Rosemary Stoker was made to be a prefect. Arms crossed, resting bitch face on, she narrows her eyes at all these unruly freshmen and honestly everyone else around her. Maybe she can be the first prefect to take points this year. That seems like a nice goal to have.

"Spot any troublemakers yet?" she asks her new co-prefect, the yin to her yang, the scrawny kid she called Fergie for at least the first six months of last year. They've moved through half the alphabet by now, they've definitely had enough time to properly judge these kids.