Rose Weasley.
ROSE WEASLEY
“You know how much I hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back… just like that.”
Rose Weasley had spent her entire life being compared to someone else. People couldn’t stop saying how much she reminded them of her mother, Hermione Granger. The brains, the drive, the no-nonsense attitude—it was as if everyone decided who Rose would be before she even had a chance to figure it out herself.
Her family didn’t help. The firstborn? Obviously like Hermione. The second, her brother Hugo? Ron through and through. And the worst part? They were kind of right. Rose had Hermione’s sharp mind, her dark complexion, and those curls she could never quite tame. From Ron, she got his stubborn streak, the kind that made her dig her heels in whether she was right or wrong.
At Hogwarts, it only got worse. Her parents’ legacy followed her everywhere, and her name didn’t help. “Rose” was fine—she liked it, actually—but Weasley-Granger? That was a mouthful, like it came with a checklist of expectations she didn’t ask for. To make it worse, her middle name was Minerva, after McGonagall. Just one more name with a reputation to live up to.
The pressure was stifling.
When the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, she begged for anything but Gryffindor. Maybe Ravenclaw, where she could disappear into books without constant comparisons. Or even Hufflepuff, where people might let her be herself. But no. Gryffindor, of course. Just like her parents.
It didn’t take long for her to resent the whole “daughter of war heroes” thing. By the end of her first year, she hadn’t fought any trolls or uncovered any dark secrets, and people seemed disappointed. Like she was supposed to be saving the wizarding world all over again. Did they really expect her to be some kind of carbon copy of her mum?
Her brother Hugo didn’t have the same problem. Being the youngest gave him more freedom, and no one was watching him so closely. Rose hated to admit it, but she envied him. She didn’t just want freedom—she wanted space.
Then there was Albus. Her cousin didn’t seem bothered by any of it. While Rose spent years trying to escape the spotlight, Albus just ignored it. And then he went and did the unthinkable: he became best friends with Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius, the son of Draco Malfoy, the family her dad barely tolerated.
At first, Rose thought the friendship was ridiculous. But the more time she spent with Albus and Scorpius, the more she realized she liked being around them. Eventually, the three of them became a little group—“The Jade Trio,” people called them. The nickname made her roll her eyes, but secretly, she liked having people to lean on.
By seventh year, everything started to shift. She and Scorpius started dating, and Albus found someone too—a boy named Rowan Graham, who might or might not have been the son of a war hero. No one really knew for sure, and Rowan didn’t talk about it. What mattered was that Albus seemed happy, and they all stayed close, even as things changed.
But Rose couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped. Her dad’s grudge against the Malfoys made her relationship with Scorpius complicated, and she often felt torn. How could she build her own life when everyone was so busy comparing her to her parents?
Then there was the party.
Some Gryffindor had thrown an all-house bash, complete with contraband Firewhisky and dodgy party games. Rose went reluctantly, but by the end of the night, she found herself standing in the middle of a chaotic common room, watching as everything fell apart.
Albus was kissing a Hufflepuff boy. Scorpius stood nearby, awkwardly holding a drink. And Rose? She just stood there, taking it all in, unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry.
The rumors started the next day.
“Albus and Scorpius are together!”
“Wait, isn’t Scorpius with Rose?”
“Didn’t Albus kiss a Hufflepuff?”
The stories spiraled out of control, and Rose didn’t have the energy to set the record straight. None of it mattered anyway.
By that point, Rose, Albus, and Scorpius had settled into a familiar rhythm. Albus was buried in NEWTs, Scorpius was knee-deep in RPG manuals, and Rose spent her time in the library, trying to tune out the whispers.
But the pressure never really let up. Everywhere she turned, someone was waiting for her to prove she was just like her parents.
And maybe that’s what hurt the most. No one seemed to see her for who she really was.
Not Rose Weasley-Granger, the daughter of heroes.
Not Rose, the Gryffindor who wanted to be anywhere else.
Just Rose.
That’s all she ever wanted to be.