Beware of clichés! Beware of profanity! Beware of Prick!Scorpius and Snarky!Rose! Beware of typographical errors!

That said, happy reading, readers.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns 'em all.

Dear egotist boy, you never had to suffer any consequence
You've never stayed with anyone longer than ten minutes
You'd never understand anyone showing resistance
Dear popular boy, I know you're used to getting everything so easily
A stranger to the concept of reciprocity
People honor boys like you in this society

'Narcissus' - Alanis Morissette

ONE

"Well, if it isn't the not-so-pretty Rose Weasley!"

Startled, I snap up my head from my (highly fascinating, I might add) book. I can feel the concentrated expression on my face transforming into a very annoyed one when I instantly recognise the snobby voice I've, unfortunately, come to know so well. I huff, and with my ocean eyes I tax the young man standing in the doorway up and down. The way his arms are folded loosely, the way he nonchalantly leans against the doorframe, the way a few platinum strands fall in front of his forehead; it all indicates the stereotypical arrogance of a boy well-aware of the fact that he looks good. And objectively viewed, he does indeed. Being abreast of his horrifying personality, however, he does not. To prove this point, I ostentatiously roll my eyes, and look at him in distaste.

"Sod off, Malfoy."

He smirks unpleasantly (something he must have mastered the second he came out of his mother's womb and looked at his father) and steps into the compartment. I'm sure he's here fishing for attention he doesn't deserve, so I refuse to acknowledge him and avert my thoughts back to my book. The problem, you see, is that the space is filled with the scent of his very alluring cologne. Alluring colognes are very hard to block out – even if they are accompanied by loathsome gits.

Knowing him, he probably brewed it himself, adding a few seduction elements here and there.

That would be so characteristic.

I try to ignore him for five full minutes, but the lingering smell won't go away. When I finally look up, I notice him sitting in front of me. A frown is marring his aristocratic features, and it is obvious he is just dying to spew another insult at me.

Three times hooray for me.

"You know, Weasley," he pipes up, "the older you get, the more your genes become apparent. I actually feel kind of sorry for you… I mean, you really inherited all of your parents' bad qualities. I'd sum them all up, but then again, I'm sure the lack of date offers says it all, doesn't it?"

There are moments in which I have to restrain myself with all the strength I can muster to not rip his pretty face to shreds. For a minute I revel in a few lovely fantasies (they include Malfoy, a knife, and eyeballs rolling on the floor.) Then I sigh deeply, and in my most bored voice, I carefully formulate a retort.

"You know, Malfoy, it's not like your insults hurt me or anything. You're sickeningly pale, pointy-faced, dishonest with both yourself and the rest of the world, conceited, and above all, Hogwarts' very own STD-factory. You're like a mattress in a cheap ho – " Suddenly I stop talking, as a very shocking idea occurs to me. "Why are you here anyway? This is the Heads compartment!"

"Your observations are sharp as ever," he drawls sarcastically.

With a bang I close my book, and then a flickering on his chest catches my attention. My eyes enlarge to the size of a Bludger when I recognize the badge that is pinned on the left of his green tie.

Oh, no.

This must be a joke.

I look down to the same badge next to my own blue tie, and then my gaze meets his cold grey eyes. "There is no way in hell you are Head boy! You must have stolen that badge!"

He laughs derisively. "You're right, Weasley, I totally did. I mean, why oh why would they give the position to not only richest and most intelligent, but also the fittest boy of the whole bunch? Merlin, what a preposterous idea would that be!"

Once again, I find myself in Stab-Malfoy's-Eyes-Out-Dreamland.

If only those fantasies could turn into reality...

Alas, I never believed in fairytales.

I sent him a glare that would've caused anyone to run away and hide. But this is Scorpius Malfoy, and as expected, he doesn't give the slightest flinch. Instead he only makes himself more comfortable by putting his hands behind his head and his legs on the table.

Sweet Merlin, he must be the most unbearable person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. Just like some people were made to love each other, Scorpius Malfoy was born to make my life miserable.

I nearly start screaming in despair upon seeing that damnable smirk finding its way back to the surface, but I remind myself that he is only doing this because he loves to rile me up. Convinced not to give him the satisfaction, I briefly close my eyes and count to three. Then, as calm as possible, I say: "So, as pleasant as this has been, I have to go. I'd rather not spend too much time in the same room as… well, a disease such as yourself. You might infect me with your germs."

I swiftly gather my book and robe, mutter a closing spell on my truck, and try not to throw him one last look when I seemingly serenely walk out the door. The thought of finding Albus or Lily or even my little brother cheers me up, but then the obnoxious voice is heard again.

"You're quite witty, Weasley. It's a crying shame you look like a failed experiment of mixing beavers, hippogriffs and slugs."

Gritting my teeth I sensibly continue on my way, but not without the help of a repetitive mantra with every step I take.

(Something with forks and eyeballs.)

Fortunately, I find Albus merely a couple compartments away. Lily and Hugo are elsewhere, probably off celebrating the renewal of their prefects title. When I open the door, about five pair of eyes look at me questionably. One belongs to Albus, one to another cousin of ours, Louis Weasley, and the rest to a part of their fan club.

It's remarkable how every girl in the school seems to be head over heels with:

A) Albus Severus Potter (he doesn't fill in for James' pranks, but in the girls department, he definitely surpasses his older brother. Must have something to do with the Untidy-Hair-Nonchalance-Slash-I-Hand-Out-Cocky-Lopsided-Grins-All-Day-Potter genes.)

B) Louis Weasley (thank you one-quarter Veela mother.)

C) …

- Insert gagging sound here -

Scorpius Malfoy.

What or why, I wouldn't know. This will always remain a mystery to me. It's one of those things, you know. Just like we'll never know for sure how exactly our planet sprang from the universe, I'll never know what all these lovesick puppies see in such a filthy albino.

Enough said.

"I'm going to jump off the bloody Astronomy Tower," is the first thing I say, ignoring the murderous looks from the line of pretty girls when I wiggle myself between Albus and Louis.

Albus throws me The Sympathetic Grin. "What's wrong, Rosie?"

Louis, on his turn, puts an arm around me and gives The Suave Face. "I hope it's not too bad."

Okay, let me be clear about one thing. The bond me and my two best friends share, is purely platonic. The reason for that speaks for itself, since we don't do inbreeding. But if it weren't for my distressed state, I would smile smugly, because those girls seem ready to roast me. Even though I'm sure I contain too many calories and all that.

"My life is over, my dear friends," I exclaim dramatically. "Over! More than over!"

"Tell us, Rosie, just let it all out," Louis sooths, The Suave Face never faltering.

I take a deep breath and put my hands on both their laps. "Scorpius Malfoy is HEAD BOY!"

Louis and Albus both freeze, and gape at me in horror.

(Needless to add, the three remaining girls are gaping too, only they have gone into semi-Stupified state, starry-eyed and drooling mouths over the thought of sharing a common room with Malfoy.)

"But…" Albus groans, "Malfoy is a prick! Why would they make him Head Boy?" Louis, always the voice of reason, responds: "Well, it's convenient if you think about it. His grades are only second best and he's been a prefect for the past two years as well."

"Yeah, he was quite eager to point that out earlier," I inject bitterly.

"Oh no, did he say something bad?" They asked synchronically.

I shrug. "The usual. Wait, I'll quote: 'you look like a failed experiment of mixing beavers, hippogriffs, and slugs.'"

Three girls snicker.

(I bet they share one mind, because individually, they wouldn't possess enough brain cells to function decently.)

Two boys nearly leap up from their seat.

"Oh, the bastard!" One shouts.

"I'll kill him!" Shouts the other.

"He's insufferable!" The first one goes again.

"And lying through his teeth!" The second adds.

"Honestly! Rose Weasley is not ugly!"

"At all! You're beautiful, Rose, you really are!"

While a slight blush spreads across my cheeks, I patiently fold my hands and wait out their rage. This is a pattern in our behaviour towards each other. First, I complain about something Malfoy has said. Then, Albus and Louis dissolve in fury, calling Malfoy names and cursing him to death. After that, they assure me of my looks, because Malfoy always mocks my appearance – never fails. During the entire exchange, I usually sit back, and then:

"It's okay, really," I say softly. "I couldn't care less about his insults. I just wish I didn't need to see his stupid face every day."

Albus nods heavily. "Completely understandable! I mean, sure, you're used to having a lame common room, but –"

The stern looks both Louis and I regard him with, shut him up.

Albus has never gotten over the fact that his best friends were sorted into another house. Unsurprisingly, the Sorting Hat put him into Gryffindor, and surprisingly, it didn't do the same for me. I must admit I felt horrible about it at first, for, let's face it, my entire family has been in there. But when Louis sat down on that old chair, and 'Ravenclaw!' was yelled, the weight upon my shoulders lifted and I almost squeezed the boy to death. I remember him with a red face and stuttering speech after that, which is quite ironic if you think about it now. I mean, Louis never blushes, let alone stutters, around girls these days.

"If he does something to you, we'll hex him into oblivion," Albus recovers nicely.

I smile. "Thanks, but I'll manage."

And, I mean, I totally will. I am Head Girl for a reason. Curls aren't the only thing I've inherited from my mother – her brains have passed over to me as well. I'm a natural talent with hexes.

(I have been in the same school as Malfoy for the six past years, after all.)

After this comes the next stage. The next stage means that Albus and Louis are sure I'm okay, and therefore switch their attention back to the three plants on the opposite couch.

I snort.

At least I won't be discarded to the side by next week.

So, let me know what you think! Louis Weasley has not sprung from my own mind, by the way, it's the youngest son of Fleur and Bill. I read this somewhere in an interview with JK Rowling.