it had before.
“What were you doing up there, anyways?” Christopher asked, glancing upwards to where I had fallen.
I chuckled and wiped away the few tears that had fallen from my eyes. “I was attempting a Chelmondiston Charge. Been practising for months, but I can’t seem to keep my balance.”
He whistled, long and low. “That’s ambitious. I don’t even think I can dream of doing that. No wonder you took such a hard tumble.”
“Yeah, well, not much to show for it.” I shrugged. “You seem to have properly healed me. Thank you for that, by the way. Don’t know what I would’ve done had you not come along.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ve picked up a few things over the years. I’m Chris, by the way. Christopher Finnegan.” He shook the hand he was already holding and I smiled.
“I know. I’m Molly. Molly Weasley.”
This time, it was his turn to smile. “I know.”
And just like that, just with two simple words and an easy grin, butterflies erupted in my stomach. Christopher Finnegan, Head Boy, was inches from me, my hand still in his, and he knew who I was. Me, Molly Weasley. Oh, my…
Chapter 2: Making a Friend
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A.N.: This second chapter/one-shot was also written for the FF Quidditch League (Kenmare Kestrels), with the prompts: lamp (word) and the dialogues (sentences starred in story not my own):
"The next time I tell you it's a bad idea, how about you try actually listening?"; "I will eat that damn muffin if it kills me."; "Revenge is a dish best served with sprinkles."
This chapter/one-shot was also written for Rumpel's HPFT Companion Piece Challenge. Big thanks to my Betas, Ari347 and Queen Bookworm the First.
I quickly checked over my shoulder before tiptoeing down the dimly lit corridor. As silently as possible, I stopped in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit and tickled the pear. Wincing as its laughter echoed down the hallway, I watched it transform into the green doorknob I was so familiar with. The door opened with a slight creaking, but I quickly slipped inside and closed it before anyone could investigate the slight noises I had made.
As soon as I turned around, I came face to face with an awkward looking creature, its legs and arms seemingly too thin compared to its oversized head. I crouched down so that I was eye level with the small house elf and smiled.
“Misty! How are you?”
The house elf beamed, her cheeks darkening. “Misty is quite well, Miss Weasley. Misty is hoping you are well too, Miss Weasley.”
“You can call me Molly, Misty. And I am, thank you,” I replied, my heart aching to give the small creature a hug. Ever since James had shown me the kitchens back in third year, Misty was always the house elf to help me. Although I’d tried to make my gratitude known, she had actively declined any sort of physical contact or gift. “Are there any of your blueberry muffins left from this morning?”
She sprung into action, her delicate feet pattering against the floor as she bustled around the rest of the elves, who were performing other odds and ends such as cleaning. “Right away, Miss Molly. If Miss Molly is liking, Misty can have a whole basket of blueberry muffins sent up tomorrow morning!”
“That’s quite alright, Misty,” I called to her retreating figure. “But thank you so much.”
Glancing around the vast kitchens, I smiled on the odd occasion that another house elf made eye contact with me. They seemed happy down here, much happier than Aunt Hermione kept telling us. Although their clothes were all neutral beiges and browns, they were all cleaned and pressed, and some had even pinned small baubles such as wilting flowers or small patches of patterned fabric to their chests.
“Here is Miss Molly’s muffins! Misty has brought milk and napkins if Miss Molly is to be staying in the kitchens with Misty for a while?” Her pointed ears were perky, her eyes bright, and I couldn’t bring myself to say no.
“Would you like to come sit with me, Misty?” I asked, my heart melting as a smile enveloped her tiny face.
“Oh, Miss Molly, Misty would be loving that!”
She shuffled over to the end of what would have been the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and with some effort, and managed to place the large basket of muffins and napkins, along with the large glass of milk, up on the table before jumping onto the bench. I sat next to her, the difference in our sizes almost comical. We sat there, eating blueberry muffins and talking about what was to be served for lunch tomorrow, what Misty would be doing on her day off, and my upcoming tryouts for Oakshaft Academy. Completed invested in our conversation, I hadn’t realized that someone else had entered the kitchens.
“Oh! Mr. Finnegan! Misty had not realized you were here!” The little elf beside me squeaked, as the newcomer sat down across from us. She jumped off the bench and began wringing her hands. “Misty is very sorry, Mr. Finnegan, for not knowing you were here. Is there anything Misty can do for you?”
He smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling up in the most gorgeous way. “That’s quite alright Misty, thank you. I should be the one who is sorry. I’ve interrupted the two of you.”
Misty smiled shakily. “No, no, Misty is to be going. If Miss Molly or Mr. Finnegan need anything, Misty is always here to help!”
With that she scurried off, and Christopher chuckled. “I think I might have scared her off. I didn’t mean to.”
I looked back at him, noticing the genuine concern written on his face. “I think she’ll be alright. It took months for her to sit at one of the tables with me, let alone have a conversation. She just needs to be comfortable around people.”
“You’ve known her for a while then?”
Christopher whistled, low and beautifully. “So what you mean to say is that you’ve been breaking curfew for three years now?” It was at that moment that I realized that the Head Boy was sitting across from me. He seemed to notice where my thoughts were going because he quickly talked me down. “I’m not on duty. So I won’t tell anyone that you were out wandering the corridors late at night if you don’t rat me out.”
I pursed my lips and grabbed another muffin from the basket. “Thought Head Boys didn’t have a curfew. What could I possibly have on you, Christopher Finnegan?”
At that moment, another house elf appeared, carrying a large ice cream sundae, piled high with whipped cream. He set it down in front of Christopher, squeaked a few words, and then rushed away as I popped a piece of muffin in my mouth. Christopher’s eyes lit up mischievously, and grinned.
“You can call me Chris, by the way. I prefer it. And, you know how absolutely mind numbingly dumb Marco Flint is?”
I frowned through the muffin. “Yeah, he’s about as bright as a lamp without a bulb. So?”
“So, he forgot to lock up the broom shed last time the Slytherin team was practicing. A bunch of squirrels got in and gnawed on the brooms.” I felt my smile drop and he immediately switched from annoyance to reassurance. “Mine’s the worst and it’s not even that bad! McGonagall was down there a few hours ago working her magic, but I’m still peeved, so-”
“What’s in the sundae?” I interrupted.
His smirk returned in full force, a sneaky glint in his eye. “U-No-Poo. I told the elves it was my vitamins,” he whispered. “So can I count on you to not let slip that it was me, once Marco inevitably flips?”
“This is such a bad idea,” I mused. “He’s going to figure out it was you and then what’ll you do?”
“I guess I’ll have to figure that out later. Now, this is the part where you decide if you’re really going to eat that last muffin - what, is that your fifth?” he asked just as I reached for it. “And also, if you’re going to help me.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, feeling very combative. “Don’t tell me what to do! I will eat that damn muffin if it kills me.*” I took a breath and tried not to smile at his pleading face. “And as for helping you… Revenge is a dish best served with sprinkles*. Misty!”
The small house elf Apparated with a large crack, her wobbly smile endearing. I asked her for sprinkles and as she went off to find them, I polished off the last blueberry muffin much to Chris’s amusement. When she reemerged with the toppings, we dumped half a bottle on the already melting sundae and got up, laughing quietly as we left the kitchens. We were only halfway down the corridor when we were stopped dead in our tracks.
“Mr. Finnegan! I don’t recall you being on duty this evening.”
We both turned to see the tall, lean figure of Professor McGonagall striding towards us. I felt my stomach drop as I realized that Chris was still holding the incriminating sundae.
“Professor,” he greeted her, his voice strained. “Sorry, I was just… just…”
I cleared my throat and they both looked over at me, Professor McGonagall with curiosity and Chris in relief. “I wasn’t feeling well. Christopher found me on my way to the kitchens for some tea and decided to accompany me to keep me out of trouble. He was just bringing me back to my common room now.”
I could’ve sworn I saw the glimmer of a smile on her face. “Ah, yes, Miss Weasley. The kitchens would be quite familiar to you. Although that is a very strange cup of tea.”
“Oh, right. Well.” I glanced over at the sundae Chris was holding, and quickly grabbed at the spoon. “What’s tea without a bit of ice cream?” Scooping up a large amount of whipped cream and shoving into my mouth, I smiled. “Dewicious!”
“Right, we’ll be on our way. Thank you, professor,” Chris forced a smile and quickly grabbed me by the arm, turning me around and guiding me down the hallway.
“Please tell me that the pills weren’t in the whipped cream,” I hissed.
Chris seemed to be struggling to keep it together, chuckling under his breath. As soon as we turned the corner, he began running, tugging me along with him. We quickly darted into an alcove and he finally began to laugh.
“Oh you should see your face!” he cried, setting the sundae down on the floor. “Don’t worry, they were just in the actual ice cream.” His eyes darted down to my lips and his bloomed into a smirk. “You’ve still got some whipped cream. Here, let me get that.” He brought a hand up to brush the whipped cream off my bottom lip and it stayed, cradling my cheek.
My cheeks darkened as I realized just how close we were to each other. “I can’t believe I just had to do that! The next time I tell you it's a bad idea, how about you try actually listening?*”
“So, there’ll be a next time?” he asked, his eyes darkening.
“I guess that depends on you”
With that, he kissed me, slow and sweet at first, his lips tentative on mine, then deeper. I felt the stone wall press into my back, the cold shocking my otherwise warm skin. Pushing him away, I laughed breathlessly.
“Okay, next time. That sounds good.” I would’ve bet any kind of money that my cheeks were as red as my hair. “I’ll see you later, Chris.”
He seemed confused, but I didn’t wait around to explain anything. I just ran. Back to my common room, back to my bed, to overanalyze the fact that Christopher Finnegan, Head Boy and captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, had just kissed me in a dark hallway in the middle of the night.
And to think all I had been looking for were some blueberry muffins.
Chapter 3: Making Excuses
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“Chris.” I called out as the boy quickly strode down the hall. “Chris!”
He kept walking and I lost him as a stream of first years raced out of their class, exited to get to lunch. I groaned, frustrated that they wouldn’t let me through, until I saw a familiar head of blonde hair not three meters ahead.
“Dominique!” I yelled, and she turned.
“Mols, hey!” She smiled, pushing past the first years to come hug me. “You found him yeah? What did he say?”
I chewed on my bottom lip, my stomach churning at the thought of actually confronting Chris. “No, I was trying to find him just now. Have you seen him?”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “No. But I did hear Rose say something about a Prefect meeting today? He’d probably be there.”
“Thanks Dom,” I sighed, relief seeping into the words. “I’ll see you in class yeah? And if the professors need to know where I am–”
Rolling her eyes, she turned me around and pushed me in the direction of the Head’s office. “Tell them that you have lady troubles. I know the drill, Mols.”
I shot a smile over my shoulder at my favourite cousin before walking down the corridor, away from the Great Hall and towards what might be the most uncomfortable confrontation of my life. Chris and I had gotten close these past few months – very close. We’d gone to The Three Broomsticks more than a few times, and he always seemed to be waiting for me outside the Ravenclaw locker room after our practices. I’d asked him a week ago what we were – hoping he’d ask me to be his girlfriend, but he’d asked for some time to think about it.
Ever since then, I’d barely had time to see him with his N.E.W.T.s and my tryouts for Oakshaft, but everyone had assured me that everything was alright. I had just turned around the corner leading to the Heads office, when they all spilled out, a cluster of prefects in shades of green, blue, yellow, and red. Catching a glimpse of the Head Boy, I pushed my way through the prefects.
“Chris.” He must not have heard me as he kept walking, but I was not about to let him get away that easy. “Hey, Christopher Finnegan!” I yelled, racing after him.
His back visibly tensed before he turned my way, a solemn smile on his face. “Molly.”
“Are you avoiding me?” I chuckled. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Bit odd since we live in the same castle.”
“Well, it is a castle,” he mused, his eyes trained on the floor. “Large one at that.”
I felt my heart sink and a cold sweat break out at the back of my neck. “Have you actually been avoiding me?” This time, there was no happiness but apprehension in my voice.
It felt like an eternity before Chris responded. “Molly… I… I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I laughed slightly indignantly. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”
He delayed his answer yet again, long enough for him to be saved from answering it.
“Chris, hey I found you.” Caroline Manning stepped in between us. “Forgot to mention to you in there that you and I have to take the late shift tonight. That shouldn’t be a problem right?” She put a hand on his arm and he blushed.
“Yeah, of course. Heads have to do the dirty work, right?” His eyes lit up as he talked to her. That used to happen when he talked to me. “I’ll catch you later. Molly and I have some business to take care of.”
She turned to me, her perfect blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders magnificently. “Oh, sorry Molly. Didn’t realize you were there. I’ll see you later, Chris.”
She shot me a dirty smile and I couldn’t help but want to smack it off her face. As she walked away, I stared daggers into her back, wishing that somehow she could know just how much it hurt to feel the own knife in my back twist so sickeningly.
“So you’re sorry for that,” I said coldly, as the Head Girl walked away. “How long?”
He smiled sheepishly, guilt apparent on features that I once loved to stare at that now made me feel nauseous. “Not long.”
“About a month now?”
I felt my stomach drop and tears well up in my mind, but I wiped them away almost immediately. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You know that I don’t like confrontation, Mols.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked over at where Caroline’s figure still walked down the hall. “I can’t explain it; I just don’t have any feelings for you anymore. I haven’t for about a while now.”
“You had your N.E.W.T.s,” I said, disgusting myself for defending his actions. But I kept going. “And I had my tryouts.”
He seemed grateful, but I wanted to throw up at my words. “Exactly.”
“Did I push too hard?” I asked, hating the way my voice broke on the last word.
He finally lifted his gaze to meet mine. “I don’t think I could ever see this going further than it already had. I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel the same way you do. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later, Mols.”
I nodded, feeling my heart break within my chest. I wanted to scream, to yell at him, for leading me one for months just to drop me the second someone else showed interest. I wanted to ask if he had always known that he would stop caring for me, that his affection could switch so easily. I wanted to know if everything we’d done, everything we’d shared, was a lie.
Instead, I watched him walk away, the first boy I had ever thought I could love. The boy that I was excited to bring home and meet my crazy family. The boy that was perfect for me in ever which way but one. Because he was the boy who had just broken my heart.