word count: 505
Roxanne stands in front of the mirror, adjusting the Gryffindor tie. It was her father's, from his school days, and it looks so strange on her, so foreign. For someone who grew up surrounded by Gryffindors, she has never felt particularly brave or daring. The only trait she shares with anyone is that she and Freddy have their mother's curls.
She knows it's silly. Being a Weasley doesn't necessarily mean being a Gryffindor. When Dominique had been Sorted into Ravenclaw, no one had thought a thing of it. She's still loved, and Roxanne knows that it will be the same for her. Still, that doesn't do anything to ease her mind. Her family is filled with war heroes, brave and noble Gryffindors, and she wonders if they meant to cast that shadow for the next generation? Had her parents left their shoes behind without thinking how Roxanne could never fill them? She wants to be like them, but she knows she will always fall short.
"Roxy?"
She jumps, snatching the tie from around her neck, like it's some dirty little secret, like she's done something wrong. She turns, smiling at her dad. "Oh, hi, Dad."
"I brought you some tea," he said, lifting the saucer proudly.
She blushes. Her dad only makes her tea and brings it to her when he knows something is wrong. It's their special thing, and unspoken language between them. The teacup resting upon the saucer says Something is wrong, and I don't know what it is, but you are safe.
"Is that my tie?" he asks, sitting on her bed, brows raising.
Roxanne purses her lips and moves closer, taking the cup of tea. Milk and honey, a hint of cinnamon. He knows her too well. "Yes," she admits. "Dad, will you be upset if I'm not in Gryffindor?"
"Absolutely. You'll be living in a box in Diagon Alley," he says dryly, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. "No. Why on earth would I be upset, Roxy?"
"You and Mum were in Gryffindor."
"Yes, and your mum was almost a Hufflepuff," he tells her.
"Really?"
Her dad nods. "Hell, I'll even grudgingly admit that there are good Slytherins too," he says, shrugging. "And if you were Sorted there, you'd be the best one I'd ever known. Your House doesn't matter, baby girl. It won't make me love you any more or any less."
Roxanne swallows dryly and sits beside him, sipping her tea. "I don't think I'll be a Gryffindor," she says. "It just doesn't feel right."
He reaches out, patting her shoulder and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You can be in any House that fits you. As long as you're still Roxanne Weasley, nothing else matters."
"What about when I get married?"
He rolls his eyes. "Don't push it, kid. You're only eleven."
And like that, the heaviness seems to fade, and all her worries are far away. She is Roxanne Weasley, and she will be whoever she wants to be.
