warnings: mature themes. eating disorders, addiction, mentions of suicide etc.
note: timeline isn't strictly linear.

Some said they were perfect.

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Molly could tie her shoes and make the bed and set the table and feed the animals and tidy and clean and cheer Lucy up when she was sad and she could read and write and was good at sums and she could run really fast and throw very far and she tried very hard but none of that mattered because she couldn't muster a single ounce of magic and so she would always be a disappointment. And always was a very long time to be stretching out in front of you, when you were only eight years old.

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Lucy had floated like a bird, invincible because she couldn't be touched. Happy, because she had all the company she liked, could go anywhere she wanted to go. Her mind was thousands of miles away, and therefore so was she. But then she was struck down, shot by a boy with dazzling smiles and promises upon promises. He showed her what it meant to be alive, really truly alive and for a while she floated there with him, in a blissful limbo. But then he let her go. She fell, crashing headfirst into reality. A bird without its wings.

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Like a spider she'd spun a web. A web of deceit, trapping all in place with little more than sugar sweet smiles and words as smooth as honey. Lily loved to watch the puzzle pieces slide into place. Always watching, smirking, lying. She could lie to herself, too. She could tell herself that it's thanks to her that she can wrap them so easily around her little finger. She could say that it's not because of her name or her pretty face. And sometimes she'd even believe it.

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Hugo has plenty of thoughts but they seem to get lost on their way to his mouth. His lips feel stuck together and he stammers and stutters and keeps his eyes downcast and although he wants nothing more than to be lost in a crowd, he's continuously plucked out from the comfort of its confines and he feels bad for them because he's really no one to be interested in, and they all want so much that he cannot give. It isn't fair for someone surrounded by the extraordinary to be so painfully ordinary. He knows it'd be better for everyone if someone else had been born in his place. He'd speak up, but he doesn't have the nerve. He'd end it all, but he doesn't have the courage.

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Close your eyes, force a smile, it's what makes everything okay. Go away inside, hide like a child. Rose wasn't sure what was the point of being able to cast so many spells, make almost anything happen with the wave of a wand and the muttering of an incantation, without the power to stop thinking. They say your mind can be a prison. She can't find the key.

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A kick drum beat in his head as the world tilted on its axis. If you ignored the nausea and tight, twisting stomach, he was on top of the world. A smile that rivaled the summer sun and brown eyes that were just short of distant, James was the life of the party (and had to stay that way). It'd all be okay if he just downed another drink.

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He has eyes the colour of jealousy and a hell of a point to prove. It's ocean blue he sees looking into anyone's eyes, a pale face and half smirk every time he closes his eyes, and the same pair of lips he's kissing, no matter who they truly belong to. No, he is not in love. Albus doesn't do love, ask anyone he's been with; the number isn't few and their lips are anything but sealed.

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She'd bet on anything with a chance to go more than one way. More often than not, these days, it's a question of life or death. Roxanne isn't scared of anything, and she was damn well going to show them. Daredevil antics and a over-competitive nature combine in a girl constantly knick-knocking on Death's door. She might be the life of the party, but she's driven away everyone who cared about her. It hurts too much to care for someone that won't care for themselves, and everyone's too scared they're going to lose her to appreciate her while she's still here. She feels hollow inside, but she keeps on running.

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Accidental head boy finds happiness comes by the vial, and, the higher you climb, the further you fall. Addiction is a string he's too afraid to cut, a tightrope he never meant to step onto. His shadow is a name he can't live up to, or run away from, and failure lurks around every corner; menacing, overeager, inevitable. Try to please too many people and you please none at all. Fred's learning everything a little too late.

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It wasn't fair that Dominique could feel so weak, when she'd never been so strong. Three whole days had gone by and she hadn't eaten a single thing. With a vague, distant curiousity she lay on her back and stared up at the hand she held above her face. It was trembling, another thing beyond her control. Her hipbones protruded obviously, and so did her ribs, but she couldn't see that.

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He'd always been a little too clever, a little too capable. Always striving to be better, to be more. His work ethic was unrivaled, his attention span impeccable. He pushed himself to the limits, until one day he realised that there were no limits. There was only as far as you're willing to go. No one had ever really told him he couldn't. The baby of the famous-named family, wielding Veela charm and ethereal good looks, why, people would let Louis do whatever he wanted, whether to them or just in general. He was knee deep in the dark arts before anyone even raised an eyebrow.

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Victoire had tried to keep the family together. She'd always thought things would be better if only everyone paid a little more attention to each other rather than themselves. It's ironic that everyone was too absorbed in their own worries to take heed of her words. When everything falls apart she tries to remember when they were all young and happy and loved one another, but she isn't sure if it's a memory or a daydream.

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Some said they were perfect.
They were wrong.