The Weight of a Captain's Badge
Katie Bell is good at hiding disappointment.
When she is five and doesn't get the pony she asked for, she doesn't even cry, just strokes the puffskein her parents have given her instead, and every once in a while wipes a tear on his fur.
When she is eleven and doesn't make the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she laughs with the other first years, who all say they knew they'd never make it, but wasn't it a laugh to try out and see that adorable Oliver Wood up close? And she smiles later on in the common room when Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, flushed and triumphant and on the team, tell her she few really well.
Her fifth year, when George Weasley—who might not be as adorable as Oliver Wood but is still adorable and who appeared to have been flirting with her for months—doesn't ask her to the Yule Ball, Katie puts on her dress robes anyway and twists her hair up in a way that draws attention to her cheekbones, and tries to ignore the hard knot in her stomach as she dances the night away with Alicia and Leanne.
And the summer before her seventh year, when her Hogwarts letter isn't any thicker than normal, still she shakes the envelope, waiting for the badge to fall out. But it never falls. She swallows, and has to choke back a sob, because she wanted this, she wanted this so bad, more than—not anything else—but more than a lot of things.
She knows that she was gone for half the Quidditch season last year, but that was hardly her fault. Besides, she suspects that's not why she's not Gryffindor captain. She has known for a long time that she fades into the background. Katie is there, Katie is seen, but Katie is not noticed. Katie is not recognized and this is why she is not captain and this hurts.
But Katie is good at hiding her disappointment, and when she sees Harry in the Common Room the first day of term, she says something innocuous about knowing he'd get it, and her voice is light and bright and airy and she knows he doesn't suspect her of any hard feelings, any resentment. After all, who would resent the perfect, the amazing Harry Potter? He has never been all that astute.
Then Katie feels bad for thinking such things. Harry will be a good captain, maybe even a better captain than she would make. But that doesn't mean that she doesn't want it more, and shouldn't that count for something?
It gets better as the year goes on and Katie sees that yes, Harry is a good captain, but sometimes the resentment and hurt bubbles up again without warning and she has to fly high enough that the wind whips the tears off her face.
One late November evening, after practice has ended and Katie has spent nearly forty-five minutes in the shower, far longer than any of her teammates, she steps outside the changing room, shoving a hat over her wet hair, and sees something glimmering on the ground.
It is small and vaguely round, and when she picks it up and runs her thumb over the gold stitching, Katie realizes that it is Harry's captain's badge. He must have dropped it on his way out.
She weighs it in her palm. It is lighter than she expected it would be.
It should have been hers.
But it's not. Katie puts it in her pocket, and then she can't even feel it anymore, wouldn't be able to tell it was there at all if she didn't already know.
She'll give it back to Harry tomorrow, and she will smile and swallow down her disappointment, and no one will be able to tell the difference.