2: Trouble - Fred Weasley

1. brutal

i'm so sick of seventeen, where's my fucking teenage dream?

if someone tells me one more time, 'enjoy your youth' i'm gonna cry

and i don't stick up for myself, i'm anxious, and nothing can help

and i wish I'd done this before

and i wish people liked me more

-

King's Cross Station stood glorious, glinting in the sunshine of a day that was more July than September. It was September, though, and London was as busy as ever; the rush of people not helping with the warmth. Imogen's feet were sweaty and heavy in her laced boots as Phineas marched her inside. For the first time since her first year, and her very first trip on the Hogwarts express, he had come to see her off. It was no mystery why.

For most of the summer, he had been insistent that she was not going back to Hogwarts. She was going to have a personal tutor at the manor, and would do her exams there, and no matter how much she reasoned, or cried, or cursed him, his mind would not change. It had been a miserable summer, cursed with unbelievable heat, and Imogen had been allowed nowhere but the beautiful gardens to enjoy it. At least I have a tan, she'd thought. She'd spent so long lying underneath the freesias and irises that her normally olive skin was bronzed, and she looked even less than her father than normal. You look like your mother, he'd said. That had made her feel sick, not that she dared think about why it made her sick. Her mother had been very beautiful, everyone said so.

Imogen was so glad to actually be leaving Falker manor that she didn't stop to question why his mind had suddenly changed, but as they were nearing the entrance to platform nine-and-three-quarters, her mind started to wonder. Maybe Fred Weasley wasn't coming back, and that was why he felt safe to allow her to go. Anything but that, she pleaded, in her head. She needed him.

"It's this one, isn't it?" Phineas asked, looking at the section of wall in front of him.

"Yes, father," Imogen said.

With that, his hand was on her back, and they were passing through the bricks, through to the secret platform. If the muggle side had been busy, this side was chaos. Owls hooted, children shrieked, and the Hogwarts express was pumping out hot steam. Imogen wished she'd taken her jacket off. They moved out of the way of the wall, so they wouldn't get hit by others coming through the passageway, and Phineas turned to his daughter.

His suit was midnight blue, patterned with faint olive green stripes. Imogen recognised the tie as the one Wilma had gotten him for christmas three years ago, that he had called ghastly. It was forest green, with thorny white roses embroidered into it. Get it, her aunt had asked, her cheeks red from the wine, because you're such a prick. And fourteen year old Imogen had rolled over laughing. He looked imposing as ever.

"Well," he said, pretending not to notice some of the other parents looking at him. He was well known. "It seems it's time for goodbye."

Imogen nodded.

"You had best remember all we've spoken about, Imogen."

It would have been hard to forget. I forbid you from having any kind of relationship with that boy... Fred Weasley is a stranger to you once more... If I find out you're still involved with him, there will be hell to pay.

"Yes, father," she said. He could be here now. It was hard not to look for him, over her father's shoulder.

"This is a privilege, to come back after all you've done. Don't squander it. Make me proud, won't you?"