A/N: My Lawd, I've been gone for a bit - okay a long bit - but what else can you do when you have no inspiration and a life in the way? Perhaps I spent a lot of time crying, but hey! we all survive in our own way. Anyways, like I was saying, I'm back! And though I'm certain no one missed me, here I am. Now, on to the story. Remember to take notes, there will be a quiz at the end. Not really. Just jiving you.
Alright, this is my first nextgen story. FIRST EVER. Hear that. EVER. Anyways it's a story about one Roxanne Weasley, daughter of George and Angelina. Now, I'm not going to lie, it was a bit difficult for me to get this story off the ground. My muse comes and goes as it pleases. I blame Uni for sucking the life out of me. Ah well. As we all should know nextgen has no set characterisation aside from lineage so this Roxanne is basically all mine. Well, J.K ROWLING did create her, but her personality, attitude, dress, story line - all mine. And poor Roxie is going through a tough time at the moment.
To be quite honest, I'm terrified of posting this because I don't think people really care for Roxanne, but hopefully, since this chapter is Angelina and George centric I'll be able to draw some nice folks in. Please. I don't bite.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the computer this was typed on and the story line.
Prologue
Current Year: 2023
The Little Lion Girl Who Dreamt of Paradise
"When she was just a little girl,
she expected the world,
but it flew away from her reach"
-Coldplay "Paradise"
The house was quiet and still; too quiet, and too still, like the calm before a brewing storm. Roxanne was sat perched on the kitchen counter, a somewhat weary look of confusion on her face. Usually Angelina Johnson – Weasley (Roxanne's mum) would berate Roxanne with a disgruntled look, followed by a full-length explanation of why her daughter's bum did not belong on the counter where food was prepared. But today, something about today was different. There was no joking tone to George Weasley's voice as he settled into the quaint kitchen. Black circles encased his eyes as he spoke a faint, hollow 'morning'. Nor was there a kiss to the forehead followed by a reprimand for certain seating arrangements for the young Weasley as Angelina followed behind her husband. No sounds of clatter or the rushed hustle and bustle filled the air. There were only the empty sounds of slow labored movement hanging hauntingly over the kitchen.
It was never THIS quiet in the Weasley household, even when it was just Angelina, Roxanne, and George, as it was now. Sure since Fred had left for Chudley Canons recruitment try-outs in Ireland things had been quieter, but never THIS quiet. George Weasley was never this quiet. The man had even chuckled and laughed his was through a muggle church ceremony before for Merlin's sakes.
So Roxanne couldn't help but to wonder what had happened. Why her parents seemed to be moving backwards, why the air in the room suddenly felt humid, and thick. It wasn't until Angelina turned round to face her daughter, cup of tea in one hand, finger raised on the other, signaling for Roxanne to get down, did Roxanne notice the tears hanging in the corner of her mum's eyes. The normally bright amber orbs were puffy and red, her nose ran, and she looked as if she hadn't slept for days.
"Mum," Roxanne started, hesitation in her voice as her rosy pink lips parted to proceed to a question, but stopped short. She wanted to ask what had happened; what was wrong, but another part of her feared the answer. Her lesson had been learned long ago about the repercussions of wanted, but unwarranted information.
Angelina shook her head, the tears clouding her irises slipped down her face. The teacup in hand shook violently before slipping from the older witch's grasp and fell to the floor; shards of glass flew everywhere.
A strangled sob sowed from Angelina's lips and she ran from the room, leaving behind a puzzled Roxanne. One thing that everyone, especially her children, knew about Angelina Johnson-Weasley was that she did not run, from anything. Not a fight, argument, prank, joke – nothing; name it and Angelina could face it. Roxanne often nicknamed her mum Superwoman, after the muggle heroine. So for her to leave the room at the utterance of a mere one syllable word, something was wrong indeed.
Roxanne looked toward her father, her hazel eyes begging for an answer, any answer, with a hopeful expression. Something was wrong with Angelina, and if anyone could fix everything, daddy could. Yes, from head to toe, Roxanne was a Daddy's girl. George was the first man she ever loved (quickly followed by her brother, and then her uncles), and would love; the man who Roxanne firmly believed would never hurt or lie to her because he was her father, after all. But as she took in the site of her George's unshaven face, his crumpled clothing, and bright blue eyes covered in red veins, the walls behind Roxanne began to crumble.
She slid down off the counter, her breathing steep, and her limbs heavy as the rubber soles of her trainers hit the floor. The realization that something was truly very wrong finally set in.
"Daddy . . ." her voice called, barely above an audible whisper.
"Roxanne, I need to tell you something - before things become convoluted and confusing, the story takes on a life of it's own and everything falls apart. I love you, your mum, and your brother with everything inside of me. You three are my life . . .
But your mum and I—we . . . I . . ." the words tripped over one another as the slipped, crushingly, from George's lips. "But something happened. I didn't mean for it to, and I swear I'd do anything and everything in my power to reverse what occurred," George's voice shook as he spoke. His gaze dropped from Roxanne's and he looked up toward the ceiling.
The words hit Roxanne's ears; disbelief and disgust began to rage a mental war inside Roxanne.
"What did you do?" the fifteen year old slowly questioned, though once again she did not want an answer. An answer meant confirmation, confirmation meant truth, and truth meant that this was all really happening; she couldn't just blink it all away.
The tears paired with rising bile began to assault Roxanne's senses, her eyes washed over her father's defeated frame. Roxanne was far from stupid; she didn't need her father to spell it out for her; she knew what he had done. Her housemates at Hogwarts were always cheating with this one, dating that one, and hooking up with so and so. Issues like this had occurred so often within the halls of the castle that Roxanne barely blinked an eye when the latest gossip came round. Every now and then she'd listen to what was occurring, just to make sure her cousins were in one piece. But hearing her father side step around the words that would surely rip Roxanne in half was different, very different. It was usually Roxanne's sad eyes that watched from the sideline as a confession of infidelity split a "torrid" teenage affair into pieces. Today the tables had turned; the scenario had darkened.
"Daddy, no . . ." Roxanne pleaded, shaking her own head.
George parted his mouth, preparing to speak, but before he was granted the opportunity to do so, the sound of glass smashing paired with a loud thud splintered the air.
Roxanne ran from the kitchen first, her trainers crunching the glass of the shattered teacup, through the small hall that lead into the living room. Her eyes immediately flew to the staircase off to the right side of the room. At the bottom of the stairs that led to the second level of the house where the bedrooms resided sat an old tattered suitcase, filled with what appeared to be random clothing. Next to the suitcase laid a smashed picture frame with a wedding photo inside of it.
A furious, crying Angelina stood at the top of the stairs. "Take the frame, take the picture, the glass, your things, and get out, George. GET OUT! NOW!" Angelina shouted as a horrified Roxanne stood, watching the train wreck that now occurred at full speed.
The next few moments, along with the events taking place, were a blur. Angelina continued to shout and cry; George pleaded and begged – asking for a small moment to explain his actions, and Roxanne . . . Roxanne watched in horror. Her mind only focusing on one thing, her father had cheated on her Mother.
Love did not exist.
It was nothing but a dirty lie.
-tbc-