𝘾𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮 𝙞𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮.
Sorted into Slytherin, she's constantly torn between the expectations of her bloodline and the darker allure of a house that whispers of ambition and power...
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Cecelia Prewett Weasley was a girl whose soul danced to the ethereal melodies of dreams. Born mere moments before her twin sister, Ginevra, she always felt as if she carried the wisdom of ages within her, a sentiment that deepened with each passing year. The Burrow, their beloved and bedraggled home nestled on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, thrummed with the vibrant energy of a bustling brood.
In a sprawling tapestry of siblings, Cece was the quietest thread, the one that weaved in hushed tones amidst the lively laughter and exuberance of her brothers and sister. Fred and George exuded boundless energy, their pranks and laughter filling the air like bright fireworks. Ron, ever the adventurous spirit, embarked on escapades that took him to the farthest corners of The Burrow's sprawling grounds. Percy, with his earnest aspirations, often seemed like he belonged to another era altogether.
And then there was Ginny, her twin, her other half, who possessed a gentle spirit akin to the softest breeze rustling through the leaves. Ginny's child-like playfulness and her love for magical creatures bound her to The Burrow's enchanting gardens.
Cece admired her family's vivacity, their ability to revel in the present moment, and their unwavering bonds with one another. But she couldn't help but feel like an outsider amidst their vibrant tableau. Her own spirit gravitated towards quieter corners – she often found her sanctuary within the pages of cherished books, and The Burrow's ramshackle charm wrapped around her like a comforting shawl.
Still, the familiarity of The Burrow, while comforting, could also be confining. It was a place where her dreams and musings often seemed out of place, where her quiet presence could get lost amidst the cacophonous joy that surrounded her.
It wasn't that she resented her family; she loved them dearly, and she knew they loved her in return. Yet, there was an undeniable chasm between her heart and theirs.
Her father, Arthur Weasley, possessed a deep understanding of her introspective nature. He would often arrive home with dusty volumes, their pages heavy with the promise of enchanting tales and arcane knowledge. Each book became a portal to another world, a realm where her imagination soared, unfettered and free.
Her kindest ally in spirit, though not in age, was Charlie. He gifted her an ancient-looking, yellowing camera—a relic from his dragon-taming escapades. With a fond smile, he whispered, "The real world can be just as magical as the ones in your books, Cece girl. Make sure to capture it when you find it." From that day on, the camera became an extension of her being, an enchanted eye that sought to immortalise moments of wonder and enchantment.
Despite the familial warmth that enveloped her, one element of The Burrow remained an eternal riddle—the ceaseless cacophony. Amidst the joyful chaos of siblings, pets, and visiting friends, she yearned for solitary moments, moments painted in the soft hues of tranquillity. The raucous laughter that echoed through the halls and the ceaseless clamour of voices often wore on her, a discordant symphony in the composition of her thoughts.
