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...
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-----------------------> WHILE MAEVE MACMILLAN LOVED WORDS, SHE ALSO TENDED TO FORGET THEM. Her mind was a strange yet complex masterpiece, according to her, because when she initially created the stories and articles in her mind, she could picture the characters and the words of the story in her head.
It was like she had been transported to a drama or a stage play where the characters in her story had been transformed into actors and she was the director, or if it was an article, then she was watching a person narrate her article perfectly.
So while she was physically writing down the idea, prompt or plot, although she had a clear vision of the colour, texture, feel of the word or knew the actions and movements relating to a particular gesture in her head, she was -most of the time- unable to find the word that described and fit it perfectly and found herself tongue-tied.
One time, when she had been in the middle of writing a tragic and rather gore-filled short story (that the editors of the Daily Prophet had summarised as 'too sad and scary' and had made her publish another article instead), she had gotten wide-eyed horrified when she realised that she had forgotten the word for the image in her head, and had turned to face her friend Kate with a frantic expression on her face.
Kate had simply sighed tiredly. "What is it this time?"
"It's red," Maeve had replied hurriedly, trying to elaborate on the image in her head before it faded into oblivion. "What is it?"
"You need to be a little more clear on that, dear." Kate had stated dryly.
"What is the word for that metallic tasting liquid that you need to live?"
"...You mean 'blood'?"
"Yes!" Maeve clapped her hands with happiness as she rewarded Kate with a peck on her cheek before writing down the word where she had stopped mid-sentence before pausing again.
"Now what?" Kate had asked.
Maeve's lips had thinned into a straight line as her eyes looked pained. "I lost my train of thoughts. I forgot what happens next." She had confessed before letting out a groan and hitting her head on the table in a dramatic manner.
Another time during Potions last year, Maeve had gotten bored at listening to Professor Slughorn and had instead taken to weaving another story in her mind and writing it down in another journal, she had once again had a word stolen from her and had immediately turned to her potions partner, Severus Snape, with horrified eyes.
Having been her potions partner for four years (due to Professor Slughorn's apparent desire to pair a snake up with a badger), Severus had calmly regarded her expression much like Kate had, having well been used to it by now and had said, "Describe it."
Maeve had quickly obliged. "It's like a sweater, but for your feet."
"...Socks?"
"Yes! Thank you, Severus." She had flashed him a blinding smile before continuing to write her story, leaving Severus to shake his head almost fondly at her behaviour.
