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Chapter 1 : 01. A Study in Molly
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A Study in Molly
So I presume you’ve watched a couple of movies in your life time. The ones made by wizards are awful, to be honest, and infinitely inferior to the Muggle ones. There’s so much more imagination in Muggle films, the soundtracks are better, and the blokes are worth buckets of your drool.
I’m Molly Weasley the Second, first daughter of Percy and Audrey Weasley, named after my slightly bonkers paternal grandmother, and if you would, I need you to imagine this – my story – like one big movie. No intermission, of course. Unless you are in desperate need of the loo.
I’ve always wanted to have my life story made into a movie. And quite frankly, it is like one of those chic flicks you hate to admit you’ve watched. It always starts off with an ugly looking girl who was never really very popular in her school days, who grows up and becomes this fabulously attractive, smart, successful, rich young woman whose knickers everyone wants to get into. This is not to say that I am fabulously attractive, smart, successful and rich and nobody’s really dying to get into my knickers, as far as I know. But I’m close, I suppose.
Actually, hold on. Of course I’m smart and successful! I’m not what you’d call rich but no one’s really that rich anymore, what with the Muggles messing up everything and it’s ruining our economy as well. And I’m as successful as any healer can be. Call it a boring job (which it isn’t) but at the end of the day, when you reflect on the number of lives you’ve saved, you feel like Merlin!
Yes, I, Molly Weasley the Second, have saved people’s lives!
Who would’ve thought! Molly Weasley! Second only to Merlin! Well, and her grandmother.
We don’t even get enough credit for it.
I’m sorry. This is a bad habit of everyone born from Weasley sperms. Deviating from the topic. And I say sperms because Weasleys have always had boys, except since the birth of Aunt Ginny, and the women seem alright to be honest, so it can’t be the ovaries. So let me not deviate from the topic any further.
I am Molly Weasley the Second. I am the main character of this movie. Let’s pretend I have long legs and shiny blond hair, with perfectly manicured fingernails and a sharp aquiline nose, rather than a mad ginger with bitten fingernails and a button nose. I am proud to say that my legs are quite long, even though I’m only five feet tall.
Imagine me walking down the streets of London, a song from The Beatles the soundtrack, looking happy, radiant and all-round wonderful. My eyes fall on a little ice-cream parlour – Florean Fortescue’s, of course – and suddenly, FLASHBACK.
(At this stage I advise you to please adjust your vision to black and white, in order to fully gain the flashback-experience)
A little Molly Weasley walks up to the ice-cream parlour with her cousin Rose. She is eleven, and just about to start her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Rose is much older, and looks much more dignified than the eleven year old who’s got something in her nose and REALLY NEEDS TO PICK IT. Ahem. Moving on. Enter Molly the Third Year student – established misanthrope, bookworm, social outcast, etc., etc. Her hair looks like something attacked by a host of angry worker bees. Molly the Third Year is facing all the problems normal teenagers tend to face, but the most evil of them all – acne. SCENE CHANGE. In walks Molly the seventh year, hair a little subdued and by now completely untroubled by her reputation of being an anti-social-misunderstood-as-egoistic nerd. But Molly was far from her nerd, except in her last year. She was failing Divination up until OWLs and had only managed to barely get past Potions. But by her seventh year, she had turned over a new leaf. Molly was fabulous. Her philosophy was “If you don’t love my pimple, you don’t love me.” Which is a little odd, when you think of it now, because who could love a pimple. Don’t discriminate girls who do not have Marilyn Monroe’s genes and actually tend to be affected by common teenage problems like acne, is what she meant.
The bell rings as the door opens again. Seventh Year Molly turns around and rolls her eyes, wishing she were dead, just at the sight of the person who walked into the ice cream parlour. But we’ll come back to that.
(You may now adjust your vision back to colour)
It’s true. I was never ridiculously good looking when I was a kid, I was probably the least photogenic person in my family, and well, my hair was always bloody mental. My grandfather Arthur always thought that no matter how much society degraded, Hogwarts would never settle into the cliques and petty people lifestyle. But it did. When Rose graduated, it wasn’t so bad, but Rose was amazing and everyone loved her and it wouldn’t matter to her. By the time Hugo graduated, I was in my third year, and then it was bad. Stupid girls fussing over hair and spending half an hour longer in the loo to check their pores, not talking to the Longbottom girls because apparently they were stupid...it went on and on. My circle of friends were not like that, but they weren’t entirely my friends. There was Rachel, who was friends with the really big clique on terribly high pitched girls who wore all their expensive clothing to Hogsmeade when it was freaking cold, and so was Jenna to an extent. But then there was Mila and Nina, who were lost birds like me, but we were never really too close.
Could you blame me for wanting to be by myself?
I got on with a lot of the boys really well. And after a point, I just stopped trying with the girls. Lorcan and Lysander were two of my closest friends, and I just generally got along with guys a lot better. There are so many men in the Weasley family, you can hardly blame me.
In short, school was a massive failure. I loathed it. I waited to get out, find a job, get myself an apartment far away from my mad family (hey, I just needed some space, I’m not a freaking oompa loompa), and just start life over. And for once, enjoy it.
And at long last, my life is perfect! But for the faucet in my bathroom that continues to leak despite Plumber Potter’s efforts (Al never was very good with Muggle things, but he insisted he try), my life is quite...nice. I finally have a wonderful albeit ridiculous group of friends who I love to smithereens, even if I would never say it to them, a wonderful job I mentioned before, permanent membership to The Writers Guild library and I also happen to be a part of Change, a multi-faceted organization that only the most important people in the world are a part of.
I don’t know why I said multi-faceted. I’m still not sure as to what that word means. But I think it fits. Anyway. Anyone who dreams of being Minister for Magic just has to be a part of it. It’s just this very big gathering of people determined to change the Wizarding community for the better. The judge who passed the Witches Right to Vote in 134 BC was a part of Change. So you can imagine how old and how important it is.
Right. So you’re watching that part of the movie where everything is fabulous. The girl is happy, basically. She’s now done prancing around the city and is back home, wearing her Nuggles the Genie t-shirt. Nuggles was a very popular wizard cartoon in my day, about a dragon called Nuggles who possessed the magical powers one would assume a Genie had. So he was Nuggles the Genie. And he was my hero. It’s a very sensitive topic of mine, so I’d wish you wouldn’t offend him in front of me.
As you know, in every movie, there are three parts – the start, which is where we’re at, the middle, which is where all the bad stuff happens, and the end, where invariably always, everything turns to mush and the girl gets her way and she lives happily ever after.
I’ll tell you something. We’re at the end of the beginning. We’re close to the middle. And we’re very, very far away from the end.
So sit back, grab some liquorice wands and some bertie botts and enjoy the show. Because the fun is just starting.
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