It was the first of September, and I was hanging about Platform 93/4, attempting to look nonchalant and cool whilst standing with my family. Obviously, standing with one's family automatically plunges any shred of coolness that a person might have by a rather significant amount. Mum dabbed her eyes with a kerchief, Dad was giving the classic Von Straussburg beginning-of-term lecture which I wasn't listening to, and Klaus kept making eyes at his girlfriend, Anna Walker, across the platform.
As it were, I am a member of the Von Straussburg clan. Funny name for a family that lives in England, eh? And we've all got some fab first names too. Nice gutteral sounds that just make the opposite sex swoon. Really, it's not so much the names, but rather the looks. Not everyone can be incredibly attractive... Not that I am. Klaus is the one with the rugged looks. I'm just, well, me.
Who's that, you wonder? Well, I'm Rue Annaliese Von Straussburg. Yes, Rue is short for something and, no, I'm not going to say what that something is. I'm taller than my mum, which isn't much if you're using an Amazonian woman as a measurement standard. I've got the classic Von Straussburg dark auburn, wavy hair, though mine is a bit more red than my brother's. I've got hazel eyes. There's little that's truly remarkable about me. I suppose you could say I love Quidditch, and I always have. I'm a chaser and a proud captain. I love owls, and ghosts fascinate me. Anyone who claims Professor Binns is a bore is a wanker. He's a fascinating ghost who happens to teach. If I should ever become a ghost, I would hope to be an employed one.
Anyway, as my father continued his lovely little speech, I spied my not-favourite Scotsman and Quidditch rival, his tartan-worshipping family in tow. Oh, how Oliver Wood infuriated me. As his enemy, I had bounds of embarrassing information about him, my favorite being that his middle name is Finley. Honestly. Oliver Finley Wood. Ha. In retrospect, I realize that it is foolish to make fun of someone's middle name, especially if one's own name wasn't exactly normal.
"Rüdiger, are you listening to me?" My dad questioned, his hand clamping down on my shoulder in that fatherly, you-better-start-listening-now kind of way.
"Ja, Herr Von Straussburg!" I gave him a mock salute, shrugging his hand off.
"Hey, Dad, can we, er, get moving then? Now that the beginning-of-term lecture is over?" Klaus asked. Sometimes, I loved that boy ever so much.
"Fine, I suppose. Behave yourselves!"
Mum moved in for the bear hug. As a person who generally hates hugging, being squeezed to death for the sake of my mother's mental state was not high on the list of things I wanted to do before boarding the Hogwarts Express.
"Promise me I won't have to send you a howler again this year. Leave that Wood boy alone, won't you? Keep your marks up-"
"Mum, I know. You say the same thing every year!" I sighed and struggled to get out of her grasp.
"And do you ever listen to me?"
"Yes, I do. I just don't necessarily abide by what you say." I said cheekily, finally springing myself from her hug and walking off to look for my favorite gingers.
After my parents had left, Klaus and I were on our way to meet up with his girlfriend, Anna. Klaus and Anna had been dating for two years. She was a Hufflepuff, which is marginally better than being a Slytherin. She and Klaus were inseparable, because, or so they claimed, they were in love. I saw her notebook once last term and it was full of doodles of her and Klaus holding hands and kissing and whatnot. Nearly gagged, first off, but, secondly, it led me to the conclusion that she wants to be Mrs. Klaus Brecht Von Straussburg. Honestly, though, Anna Elizabeth Von Straussburg just isn't making the cut, as far as names go. Plus, she wasn't in Ravenclaw.
You see, my family, although deeply German, has been attending Hogwarts since it opened it's doors. We have a place near Dover, which is actually quite pleasant, and makes going to school at Hogwarts much easier than having to travel from the family estate outside of Nürnberg. I usually opted to spend most of the summer in Germany with my most beloved family member, Uncle Freidrich. He conducts historical research for the German Ministry in what is their equivalent of our Department of Mysteries. I often travelled with him across the world, but my parents were never aware.
My brother, at some point, had wandered off with Anna, and I was left awkwardly standing alone on the platform. And my mates, as it were, could not be found. My mates consisted of Quidditch teammates, the lovely ladies of the Ravenclaw sixth year dormitory, and the ever dashing, handsome, charming, witty, and endlessly clever Weasley twins. I often told myself that the Weasleys, except Percy who was a completely prick, were related distantly to the Von Straussburgs. Fred and George were the little brothers I never had and always wanted. They completed me. We ran around the castle pranking, torturing and entertaining, all at the expense of our peers. But I stand by the fact that it was all worth it, because everyone knows the best medicine is laughter.
Wood and I made eye contact as I scanned the platform on my tiptoes in search of the Weasley twins. He gave me the "I'm watching you" hand gesture from his place next to his mum, a lazy smile plastered on his face. I rolled my eyes before gesturing an "Up yours" to him.
This hatred we shared for one another was not completely unfounded. It began on my very first train ride to Hogwarts. I was a silly young girl of eleven years, I found myself in search of a place to sit on the train. Klaus, the dear, left me by my onesy, with nowhere to go. I happened upon an empty compartment, or so I thought. As it were, it was occupied by none other than the brutish Scot himself. I decided to be friendly, and I suppose we were getting along swimmingly, especially because I had refrained from inquiring about his accent, until we got on the topic of Quidditch. Apparently, little girls named Rue aren't allowed to play Quidditch, or so Macduff claimed. I told him he could take what minimal Quidditch skill he likely had, and all the Haggis in Britain, and shove it up his pansy arse.
And that is how Rue and Wood came to be. Our rivalry and discord was not merely a petty one. It was completely warranted.
I had absolutely no romantic interest in Wood, a common misconception. Merely because I enjoyed seeing him distraught and bothered didn't mean I fancied him. He was repulsive. He was a Scot. I, for all intents and purposes, was English. I just happen to be German at the same time. And, in all honesty, what have the Scotch ever given the world? Haggis? Yuck. Kilts? Tacky, and certainly a faux pas, as the Frogs might say. The Loch Ness Monster? Hoax. William Wallace? Had his manhood chopped off; what kind of man is that? Inspiration for the Bard's Macbeth? Obviously, it simply shows that they're all bonkers. Clearly, the Scots were good for nothing, and thus by the transitive property that I learned about in Arithmancy, Wood was good for nothing.
As much as I loved mentally Wood Bashing, as I so called it, I finally spotted my younger, un-related brothers.
"Oi! Rue, get over 'ere!" One called, waving me over.
"Yessir!" I lightly jogged to them.
"'Ello, Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley," I inclined my head in an almost polite manner, before turning to the twins. "How've you been?"
"Great. Plotting. You know, the usual," one replied; George, perhaps?
"You?" The other asked.
"Nearly the same, minus the plotting. That didn't start until about ten minutes ago when I nearly gagged at the repulsive sight of Macduff and Co. arriving."
"Ah-"
"I don't suppose you're talking about Oliver," one interrupted the other.
"Who else do I call Macduff?"
"True, true. Well, shall we? We can leave the younguns and get us a spot."
I nodded in agreement, ready to find a compartment on the train.
After exchanging some pleasantries and bidding good-bye, we were off and making our way down the train's aisle, discussing the various happenings over the summer. It would seem that the boys broke little Harry out from his guardians' place, rescuing him from almost positive horror. Not that they were exaggerating at all. Pfft.
We'd been playing Exploding Snap for over an hour, and I had grown rather bored of the game. Few things manage to captivate my attention for very long. One of those things: Quidditch. And I could hear it being discussed right outside our compartment.
I stood and threw open the sliding door, excited to join in on any Quidditch discussion, no matter who the others in the conversation were. Until I saw who was on the other side of the door, and the look of excitement that had surely graced my features fell immediately.
"Haggis Boy!" I growled angrily in frustration.
"I do have a name, y'know," he remarked flippantly.
"Beg pardon, but are you speaking English?"
"Yeah."
"Whaddya say, mate? Sorry, I speak English, not Scottish."
"I'm speaking English, Rüdiger." He narrowed his eyes at me.
I turned to Katie Bell, a Gryffindor Chaser, "Do you have any bloody idea what this boy's saying? Personally, I haven't got a clue."
She stifled a chuckle, "I s'pose not, I don't speak Scottish either."
"I am standing right here," Oliver interjected, looking completely distraught.
"I wish I knew what you were saying," Katie said sadly.
I sighed and faked a frown. "Me too."
Katie laughed, which was enough for me. Poking fun at Wood if it made others laugh was enough a reason to do it as any.
I rewrote this chapter because I didn't like it nearly as much as the others, and the tenses were rather confusing. Anyway, if you're new to my writing and whatnot, it's essential you know that I worship J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter universe; all that you recognize from the latter belongs to the former. Do keep reading and please review! Yours.