Inheritance
XxMookinexX
Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling.
VII. Roxy, 13, is completely obsessed.
She used to follow Freddie everywhere when she was little. From the time that she could walk that was always true. The adults used to joke that Freddie could use her as a human bludger, and that wasn't very funny, because Roxy knew what that meant. She knew Quidditch terminology like wronski feints like the back of her hand.
She didn't get bedtime stories from her mum and dad, she had the playbooks read out to her, and maybe it was because they were a little worried about grooming Freddie too much when they knew he already had a complex. Freddie liked to think they didn't know, but they did. They all did. But Roxy liked to think they just liked her more. That they poured all their Quidditch passions into her, growing up, because they knew instinctively that Freddie was going to want to keep both of his feet firmly planted to the ground (he couldn't ride a broomstick if he wanted to, they never flew to his hand). It was the one thing she had that Freddie didn't want any part of, and that was lovely of him, even if he didn't understand what it meant to her.
It was very unfair that on the day of their tryouts in second year Gravina Goyle fell on that trick staircase and broke Roxy's arm in the fall. Stupid, jealous, ugly, fat Gravina with her spotty face, stinking of sweat all the time. Why couldn't she watch where she was going? Of course, Madame Pomfrey fixed her up in a jiffy, but she wasn't allowed to use it for the rest of the day, and really that blew her chances. Monique had seen her play, and knew how good she was, but she couldn't make their captain give her the beater spot because everyone else would see it as blatant family bias, and Roxy couldn't have that on Monique's head. Not if Monique wanted to be Quidditch captain the next year, which she undoubtedly did. So she'd bitten her lip, and begged to be reserve, and watched Anne Finnegan fly her position with all the precision and grace of a duck. Although even Roxy had to admit she had a hell of a swing.
Maybe it was that. Jealousy and admiration mixed together. Maybe that incident was what fooled Roxy for so long into thinking she disliked Finnegan. Finnegan with her stupid Irish luck, stealing her position. It was easier to make it Finnegan's fault that she'd failed at being a Weasley, rather than her mother's. Everyone knew Weasleys had red hair, blue eyes, and freckles. Roxy didn't have a blessed mark on her skin. She was tanned and curvy, not gawky like her cousins, with black tightly spiraling curls and deep brown eyes. As un-Weasley-ish as you could get, without taking off the Gryffindor robes. But she'd deserved the robes. The hat had decided in an instant, and no one was surprised because they remembered her response when the adults called her the human bludger. They remembered the way she'd turned on them and demanded why Freddie had to be the one playing, why she couldn't be seeking, and that she'd take them all on any day. Although, she'd ended up being a beater like her dad and Uncle Fred.
It used to annoy Roxy that Finnegan's right-handed grip was the perfect match to her own left-handed swing. In third year, when she was finally allowed to fly in regular fixtures with the team, it drove her mental that everyone paired them up. Called them a team, when really, Roxy didn't want anything of the sort. They were the best beaters Gryffindor ever had. "Better than the Weasley twins" they said, as if her dad and Uncle Fred were inseparable even now. No wonder Freddie had a complex. But Roxy hated her. Hated her for being so good that Roxy couldn't stand out on her own. Hated her for being funny. For defiantly continuing to be happy, even when she must have known how much Roxy didn't like her. How much Roxy wanted to bitch about her, but didn't, because she was good at keeping her scorn to herself. She'd been dealing with Freddie and his complex for years.
In Roxy's eyes Finnegan was at fault for everything. Up until the point, one evening, when Roxy suddenly realised that she wasn't. Finnegan was always there. Always with her. Everywhere. In every subject, and maybe that was because Roxy had made it happen that way. Had chosen to be near her. Finnegan had a Weasley temper, and Gryffindor courage, and regardless of that, even if she hadn't been, Roxy would have had her back. Roxy, who would happily bitch and bitch about Finnegan in her mind, couldn't stand to hear anyone say anything against her. Would hex someone if they even started to rant as much as she did to herself, and Finnegan must have known this, because she rounded on Roxy after fixing that poor Hufflepuff's face and demanded to know what the hell her problem was.
Finnegan looked fantastic when she blew up at someone, her Irish accent thickening to the point of unintelligible banter with her blue eyes flashing, and her freckles. Roxy loved her freckles. She knew Finnegan's hand better than her own. Had long since worked out how to join up those freckles so that they spelled out her name. She was always like that. Never realising what was truly important to her until someone else called her on it, and it dawned on her that she was wrong to ever think any other way.
Author Notes – I think I'm in love with Roxanne. Maybe I only think this because I don't go deliberately searching for lesbian fiction, but has anyone else noticed that in a lot of mainstream fanfiction slash is always about boys? What gives? I know some people must see it as more of a problem for boys because they 'must seem unmanly being gay' or some other such nonsence, but don't you think from a personal point of view it's just as hard to tell your parents and friends regardless of what sex you are? Either way you're saying to your folks that you're not going to be giving birth in the conventional means any time soon. Either way your friends will treat you differently. Rethink everything you've ever said to them. I am definitely writing more on this story.
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