Chapter 1 : Prolouge
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I hate being a Puffer.
Don’t get me wrong, Hufflepuff is great. They’re nice, they’re loyal, they’re always there with a spare bit of parchment when you left yours in the dorm.
But I just wish I wasn’t one of them.
As one of Percy Weasley’s children, people always tend to overlook me. There’s the Golden Trio’s children: the Potters and the Granger-Weasleys. There’s the Delacour-Weasleys, known throughout Hogwarts for their beauty. And, of course, Roxanne and Fred, twin Beater champions rivaled by none. All known throughout the school. All in Gryffindor.
Then there’s me.
The only Hufflepuff Weasley. Even my sister, my bubbly, kind, ditz of a sister, isn’t in Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw. Who knew?
But even she’s known for her brains and her Seeking skills. Me?
Most of the time, people don’t know I’m there. I don’t have the red Weasley hair (thanks, Mum) so even the people who gravitate towards Weasleys – any Weasleys – to try to enter the sphere of popularity they inhabit, won’t notice me. I’m the last choice cousin, for classwork, or family things. Even my own sister would rather be with Lily Potter than me.
I’m tired of being ignored.
My dorm-mates are nice enough, you could say. They try to include me, in ‘girl talk’ nights and revision sessions. But they bore me. They float through life, bouncing on the surface, while I sometimes feel like I’m being dragged by my wrists across the harsh pavement, feeling every bump and every crevice in the surface.
I feel the indifference that people send me every day. I know that for most of them, if Lucy Weasley didn’t get out of bed one day, didn’t come to Hogwarts one year, none of them would care. I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation – like, when one person talks to another person – with a person who wasn’t in my family. A person who wasn’t my sister. And even then it went something like this:
“Luce, do you have parchment?”
“Yeah, Molly. Hold on a moment.”
Parchment rattles as I rummage through my bag, pulling out a roll for my sister. She bounces on her feet, jiggling her red curls as she waits impatiently.
“Thanks. Hey, how’s life?”
“Good, I guess. Probably failed the last Transfiguration test, but that’s life.”
“Cool. Bye, Luce.”
I don’t matter.
The thing is, I dislike company as much as company dislikes me. The inane conversations that drag on, filling space with endless words that don’t matter, don’t matter at all. The lack of emotion, the lack of honesty in every encounter with another. I just don’t care.
But, from what I’ve seen as six years a Puffer, that is really all the girls in my dorm are capable of. Meaningless conversation. Bubble words. Nothing that would change the world, nothing that would make a difference.
All I’ve done to improve the world is hand out parchment.
When I became a prefect, I thought, somehow, things would be different. That a badge and point docking abilities would change the universe. That I would matter. That people would see me. See me, see me not even as Lucy Weasley, but as ‘the prefect’, just so long as I was seen.
It didn’t happen.
It didn’t happen, except for one person. Cassandra.
Cassandra was a Slytherin. My year. And she, too, was invisible. She, too, was a person nobody saw.
Except for me. I saw her. I saw her and she saw me back. A reflection. In both of us we saw ourselves, and in both of us, we saw a friend.
I was happy.
She, like me, went unnoticed. She, like me, almost preferred it this way, preferred the company of those to whom words were precious. She, like me, felt.
And I began to spend every moment with her. Even if we weren’t doing anything, even if we just reading our textbooks together, it felt good to be in someone’s company. Maybe it’s the Hufflepuff in me, but Cassandra said it was just human nature.
I didn’t realize it, but I was falling in love with her.
I was falling in love but I was too afraid to tell her.
And that was when I hated being a Hufflepuff more than anything.
Cassandra was the only person who understood me. Who understood my disgust with the superficiality of the world, but at the same time my desire to be loved. My desire to be seen. She understood that.
She just didn’t know that I wanted her to love me.
And that was my fault.
It was then that I wished more than anything that I was a Gryffindor. To have the courage to tell Cassandra that I liked her, to have the courage to tell the world that I liked girls (Because that more than anything would bring attention to me. The wrong kind of attention.), to have the courage to risk a friendship for something more… is a courage I desperately wished I had. But I didn’t. I didn’t and I wished desperately for her to somehow realize that I loved her, for her to somehow have the courage that I lacked.
But she didn’t.
And neither did I.
AN: Hello, beautiful HPFFers! Any reviews/critiques/criticisms are more than welcome. This is my first submission to HPFF, my first attempt at Lucy Weasley, my first attempt at slash, and my first attempt at angsty writing, so any reviews would help a ton. Thank you!
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