20 May 2020
From the Journal of Rose Granger
It's six months since Mum died. Six months since my family was ripped apart. My biological grandmother - Molly Weasley - keeps sending me letters every day. I suppose they say she's sorry. Not that I know for sure, since I've trained Bigeyes to deposit any letters from the old family into the nearest trash can.
They've got me talking to a therapist now. Just because I know that I shouldn't exist. My father practically raped my mother, raped her for over twenty years. While everyone else looked on. Maybe they even helped, I dunno.
I'm the child of a love potion. I don't deserve to exist.
I've been going through old newspapers, trying to find more information about Mum. They aren't very useful. I've tried writing letters to old friends of hers. Some of them reply, and are much more useful. They say she was very smart, very opinionated, very passionate, always fighting for the underdog.
I didn't see any of that. Mum was quiet, always. She never raised her voice at us. She smiled sometimes, like when I did well on a test. I lived for those smiles.
Now I see she was broken. She was always tired. Her magic was becoming weak. The books say that when a witch or wizard is under a love potion, their magic fights against it. Guess that's what her magic was doing all these years. Until she got so weak that a simple flu killed her.
My biological father killed Mum. Ronald Weasel killed Hermione Granger.
When my mother became the underdog, there was nobody to fight for her.
The moment I turn 17, I'm changing my name. Officially, that is. I mean, I've already changed it, and refuse to answer questions in class if even the teachers call me Weasley (it only took three months and eighteen thousand points from Gryffindor for them to learn).
I'm applying for lots of scholarships right now. I want to leave Hogwarts, Britain, never come to this thrice damned island again. It's polluted by Weasleys. Sure, some of them want to help, but they are all liars. Bloody family of rapists and collaborators. Didn't they see that a woman like my mother - like what Mum WAS - could never have fallen for a bastard like Ronald? Didn't they ever wonder why she stuck with him when he slept with three other women each month? Didn't it ever occur to them to effing INVESTIGATE?
Uncle Harry. Yeah, let me rant about him a bit. He doesn't believe the evidence. I asked him to take Ronald - who still thinks he's my dad, the arsehole - to trial and he refused. Said the healers got it wrong. They tell me he used to be friends with my mother. What a lie.
Everyone lies to me. My whole existence is a lie.
Hugo doesn't believe it. He's always been daddy's boy, the little prick. He can do know wrong. I haven't spoken to him for, oh, two months now, since I went to see him in the Hospital Wing after he flew into a tree while playing with his cousins. Note: his cousins - not my cousins. I don't speak to any Weasels now. Hugo and I pretend the other doesn't exist.
He still believes he deserves to exist. He's a lie too.
I've asked Headmistress McGonagall if I can stay at Hogwarts over the summer after exams next week. I'll do anything, even clean out the thestral stables and mop the corridors without magic, if I don't have to go back to the Weasels. I don't want any money, any support from them. Unfortunately, my school fees for this year is still Weasel-tainted, but I figure half of it came from Mum anyway. But the Headmistress says Mum was one of her all-time favourite students and she'll see what she can do.
And if all that doesn't work?
I don't know.
Actually, I do know.
The last day of exams - the night after that is the full moon. A perfect night for exploring the Forbidden Forest when you don't want to see the morning.
As I said, I don't deserve to exist.
I want to see Mum again.