like a redheaded stepchild

Chapter 1: Yer a Ginger, Harry

When people used the phrase, "like a red-headed stepchild" Harry Potter had always thought that they were referring to him. His wild red hair and green eyes stood out against his much plainer and "normal" looking relatives, and it was yet another thing they resented him for. Thankfully, the beatings that were usually associated with red-headed step children were something that Harry mostly avoided, aside from the Harry hunting games that Dudley occasionally played. Fortunately, Harry was scrawny but fast, and usually avoided his overweight cousin and his friends.

Sadly, that skill hadn't helped him when his uncle had apparently gone mad and attempted to flee from the mysterious sender of letters addressed variously to the Cupboard Under the Stairs, the Smallest Bedroom, and hotels scattered throughout the country. Despite his Uncle's best efforts though, Hagrid the Giant Wizard had managed to locate Harry and whisk him off to Diagonally.

"Look just like yer mum you do," Hagrid had said, rubbing Harry's ginger locks. Harry had smiled, glad to finally have someone appreciate him instead of insulting him.

Now Harry was even getting new clothes for the first time in his memory, standing in Madam Malkin's and having his measurements taken. Next to him stood a blonde boy with an annoyed expression on his face, as if getting new clothes was somehow a burden.

"Hello," Harry said happily.

The boy looked at him and rolled his eyes. "Well, I suppose you're off to Hogwarts then too."

"Yes," Harry said, eyeing a magical tape measure as it crept its way up his arm.

"Well, red hair and second hand clothes, no need to ask who you are. You're a Weasley."

Frowning, Harry felt at his hair. "I'm a what?" but the boy was ignoring him.

"Such a shame that one of the Sacred 28 has turned into such a disreputable family. You'll be in Gryffindor with the rest of your brood I imagine, and happy about it you poor sod. You Weasleys even seem to think that's something to be proud of."

"Well why wouldn't it be?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

Sneering, the other boy eyed Harry with a measuring look. "Gryffindor is for those with no sense and an overdeveloped hero complex. Your family is famous for their idiotic heroics, especially in the last war."

"You're done dear," the seamstress said, and the other boy left Harry alone with his thoughts. Upon further reflection, Harry decided that maybe being a Weasley wouldn't be so bad. After all, Hagrid had said his parents had been in Gryffindor, and Harry rather liked the idea of having a family of heroes.

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Having never been to King's Cross Station before, Harry was feeling rather lost. Hedwig was hooting behind him in the cart, adding a sense of urgency to Harry's wanderings as he searched for platform 9 3/4 . He was just about to ask one of the station attendants when he found himself swept up in a ginger tide.

"Come on Weasley's, we're running late again," a woman's voice said as she firmly grabbed Harry by the arm and started steering him back towards platforms 9 and 10.

"Charlie, don't wander off again," she admonished, then reached out and grabbed another redheaded child. "George, leave that poor man alone. Don't go sticking gum to muggles shoes, it's not polite. Come on, we have to get to the Hogwarts express before it leaves without us!"