Hugo Weasley didn't look like a Weasley. He was short with curly brown hair and brown eyes. In fact, the only Weasley thing he had was his freckles.
Hugo Weasley didn't get into Gryffindor. He didn't get into Slytherin or Ravenclaw. He got into Hufflepuff. If he wasn't brave and loyal, or cunning, or smart, then what exactly was he?
Hugo Weasley didn't like Quidditch. He instead was fascinated by Divination. He would stay after for extra credit, reading tea leaves, just for the fun of it. In fact, he loved it so much, he'd do it without the extra credit.
Hugo Weasley wasn't smart. But he loved books. He adored them. He devoured them. This was a trait his mother was proud he'd gotten. Before he left for school, she bought him new books to read on his free time. He'd written her a letter the second month of school asking her to send more books, he'd already finished all the fifteen books he came with.
Hugo Weasley wasn't interesting to anybody. He wasn't a genius like Rosie or a star player like James. He wasn't as popular or as handsome as Albus. He wasn't as outgoing and likable as Lily. And probably, nobody even knows he's a Weasley. He remembered one day, where people were actually surprised to find out Rosie had a brother.
Sometimes this all bothered little Hugo, and sometimes it didn't. Maybe he didn't want to be known. Maybe he did. Maybe all he wanted was to be left alone and for people to stop asking him why he isn't like this, or why he doesn't do that.
Maybe he just wanted to be Hugo Weasley.