#thecoolpotter

Lucy didn’t cry; that was Dom’s job. Her job was to watch in silence and offer condolences. She always played spectator, never the player; she was the one always the talking, but never the one who was talked about. But a part of her craved that fame; when she was the most honest with herself, she wanted to be an athlete’s girlfriend. She wanted to be something more than a Weasley – long before she realized that there was no escape from the name or the infamy and that it was easier to embrace than to avoid.

But she wouldn’t see Aidan ever again and the thought of it was still shocking. And if she saw him, it’d be herself she’d be fighting – because she sure as hell wasn’t the one who wasn’t going to apologize. She needed time. Maybe that time was a month. Maybe that time was forever. In a way it was still one less problem for her to deal with, and as much as she didn’t want to think of Aidan as a problem… that was the truth of it.

When the relationship started, Lucy thought she was the accessory on his arm to be paraded as the other half of a star couple that everyone envied to be part of. But it ended the opposite; all he had been was extraneous weight that Lucy could no longer carry. She didn’t know what she could do to change that, but he wasn’t even around to listen to her tell him what she wanted. And even then she had a feeling they would just fight again about whatever they were dealing with individually, but not quite individually because there was no separating their love lives from everything else going on. There were too many issues getting in the way for any of it to work.

Why did he have to make it so hard? Why couldn’t he just listen? Why couldn’t he just be a good boyfriend like he was in the beginning?

She gave a loud sob, then pushed the door out. The Burrow had at least seven fucking bedrooms in it, but Lucy knew which one belonged to her father. It was the one that stayed the cleanest and the one that was the least crooked out of all of the ones that had been added and attached to the building over the last few years. She coughed and rubbed her eyes, trying to make sure that Percy’s old bedroom didn’t have any sign of her sitting on the bed and rubbing her makeup all over the sheets – though she wasn’t sure how long those sheets had been there.

Then she shrieked. Lucy had just quieted herself enough that she heard something and it wasn’t from one of the party favors they were giving away outside or the pseudo-Quidditch players yelling at each other on the makeshift pitch. She didn’t expect anyone in this part of the house either, even doing more illicit activities. Doing drugs or making out was just weird when you know that you’re doing all of that in your uncle’s (or aunt’s) bedroom.