Maeve Macmillan liked to write.
It didn't matter if it was writing her thoughts in her diary, short stories in a journal, articles for newspapers, essays for homework, letters to her parents, simple reminders on her hand, quotes on parchment to st...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
----------------------> MAEVE MACMILLAN HUMMED A SONG under her breath as she took notes on the topic Professor Mcgonagall was lecturing on in one of her many journals. Every few seconds, however, her concentration would break and the attention would fade, leading her to either observe the habits and faces of her wonderful year-mates or absentmindedly use different fonts for writing her notes.
If her partner in the Transfigurations class found it annoying, Remus Lupin did an excellent job at masking it.
And that thought led her mind to so many others and encouraged her to promptly stop paying attention to the teacher, although she did make sure she nodded at the right cues with her eyes fixed on the Scottish woman.
Maeve could practically see the words of her newest article arranging themselves into sentences inside her head along with the topic headline flashing theatrically above it.
The Masquerade of Life, she decided was a brilliant header.
The truth was, everybody wore a metaphorical mask whenever they were in the presence of somebody else. They behaved in a particular way or were selective in what they told to the other.
For example, one wouldn't freely talk to their parents about their love affairs and one would have to mind their manners while talking to a teacher.
Everybody wore a mask, it was as simple as that. But sometimes, people tend to wear a particular mask for so long, that they tend to forget who they had been under it.
Maeve felt satisfied with how it all sounded in her head, all two thousand something words of it, but she mentally sighed as she realised that now, she would physically have to write it all down.
The bell rang at that moment, making Professor Mcgonagall thin her lips and tell them that she would continue the lecture tomorrow and that they were free to leave.
Maeve packed up her journal into the bag which contained three other journals that she had newly bought but were already half-way full; but not before she drew a small heart and wrote beside it: The Masquerade of Life because everybody wears masks. The only question is, how do you differentiate between a mask and your face?
Remus Lupin gave her a quick, soft smile which stretched the scars on his face but did nothing to the kind yet mischievous twinkle in his eyes, before leaving with his friends.
She returned the smile before he left, but couldn't help how her eyes lingered on his newest scar (one covered in a healing salve) for a bit longer than appropriate.
And as Maeve joined her own group of friends, her mind had already pushed forward a new topic for her to write in her column. It was truly a shame that she could only write one per week, considering how often she wrote and how many times she would scrap the idea in favour of a better one. Merlin knew just how much she would rant and have debates with her friends in order to pick which one of the seventeen articles she wrote that week would be published.
