Post by Amelia "Rose" Granger-Weasley on Oct 26, 2019 16:59:34 GMTAmelia Rose Granger-Weasley I WILL TRANSCEND 
[PTabbedContent] [PTab=PERSONALITY] AND VOMIT THIS LOSER OUT OF ME
[/PTab={background-color:#f0f0f0;width:530px;height:290px;padding:10px;padding-top:0px;margin-top:-6px;}] [PTab=BIOGRAPHY] I WILL BECOME THE NEXT BIG THING BOUQUET The gossip columns, led by Rita Skeeter’s equally-awful spiritual successors, had been betting for weeks on your name before you were born. The top female contenders had been Nymphadora and Muriel, according to Uncle Charlie, people having been determined that your mam and dad would be just like their friends and name you after someone honourable who had died. They hadn’t taken into account Hermione, or Ronald Bilius. Amelia was a good strong normal name, meaning hardworking, and more importantly it was number 7 on both of your parents’ lists. They’d finally made them, exhausted, about three weeks before you were born, and thankfully Amelia had suited you fine when you came out late and screaming. Rose came after, when your dad tucked you under his scarf and walked you round the gardens, hoping you’d stop crying and sleep whilst your mam did the same inside. It was the edge of dusk, and the sounds of the city kept keeping you crying, until you saw a single bright white rose, still in bloom. The song your dad sang to you, his little rosie, stuck so hard it ended up on your birth certificate. When you were six, you got into a fight at school. You waited nervously outside the headteachers’ room, grazes on your legs not hurting as much as the humiliation of the whole thing, for your mam and dad to come and get you. They were furious - but not at you. They asked you what happened and you told them what he’d said, and your dad turned purple and your mam’s face tightened, and they went straight back to the school. The next day the boy you’d bitten had said sorry, shamefaced, and your dad. The next day you started chess. You’d seen mam and dad play together, but that was when you first sat at the table. You’ve played it ever since, every weekend with Dad before Hogwarts, then every weekend with whoever you could convince. You still get angry and you still get yelled at - being a woman of colour in a world that wants you to be quiet, as your mam says, will never be easy - but you do have somewhere to put it now. In your last year before Hogwarts, your mam sent you to muay thai lessons. You don’t need to depend on magic, Rosie, she said, you need to defend yourself however you need. And you’ll need it! The rest of the world will spend your life telling you who you are, and you need to be ready to decide on it yourself. On your second day at Hogwarts the three of you ended up sat at the Hufflepuff table, Rosie-and-Roxie-and-Luce all in a row again. You love all your cousins, obviously, but you haven’t shared baths with the rest of them. You and Roxie hold hands in the corridors, both still nervous someone will try to touch your hair, or deny that you could possibly be a Weasley. You and Lucy take long walks around the lake and talk about nothing and everything. You’ve always loved your cousins. You can’t really help it: right in the middle, you’ve been sandwiched by their love and chaos and magic since you were born, but you’ve been lucky enough that your da knew the importance of not getting lost in a crowd of kids, and you’ve never felt washed over or ignored. You dot your way through the different houses in your first few Hogwarts years, planting seeds across the castle and growing roots deep through the cracks in the walls. One day (it’s not just a day, it’s your fourteenth birthday and everyone is excited for the feast) you’re walking out of a late herbology class and you see that Neville has been growing roses, bright yellow, and he sees you looking and grins. There aren’t any flowers at the funeral. There will be heaps at the memorial service, but your godmother was strict on this: no lilies, no petunias, no roses, no things. While your parents try their hardest to keep things consistent when your godfather dies, everything changes anyway. You go back to school after a week. Everything is a bit too quiet, and they go to see Ginny every day, and every conversation you try to have with James and Al and Lily leaves you feeling like your tongue is too heavy for your mouth. You want to be back with your friends and with things to do, somewhere you can use your wand and talk and fly and run around the lake again. You know it won’t feel the same before you get there, but it still hits hard. You don’t have an island of family to sit at any more, and deep down your gut knows you never will, but you still have Lucy, still have Rox, and you find yourself better befriending others in your year, the girls you live with and, weirdly, Al’s friend Scorpius. You arrive at fifteen into a world where everything’s changed again. You always loved everyone, but now you - well. Your friends in Gryffindor laugh at the “trail of broken hearts” you leave behind you, but you maintain that it’s not like that - Hogsmeade trips, kissing, boys, girls, people in between, late nights laughing by the lake, sneaking into Zaira’s dormitory late one night, sneaking Adam out of yours, teaching Bella how to fly - all of these are bright moments squished together, bound by the red pounding of blood inside your head. You date a lot, but you don’t settle. You don’t really have time, by this point, your ‘after Harry’ defined by running at everything and everyone headfirst, whether it’s Dom, your mum, your professors or your lovers. You develop a keen sense of injustice and what it is, and learn that your passion is at its most useful and vibrant when set against this. Your parents are proud, you can tell, and you feel like their ally now, as you grow and learn and relearn the stories, what it meant for them to camp for months, what it meant for them to fight for this world you live and love in. You clash though, of course you do. It’s after one of these that you find yourself striking up a bet with Baggy, smoking through it (looking cool, you’re convinced at the time), that you offer to help each other out. It soon becomes a game and gets even better: you sleep with Bella, you act with Baggy, you - well, you suddenly see Scorpius with Roxanne, and time suddenly stops rushing past. You realise something, a cold white knife slicing through your warm red heart, and the pink pool you end up in is strange, and new, and entirely undeniable. extra app things birthday: 31st October [/PTab={background-color:#f0f0f0;width:530px;height:290px;padding:10px;padding-top:0px;margin-top:-6px;}] [PTab=PLAYER] I WILL LIGHT MYSELF ON FIRE
[/PTab={background-color:#f0f0f0;width:530px;height:290px;padding:10px;padding-top:0px;margin-top:-6px;}] [/PTabbedContent={width:550px;background-color:transparent;height:300px;padding:0px;border:0px;margin-left:-3px;margin-top:-20px;text-align:justify;color:#332F28;font-size:10px;}] GILL, amber as rose weasley deltra of gangnam style [newclass=".PT_table .PT_tabs"]border: 0px;text-align:center;background-color: #f0f0f0;color:#333333;font:15px Oswald;text-transform:uppercase;-webkit-transition: all 0.2s ease; -moz-transition: all 0.2s ease; -o-transition: all 0.2s ease;[/newclass] [newclass=".PT_table .PT_tabs_hover"]border: 0px;text-align:center;background-color: #f0f0f0;color:#333333;font:15px Oswald;text-transform:uppercase;[/newclass] [newclass=".PT_table .PT_tabs_selected"]border: 0px;text-align:center;background-color: #f0f0f0;color:#3f8c7f;font:15px Oswald;text-transform:uppercase;-webkit-transition: all 0.2s ease; -moz-transition: all 0.2s ease; -o-transition: all 0.2s ease;[/newclass] [newclass=".PT_table .PT_tabs_selected_hover"]border: 0px;text-align:center;background-color: #f0f0f0;color:#3f8c7f;font:15px Oswald;text-transform:uppercase;[/newclass] [googlefont=Oswald]
last edited Oct 26, 2019 22:15:06 GMT by Amelia "Rose" Granger-Weasley
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