This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me in the history of my bloody life as a bloody Weasley.
“Oh come on Lucy, it can’t be that bad.”
Oh, of course Molly would say that. Molly hadn’t hated her head boy. Who could? The head boy last year had been Frankie Longbottom, the most easygoing, friendly, laidback bloke on the face of the bloody planet. Sodding Richard Dawson was NOT like that. Not at all. Nope, Frank the tank and Damn him Dawson weren’t alike in the slightest. Molly also had not had to share a room with Frankie. (Though I wouldn’t have minded, that boy was fine with a capital FINE) Richard Dawson wasn’t. Nope, in fact Richard Dawson has a face that not even his own mother could love, he looks like the backside of a thestral, and that is putting it mildly.
“And if I recall correctly,”
There she goes using big words I can’t understand, like recall. Seriously, it’s amazing how much stock Molly puts in my intellectual abilities.
“He’s very attractive, he’s tall with that dark hair falling into his gorgeous eyes, that you can’t see unless he tilts his head up in that cute way of his,” Molly’s eyes go dreamy with her sick, twisted views of my eternal rival, “And he’s got that serious expression on his face and he’s super courteous.”
Oh Fergus won’t like this. Though in all fairness, Molly does sound as though she’s trying to twist my knickers in a bunch.
Ok, maybe I lied, maybe Richard Dawson is a big slice of man cake, but I’d rather kiss the backside of a thestral than admit that to any living soul, especially if that living soul is my condescending, sarcastic big sister. And, ok, maybe Richard Dawson has never said an unkind word to me in his life. And maybe, hypothetically speaking, our rivalry is purely one sided.
Bollocks, I sound like a bitter, second place loser. BUT I’M NOT.
Really I’m not.
“Richard Dawson is a prat.”
There, that is my answer to every question that’s not ‘Lucy you’re so beautiful and amazing how do you do it?’
Molly rolls her eyes. Seriously, I’m glad I can see platform 9 ¾ from here. Mum and Dad are trailing on ahead of us, and I tighten my grip on my cart. I can hear my cat, Oskar, mewling unhappily from inside his prison.
“Hurry girls,” Mum calls out to us. She sounds distracted.
“That’s right hurry along; you don’t want to miss the train.” Dad puts his hands protectively on my shoulders, “Lucy, as you’re the only one going off to Hogwarts this year, would you like to do the honors?” He motions toward the stone pillar in between platform 9 and 10.
“I’d be glad to,”
I take the familiar plunge, headfirst through the brick wall, and go toppling into the arms of my dear cousin Louis.
“What took you so long?” Louis arches an eyebrow. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Actually, all of my male cousins, excluding Albus, think they’re irresistible. Unfortunately, the female population merely fuels their larger than life impressions of themselves.
I untangle myself from him, but before I can retort Molly, mum, and dad emerge behind me, gracefully might I add.
“Well if it isn’t Uncle Percy, Auntie Audrey, and dearest cousin Mol-Mol,” Louis turns away and goes to greet my family.
Oh Merlin no. I’m being attacked by a bear of man who smells of mischief.
“Geroff me Freddie,” I jump up and down slightly, because Fred’s got my arms pinned to my side.
“Not so fast,” His obnoxious voice booms, “I haven’t finished hugging my favorite cousin ever!”
Fred thinks he’s so clever but he tends to forget that I’m cleverer.
“You are not getting special privileges because I’m Head Girl, just like you did not get privileges under Molly, Dom, or Vicky.
Fred gapes at me like a fish, “Why I am appalled Lulu, completely and utterly appalled.”
I roll my eyes and Freddie grins at me cheekily. I am going to have so much fun giving him detentions. Call it abuse of my power, but Freddie’s had it coming to him for years now.
“Well if you’ll excuse me,” he gives me a little bow, “I’m in search of lovely Lettie.”
I groan, and with another grin in my direction he runs off in search of the object of his affections. Fred has been crushing on Leticia Jordan since his 1st year. Lettie has made it fairly obvious that she does not like Freddie that way, and that she’s actually very much in love with Finley Finnegan, but Fred is a closet masochist and he keeps pursuing her anyway. To put it simply, Fred’s a prat.
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn around and smack said person lightly in the head. It’s bound to be Casanova James, trying out some Fred tactics in the art of avoiding detentions; which is never going to happen, ever, seriously you’d think my own cousins would know me by now.
“Honestly Jim Jam,”
Oh my stars.
Richard Dawson is staring down at me as though I’d lost every shred of dignity I once possessed. Someone kill me now. Someone bring in Bellatrix Lestrange, tell her I’m a Weasley, and let her have her way with me. It would honestly be a lot less painful than the burning embarrassment I’m feeling.
“Sorry,” Dawson apologizes . I can totally tell he’s trying to stifle a laugh, “But I’m not Jim Jam”
See? Everyone thinks he’s so great, but he’s really just a giant git.
“Sorry,” he apologizes again, a twinkle in his eyes, “Couldn’t help myself.”
Look at him, pretending to be all courteous and not spiteful; he tends to forget that I’m in Ravenclaw for a reason.
“Well, what is it Dawson?” I can hear the frostiness in my voice, and Dawson looks taken a back.
He stands there as though he’s having an internal argument; whether to pursue the frostiness or let it go. It seems as though he’s going to let it go because his expression is all business now.
“We’ve got to meet with the prefects,” he says brusquely, “Have you prepared what you’re going to say to them?”
Uggh, of course I’ve prepared what I’m going to say. I’ve been preparing what I’ve been going to say since 3rd year. He seems to understand the look I’m sending him because he kind of chuckles and then shakes his head.
“Right, stupid question for the over achiever.”
Excuse me. Who does he think he is? He just knows what to say to get me royally pissed off. He doesn’t go away but stands there in his muggle clothes. Dawson is a muggle born Slytherin. Just goes to show that there’s something fishy about him.
“Here, let me help you with your things.” He offers, and takes a hold of one my trunks and the cage with Oskar in it. And then he just leaves with my stuff! Honestly, he’s awfully presumptuous. Where does he think he’s going with my things?! I know I look like an idiot, standing here and fuming, but I’ve got to say farewell to my relatives. Bollocks.
I turn to kiss mum and dad goodbye.
“Be safe,” mother pats my head in that strange, awkward manner of hers.
Father hugs me stiffly. He’s not one for public displays of affection.
Molly had found Fergus who had been dropping off his younger brother and sister. Fergus waves at me amiably and turns to talk to dad, who he has been trying to impress for the last few months now. It really hasn’t been working that well. Daddy tends to be slightly overprotective of Molly because of the whole Drake Collins incident and it would take a demi-god to make Dad let go of his little girl.
Molly doesn’t hug me but tilts her head, with a soft smile on her face. I feel a lump in my throat, and mentally curse my emotions. Molly is was and always will be my best friend and we both know it. Even though we fight all the time, and have sarcastic back and forths and talk about how much we can’t stand each other it’s all a bloody façade. There was the one year age difference but it had never mattered. I remember it nearly killed me when she had gone off to Hogwarts without me and I had secretly counted the days until I would see her. Now I was going to spend my last year at Hogwarts without her, and it was going to be just as lonely as when I was ten, waving goodbye at the empty train tracks until mum and dad had to drag me away. I feel pathetically empty when she’s not there.
She smirks, “You’re not going to cry now are you?”
I give her a quick, brief hug, and she ruffles my short, red, hair.
“Don’t get too lonesome without me.”
Of course I’m going to be lonesome without her. I’m sharing a dorm with Richard Dawson, and the girls in my year are absolutely mental. Before I can retort the scarlet steam engine lets out its warning whistle, and Molly shoves me into Louis. He grabs my hand and my remaining small suitcase and drags me towards the train.
“Write me loads of letters!” she calls after me and I take a look back to see Fergus putting his arm around her shoulders. They are nauseatingly sweet together.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Fergus very much, and I’m really happy for Molly, but I don’t do romance, in the slightest. It’s a bloody waste of time and effort; time and effort that could be used to better oneself and rise in society.
Yeah, I know, I should have been sorted into Slytherin.
“Excited for your seventh year oh Weasley Princess number four,” Louis teased, as he helped me onto the train.
I frown at him. Stupid git. He’s reminding me of that incident in my 5th year when some bastard wrote a short article and enchanted it to permanently stick to the walls of classrooms and read itself aloud. The article was entitled Princesses of the Weasley-Potter clan and it basically was a stalker sheet that listed our cons and then rated us and numbered us. A few of us had gotten really upset, it had called Molly skittish and insecure and it had gone on and on and on about my nonexistent ego!
At first the male cousins had gone beserkers, overprotective and all that. Now it was just a running gag, and the culprit was still out there, slithering through the halls of Hogwarts. If I ever find out who did it…
“Earth to Lucy,” Louis trills, interrupting my rage fest, “Can’t carry this all day,” he hands me my bag and skips off to join his Gryffindor mates. He’s a prat too. I seem to attract those.
Now where the hell is Dawson? He’s got all of my stuff, and Oskar. Now I have to go looking for him. What a pain in my arse he is.
Oh, finally, luck decides to smile upon me. There he is in his robes but, trunkless and catless. I would like to point out that I came to the station in my robes. I endured strange stare because that’s just how dedicated I am.
“Where were you?” he looks annoyed. What the hell? I should be the one who’s annoyed. He ran off with my cat and my trunk!
“Saying good-bye to my family.” I cross my arms against my chest, and pointedly glare. What a dimwit! I’m not his lackey, and I’ll follow whoever I want to follow, and sometimes I might just not want to follow at all.
He pauses, his eyes glaze over and he softens up, “That’s awfully nice, do they come with you every year?”
Is he for real? What a whacko. Did he not see that the station was packed with families?! What did he think they were all here for?
“More often than not,” My response is civil and I inwardly celebrate my amazing powers of self control. He’s standing there really quiet and he looks like he’s reminiscing. Oh that’s cool just ignore my existence and I’ll ignore yours and then all our problems will go away.
“Well I’ve found the Head Compartment.”
Oh, of course it wouldn’t be a permanent thing. I mean, after all, what else would he do with his dull, boring life if he wasn’t a thorn in my side.
He’s walking away from me. “You better hurry up before the Prefects start arriving.”
Oh, honestly, he thought he was so much better than me. Arrogant Slytherin jerk. I’ve no choice but to follow him, begrudgingly of course, and with a very big scowl on my face. I’m highly tempted to make faces at his back, but then I remember I’m at Hogwarts and the show must go in. People must not see me as anything other than perfect. I’m kind of OCD about that.
The Head compartment is roomy and I see that he’s packed my things in the overhead compartment. To my surprise Oskar is out of his cage and does not come to greet me but rather heads on over to Dawson and rubs against his leg.
Richard brushes past Oskar indifferently and takes a seat by the window.
“You know you don’t have to stand there,” he raises an eyebrow in a manner I suppose he thinks is charming. Rather it makes him look more like a snake than usual.
“I’m fine.” My reply is stiff and I feel slightly mortified to know that I sound exactly like my father in public.
Dawson nods knowingly.
“Not too happy about my appointment as Head Boy are we?”
Oh what a sly little weasel (my last name being ignored)
“I don’t give a rat’s hat over your appointment.”
Oh yes, I am so very smooth.
He sits there looking smug, and brushes his hair out of his eyes. Why doesn’t he just go get a haircut? His hair is longer than mine, and it’s very impractical.
“I think you give several rat’s hats Weasley.”
My lips purse and I know I probably look like a sour old woman but its only me and Dawson and I don’t give several rat’s hats over his opinion.
“Well then you are mistaken."
I am quick and witty as always.
He does not answer. I win. Of course I win. It’s Troll Dawson with the I.Q of a flobberworm.
“In any case,” he looks out the window casually, “I’m kind of disappointed.”
What? What is he going on about?
“I don’t really want to be head boy.”
Oh no he didn’t.
He did not just say what I think he said.
Any semi intelligent human being can understand the venomous, underlying outrage in my voice. I have worked all my life for this position. I have studied, sucked up, I have taken advantage of my Weasley relation, and this arrogant, no-name, Slytherin gets the position without even trying. I think this is what people mean when they say life isn’t fair.
But life is supposed to be fair for me, I’m Lucy Anna Weasley. If it’s not fair, I’ll make it fair.
“I mean I don’t want to waste my time upholding dumb rules, and patrolling and nonsense.” He whines at me, and rises from his seat, stretching. He yawns.
He actually yawns.
I think somewhere inside me I actually exploded. Like I think an organ burst and was engulfed in flames because I could just feel heat.
“How dare you,”
I don’t care that I’m shrieking at him. No one disses my position, no one disses my goals, or my dream. He doesn’t even look remotely startled, instead he’s smirking.
“How dare I what?”
Cheeky, little… I take a step menacingly toward him. Anyone who knew me would have jumped out the window, but Dawson stands his ground.
“How dare you mock the sacred institution of Head Boy!” I can hear how ridiculous I sound, and Dawson can too because he actually has the audacity to laugh. He takes a few strides so that he’s nearly pressed up against me to impose his height. He’s nearly a foot taller than me, and I’m so mad that I have to look up at him.
“Come again?” He tilts his head, his hair falling to the side of his face.
“Some people,” I sputter, “would love to be in your shoes, people who’ve worked hard and have fallen short, and you don’t even try!”
“Merlin Weasley, calm down,” His eyes widen, “I work very hard, what part of overly ambitious Slytherins don’t you understand?”
I’m breathing heavily, and I can feel a flush coming to my cheeks.
“Just because I don’t want to be Head Boy doesn’t mean I don’t work hard.”
He is so annoying, he is so very annoying.
Before I can come up with a retort, there’s a soft knock on the door, and a small girl steps into the compartment. Pomona Longbottom colors slightly and apologizes profusely.
“I’m sorry,” she seems highly embarrassed and averts her eyes to the ground.
“Whatever for Mona?” I try to regain my composure.
Instead of letting the poor, flustered girl answer the question Dawson has to put in his two cents.
“Well, we seem to be in a rather compromising situation Lucy,”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
It takes me a while to realize that he’s way too close for comfort. Bollocks. It’s a good thing Pomona is too good natured to work for the rumor mill. I leap about a foot backward, trip over Oskar and land on the chair.
Dawson actually has the gall to offer me his hand.
If it weren’t for the fact that Prefects were filtering into the compartment, I wouldn’t have accepted, but as Pomona was the only the first of the many I begrudgingly took his hand. He pulled me up, and I mentally thank Merlin for the Scourgify spell.
Pomona’s the prefect for Hufflepuff and she’s James girlfriend. I believe that their relationship is currently rocky, and I can’t help but hope she breaks up with him. She’s much too sweet and James has broken her heart far too many times. Jim Jam is a good person, but a terrible boyfriend, and he doesn’t bother to hide his attraction to other girls.
Louis is here, with Leticia Jordan, the 6th year prefect for Ravenclaw. There’s Odessa Nott the 5th year Ravenclaw prefect. Rose, the 5th year Gryffindor prefect, walks in with Al, the 5th year Slytherin prefect, and the other Slytherin prefect Tricia Booker. They both wave exuberantly at Dawson, and he flashes them a thumbs up. Oh Merlin, he is so blatantly obvious about the favoritism issue.
Okay, Dawson was not going to ruin my seventh year.
It’s show time.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of In the Year of the Prat. I hope you enjoyed it, and I would love to hear your opinions, critiques, comments, etc…So in short, reviews would be lovely.
Thank you for reading, Much Love