1.2 Leaving the Station

“James has his prat badge on today.” Rose Weasley tapped a staccato beat against the step of the train car with her heel as her gaze raked the crowd on the platform. A million and a half Weasleys and Potters in one place, all crying out greetings over the heads of the youngest children, shouting about misplaced belongings, kissing and hugging each other, and generally keeping anyone else from having a moment of peace. It was kind of wonderful. It was mostly overwhelming.

And it was no wonder her cousin had taken pity on the Slytherins caught in the middle of all that ginger madness. Said cousin was hanging from the railing by his elbow and ostensibly waving at his mother and father, although Rose was certain he was actually scouting out the girls in their year as they returned from two months apart. It was a game he generously pretended not to play around her, but Rose knew Albus and Dane Pitney and Petey Sumner would confer in the common room later to debate who had become ‘quite pretty’ over the summer.

“I always say you,” Al had informed her in imploring tones when she’d caught him at it last year. “I always say you first.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Her voice rose, and Rose hid her blush in a waterfall of red curls. It was demeaning and soul-destroying to have her own cousin be the one presenting her up for their foul masculine game. Rose and Albus didn’t talk about it any more after that.

Although Al gave no appearance of paying attention to her, after a long moment of dangling in space, he righted himself and gave her a lopsided grin. His green eyes sparkled beneath a fall of dark hair. “Prat hat. I think it should be a prat hat. Makes more sense.”

“How does a hat make more sense than a badge?” Rose was pushed aside by a jumble of third years comparing notes on their summer break before she pressed back to the ledge and waved one last time at her parents. Her father waved his car keys at her with a grin, a sure promise he was going to do something horrible and illegal on the way home, and her mother ignored him as she laughed over something with Uncle Harry.

“Rhymes, doesn’t it? He isn’t really wearing a badge.”

“He isn’t wearing a hat either.” There was a lurch from the front of the train indicating they would soon be underway, and the two sixth year Gryffindors made their way to the car Rose had scouted out for them ages ago when she’d arrived. “We're over-thinking this. If you have to explain a joke, it isn't funny, is it?”

“It’s just that I like how you try.” Albus stretched out on one long seat, forcing Rose to take up the one across from him. With their trunks stowed and a bevy of parents overseeing all the youngest children making it onto the train, Rose had a few quiet minutes to gather herself before duty called her away. It hadn't always been like this; before last year and the welcome addition of prefect responsibilities, Rose had quite enjoyed the ride on the Hogwarts Express. It was a slow slide into the school year after those months at home; first with the goodbyes that lasted just a bit too long and made her glad to see King's Cross and London disappear behind them, then with the excited renewing of school-year acquaintances and the reappearance of friends with much more exciting summer holidays, and finally, as darkness crept up on the train in measured steps, they disembarked at Hogwarts. To Rose's mind, the pacing was perfect, so that as soon as she stepped off the train, she felt like she was exactly where she belonged.

Until last year, when she'd spent the first few hours of the ride in the prefect car. It had been so thrilling to be in there with the students she respected most in the school, and her own cousins as Head Boy and Head Girl. Reality was uglier: Louis spent the entire time weaving a carefully crafted web of seduction around Nera Zabini, the fifth year Slytherin prefect, and hadn't seemed remotely put out that she didn't fall into it. Molly handed each of them a thick roll of parchment with her personal Guide to Being a Prefect and then led them through it point by tedious point. And Fred kept belching Rose's name into her ear, perhaps under the misapprehension that she hadn't heard him the first dozen times.

Sometimes, her family could be very upsetting.

And all of that was before she had discovered the unhappy truth that her fellow Gryffindor prefect happened to be the most unbearable person she'd ever known. How it had taken Rose more than three years to realize this fact was beyond her normally excellent skills at logic and reasoning, but the fact remained: Yates Shacklebolt, son of the Minister of Magic and possibly the most well-liked boy in their year, was actually unbearable. Tall, handsome, well-spoken, excellent grades, athletic... it was as if some cruel god had placed him right in Rose's path with the express purpose of crushing her dreams.

"What are you so busy being miserable about over there?" Al began before getting distracted by someone out their carriage. He inched down the bench and kicked at the door with both of his untied shoes. "Oy! Jayne! JAYNE!"

Thump. Thump. THUD. The door flew open outward, and Al's left sneaker followed.

Jayne Wood, resident Gryffindor Quidditch fiend and usual third leg to their weird little triumvirate, appeared moments later, tossing the shoe into Al's lap and seating herself beside Rose on the opposite bench. Her stubby ponytail was coming loose already, and Jayne shoved handfuls of hair out of her face as she fished copies of Quidditch Quarterly from her bag, much to Al's delight. Jayne's father Oliver had once played Quidditch professionally, and although he was well out of that career by the time Jayne was old enough to learn the rules of the game, his second career as a Quidditch commentator and his own obsession with the game had created something of a mini Quidditch monster in his daughter.

"So. What's new?" Jayne thoughtfully provided Rose with a photo spread of the greatest female players in the history of the game, which was quite interesting.

"James is a prat?"

"Shocker." As a player on the Gryffindor team, along with Al, Jayne was long accustomed to the personal foibles of James Potter. Rose could relate; being a Potter and playing Quidditch left huge shoes to fill. Much like being a Wood and playing Quidditch. Much like being a Granger-Weasley and being a prefect. It was a wonder they weren't all in therapy. "Anything else?"

"I have to go to the prefect car soon."

Jayne made a little noise of understanding, a commiseration of sorts, although Rose was sure the girl didn't know the very real agony she was about to face. Fred Weasley was Head Boy. The world as they knew it was likely to end. She was about to comment when Al held up his shoe.

"Why's there blood on here?"

"Oh." Jayne shrugged a shoulder. "I think you broke Gemma Ackerly's nose."

Rose nearly leapt from her seat with a cry of dismay. "Merlin. Why didn't you say something sooner?" Bloodshed and mayhem? Duty called.