This is a one-shot, FYI, but I'm sorry it is a VERY long one shot and I apologise for that. :)

I came up with the idea after I head about a Julia Quinn novel called 'How to marry a marquis'. I haven't actually read it, so any similarities are pure coincidence, but when I first heard about it I thought it was called 'How to marry a Malfoy'. (I always hear things wrong =]). And that is where this idea came from.

I hope you enjoy it :) It was probably my favourite story so far to write.

"Don't you dare!"

"Dare what?" Smirking slimy…Slytherin.

"If you try to hex me I will kill you."

"I don't think you should."

"Why?"
"They don't have a library in Askaban." A titter runs through the crowd and a rush of cold blood runs through my veins. "You'd die without maintaining your know-it-all-ness."

"Well, they don't have mirrors in hell, so you'd die without being able to check your hair."
"I'd be dead, therefore I couldn't die again."

Oh shut up.

"I'm sure I could arrange it."

"There is no way you could, bookworm."

"I bet I could, you repugnant arse."

"Repugnant? That's a new one. I prefer charming."

"The only creature on this planet that finds you charming, Malfoy, is a flobberworm!" A loud gasp of shock is emitted from Emily Goyle's mouth. "Oh, and Goyle. But they're basically one and the same."
Malfoy throws an amused smirk in Goyle's direction. "That is entirely untrue. However, it can be said that the only creature that finds you in any way bearable is your mother. And that is only because she is genetically programmed to like you."

Two seconds later, Malfoy has been hit with a tickling jinx that results in him colliding with a suit of armour.

Ha.

How To Marry A Malfoy

The Beginner's Guide

First published by Magical Literature in the United Kingdom in 1921

Magical Literature Office,

The Basement,

76 Knockturn Alley,

London.

Copyright Mrs L Malfoy 1921

For My Son, Abraxas,

And For Any Woman Who Wishes To Ensnare A Malfoy.

May You Be Entirely Successful. I Wish You All The Best.

Three types of girl will read this book:

The first is quiet, unnoticed, and lives every day silently in love with a Malfoy and needs help in wooing him. If you are her, continue, this book may aid you. I cannot promise it will, and you should not follow every step word for word. If you are this girl, you must follow your heart over any How To guide.

The second is a Malfoy's lover scorned. Hell hath no fury than you, witch! If you are her, you may still love him, and follow the advice I gave above to the first type of girl. If you have been already a lover, then many of the steps will not work for you. Do not give up hope, however!

The third is my favourite. The wily charms of your Malfoy do not work on you, and you are driven by personal gain from somewhere other than your Malfoy. Succeed, you will be prosperous. Fail, you will be the laughing stock.

I wrote this book for you, the third girl. For the truth is, though most of you will succeed or fail, there will always be one every generation that not only marries him, but makes him fall in love with her as well.

That girl doesn't necessarily need this book, but it certainly helps.

Good luck, dear reader!

This must be a joke.

Clearly some weird old lady that has been hit by one too many confundus charms decided to write this bloody thing as a joke.

There is no way this can be entirely serious.

No, let me think.

It's pretty easy to magically bind a book, and you would easily be able to find a spell to make it look aged. Then sprinkle some dust from under Hugo's bed and – TA DAA – joke book that you can shove in the library.

Fred Weasley and James Potter are so clearly behind this.

Boy, are they witty!

Though, it wouldn't hurt to have a look what kind of rubbish they have managed to make up. It may even be interesting.

One thing I have to do first though.

"Specialis Revelio!"

That settles it. They haven't put some kind of curse on it so that when I open it I am bombarded with stink bombs, or turned into some kind of abnormally smelly rodent. Both of which are unfortunate incidents that have occurred in the past.

I sneak a quick look around me in the library and flick open the first page onto chapter one.

Once the tornado of dust has finished choking me (those boys were meticulously accurate with the whole aged book thing – it's actually quite worrying), I can finally make out the words.

Step One:

You must be unique – a creature unlike any other.

But at the same time you must be yourself. Unless you are ugly.

This is the first step that must be encountered, and may occasionally be the most difficult. Focus on your outward appearance, and your aura of confidence. No Malfoy will ever fall for a girl that is shy.

Men are visual – Looking good is the way to attract them – and a Malfoy is worse. They could have anyone. Make them see that YOU are the one they want.

This is verging on being beyond amusing and into the realms of the completely insane.

I do believe that Fred and James have officially lost all of their marbles.

That's if they had any in the first place.

"Let me guess. You were hit on the head by another bludger at practice," I whisper stealthily to Fred at the dinner table. He throws me an extremely confused look.

"Let me guess. You have spent all afternoon in the library bombarding your brain with so much information that it is now melting out of your ears," he replies, fixing me with an amused stare.

Twit.

"I have been in the library, but I've hardly been working," I say, and try not to comment when Fred feigns a heart attack.

"Not working! Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should take you to the hospital wing!" He turns to James and hits him violently on the arm with his dessert spoon, dripping custard over James' school jumper. "James! Rosie went to the library but didn't work!"

I sigh heavily. "We get the point."

"What?!" James squeaks, in a voice so high-pitched for a second I thought it belonged to an eight-year-old girl. "What were you doing, then? What possibly could have stopped you from working in a library?"

Fred looks at me inquisitively.

"I found your dumb book."
Fred points at himself. "My dumb book? Dear cousin, it pains me to say it, but I can't read let alone write a book!"

James nods solemnly. "It's true. I don't think he can even spell his name."

"It's definitely your book. I don't know anyone else who would have written it, apart from you two idiots."

James and Fred raise their eyebrows simultaneously. "What is it?" Fred asks. "An insight into the skilful art of hand-prepared dung bombs?"

"No…not quite."

"A detailed study into the practice of destroying Slytherins?" James looks positively gleeful.

"Err…No." I shake my head.

I have the slightest feeling we will be here all night.

"A touching heart-warming novel about a ginger boy whose pet dragon is cruely dragon-napped and taken to a faraway land," Fred says, placing a hand on his chest melodramatically, and pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

"Wouldn't that be in your autobiography, and not a novel?" James asks him.

"A fair point, indeed."

They are unbearable.

"No, it is not a novel about a stupid ginger twit who decided that raising a dragon in the shrieking shack and teaching it to blow fire on anyone wearing green would be a good idea," I snap, and both of them grin at me.

"Just tell us what it is. It's hurting my brain to be thinking for this long," James says, shovelling custard into his mouth.

I reach under the desk, check no one is looking and then place the book on the table. A scary cloud of dust rises up and settles in Fred's hair as he leans over it, resulting in him looking as though he has just aged about twenty years.

"How…to…marry….."

"It's called How To Marry A Malfoy," I interject, before Fred can wound us any longer with his abysmally slow reading. "Recognise it?"

"No." James folds his arms, and leans forward on the table. "What makes you think that we wrote this anyway? It's not like either of us have an unhealthy obsession with marry slimy git features, over there."

"Face it. This book is completely stupid, and you are completely stupid. Hence, you wrote it."

Fred shakes his head. "That is shockingly flawed reasoning, Rosie."

"Are you telling me that you didn't write this ridiculous book, and that it actually is an entirely sensible book that Hogwarts school would buy and put in their library?" I ask, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes."

"I reckon McGonagall had a thing for Malfoy's granddad and thought that by following the ad-"

"Shut up, Fred," James and I say simultaneously.

James pulls the book towards him and opens it up. "It's oddly detailed, though. Look here." He points to the page the book is open on. "One piece of advice, my dear reader: Malfoy's are vain, proud and egotistical. Dare to complain about his infuriating nature – a wounded ego results in thoughts about the one that wounded it."

"That is so true." Fred says, holding his custard covered spoon perilously close to the page.

"Which bit? The bit about the wounded ego?" James asks.

"Nah. The bit about the egotistical prat."

James looks at the passage again. "It doesn't say prat, mate. It says proud."

"Proud…Prat…They're practically the same," Fred reasons, with a wave of his spoon.

"Do you know what I think, Rosamundius Weasleyus," James says, closing the book and stroking the cover in a creepily affectionate way. I feel like punching him for calling me that retarded version of my name, but I resist. "I think we should carry out a little project, comprendez?"

"Firstly, it's Rose Weasley. At no point did my parents decide that 'Rosamundius' was a good name to call their daughter." Fred snorts, littering the table with custard. Disgusting boy. "Secondly, no I do not comprendez at all. What project are you on about?"

"It's not a school work project, you work-obsessed freak," Fred inputs.

James and I speak up at the same time for the second time that evening. "Shut up, Fred."

"Our project is...we're going to see if this works." James indicates towards the dusty leather bound book. "You are going to follow this advice, and Fred and I are going to help you."

"Why would I want to do that? I spend most days trying to avoid Malfoy, the last thing I want him to do is propose!"

"If you don't I'll feed James to the Giant Squid!" Fred says dramatically. "Do you really want his death on you conscience?"

"I honestly don't care. And death by squid isn't so bad…"

James clicks his fingers impatiently in front of my eyes. "Get Malfoy to ask you to be his girlfriend and I will grant you reprieve from pranks by the Fred-James-duo for the next five years."

That is one offer I am afraid I cannot refuse.

"When do I start?"

Step Two:

You must attend every social gathering where the Malfoy in question is attending. Even if you don't want to.

Malfoys are generally popular, and vain about their popularity. They would never consider going near anyone who is not well-liked as their reputation would be left in tatters.

Get to every social occasion you can, and here is the important part:

You must talk to every male, excepthim. If he's anything like the Malfoys I know, he needs bringing down a peg or two!

How the buggering devil did this lady ever get this book published?

I haven't yet read a single paragraph that hasn't insulted a Malfoy yet. Not that I mind.

It is quite refreshing to read something that regards Malfoys are slimy pompous gits.

Or vain, aristocratic arse-faces.

Or…

"OI! ROSIE! GET HERE…NOW!"

I believe that is my cue. Tonight is the night I shall complete Step Two. I generally have no issues with it. A night without talking to Malfoy is a night well spent, in my opinion.

But, that said. I have to talk to every other male.

Which includes his almost equally obnoxious friends. Obviously they are a tiny, tiny bit more bearable than he is, but they are still relatively unpleasant.

That is why I am currently trying to relieve my nerves with a spot of muggle meditation. However, the whole 'keep-your-mind-clear-from-all-thought' thing isn't working out.

"ROSIE!"

Nor is the 'complete-meditation-in-total-harmonious-silence'. Courtesy of James Sirius Potter.

The door bangs open wildly and James is standing there, with furrowed brows. "Move your bum before I turn you into a hippogriff."

"Oh yeah…like you know the incantation for that!" I can't help but reply with a grin.

James holds up his wand. "Do you want to try me?" I gulp. "Get in there, and go mingle with those putrid Slytherins."

"Gladly," I snap back. Walking past him I dive into the Gryffindor common room, but not after taking a deep calming breath.

And now, the rounds must begin.

Conversation with boy number three:

Dixit I, whilst indicating towards table groaning under the weight of crisps. Aka. Saturated fat in a thin crispy slice.: "Hi! Do you want some nibbles."

Dixit pathetic Hufflepuff boy, whilst blushing: "Err…Well…Yes, please. I mean…Thank you."

Dixit I, with a radiant smile: "I hope you're having a good night!"

Conversation with boy number forty-seven:

"Would you like to dance?" (Him)

"Of course!" (Me)

We dance for about thirty three seconds. (I counted the agony).

"You're a good dancer." (Him)

"Thanks. I just need a drink." (Me…escaping)

Conversation with boy number five thousand, three hundred and seventy two (or so it feels like), at the point in the evening where I have left all the Slytherins until last to talk to:

"Weasley, you look fabulous."

I think it's Zabini. The perverted best friend of self confessed ferret boy.

Ah, the time has come for the moving down of Malfoy a peg or two.

You know, like the book said.

"Zabini! How lovely to see you!" A great amount of skill was taken here to prevent grimace from appearing when these words were uttered.

"Likewise. So…have you ever kissed a Slytherin?"

Eww!

Do you see what I mean about perverted?

He is disgusting. And disturbingly straight to the point.

Now at this point, with my usual sane mind, I would have cursed off his…err…nether regions. However, with the prospect of five prank-free years ahead of me I bit my tongue and replied in the most un-freaked-out voice I could muster.

"I wouldn't want to betray my house."

"Aah, but the betrayal makes it all the more fun!" He has the scariest look in his eye. It's kind of a mix between creepy-pervert, and sneaky-Slytherin.

Weeiiirrrddd.

"Zabini, here you are!" Malfoy comes slithering over. "With…err…Weasley?"

Zabini grins. "We were just discussing inter-house relations."

"Well, Weasley, I'm glad to hear you're finally taking an interest in something other than your schoolwork. Clearly the monotony of being a know-it-all has finally got to you," he says, smirking nastily.

I turn to him slowly, and give him the 'look' that is written in the book of all knowledge, under Step Two.

Turn your gaze to his face, and instantly flick it down towards his toes. Be sure at this point to have an expression that implies absolute disgust.

Digusted face? Check. That was easy enough. I just have to sense Malfoy's presence and I get a disgusted face.

Look at face then instantly toes? Check.

Pull your gaze up his form, maintaining revolted look.

A WORD OF WARNING: Do not be distracted by attractiveness of form. Imagine you are eyeing up a troll in order to figure out the best way to destroy it. DO NOT let your gaze linger on any parts of the anatomy.

Pull gaze up form? Check.

Do not be distracted or linger? Check. Another easy one!

Wow.

He has quite good arms.

Hold on…DO NOT LINGER. IGNORE THE ARMS.

Goodness. I have practically zero self-control.

Once you reach his face again, shake your head in an almost imperceptible manner, then either walk away, or turn to somebody else and engage them in conversation.

Shake head…

Try not to laugh at Malfoy's expression…

And… "Well, Zabini, I suppose I'll see you soon?"

"Of course," he purrs. He needs to control them hormones.

As I walk away I hear Malfoy turn to Zabini. "What was with that look she gave me? And why did she talk to you but not me? She has never not insulted me when I insulted her!"

Thoroughly confused…possibly jealous Malfoy? Check.

"She clearly doesn't dig blondes, mate. Don't let it get you down. There was always going to be one girl who you couldn't get."

Step Three:

If he sends you any kind of note, do not reply. Do, however, make it completely obvious that you have read it.

An unattainable girl, whether through prior marriage or advice from this volume, is a desirable one. I can guarantee that once a Malfoy is snubbed he will do something about it.

This may be a letter, note, conversation – or in fact, anything out of the ordinary. You may be certain, however, that he will go out of his way to attain you. And you must not let that happen. Do not make any reply to the advance. (If it is a conversation, frown and walk away).

The book lady, as James, Fred and I have named her, is completely right.

Two seconds into the first Potions lesson we had after the party on Saturday night, the 'advance' arrives.

"Potter, move," I hear a domineering voice snap at Albus who usually sits on my left. "Longbottom wants to sit next to you."
Albus, completely unaware of the fact that it is completely unlikely that a Malfoy would ever do something nice, blushes and peers over his shoulder to where Alice Longbottom is seated on her own.

"Really?" His face visibly brightens. "You'll be alright, won't you Rosie?"

"Yes, fine. I've worked on my own before." I reply, trying my hardest to ignore the pile of papers covered in neat handwriting that has dropped onto the table next to my cauldron.

"Looks like I'm your partner," Malfoy says. And I can tell, just from his tone of voice that:

a) He is clearly smirking.

b) He is about to ruffle his hair in a way that he deems to be attractive, but take it from me, it is not. He just looks like he's walked backwards through the forbidden forest.

c) He is immensely happy about something or other.

I take the book lady's advice and keep quiet, flicking through my book to find the instructions for the potion we're making today.

He 'humphs' loudly.

I smile, my face shielded by my mass of hideously curly hair.

The following scenario continues throughout the lesson:

"Weasley, have you added the toad eyes?"

Pause of roughly three seconds.

"Sorry, did you say something? I'm trying to focus here."

Expletive muttered under breath of annoyed blonde as he stirs the potion.

Hence resulting in a understandably irritated Slytherin twit by the end of the lesson.

And an over-stirred potion giving me my first ever Exceeds Expectations in potions.

But the drop in standards was so worth it for Malfoy's face as he grumpily stormed out of the classroom at the end of the lesson.

"Malfoy was looking miserable this morning. I trust that Step Three worked a treat?"

I grin widely. "A complete success."

Step Four:

The most important step of all. Until this step is achieved one must follow Step Three (B) – Continue following first three rules.

You must kiss him. This may seem like the most disgusting notion to you since someone told you that in the past muggles used to throw their toilet waste out of their window, and if it is do not be put off.

Three commonly misinterpreted facts about Malfoys, generally made by the 'third girl' I mentioned in the Author's introduction, are these:

Firstly, that Malfoys only attract women because of their looks. Oh no, dear reader, they are incredibly devious and will use their charms to get any girl they choose.

Secondly, that Malfoys are good kissers. They are excellent kissers. (As you shall soon discover, my friend.)

And thirdly, that no Malfoy will ever fall in love.

Au contraire. It is only after the kiss that a Malfoy will truly work out that he is in love. Chances are he has already kissed on average ninety-four girls before he reaches her, so he can tell that the true kiss is different.

A WORD OF WARNING: You must only kiss. Otherwise, your previous work will have been in vain, and you will never get the family rock on your finger.

And trust me, that ring is pretty. I am looking at it right now, and wondering how many of you, my dear readers, will ever see it, let alone wear it.

Very few, I think.

I have gone from loving this marvellous book lady, to now hating this stupid book lady for her misconceived ideas.

I have the slightest feeling that this was in fact written by a male Malfoy so that he could trick many innocent girls into kissing him.

Though, thinking more deeply about that, I can't imagine ever Malfoy male ever insulting himself and publishing it.

So maybe not.

But Step Four is still horrid.

And James' advice about the matter was about as helpful as being hit round the back of the head with a bludger bat.

"Just brush your teeth, corner him and go in for the kill."
You would hardly believe he was addressing his own cousin. I think he can't wait to bring Malfoy down once we succeed.

If we succeed.

Fred was worse. He just burst out laughing and promised to bring a camera along to the event, not even listening when I told him he wasn't even invited.

"You don't need an invitation to a thing like this! It's free for all! It's not every day you'd get to see a Weasley making out with a Malfoy!"

"I'm not going to make out with him!"

And it is true. I am going to follow the book lady's advice and only kiss. In my opinion, she is just talking about a peck lasting about two seconds. That is easy enough.

I can hold my breath for two seconds.

I am practising holding my breath, in case I am attacked for longer than it takes me to get out my wand and hex him, on the way back from Ancient Runes, when I hear an sobbing noise echoing round the empty corridor.

I slow down my footsteps, stop myself from holding my breath again, and listen.

"Hey, what's up?"

A voice.

A male voice.

A caring male voice?

"I'm sorry, Mr Prefect! I didn't mean to get in your way!" the sobbing voice protests.

It is clearly a first year. No other year group would refer to a prefect as 'Mister Prefect'.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to take points off you!" the male voice chuckles. "I just thought I'd ask you if I can help you at all."

"Help me?" the first year hiccups back. I reach the corner of the corridor and peer round to where they are sitting.

The first year is huddled against the wall, knees pulled right up against his chest with his arms holding them, and the 'Mister Prefect'?

Well…it's Malfoy.

I know, I nearly faint at this point as well. But catch myself before I do.

"Yeah. That's what prefects are here for, to help you."

Is that…?

Is that almost a tone of CARING I hear there?
I bet he's trying to lull the poor boy into a false sense of security before he transfigures him into a frog.

Actually, stop. Wait. Have more faith in your fellow prefect, Rose Weasley!

"Oh. Well, ok. The thing is, I've got a detention." The little boy sounds close to tears again.

"A detention?" I can tell Malfoy thought it was going to be something far more serious.

"Y-y-yes," he stutters.

"Nothing wrong with a good healthy detention! I've had at least fifty and I managed to be a prefect!" Peering round the corner I can see the first year looks a little cheered up.

Bloody hell.

Malfoy has a gift! A gift of not being a prat that he has never shown anyone! It's like finding out your best mate, Clark, is in fact Superman!

"Really?"

"Really, really. Now get yourself down to dinner, and help yourself to an extra slice of cake," Malfoy grins, as the boy stands up and with a quick 'Thanks, sir' (I guess Malfoy's act of kindness hasn't killed his inferiority complex) he bounds off.

Malfoy stands up and I hear his footsteps going away…No…I think they're actually coming…

"Rose? I mean, Weasley?"
He has really long eyelashes. What a waste. He's a boy, what does he need long eyelashes for?

"Err…"

Cue speechlessness.

This must be the first time in six years that I haven't had a scathing remark to throw at him.

"I saw you talking to that boy." I finally manage to mutter. "It was really sweet of you."

"Sweet?"

I blink. "Yes, sweet, as in kind and selfless. Who knew you had it in you?"

"Hold on…" He holds up his hand to stop me speaking. "You think I am sweet?"

"No. I think that one single action of yours was sweet. There is a difference." I reply, folding my arms over my chest. Malfoy raises his eyebrows and I feel an odd sort of sensation in my stomach.

This was what the book lady was on about when she said 'devious charm'.

What a devious snake he is.

"Don't let that inflate your ego though. You're still a foul pure-blooded twit," I smirk at him. "Even if it does turn out you have a heart under that layer of pure evil."

"Evil?"

"Yes, evil. It means incapable of any good or kind-"

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "I know what evil means, you stupid know-it-all. I know what most words mean."

"Do you know what devious means?"

"Yes."

"Cognitive?"

"Yes."

"How about…" I look at the ceiling, searching around wildly for a word. "Egotistical?"

"Shut up." He may pretend to be annoyed, but I can tell that he's trying hard not to smile.

"Do you know what it means?"

He sighs in annoyance. "Of course I do."

"Insufferable?"

"You're insufferable," he groans. But I notice that despite me being insufferable…he hasn't left. He hasn't gone off to terrorise innocent students or the giant squid with his obnoxiousness.

No, he is standing right there.

And it is the realisation of that fact, coupled with the book lady's voice in my head ('You must kiss him…You must kisssss hiiiiimmm!') like some unearthly ghost wailing in my ear that makes me do it.

I loop one hand swiftly round the back of his head and pull his mouth to mine.

For a blissful 6.3 seconds I feel complete. Like everything in the world will be fine if I just keep kissing him.

Then I remember that I am kissing MALFOY aka. NASTY FERRET BOY, and I pull away and without so much as a backwards glance I leave.

Step four complete.

Only one more step to go.

I should feel relief. I should feel happy that the worst, most evil, step is finally over. In reality, I want to invent a time-machine and go back and experience it all over again.

"Have you done it yet?" Fred has been asking me this all day.

I shake my previous thoughts out of my head and grin inanely. "Yep! Step five, here we come!"

Step Five:

Wait.

Now is the time to separate you schemers from the unlucky.

Press your wand to this page and you will receive a letter which will provide you with Step Six.

If you do not receive a letter, your intentions are not pure.

If you do receive a letter, you are very unlucky indeed. And you shall see why.

This is where we part readers.

I hope you have learnt your lesson – whatever it may be – now go forth and read my other book:

How To Marry The Man Of Your Dreams

I have a feeling, most of you will be better suited to that one.

Yours,

A friend.

"This is a load of crap."

James taps the page impatiently. "Shut up and put your bloody wand on the page, Rose. I want to see if you are unlucky or if you have impure intentions!"
"You are so weird, James." I sigh. I lift my wand out of my pocket and hover it over the page.

"Come on!" Fred says impatiently. "I haven't got all day!"

"I bet she's impure."

Fred snorts. "No way. She got an E in potions, that girl is unlucky!"

Ignoring them, I touch my wand to the parchment of the book. A tiny red swirl appears where my wand touched the page.

We sit there, staring at the page for about twenty seconds, before Fred speaks.

"Well….that was exciting!" he mutters sarcastically. "I guess you're impu-"

TAP, TAP.

All three of us turn to the window of the abandoned classroom we're in.

TAP, TAP.

"Go open it, James," Fred says, sounding like a terrified girl.

Or terrified five year old. I jump up and head over to the window, and flick the latch open. Fred and James are clinging to each other in terror.

What wimps.

"No, you go, I don't want to go near it! What if it's some kind of flesh eating-"

"Owl?" I finish, as an owl swoops in and perches smartly on the edge of a table.

Fred and James look at each other and then jump away, pretending that they had never been clinging to each other as thought their lives depended on it.

The owl holds out a leg with a letter attatched to it.

"You're unlucky then," James concludes, eyeing the letter with a nervous expression.

"Don't be so stupid. This book was written in the 1900s, how on earth could the author send a letter to me? Chances are she's probably dead."

I take the letter of the owl's foot, and it immediately flies out the window and soars away. I hold up the letter, where on the front it clearly says: ROSE WEASLEY. "How the hell could she know my name, as well? It's probably from my mum."

Fred and James still look a little apprehensive and look at it uncomfortably as I open it.

Dear Rose Weasley,

Step Six:

Scorpius Malfoy will come to speak to you, if you have done everything right.

Other than that there is no more advice I can give you.

The time has come for you to follow what you think is right…and your heart.

Only you can determine whether you can suffer through Scorpius' company long enough to date him.

Farewell.

"Shit! No way!"

I drop the letter on the ground, and James immediately dives for it and reads it.

"How the hell could she know? She was alive a hundred years ago!" James says in shock, as he reads the letter frantically. "How the hell can she know your name?"
"I have absolutely no idea. Listen, this is what we are going to do," I say, entirely calm on the outside, but on the inside I am proper freaked out. A lady from another ERA has just written a LETTER to me! "We are going to Great Hall, and we are going to eat dinner, then we are going to research –"
"We're not researching." James rubs his head.

"No way. I don't like libraries. They give me the heebiejeebies."
"Well, let's just eat dinner then, and then worry about this, alright?" I say.

James and Fred nod.

"Rose!"

"Did Malfoy just call you Rose?" James gasps, looking slightly worried.

Before I can answer him, Malfoy has practically collided with me. "I need to talk to you. Potter, other ginger Weasley, go eat dinner or I'll give you detentions for a week."

James and Fred throw him disgusted glares and stalk off.

"Your good deed from earlier on has just been cancelled out. Well done!" I whisper menacingly, so that the bunch of Slytherins from our year walking past us right can't hear. "Do you always have to be so rude!"

Malfoy shuffles slightly on the spot.

"Will you go out with me?"

"No!"

"Why?" he says, looking wounded.

"Because you're an insufferable git, and you have never said anything nice to me in my entire six years at this school."

"You look pretty."

I am about to turn away but I stop. "What?"
"You look pretty. It means that your appearance is somewhat aesthetically pleasing," he grins.

Grins. Not smirks. GRINS.

Then I realise what that bloody letter was all about, and why I am the unlucky one.

Because I realise, that I like him. Not love, definitely not. I'm not sure I know him well enough for that. But I definitely like him.

And by the looks of things he likes me too.

And not his usual way of: 'Wow she is fit. I must snog her.' (said in the tone you would imagine from a deep-voiced robot.)

In fact, for the first time in my life I have an urge to call him Scorpius.

Not arrogant slimy Slytherin scum.

Just…Scorpius.

"If I go out with you…"

He smiles even wider than before.

"IF…" I repeat. "Will you not terrorise my family?"

"It's a deal, Gryffindork."

I raise my eyebrows.

"I mean, Rosamundius Weasleyus."

I choke loudly on air, thinking back to Fred and James calling me it last week. "Where the hell did you hear that from?"

"I came up with it myself. That name features on the walls of the boys toilets." I eye him in a way that suggests I want more of an explanation. "Well, I don't know if you've ever tried, but you can't write the name of a fellow student on the walls of the toilets, so I invented a name that was immediately recognisable as you."

"In what context did you write my name, anyway?"

Scorpius gives me a very solemn look. "I'm afraid, if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Two Weeks Earlier

"Hey, James, go look at the wall in that cubicle," Fred said, washing his hands in the basin. He had quite a serious expression – an unusual feat for a Weasley.

"No way. You've blatantly just done a poo in there. I don't want to die from your butt fumes," James replied.

"Seriously, cuz."

James gave his cousin a sickened look, but went in to look anyway.

Scrawled on the wall in neat rounded handwriting was:

Scorponius Malloy Loves Rosamundius Weasleyus

James smirked.

Fred smirked harder.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" James asked.

"Is it…Do I like treacle tart?"

James sighed. "No. Unfortunately, it is not."

"Is it…shall we invent a fake book detailing how to marry a Malfoy, plant it under Rose's nose, convince her to follow the advice so that she gets a crush on Malfoy so that we have quality entertainment this year at Christmas when Uncle Ron finds out?"

James looked speechless. "I was going to suggest let's just make a copy of it and post it all round school… But, your idea…for once…is actually better."

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