The Colour Red
Chapter one
I'm my dad's princess. His little girl. With the two close 'bezzies' and a closet full of pink dresses and kitten heels. With the drawers full of make-up and glittery notebooks. Fuchsia and violet fluffy quills, teddy bears with beady eyes and hundreds of magazines, with cute boys on the front with the long flippy hair.
Rose Weasley, ultimate girl!
To him, I'm a fake stereotypical teenage girl.
To the school, however, I'm the best beater on the team, my best mates are Dominique, a crazy bitch, Fred Weasley, my closest cousin, Albus Potter, the most adorable guy in the world and Scorpius Malfoy, the funniest, cutest bloke in the world.
Pity he's gay.
My drawers are full of old (sometimes broken) quidditch equipment and pukka jotters full of half written stories, just begging to be finished. My quills are often dropping feathers and are more than likely to be tucked behind my ear. My closet is full with beanie hats (hey! Some do have badges on them!) and converse, having pushed all the girly crap over to the side,I'll admit to having a teddy bear, but the boys on the front of the magazines need a hair cut.
To them I'm Red Weasley, the soon to be author/quidditch player.
My dad sees me as what he wants to.
The school sees me as I am.
That's why Hogwarts is home, and Godric's Hallow is just that place I stay when I'm not home.
A vacation really.
I just never expected it to get so hard.
Let me explain.
Hugo Weasley. My dad's pride and joy. He has it all, the grades, the looks, the quidditch talent, everything my dad wanted but never had. Once, when dad was drunk off his head, he told everyone it took my mum twice to get it right. Everyone had laughed, apart from Uncle George, who just smiled at me weakly, I'd found myself laughing nervously and excusing myself to go to bed 5 minutes later, with pin-pricks of tears penetrating my eyes.
That night, Dom, Freddie, Hugh and Al took turns holding me while I wept. Hugo muttering apologies sleepily into my hair.
'Twice to get it right', the sentence always rang through my head when I was at my worst, like a permanent reminder that I wasn't good enough.
But thats okay, I was perfectly okay with not being the best, because ain't had Hogwarts, I had home, books, quills, converse, beanie hats and my eccentric mates, an enemy to pick fights with (that without him, I doubt id be able to survive, don't tell him that though, his head would get bigger than it already was) the library when I was stressed, the quidditch field when I was broken.
And life was all good.
You'd think Id hate Hugo, that sibling rivalry would be high at stakes with the two of us, but it's not, not even close. Hating Hugo would be like hating puppies, it's even worse because I'm the kids hero.
He would always be so excited seeing me get off the train, listening adamantly to my tales of mischief or giving his honest opinion on a new story I was working on. He was just a year younger,but he was my closest friend, he knew everything about me, my wonky fashion choices, equally wonky dates, even wonkier crushes. I knew everything about him, his worries, his thoughts, how he told people his favourite book was quidditch through the ages but in all actuality it was Hogwarts A History.
How he was sorry that the day I got into the quidditch team was the day he was made prefect. Or when I got head girl he got Quidditch Captain. My achievements were brushed off with a 'Well done kid,' and my mother bought me a bunch of classic novels, while Hugo got a party and a blue convertible.
Well, I thought I knew everything about him.
"Y-Your gay?"