Roxanne Pearce's life has been full of closed doors. Her father, a high ministry man, never allowed her to do much of anything except for sit still and wear uncomfortably girly dresses. And her mother, a sweet and tender woman, died when she needed her most.
Roxanne wanted to go to muggle school. Roxanne wanted to climb trees. Roxanne wanted to wear muddy boots and jeans and roughhouse with her cousins and older brother. She wanted to paint and write stories and explore the forest like a great viking that she was descended from.
But her father never let her. No muggles, he said, were worthy of their time. No daughter of his would be caught with twigs in her hair and mud on her cheeks.
Roxanne despised her father, for his cruelty and the way he spoke about her dead mother. And especially for the way he remarried so soon and to such a horrible woman.
All Roxanne wanted to do was be free. To run away and fly on a broom all the way to Hogsmeade.
Oh she found small ways to rebel. Wore wrinkled dresses. Kept a messy room. Wore "Atrocious" muggle combat boots and t-shirts. She even started boldly painting the walls of her room with murals and poems and got her best dress covered in paint.
But the one thing she couldn't find some way to rebel against was Hogwarts.
She couldn't tell the hat no when it shouted "SLYTHERIN!" She couldn't beg it for Gryffindor, for Hufflepuff, for Ravenclaw. She couldn't stop the judgmental stares of her peers as she trudged over to the table.
"Another Pearce." They mumbled. Like she was a Malfoy.
But no. Roxanne was determined to forge her own path. She was going to make her own way. She would be an artists, a writer, an explorer. Anything. No one would stop her. Not her father, not snooty schoolmates, not even Voldemort himself.
She would be the snake with a wolf's pride, a mouse's bravery and a lion's roar. And if opportunity didn't knock?
She'd build a door.