Post by Elienp on Nov 17, 2011 10:23:38 GMT -8
Title: Molly's secret garden
Warning: none
Rating: T
Words: 296
Summary: Everybody has their own secret garden.
Molly loved to play Quidditch, but nobody knew, not even her closest friends.
She had never tried to be on a team for she knew, with such a temper as hers, which was identical weather she was on the ground or in the air, that it'd difficult for her to be accepted. She couldn't control her feelings, if she was angry, she'd show it, if somebody was getting on her nerves, she wouldn't hesitate to give them a piece of her mind.
She had a temper which, she thought, wouldn't have allowed her to feel well on a team.
Yet, she wouldn't give up on her love to fly. She'd simply fly, and play, alone, imagining a whole team by her side, imaging herself as a chaser. She'd play for hours, during the night, when nobody would ever discover her secret.
In the sole company of the sky, she was simply Molly, a young witch who wanted to play Quidditch, and who didn't care if she had to do it alone.
In the pitch, on her broom, she didn't feel lonely but peaceful. It was her way to relax, to forget all about her worries.
She used to wonder, when she had children, for she'd have some and Arthur would be the father – though he wasn't aware of it yet – if they'd share her secret passion for this game.
“I'd love to,” she murmured one night to the wind, “thus I'll be able to go see their matches.”
Her love for this sport would always remain a secret, her secret, not because she didn't trust others, of course they'd understand, everyone loved Quidditch after all, rather because she felt the need to keep that to herself.
“As a little secret garden.”
Warning: none
Rating: T
Words: 296
Summary: Everybody has their own secret garden.
Molly loved to play Quidditch, but nobody knew, not even her closest friends.
She had never tried to be on a team for she knew, with such a temper as hers, which was identical weather she was on the ground or in the air, that it'd difficult for her to be accepted. She couldn't control her feelings, if she was angry, she'd show it, if somebody was getting on her nerves, she wouldn't hesitate to give them a piece of her mind.
She had a temper which, she thought, wouldn't have allowed her to feel well on a team.
Yet, she wouldn't give up on her love to fly. She'd simply fly, and play, alone, imagining a whole team by her side, imaging herself as a chaser. She'd play for hours, during the night, when nobody would ever discover her secret.
In the sole company of the sky, she was simply Molly, a young witch who wanted to play Quidditch, and who didn't care if she had to do it alone.
In the pitch, on her broom, she didn't feel lonely but peaceful. It was her way to relax, to forget all about her worries.
She used to wonder, when she had children, for she'd have some and Arthur would be the father – though he wasn't aware of it yet – if they'd share her secret passion for this game.
“I'd love to,” she murmured one night to the wind, “thus I'll be able to go see their matches.”
Her love for this sport would always remain a secret, her secret, not because she didn't trust others, of course they'd understand, everyone loved Quidditch after all, rather because she felt the need to keep that to herself.
“As a little secret garden.”
I wanted to show Molly was more than the head (;D) of the Weasley family
