No strings attached. A Ron Weasley love story.

My real self

I slept on the floor that night, as I had not been supplied with a reasonable bed. I woke up the next morning with a terribly stiff back, a cramp in my neck, and my fiery red hair so tangled it looked like a bird's nest that had been hit by a muggle car. I was in a very devilish mood, and I didn't want to think about how the rest of the morning was going to be, let alone the rest of the summer. My owl, who was just as annoyed about this arrangment as I was, decided eight in the morning was a great time to start squawking like there was no tomorow.

"Shh! Quiet down, for God's sake!" I hissed, poking her with a quill through the bars on her cage. The squawking continued to no avail.

Above me, I heard stomping feet, a door slam, and someone come pounding down the stairs over my head.

"What the bloody hell is that!?!" The person shouted in a gruff voice. I slapped my hands to my face, annoyed and already exhausted. What I would give to return to the house of my potions professer.

I nearly jumped out of my own skin when the door to my cupboard flew open, and my uncle, red faced and breathing heavily, poked his huge head through the door frame.

"You keep that owl quiet, or she will have to go." He said angrily, though I could hardly see his mouth moving under his huge moustache. I nodded, and he snorted, leaving the cuboard. I was not ready to go to breakfast. And probably would never be.

I had to be dragged to the breakfast table, where I didn't even have a place to sit. There were three chairs, one for my aunt, one for my uncle, and one for Dudley. Harry and I had to stand on one side of the table, each with a china plate. Aunt Petunia had provided us each with a strip of bacon, and a piece of toast. Dudley, on the other hand, had nearly an entire pan of sausage, and all the toast he could ask for. I watched him pig out, my anger bubbling. Stupid brat.

I finished my breakfast quickly, as I had planning to do some exploring of the attic and find some photo albums, when Aunt Petunia grabbed my arm. Her hand was dry and cold, and the diamond of her wedding ring dug into my arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" She asked, her voice both suspicious and angry.

"No where, aunt." I said, pulling my arm away.

Harry caught my eye, his expression anxious.

"Good. Because I have a nice, long list of chores for you." She said scathingly, pointing to the icebox. I saw a slip of paper pasted on the side, and, in my aunt's terrifying penmenship, was a very long list of chores.

Nearly three hours later, I had finished the terribly long list of chores my aunt had provided me. Determined to recover my past before I became a permanet slave, I escaped to the attic. I had located it carrying laundry to Dudley's room, a small door with a chain lock halfway down the hall.

I ran up there quickly, and removed the lock before anyone could catch me. Slipping in through the small door, I was gagged with the smell of dust and mold. With fumbling hands I located a light switch, and the lights came on. To my disappointment, there were things EVERYWHERE.

Boxes covered in dust were stacked high to the celing, along with old toys, trunks, photo albums, diplomas, and piles of paper. With my luck, it may take at least two hours just to find something about Harry, let alone about me. I walked over to the nearest stack of photobooks, grabbed the one on top, and started to read.

My eyes caught it. The one I had been looking for. After piles of paperwork and scrapbooks I found it.

'The Potters.'

Why this was in possesion of the Dursley's I didn't know, as to my current knowledge, the Dursleys despised the Potters with everything in them. To excited to find an answer, I almost ripped the cover off in ecstasy to find my answers.

I read each page throughly and carefully, examining the photographs and reading the captions. Tears filled my eyes when I saw photos of the wedding of my parents, my mother in a beautiful white gown, my father in a suit. Harry and I were the spit and image of them, though Harry have the eyes of my mother, and I have the spunk of my father.

When I reached the end of the book is when I saw the page I had dreamed about for months. A page with a photo of me as a baby, and the caption was my name. But it was not the name I knew. The caption read:

'Rose Lee Potter,

3 pounds, 24 inches.

August 1st, 1980. Godrick's Hollow, England.'