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You were a burden to your entire family. The outcast, the black sheep, the only one not blessed by the miracle of magic.
Being the youngest in the family, the second girl, the only one unable to do magic in a long line of magic users was shameful even in itself. You'd broken the purity of the Weasley name, singlehandedly ruined generations of history of pure blooded witches and wizards before you. You were a disgrace to your name, through absolutely no fault of your own. A squib.
Years of secret self hatred, of passive watching as your siblings performed incredible feats with a flick of their wrists, their incredibly intricate and specific wands, their ability to go to Hogwarts- the most magical place on each according to their stories. They never meant to offend you, to upset you with their tales of magical creatures, of Quidditch matches and games where they all seemed to excel.
The comparisons hurt the most.
Percy would talk of his girlfriend and her dim-witted friend that couldn't even cast a basic transfiguration spell, was notoriously bad at charms and basically an imbecile. But you couldn't do any of that either, did that make you an imbecile in his eyes too?
Your siblings were praised for the arrival of their Hogwarts letters, your parents and older siblings congratulating them on their achievement. Though their robes and books were mostly secondhand, passed down from your older siblings, it still stung when you'd travel to Diagon Alley for their school wares knowing that you'd never be doing this for yourself. You tried to be happy for them, to pretend it didn't bother you but in reality it hurt you so deeply every time.
You, in comparison had been homeschooled just as your siblings had until your 11th year when you'd begun attending the Muggle school in the local town, a severely unimpressive path that felt humiliating each and every time it was mentioned. Your siblings all got to go on this incredible adventure, a boarding school miles away with their friends, getting into trouble, antics, making memories whilst you were stuck in the next town, returning home every night to an empty home with just your parents, the last of the Weasley's to never fly the nest.
The problem was that you had all this knowledge of the magical world and couldn't share it with a single person. So not only were you the outcast in the Wizarding world, you were also an outcast in the muggle world- not really able to fit in anywhere. You made a few friends at school but never felt that you could really be yourself around them, always holding back. You either had to commit to being a muggle or accept your place in the Wizarding world as a squib, neither option seemed pleasant.
Your family loved you, that much you never doubted. You had a loving family behind you so you knew you should be lucky for that but it still stung, the difference of your life compared to your magical siblings. By the time you were 11, Bill had already left school and was actively curse breaking in Egypt, Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and the rest of your siblings were in various phases of their magical education.
During the family trip to Egypt, it became apparent how differently your life would be, having not been allowed to see some of the things your family could, certain parts of the tours you weren't allowed access to. Your mum has offered to stay behind with you but you'd insisted you'd be fine, hanging around at the end point whilst waited for them, watching from the sidelines as they huddled for a photo just outside of a crypt.
Percy had come out with eyes glazed in awe, immediately reeling off all the incredible things they'd seen, irrespective of your obvious sadness. This prompted Fred and George, ever your protectors, to try and shut Percy in one of the next ancient tombs to make you laugh- at least until mum caught them. Fred and George were undoubtedly your favourite siblings, the two that could make you laugh even in your most depressive states. You were the only one in the family that could truly tell them apart, which you assumed is why they never bothered you with their pranks, preferring for you to be on their side rather than have them aimed at you.
"Remember when Fred turned Ron's teddy into a spider because he broke his little toy broom?" Bill had said during a meal when everyone was back for the holidays.
You were only four and looked at Fred in complete terror that he was able to do that, until you completely avoided his gaze and any attempt to talk to you across the table, frozen in complete fear. When dinner was over you flew up to your bedroom, grabbing hold of your prized teddy and held her close as you cried, worried that something would happen to her. When you heard someone knock at the door you panicked, trying to think of where to hide your little stuffed pig so Fred wouldn't get her. You eventually chose the little leather suitcase in the bottom of your wardrobe but you'd hesitated for too long and in walked Fred and George as you looked at them in a panic.
"We wouldn't ever do that to you," Fred explains, trying to get you to stop silently sobbing, his arms reaching out for you to climb into his lap as he and George take a seat on your bed. You looked up at George who looked just as sad as you that you'd think they would do that to you.
"Only did it to Ron because he's a complete git."
"Git," you repeated proudly, earning a laugh from the twins as you hopped onto them, spreading out between them as they tried to tickle you. Fred earned a hefty smack that night as you proudly showed off your new vocabulary after your bath.
George had sat hours with you explaining Quidditch when you were younger, never having seen a game or really knowing too much about it. He'd taken the time to explain it all to you, as confusing as it was and for the first time there was no divide, no competition between worlds. He'd also been the one to listen to you explaining things you were learning at school and your interest in learning guitar, in writing stories. Fred always liked to listen to muggle music, willingly listening to everything you excitedly showed him and picking favourites from your selection.
A few years into secondary school, you fell in with the wrong crowd. You pierced your ears, your nose and started smoking- a rebellion against everything your family name was supposed to be. Your parents were at a loss for how to cope, never having dealt with this before because of their other, more perfect children. You hated your life, hated that you were meant to be nothing more than just a spare part, the family pet that was no better than Errol. Fred and George had left to start their joke shop, which you were really proud of but still, you felt completely lost without them.
"Nice metal," George had said, noticing the new holes in your face that had been filled with delicate silver hoops when they can home one night for a family dinner.
"Coolest looking one in the family," Fred added, throwing his arm around you and making you sit next to him at dinner. As soon as they were back beside you, it felt right again. They never commented on the 'problems' you were having, never made a big deal like your other siblings who'd all been forced to come talk to you, to get through to you.
But then the war broke out and your world descended into chaos. Your entire family was plunged into disorder and danger having harboured Harry for so long, known ties to the boy with a target on his head- and thus your entire family's. They tried to send you to the safe house, to Aunt Muriel's but you'd protested it every step of the way, even with Fred and George who you knew only wanted the best for you.
"It's to keep you safe!" Fred argued one evening when it was just the three of you at the Burrow.
"You can't defend yourself against magic!" George adds, making you feel ganged up on rather suddenly.
"So I can hide away and do nothing with that old toad?! The poor little squib unable to defend herself?"
"Exactly! You could die!"
"So? What would be so terrible about that?"
Time froze as they stared at you horrified because of your little outburst. Truthfully you weren't very concerned with your own fate, only those of the people you loved but to hear it out-loud, seeing the horror on the faces of the brothers you loved so much, it felt like you'd just stabbed yourself. You wished you could disapparate, hop on a broom and fly away, disappear out of sight using one of their own Peruvian darkness crystals but once again your genetics had failed you. You couldn't even do that.
Without a word, you walked away and went to your bedroom to pack up your things, ready for your stay with Aunt Muriel.
"They've found out," George says to Fred, not having noticed you walking down the stairs.
"Eh?" Fred replies, moving quickly over to his twin as they read the letter in George's hand. You thought you'd heard the owl.
"They know she's a squib... them."
"You know what they did to that family in Surrey, the ones that hid their squib son in the."
"Yeah I know."
"It could happen to us, now they know about little one."
You didn't hang around, instead walking up the stairs and calling a taxi on the old muggle phone you'd been gifted for your 13th birthday.
"Little one," George says as you walk away, trying to pull you from leaving when your muggle taxi showed up but you simply looked between them, trying to commit their faces to memory incase it was the last time you'd see them. There was nothing you could do, this wasn't your war. You wouldn't let them die because of you, become a target because of you. If the shame of having a squib sister didn't kill them, the death-eaters certainly would. A tear fell from your left eye before you could stop it and as soon as you closed the taxi door, you were disappearing from sight. Leaving the Burrow behind.
Your time at Muriel's was miserable to say the least, trapped in an endless cycle of monotony and mistreatment. She was ashamed by your squib status and you couldn't fault her, but after countless days of hearing the insults you'd grown tired of her monologues. You'd heard virtually nothing from anyone during your entire stay except from a singular letter from Bill that briefly wished you well but other than that, nothing.
So you devised a plan and escaped.
When Muriel was busy with her morning planting, spending time in her little walled garden whilst she muttered drivel to herself, you grabbed your little bag, left letters on the table for your family and slipped away from the front garden, walking through the little woodland beside her house before ending up in a little town in the Devonshire countryside. You eventually directed yourself towards the nearest train station and caught a train going anywhere, all thanks to your knowledge of the muggle world and the money you'd accumulated thanks to your parents lack of knowledge of Gringotts/muggle conversion rates. The night you left the Burrow, you left your childhood behind. Now, leaving Devon, you were leaving your entire life behind.
It had been 14 months since you left Muriel's and you'd fallen on your feet, managing to hold down a muggle job and sharing a little flat with three other girls. It wasn't as if you weren't used to close quarters with multiple other people and you managed, thrived even. You weren't rolling in money but you did okay, waiting tables at a local cafe by day and writing stories by night, all working towards your goal of being a published author.
You thought about your family often, a bittersweet sadness overcame you but you knew you weren't made for that life. Your only hope was to try and pretend to be a muggle, pretend that magic didn't exist which was actually easier than you thought, now that there was distance from your old life. You thought of Fred and George often, your favourite brothers. You hoped they weren't injured, that they survived the war. You know out of everyone they would hurt the most with your disappearance but you wanted to keep them safe, to be free of the shame and the threat you brought.
It was all going well until you had a meeting with a publishing house, something you'd been looking forward to and nervous about since you submitted the stories you'd been working on. Only, you hadn't anticipated that their office would be based in London and that you'd be expected to attend on such short notice. You'd purposefully put 300 miles between you and your childhood home and at least half of that between you and London, only for the memories to all come crashing back once you walked out of Kings Cross.
The times you'd said goodbye to your siblings, occasionally clinging to Fred crying facing having to be left behind once again as he held you and promised to send you 2 chocolate frogs every term once they made some money. The walk back to the car or back towards the floo with your parents, having to sit there as your mother cried over her missing babies. The awkwardness of returning home to an empty house, no longer filled with laughter and too many children.
You thought of Diagon Alley as you neared the old street where you knew the leaky cauldron to be, thinking that Fred and George's shop could be just on the other side of the wall, that they could be right there. But you put on a brave face, walked away and made your way to the publishers with plenty of time to spare, anxiety filling you as you focused on your imminent meeting.
The meeting went very well and you were on a bit of a high as you stepped back out onto the street holding your portfolio with a wide smile stretched across your face. So much so that you didn't realise how close you'd gotten to Diagon Alley until the sign for the leaky cauldron caught your eye and a rising panic filled you, seeing a familiar figure in the distance near the entrance.
Please walk past, please walk past.
"Y/n?" You cringed from the emotion in her voice, the broken, fractured recital of your name. Your eyes flashed up to see the familiar, almost exact shade of your own peering back to you. Ginny. She looked older somehow, no doubt aged by the war, by what she'd seen, but she looked good, happy.
She gasped, hand coming up to cover her mouth when your eyes met but you were frozen, unable to look away and unable to say anything.
"It's really you," she says with an awkward laugh, eyes filling up with tears as you stare back at her, unsure what to say, what to do.
"What are you? How are you-? When?" Words fly from her lips before she can finish her thoughts, creating a jumble of questions you couldn't answer. Suddenly, she throws her arms around you and hold you tight to her body, arms locked around your shoulders as she trembles. You stand mostly frozen, hesitantly placing a hand on her waist, really not knowing where to go from here.
"I was meeting Harry, but I was early and now you're here!" She rambles. "Does mum know you're back? Dad? George?"
"I'm not back."
"What?" She says, flabbergasted as she pulls away.
"I, I'm not back," you say with a small frown. "I had a meeting."
"But." She senses you beginning to pull away and reaches out to hold onto your arms, covered by your jacket. "But the war's over, there's no need to hide anymore."
You can't help the snort that escapes you at her words. Two years ago you'd have said that being a squib was reason enough to hide away but now, you had a muggle life that certainly didn't feel like you were hiding anymore.
"I'm sorry Gin, it's been lovely to see you."
"So that's it? You won't even come with me? Come see George and Fred, you don't know how much they've missed you! Mum and dad and Bill and Ron and-."
"I," you cut her off but quickly feel your resolve slipping under her emotive eyes, the walls you'd built over the years crumbling before your eyes.
Truthfully, the idea of seeing Fred and George again was what broke you; the two brothers you loved more than anything- what if they hated you now?
"They don't," Ginny says, already anticipating your argument. "They're worried, always worried. Ease their minds. I think you'll like what they have to show you."
Walking through Diagon Alley again was a surreal experience you'd never anticipated re-living. But you were no longer that sad, confused little kid with no hope for her future, now you were a woman who found where she belonged, confident in herself and her abilities. The sight of the giant figurehead of the twins made your chest ache, which only doubled when you saw how intensely busy the shop was. They'd done it, just like you knew they always would.
Stepping inside, it was an explosion for every one of your senses, the sights, the smells, the sounds all overwhelming you at the same time. Ginny took you by the hand and guided you to the back of the shop as you looked around in absolute wonder. She led you to a giant stack of wooden shelves that extended all around the back of the store, with orange and purple backgrounds hardly able to be seen through the array of products. A sign above the second shelf read 'Magic for Muggles, Wizard born non-magicals and anyone unable to hold a wand. No one should miss out on the fun!"
Your eyes began welling up the second you finished reading, only to find through blurry eyes a box above your head with your name on it.
"Y/n's Mischief," you read out, looking at the figure on the box who had a striking resemblance to you, at least the you that existed before.
"It plays music," Ginny says, reaching for a box. "Whatever song the person has in their head can be heard out loud, bloody loudly, muggle or wizard it doesn't matter. Works on muggles too apparently."
"Hello ladies," you hear from behind you and you have to choke back a sob at hearing the mingled voices once again. You turn slowly towards the disturbance and watch as you free Fred's lips part slowly as he stares at you with wide eyes, a near identical expression on George's face too.
"You did this for me?" You ask, suddenly bubbling with emotions that were threatening to spill over, having held them back for too long.
George takes the lead, nodding slightly whilst Fred stays frozen, though your certain you can see his bottom lip trembling. Suddenly, he rips his gaze away and marches up the stairs onto the little platform, your stomach sinking as you realise how wrong you'd been.
"Everyone out! Shop's closing, pay later I don't care!" Fred shouts out, waving his wand and deluminating the main lights at the top of the store, each and every trick and firework falling silent as they stop.
Ginny pulls you in for a hug, making you promise that you won't be a stranger this time, that you'll consider coming home and you nod briefly, unsure what you were going to do now. This wasn't how you anticipated your day going at all.
"You're here," George says, the moment that the final customer steps out of the shop, including Ginny who had to meet Harry, leaving you alone with the twins for the first time in almost two years.
"I'm here," you say weakly, feeling incredibly uncomfortable now, unsure of yourself as you look between George and the other figure that hangs back slightly.
Suddenly you're grabbed harshly, portfolio falling to the floor as Fred's arms engulf you, pulling you into a tight hold. He doesn't say anything but you can feel his shoulders shaking, the tremble of his hands.
"I'm sorry," you say, tears streaming, the second your feet touch the floor again, only to be pulled into an equally tight hug by George.
"No we are," they say together, making you smile through your tears.
"Come upstairs," George offers, breaking a little of the tension.
"It's really nice, you've done a wonderful job, the shop looks great," you say with a smile, taking a seat on the sofa in their small but homely lounge.
"What about you?" George asks, but you try to deflect the question, not really knowing how to answer that. You'd spent so long hiding all of this away that you didn't even know how to begin.
"What's this at least?" Fred asks, gesturing to the portfolio by your feet, picking up on your hesitation to answer, still feeling overwhelmed by the whole turn of events.
"Oh it's just something I've been working on," you say with a slight mumble, relenting only moments later under their imploring gazes.
"It's stories I've been working on, I'm getting them published, just had my meeting actually," you say, reaching for the portfolio, feeling nervous about showing them. "The illustrations aren't great, I did them myself."
You opened the portfolio and passed them a few pages, first Fred and then George.
"Twins of mischief?" Fred says, reading the title before flicking his eyes up to yours as George glances over the work with a smile on his face.
"Two brothers identical in looks and humour go on mystical adventures, creating mischief wherever they go."
"It looks like us."
"It is you."
"Don't leave, please," Fred suddenly says, a smile on his face as he grips the sheets of stacked paper depicting his likeness, the stories you'd been working hard to remember and to get down onto paper.
"Fred," you begin to argue but George reaches out for you.
"It's killed us being away from you, you don't have to come home or anything, we just want-."
"Come live with us, here," Fred interjects. "We have a spare room, we can give you loads more ideas for your stories!"
As you looked between the twins, you see how much older they look, how they no longer look like the older teens you remembered and the thought scares you, that you'd spent so much time apart.
"Okay. I've bloody missed you both," you say, throwing your arms around both of their necks as they laugh at the sudden attack.
You had a feeling that the squeal to your story would be about an outcast who left but finally found her way home after finding herself.