Ronnie Weasley and the Shadow of Legacy [Harry Potter Fanfic]

Ch. 2 - What will Hogwarts be like?

The Burrow was always a hub of activity, with the Weasley siblings racing in and out of the house, their laughter and shouts filling the air. Among them was Ronnie, the youngest of the Weasley clan and the only girl in a sea of brothers. But anyone who thought being the only girl made her delicate or ladylike was in for a surprise.

Ronnie had always been an adorable little girl with bright red hair that her mother, Molly, loved to tie up in ribbons and bows. But as she grew older, the ribbons and bows were slowly replaced by more practical attire—often hand-me-downs from her older brothers. She preferred Bill's old shirts and Percy's outgrown sweaters, the hems of which still brushed her knees when she first wore them. They were comfortable and allowed her to move freely, something that pretty dresses and dainty shoes never did.

Molly, however, was less than thrilled about her daughter's tomboyish tendencies. She often tried to coax Ronnie into wearing the few dresses she kept in her wardrobe, hoping to see her only daughter embrace her femininity. But more often than not, Ronnie would emerge from her room in Bill's old jeans and Charlie's worn-out sneakers, her fiery hair tied back in a loose ponytail, free from any of the ribbons Molly had so carefully chosen.

One evening, as the family gathered in the living room after dinner, Molly brought out a soft yellow dress she had been saving for Ronnie. "Ronnie, dear, why don't you try this on? It's such a lovely color and would look beautiful on you."

Ronnie glanced at the dress and then at her brothers, who were lounging around in their usual mismatched clothes. She felt a twinge of discomfort at the thought of putting on something so... delicate. "Mum, it's nice, but I'm fine in what I'm wearing," she said, tugging at the hem of Bill's old jumper that hung over her slim frame.

Molly sighed, a mix of disappointment and understanding in her eyes. "I just thought you might like to wear something different occasionally. You're a beautiful young lady, Ronnie. It wouldn't hurt to show it off a bit."

Ronnie's face flushed at the mention of the word "beautiful." She had never considered herself as such. With her tall, lean frame, small chest, big hands and feet, and a face full of freckles, she felt more like one of the boys than the pretty girls she saw in town. "I'm just not really into dresses, Mum," she replied quietly, her voice laced with the insecurity she tried so hard to hide.

Bill, noticing his sister's discomfort, spoke up. "Mum, Ronnie looks great just the way she is. She's got her style, and it suits her."

Charlie, always one to defend his sister, chimed in as well. "Besides, she's the best flyer out of all of us. Those fancy dresses would slow her down."

Fred and George, whispering conspiratorially, grinned at each other before Fred added, "Yeah, and who needs dresses when you can pull off a perfect Weasley jump like Ronnie?"

Ronnie couldn't help but smile at her brothers' words. They always knew how to make her feel better, even when she was doubting herself. She was different, yes, but she was still part of this chaotic, loving family, and that was what mattered most.

Molly looked at her children, her heart swelling with love and pride. She still wished Ronnie would embrace her femininity more, but she also knew that her daughter was strong and unique, just like the rest of her boys. "Alright, alright," Molly said, waving her hands in surrender. "But if you ever want to wear something nice, Ronnie, you know where to find me."

Ronnie nodded, grateful for her mother's understanding. "Thanks, Mum. I'll keep that in mind."

As the years passed, Ronnie's tomboyish style became even more ingrained. She is now eleven and grew tall for a girl her age, though still shorter than her brothers, and her preference for masculine clothing never wavered. She felt more at ease in Charlie's old Quidditch robes and Fred and George's oversized jumpers than she ever did in the rare dresses her mother would occasionally bring out. Her long limbs, small chest, and freckled complexion were a constant reminder that she didn't fit the mold of traditional beauty, but with her brother's support, she learned to accept herself for who she was.