A/N: Hey everyone. I just became extremely obsessed with the RoseScorpius, and I support the whole Rose-and-Scorpius-hate-each-other-to-death-and-then-fall-in-love thing. And when this popped into my head, I just had to write it down.

Sorry for any grammar and spelling I missed. This actually turned out less humorous than I would have liked, but oh well.

Please read and review! It means so much to me. Think of it this way: reviews are to me as Rose is to Scorpius. There! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or else there would've been more of an epilogue.

.:Ways I Hate You:.

"Love that is not madness is not love." – Pedro Calderon de la Barca

"Just bug off, you git. I hate you more than anyone else."

I continued walking down the corridor, not daring to turn my back to see the arrogant boy following me. I knew he was – I could hear the fast and furious footsteps, eager to keep up with my fast pace down the third corridor.

Usually, Scorpius Malfoy would jump for joy to get rid of me in a mere two seconds without a huge fight involving swearing and name-calling, most likely from me. But, this time, I must have tweaked a sensitive spot somewhere in that useless idiot.

Ha. As if he had a nerve or moral in his body to be struck!

"Yes, I know, Weasley. Just like you hate my stunningly good looks and charming personality," I heard his mocking voice ring over my shoulder, dangerously close.

I whipped around, coming face-to-face with the devil himself. Who, I might add, was wearing an incredibly ugly smirk etched across his features. His gray eyes were light and playful, while his white-blond hair was stuck up at odd angles – probably from the stupid Slytherin girl I found him Frenching in a broom closet only a couple minutes before. While he was supposed to be patrolling with me.

Which brings me full circle: why I hate the biggest git in the universe in front of me.

"Exactly. I hate every little thing about you, Malfoy, more than you could ever hate me," I snarled, turning on my heel and keeping a firm hold on the library books clutched with one hand and the other on my wand tucked away in the pocket of my robes.

"Oh, I highly doubt that. Want to place a bet?"

Bet. I stopped, my shoes making a squeaking sound on the clean floor. A bet about what? Surely, I could beat Scorpius in anything he challenged me to. We were both top of our class, but I always had a knack for strategy while he had the more head-on approach.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Scorpius side-step me and turn around to face me, his face completely placid and unreadable and his striking gray gaze meeting my wide blue one.

"What kind of bet?" I asked warily, trying to seem disinterested. And failing.

He noticed my curiosity and smirked wider than I thought possible. "For every one thing you hate about me, I can name two things I hate about you."

I tapped my foot impatiently, hoping to convey the message that yes, I would never pass up the opportunity to beat him in a game, but no, we had to patrol like Head Boy and Girl were supposed to. "And when I win?"

"When I win, I'll get twenty galleons from you."

My eyes probably looked like they were popping out of my head. Twenty galleons? That was just the amount I needed to buy the new broomstick I'd been yearning for in Diagon Alley. My current Firebolt was wearing down, the twigs snapped out of place and handle lost its sheen.

Oh, how sweet this victory would be! Not to mention the satisfaction of defeating my worst enemy.

"Fine, you're on," I said, sticking out my hand for him to shake it. He eyed my freckled hand warily, so I simply rolled my eyes and scoffed, "You're supposed to shake it? We're making the bet official."

Glaring at me for a millisecond, he placed his pale, thin hand in mine and moved it up and down, but quickly pulled away.

I knew my face had to look smug to him. This bet would be so easy to win. I made mental lists of why I hated the git practically everyday. He met my gaze with a smug look of his own, daring me to start.

"I hate the way you're so arrogant."

"I'll take it," he said, his smirk widening. "I hate the way you're so damn impossible."

"Impossible? Me?" I scoffed, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. Just what right did he think he had to call me, the most agreeable person in the world, impossible? "You think I'm impossible, while you hide in broom closets making out with strangers just to escape Head duty?"

He gave me a pointed look. "If it weren't for you breathing down my neck about being on time, maybe I'd show up a little more. Now, can I get onto winning the game?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. I could tell this bet was going to end up in a lot of arguing – what I had wanted to avoid the second I saw his cursed face intertwined with the girl's.

The mental image made me gag. Who'd want to make out with Scorpius Malfoy?

"I hate the way you don't ever shut up."

"I don't ever shut up?" I questioned, shifting my weight to my right foot. Need I remind anyone, we were doing this bet in the middle of a corridor late at night in Hogwarts. Not to mention, it was freezing, despite the torches that lit up every inch.

"Oh, come off it, Weasley. Every person in the whole bloody school knows that you don't stop talking or arguing. They can hear your overly loud voice a floor away." He rolled his eyes, that satisfied smirk growing more profound.

"Fine," I agreed, incredibly mad now. But, I asked for it, hadn't I? By accepting this bet? "I hate the way you seem to never feel any embarrassment! God, what are you, a bloody quaffle? And hollow like one too?"

"Quaffle? I'm touched, Weasley." He put a hand to his chest, pointing to his heart. Like he had one. "The most I was expecting from you was a goblin, or perhaps a troll."

"Oh, please, Malfoy. Goblins are actually smart, and you're so much fatter than a troll. They exceed your brain capacity. At least a quaffle suits you in more ways than one."

Something flashed behind those gray eyes of his – I couldn't name it, but when could I ever figure out Scorpius Malfoy? – but he continued on anyway. "I hate the way you always blush."

"I do not always blush!" I exclaimed, appalled. But even as I said it, I could feel that warm, familiar feeling creeping up my neck. He noticed it too, a satisfied grin stretching across his face. "If I blush often, then you're a bloody vampire!"

"That was quite an oxymoron," he scoffed, rolling his eyes at my retort.

"Like your sorry excuse for a face?" I shot, and his gray eyes narrowed into thin slits, seeming to throw daggers at me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead twice over by now.

"If that's how you want to play," he said, a plan forming in his mind, "then I hate the way you are such a drama queen."

When I didn't answer, he simply looked at me, one pale eyebrow arching up his forehead. A signature look that had girls swooning over him in a heartbeat. "No comeback, Weasley?"

"No," I answered curtly. "But if I'm such a drama queen, then you certainly are one too. Listen to yourself – you're searching for a reason to argue with me. If that doesn't scream drama, I don't know what in Merlin's beard does."

He sighed, shaking his head, which was bowed to the ground. "You're bloody impossible, Weasley."

"My turn," I continued, ignoring his last statement. My mind drifted off to the girl in the closet. It wasn't the first girl I had found him with, which prompted me to say, "I hate the way you have girls falling for you left and right."

He raised one pale eyebrow, his eyes focused intently on me, gray meeting blue. "Do I sense a hint of jealousy, Weasley?"

"If you call jealousy the way I want to rip your eyeballs out of their sockets whenever you leave me to Head duty by myself while you just snog girls in closets, then yes."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, just come off it already. You're just jealous of those girls. Admit it, Weasley."

I shook my head, although I wasn't as sure of it as I was a couple of minutes ago. "In your dreams, Malfoy."

"It'd be a true nightmare, Weasley. Trust me."

"Your turn," I snapped, not wanting to stay on this topic for longer than necessary. It was already uncomfortable as it was.

He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up at even odder angles. "I hate the way you have boys falling for you."

"Boys? For me?" I was seriously questioning his mental health at the moment.

He sighed, frustrated, his breath hitting me in the face. I recoiled, taking a step back. "Don't you know? Well, obviously you don't. It wouldn't be that surprising to me, considering how unobservant you are."

"Is that the second thing you hate about me?" I casually asked, but still with a burning curiosity. Sure, boys asked me out occasionally, but I didn't agree to every single invitation. No, that's not what surprised me. What surprised me was that Scoripus noticed.

"No. What I mean is, boys won't shut up about you. Wherever I go, they're always… talking," he finished. It seemed so hard for him to get this sentence out, and I could only wonder why.

Yet, I simply stared at him, putting a blank façade on that wouldn't give away any emotion. "What are you implying, Malfoy?"

He just shook his head and continued with, "I hate the way I always have to listen to your stupid boy drama."

"Boy drama?" I mocked. "Are you seriously kidding me?"

"I wish I was," he continued. "Because, I mean, who would want to go out with you? I practically kneel over and vomit each time I look at your face."

I scowled, the Weasley hot-tempered rage taking over. I could almost feel the curled fists at my side shaking with rage.

"Do you have any idea? I have to listen to you sob all night, crying about who broke up with you or who was such a git. It's bloody painful."

I was literally gaping. I had no idea – he never said anything about it. Since we were both Heads, we shared a common room, and how could I help if he didn't say anything about it? He practically nagged me about everything else in my life. Why not this?

Quickly changing the subject, I said, "I hate the way you're in the Slytherin house. And that you're a Malfoy."

"What the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?" he asked, his eyes almost popping out of his head.

"Slytherins are… slimy. And gross. Just like you," I finished.

"So you hate me because… I'm in Slytherin," he clarified.

I nodded. "Yes. Exactly. Glad you're keeping up."

"Why would you hate that I'm a Malfoy?" he questioned, cocking his head ever so slightly.

"Because… because… I do." That was the worst excuse I had ever come up with. He noticed, too, a smug look overtaking his face. I could swear I saw a sparkle beneath those jaded gray eyes.

Coming up with a better comeback, I said, "And you're a git. You're a Malfoy, so you're a git."

An annoyed look passed over his features. He shook his head ever so slightly and continued with, "I hate the way you beat me in Quidditch."

I smiled, knowing his was completely right. There was nothing worth arguing over there. I was the best seeker out of all four houses. He was a seeker, too, for Slytherin. We were always head to head, always against each other searching for that glint of gold. For the past couple years, Ravenclaw has always come home with a victory against Slytherin.

"Thank you for an actual believable reason to hate me, besides the fact that I just about, oh, excel in everything I do compared to you."

"Which would include being a bigger git, I expect."

I could feel myself scowl. He was seriously getting on my nerves, but I kept my eye on the prize: twenty galleons, a new broom…

"And I hate the way you think you're so smart just because you're in Ravenclaw."

I put my hands on my hips and scoffed, "When you think about it, really, what have any Slytherins turned out to be in the past besides Death Eaters? Ravenclaw, on the other hand, has produced many able witches and wizards. Let's see who has the higher success rate."

"It's most surely about to drop, thanks to you, Weasley."

"Touching, Malfoy, but over my dead body."

"Gladly."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep myself centered when everything was too out of balance to do so. "I hate the way you infuriate me."

"I infuriate you?" He raised one eyebrow.

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," I continued. "You're so arrogant and bloody annoying that everything you say irritates me."

He rolled his eyes – this was becoming quite the normal gesture around me – before saying, "I hate the way you make me fight for hours with no reason at all."

"I hardly start any of our arguments, though. You're the one always bothering me about my looks, my personality, my skills. It's your fault."

He sighed, running his hands through his white-blond hair. "And I hate the way you always blame me for everything."

"If you're talking about that incident with the Draught of the Living Dead in potions last week, then yes, it was absolutely your – "

"No," he stopped me, cutting off mid-sentence. "I mean, yes, you blame me for everything. But I'm not talking about that incident."

I opened my mouth to speak, before remembering what he was talking about. The girl. The closet. I felt my fury at him bubble up, a fury so deadly and angry that I could barely stop it. I wished he didn't make me feel this way. Why couldn't Scorpius and I just get along without bothering each other? Why?

"I hate the way you make me hate you," I replied in a soft voice, contrary to the war going on inside of me.

"I make you hate me?" he asked, his voice low and understanding to match mine. Not mocking or annoying in any way.

His gray gaze was too intense for me to hold. I nodded my head, biting my lip and turning away. And I realized it was the truth: I wished I couldn't hate him. But he was a git, a troll, a flat out idiot. There was no hope for change.

"I really wish you didn't," I feebly said. What was wrong with me? Why was I admitting things that were turning our universes upside down?

He took a hesistant step towards me, placing his hands on my shoulders. I reeled, trying to step away, but his grip was too strong.

Scorpius leaned closer to my ear, his mouth right next to it, before saying, "What if I told you I hate the way I can't hate you?" he whispered, his breath tickling my cheek. Shivers ran up and down my spine as he reached out with his thumb to stroke my jaw line once.

His touch acted like a stunning spell. I couldn't move, not an inch, even if I wanted to.

He started walking towards me with a purpose, and I stepped back, afraid of what he was doing. I kept walking backwards until I felt the cold, hard stone behind my back, belonging to the wall. I cowered farther down, scared of what was happening, as he put his hands on either side of my head.

"What if I told you I hate the way I love you?" he whispered into my ear, then moved his head to kiss my nose, and then, moving farther down, my lips.

Electric jolts shot through me, enchanting my body. I opened my mouth in surprise, and he took the opportunity to kiss me deeper, sending more tingles wiggling through my lips down to my toes. The kiss was wild and forbidden, wrong but right, against everything he and I were brought to believe.

When we finally broke apart, I gasped, "Does this mean I lost?"

He smirked against my lips, our foreheads touching, before gasping, his breath as ragged as mine, "Yes, but to be taken lightly." He winked as dipped back down.

But I avoided him, smiling brighter than I ever had in the past few years. "Better than that Slytherin?" I whispered.

"Definitely, Rose."

And let me tell you: I loved the way he said my name.