Introduction

Hi, I'm Rose Weasley. You've probably heard of me. If you haven't, you've probably been living under a rock – or perhaps in the middle of a forest in Albania – for the last couple of decades. Either that or you're a muggle, I suppose. Not that there's anything particularly special that I've done that means people should know me. In fact, I'd be thrilled if I met somebody who'd never heard of me. It's just that … well, if you've got parents like mine then people know you. It's something I've struggled with for a while, but I think I'm beginning to come to terms with it. Maybe.

Writing this isn't exactly going to help with the whole fame thing. I know that. I've known it for a while, and that's why I was very reluctant to do it at all. In fact, it took me a very long time to decide that I would. I'm still not sure whether I'm going to be brave enough to go through with it. So much for Gryffindor courage, eh.

I haven't exactly explained what it is that I'm so scared of doing, have I? I guess that would be a good place to start, otherwise you're going to start to think that I'm just rambling with no purpose.

If you're reading this then I assume that you walked into Flourish and Blotts, saw this lovely, glossy book on one of the shelves proclaiming that it would give an insight into the life of the famous Rose Weasley and decided you would buy it. Perhaps you were curious, or perhaps wanted to know what the perfect, clever Rose Weasley could have to tell the world that it didn't already know, or perhaps you were simply bored. Whatever the reason, you're reading it now, and I sincerely hope I don't disappoint your expectations.

A little while ago, I came across an old diary of mine. It was a diary my mum (the very well-known Hermione Granger) gave me the day before I left for my first year at Hogwarts. I wrote in it for the very first time that night, and continued to use it for the next seven years, only laying it aside for the very last time the day I left Hogwarts for good. Three years later, I came across it again, tucked away in my old school trunk in the corner of my parents' attic. I'd forgotten its existence entirely, and rereading it was fascinating, if a little painful at times.

I'm not sure what made me decide to rewrite it. It was just something I felt like I had to do. I went through, changing it from the diary form into something smoother and more logical: more like an actual story. My diary entries were sporadic and often illogical, and would have made little sense to anyone but me. I filled in the blanks and explained the things that otherwise didn't make sense. My diary no longer looks like a diary, and that's because it isn't. It's a story. A story of my life.

I can't guarantee that everything I've written is completely true. Or at least not true in the most literal sense of the word. At times I was unable to remember the precise details of events and was forced to embellish parts of it. At other times I didn't like the way it had actually happened and decided to change it slightly. Real life can be inconvenient, you see. It doesn't run smoothly in the style of a story, but spirals around confusingly and refuses to make sense. Besides, it was easier when I fictionalised it to some extent. Less painful. I could distance myself from the emotions, pretend that these were things that had happened to some imaginary character, and not to me. Some things were just too difficult to include at all. What I left out says as much as those things I included, but some of it no one but me will ever know. Some of it can never be shared.

While tiny portions of this story may not be literally true, however, in essence it is the complete and absolute truth. Details and precise conversations change, but the truth does not, and the truth is in this book. There have been many accounts written about the famous Rose Weasley, but I can assure you that this is the only one that tells the absolute truth. Ignore the rubbish they print about me in the Daily Prophet. Ignore the people who tell you that I'm as perfect and clever as my mum, as brave and funny as my dad, and some sort of incredible, superhuman combination of them both. I'm a human being, and I'm my own person. I'm not perfect. Far from it, as you're about to find out.

It was a very good friend of mine who suggested that I actually publish this book. He knew I was writing it – he was the only person I told – and one day he said that perhaps I ought to share it with others. I wasn't sure why. I'm still not. If there's one thing I've learned about this particular friend, however, it's that his suggestions are almost always very good ones. I was incredibly uncertain about it at first. I still am. I've decided to go ahead with it, however. It'll be liberating, in a way, to dispel the ridiculous ideas a lot of people have about me. Nevertheless, revealing my deepest secrets to the entire Wizarding World is a pretty terrifying thing to do. I hope you'll remember that as you read, and try to refrain from judging too quickly or condemning me too easily. I apologise in advance for shattering the perfect image everyone has of me, and hope you can forgive me, bearing in mind that the truth is more powerful than any mask – no matter how perfect and well-preserved – can ever be.

So that's me done with my little introduction. Feel free to forget that this is a story about a real person: the real Rose Weasley. Pretend that you're just reading a fictional story about a fictional character, because that's what I pretended as I wrote it. I hope you find it interesting and informative, and most of all I hope you enjoy reading it. Books are meant to be enjoyed, regardless of whether their subject is real or fictional. Otherwise, what would be the point?