The Malfoy Alphabet

A is for Arrogant

A/N: The Malfoy Alphabet has been rewritten!

Welcome new readers, welcome back to the old cronies!

The original chapters of this story were written almost six years ago and were well in need of an edit and a rehash – so, voila!

So what's changed?: The old, shorter chapters have been condensed into single, much longer parts – which will ultimately mean that story will end up being much longer too ('Z' is suddenly much much further away!).

The main plot points have and will remain the same (this is to allow current readers who do not wish to re-read to be able to avoid doing so), however, there are some added extras to the new edits including character development, a few extra scenes and interactions and generally some extra padding to the whole story.

I, of course, would LOVE IT, if people did want to read the story again and see all the new material, however, that is completely up to you, lovely reader! It has been revised purely for your extended enjoyment!

Once the existing chapters have all been re-posted (which should be within the next week), I will continue with new updates on a (hopefully!) regular basis.

All my love, E.T. xxx

Rose Weasley was tired – tired, filthy and utterly fed up.

Her evening in the Forbidden Forest had not been without its highlights. Fifteen minutes spent hiding in an Absynnian shrivelfig bushel because Oliver Flint had sworn he'd heard hooting had been a particular favourite, but now she'd had quite enough.

It was nights like these - she grimaced as she wiped a smear of shrivelfig sap from her cheek - that made Rose wonder if her endless pursuit of academic excellence was really worth it.

Earlier that same evening, Professor Patil had called Rose into her office, a knowing smile on those infamously stern features and Rose's latest Charms essay on the desk. It had been obvious as soon as she'd read the first paragraph that the young Miss Weasley had gone above and beyond with her recent assignment.

And maybe it had been wrong, Rose thought crossly as Flint muttered to himself beside her, to break into the restricted section after curfew for that last crucial piece of research. But then again, Professor Patil had still given her that all important grade. There'd been no denying that her essay had been an academic masterpiece, the likes of which had never been seen from any other sixth year.

Except perhaps her mother...

Rose turned her scowl on her unwilling companion as he ripped his robes on a low hanging branch and swore loudly.

The constant comparisons between herself and her parents had gotten borderline infuriating over the years. True enough, she had the smarts to occasionally best her mum at a spot of Sunday afternoon Scrabble, and yes, she had almost as little regard for Hogwarts' ever expanding rulebook as any true Weasley would. But if she had to endure another of Professor Longbottom's well-meaning observations that she "truly was her parents' daughter" (which, incidentally, Rose had always found to be a stupidly redundant phrase), she wasn't sure everyone in the castle would make it out alive.

On the odd occasion, however, she did find it could work to her advantage. The professors that had either taught or learnt alongside her parents, uncles or aunt would often overlook the occasional misdemeanour, and Rose would listen patiently to their nostalgic tales until all mention of punishment was long forgotten. Tonight, however, she hadn't been quite so lucky.

"Flint, for the last time, will you please watch where you're going?" Rose stressed, irritation flashing in her amber eyes as Oliver stood on her heels yet again.

He rolled his eyes in answer and continued muttering darkly to himself, clearly in just as foul a mood as she.

Rose sighed and kept picking her way carefully through the undergrowth, utterly exhausted by their so-far fruitless search through the most Eastern quarter of the forest. The pair had been out here for at least three hours by now, looking for Ashwinder Eggs that Madame Pomfrey needed to treat a bad case of Ague in the infirmary. Professor Hagrid, who rarely made these arduous trips into the forest anymore, had told them that there were only two known nesting sites of the Ashwinder snake and, after Oliver had tripped and sat on one of them, even this seemingly ridiculous task had become nigh impossible.

"So, what did you do to wind up here then, Weasley?" Oliver derailed her train of thought as he thudded his boots against a tree stump in an attempt to dislodge a particularly viscous clump of mud. "Break into the library or something?"

She arched a slim eyebrow as he snorted in amusement behind her. This really wasn't helping her steadily declining mood.

"Yes, actually. What about you? Break another mirror?" It was a cheap blow but it made her feel a little better. Luckily, Flint was about as quick on the uptake as he was pretty.

"Er, no," he frowned in confusion. "Pesky little second year gave me the finger so I taught him some manners."

"Well, thank Merlin you didn't let that crime against humanity go unpunished," Rose muttered, closing her eyes as she rubbed the back of her neck with a sigh.

Slytherins - she mentally grimaced - all bravado and no brains. Some of them could be downright thuggish at times, she'd found, and Flint here was a perfect example. Mind you, he certainly wasn't the worst kind of snake in the nest, that was for sure.

Her mum frequently told her off for being prejudiced, whenever she had a moan about the latest crony to irk her in her weekly letters, but it wasn't just house rivalry that got Rose's back up - certainly, those old grudges were as good as forgotten after decades worth of promoting tolerance and unity between the students. The problem was that these boys were the sort who would turn up to class ten minutes late and cause chaos when they did, the sort that would punch each other in the arm or hurl a Fanged Frisbee at each other's head - apparently for fun, and the sort that would wink leeringly at girls in the corridor before using a Leviosa charm on the back of their skirts.

That sort.

Put simply, they were a bunch of prats. In her opinion, of course. An alarmingly large proportion of her fellow female students seemed to think very differently on the matter.

"Come on, let's go," Flint yawned, leaning back against a tree and looking at her pleadingly. "We've been out here all night, even you can't argue we've done a detention's worth."

Rose ignored the jibe. She had to admit he was right, and she really could do with a shower. That shrivelfig sap had an awfully distinctive smell.

Together, they set off back the way they had come, Oliver whistling away, until the lights of the castle came back into view.

"Er, Weasley?" he cleared his throat. "You know that friend of yours, the blonde with freckles?"

"Penny?" Rose muttered absently, pulling twigs of unknown origin out of her copper coloured hair.

"Yeah, Penny Finnigan, right? You er, you happen to know if she's seeing anyone right now?" Oliver gave her a little inquisitive shrug in an unsuccessful attempt to look casual.

Penny Finnigan had been her friend since that first tentative smile as they waited side by side for their turn with the sorting hat. As the years had passed, their closeness had remained unchanged but Penny had not. And the boys had definitely started to notice.

Rose felt her eyebrow slide up her forehead in a gesture of great scepticism. Something told her that Flint was not going to be Penny's type. Or indeed anyone's for that matter.

"Not that I'm aware of but, er-,"

"I thought maybe you could mention me to her, you know, now that we're friends and all?" The boy grinned down at her and gave her a slightly too forceful nudge that sent her stumbling up the castle steps.

She wrinkled her nose as she regained her footing. "Oliver, if you think being forced to spend an evening clambering through mud and slime and Merlin knows what else with someone lays the foundations for a beautiful friendship, then-"

"Oi! Flint! Where've you been all night?"

The shout across the entrance hall cut her short and she turned, with a scowl, to find herself in the presence of yet another slimy Slytherin snake. But not just any snake – this one was the bloody king of the nest, the ringleader, the only one of the lot with enough intellect to stop them killing each other and lead them in their nauseating display of testosterone and dim-wittedness.

Mr Scorpius Malfoy.

He was striding towards them with a grin, pale blonde hair falling over his forehead as he wiped a smear of something red from the corner of his mouth. Behind him, Florie Harper – a fellow sixth year Slytherin – was making a quick exit from a nearby broom closet, straightening her skirt as she tottered towards the stairs. Rose noticed idly that her lipstick looked a little smeared.

"Alright, Malfoy," Flint grinned with a nod towards the girl's retreating figure. "Not interrupting anything, I hope?"

Scorpius glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. "Late night study date. Anyway, what happened to practice after dinner?"

"McGonagall only went and gave me detention again," Oliver shook his head as if in disbelief.

"Shocking, isn't it?" Rose muttered to herself. And immediately wished she hadn't.

Scorpius, who until this point seemed not to have realised she was there, suddenly turned his gaze on her. His light blue eyes were sharp and steady as they took in her appearance. Rose subtly attempted to wipe the dirt from her nose.

"Anyway," he glanced away just as quickly, "you know if you miss another one Goyle's going to have your shirt."

"Not bloody likely! You're looking at the best beater Slytherin's ever seen! Goyle said so herself."

"Cocky git," Scorpius laughed as he turned on his heel and headed for the dungeon stairwell, Flint obediently falling into step beside him.

"So says His Highness, Scorpius Malfoy! Oh," Oliver stopped and turned back to face Rose who had remained awkwardly by the doors and was watching the laddish display with disdain. "I'll, er, see you around, Weasley," he gave her a meaningful nod that spoke strongly of Penny Finnigan.

With a poorly masked grimace, Rose began trudging her way in the direction of Gryffindor tower.

"Oh, and one more thing,"

She stopped and blinked in surprise as Malfoy called after her, turning to stare at him from the bottom step of the grand staircase.

He was grinning, unkindly. "You might want to think about a change of robes. Unless, that is, Weasley standards have sunk even lower than usual?"

As her blush grew, so did his smirk. She had just enough time to send a poisonous scowl in his direction before he'd disappeared down the stairs, laughter ringing out against the stone walls. She glared down at her filthy clothes, her cheeks red hot in indignation before spinning round and storming up the stairs.

It had not been a good night.

O

"You'll never guess what!"

About fifty feet away down at the far end of the Gryffindor breakfast table, Rose raised a speculative eyebrow as she continued buttering her toast. "Hugo's finally got himself a girlfriend?"

Penny Finnigan, who had rushed into the hall brandishing a copy of The Daily Prophet above her head, smiled fondly as she glanced across the tables to where Hugo Weasley was busy lining up his breakfast in alphabetical order.

"Er, not quite."

She slapped the paper down on the table and jabbed at the first page with one well-manicured finger.

"Look! Your dad's done it again! He's got that gang of rebels down in South London tormenting muggles. Want to read it?"

Rose glanced at the large picture on the front cover – her dad beamed proudly back at her – and shook her head without a word, opting to stuff her mouth with toast instead. Penny frowned and snatched up her paper again.

"Fine, I'll read it to you: 'Mr Ronald Weasley, of forty-two years, Co-Head Auror at the Ministry of Magic, released a press statement today detailing his department's successful apprehension of the criminals behind the recent -,'"

"So not exactly him that did it then, was it?" Rose muttered around a mouthful of baked goods, reaching to pour them both a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Penny sighed and let the paper flop onto the table. "I don't know why you always get so ratty about your parents. I wish mine were as exciting as yours."

"Penny," Rose laughed, "your dad's the manager of the Irish national Quidditch team-,"

"Yes and do you know how many times he's attempted to explain the offside rule to me? That stuff is more boring than one of Binns' lectures."

"I didn't think you could ever be offside in Quidditch," Rose mused.

"Pfft, well! Let me tell you all seventeen ways in which you can be very much offside!" Penny shook her head with wide eyes as she wrangled with a grapefruit.

"Seventeen?!"

"There's actually twenty-three, I just can never remember the last six. Anyway," Penny leant forward and gave Rose a sly grin, freckles dancing about her cheeks. "What got into your knickers last night?"

Rose almost choked on her juice. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean," Penny chuckled, "what got you so rattled that you felt the need to waste perfectly good curses on Jennie Macmillan when she was trying to return that book?"

Rose grimaced with embarrassment, making a mental note to apologise to the Ravenclaw girl at the first opportunity. "Oh, you, er, you noticed that did you?"

"Well, it was hard to ignore her shriek of terror even from the bathroom," Penny considered. "And then of course the room smelt oddly of singed hair for the rest of the evening."

Rose scowled. "Well, in my defence, I leant that to her over a month ago and she said she'd only need it for the week. That's just bad manners."

"Rosie," Penny gave her a knowing stare.

"Oh, fine. It was Malfoy," Rose stabbed roughly at a lukewarm pastry.

Penny frowned. "Malfoy? Since when have you been socialising with Scorpius?"

"Oh, I see, 'Scorpius' is it?" Rose's eyes widened. "Didn't realise the two of you were best friends."

Penny waved it off. "I'm on your side, never fear. Whatever inexcusable, atrocious act he may have committed. Which was what exactly?"

Rose huffed and lay down her fork for dramatic effect. "He told me I should change my robes."

Penny blinked. "Why would he do that?"

"Well, I suppose they were slightly dirty."

She blinked again. "Right. Merlin, what an arse."

"You're mocking me!" Rose pouted as she stood up, swinging her satchel over one shoulder and making her way out of the hall as Penny protested beside her. "I'm telling you he was really rude! And then he did that horrid little smirk-y thing he does, you know, when he thinks he's managed to come up with something really clever? I mean, honestly, 'Weasley standards sunk even lower''," she imitated, sticking her nose up in the air and jutting out her chin in a manner eerily similar to the haughty Slytherin. "Gosh, how unbearably witty of you, Malfoy."

Rose fumed silently for another second before glancing over at Penny, who was smiling and waving at James Potter as she walked. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry," Penny smiled sheepishly, her freckles disappearing behind a sudden flush of colour.

"As much as I love to see you flirting with my cousin straight after breakfast, Penny, I'm trying to vent my rage over here."

Penny laughed and linked arms with her friend, long, sandy-blonde hair bouncing off her shoulders. Together, the girls headed out across the courtyard and down towards the greenhouses for their first period Herbology class. The day was crisp and full of autumn warmth and before she knew it, Rose found herself laughing too, her bad mood evaporating in the morning sunshine.

Until that is, the Slytherins arrived. Ten minutes late and full of their usual cheer.

"Do try and keep from rolling about in the soil, Weasley. I can see why it might appeal to you, but that'd be awfully unpleasant for the rest of us to have to watch."

Rose's head snapped up from the Bubotuber she'd been milking with a glare already in place. The whole stupid lot of them were chuckling away, all except Malfoy – the wise-cracker himself – who simply grinned at her and pretended to offer her a handkerchief.

Rose felt herself burning up under the collar again, grip tightening until her Bubotuber spurted pus all over an unsuspecting Lorraine Davies.

"Just ignore them," Penny muttered, leaning past her to offer Lorraine a tissue. "He's just showing off in front of his friends. You know what boys are like."

She knew it was ridiculous to get this annoyed, she'd had her fair share of teasing in her younger years – in part owing to her family tree and also the fact that she seemed to be one of few in their year that did give a Skrewt's arse about her work – and it hadn't bothered her much at all.

She was also well aware that, possibly with the exception of Malfoy, she had an IQ twice the rest of theirs put together and yet this morning, this fact did not appear to be consoling her.

"Come on sixth years, settle down." Professor Longbottom appeared in the greenhouse doorway, pulling on a pair of thick dragon hide gloves and giving the Slytherin boys a pointed look. "Right, good to see some of you have already made a start on today's project."

He gave an appreciative nod in Rose and Penny's direction.

Professor Longbottom was not typically one of the staff that put too much emphasis on nostalgia for the days of the Golden Trio. Rose knew from her parents' own versions of it all that Neville Longbottom had been on the receiving end of misery as much – if not more – as anyone of that time, and he had his own lengthy chapter in Hogwarts: A Revised History to boot.

"Ah, Albus!" Professor Longbottom smiled as the youngest Potter boy came swinging round the side of the greenhouse and sprinted to a halt beside Rose, his tie undone and hair blatantly uncombed. "So glad to see you could join us this morning."

"Always a pleasure, Sir," Albus grinned as the rest of the class chuckled quietly. Leaning sideways, he whispered to the two girls, "What did I miss?"

"Nothing much," Penny muttered, prodding her own Bubotuber with a trowel. "Rose has decided she hates Malfoy and it looks like Flint's about to have some kind of fit."

All three of them glanced over in unison and pulled similar startled faces. Flint appeared to be – rather conspicuously – staring at Penny, with an expression that resembled someone in excruciating pain.

"Bloody Hell," muttered Albus, who then shook his head and turned to Rose, "And why do you hate Malfoy all of a sudden?"

"I don't hate him," she sighed and glanced reproachfully at Penny, "I'm just experiencing a temporary intense disliking of the pugnacious little git, that's all."

Albus laughed and shook his head. "Ah, he's alright is Scorpius. Hell of a Quidditch player. Though, I admit his ego can be a bit… Well,"

"Overly inflated?" Rose offered, wryly.

"Something like that," he grinned. "Don't suppose either of you brought me some breakfast by any chance? I'm ruddy starving."

Without a word, Rose took a napkin wrapped pastry from her satchel and passed it across to him. "Perhaps somebody might actually start using the alarm clock I bought him last Christmas? Save my textbooks from their daily onslaught of crumbs?"

Albus merely grinned around a mouthful of croissant.

O

The rest of the day passed with very little excitement. After Herbology, the girls headed to a double period of Arithmancy, whilst Albus – who had carefully chosen his NEWT subjects to ensure he never had more than two classes in a row – went in search of a second breakfast. Class followed class until the clock hands finally found themselves at half past three and, as per her usual routine, Rose seated herself at her usual spot in the library.

It wasn't that Rose was just your typical, everyday swat – although she supposed by definition she probably filled the criteria. She worked hard, she cared about her grades and, yes, in truth she did actually quite enjoy it. But there was a purpose to her studiousness, one she felt no need in sharing with any of her less ambitious relations:

Rose wanted to be a Healer. Had done ever since she could remember.

She liked the methodical process to treating others' illnesses: the diagnosis, the cure, the recovery. She liked the notion of such a constantly changing field, as more and more properties of various spells or potions were discovered (and wizards found more and more ways to injure themselves). And, though it sounded a little corny even to her, Rose liked the idea of helping people when they needed it most.

Healing was also, of course, a thoroughly well-respected profession – and well-respected professions demanded respectable grades, hence the need for a 'usual spot' in the library.

Rose's spot was a gem too; a small desk with its own cheery oil-lamp, hidden from the main work area by a row of dusty bookcases. Quiet, private and, most importantly, out of the aged Madame Pince's line of ever-failing sight. (Rose had lost count of the number of times she'd been admonished by the old bag for folding a page corner or squashing a book spine – apparently the two greatest library faux pas a soul could commit.)

That evening's workload wasn't too arduous. Her Potions homework took all of ten minutes, followed by a good half hour's work on the design intricacies of Celtic Transfiguration talismans. She was just about finished with the translation of a rather tricky passage of Runes when she heard voices coming from the other side of the bookshelf.

Quill freezing mid-sentence, she listened as the drawling tones of Scorpius Malfoy floated nearer and nearer to her secluded corner. The sound of two chairs being scraped back across the hardwood floor and the dull thuds of someone putting their feet up on a desk confirmed they had taken root.

"I'm not worrying about it too much though." Clearly, Scorpius didn't feel duty-bound by the 'silence in the library' notices. "Balcroft took the test last week and said it was fine. I mean, if that idiot can manage it then we'll have no trouble."

Somebody snorted with laughter beside him. "Yeah, but you're not sitting next to Finnigan, are you? It's hard to pay attention to anything much when she talks to you."

"Merlin, you are pathetic sometimes, Ollie. That girl's got you under the thumb and she doesn't even know it," Scorpius paused to yawn. "I mean she is pretty and all but nothing special. Although," he gave a dark chuckle, "she's a darn sight better than that friend of hers."

Rose's quill almost snapped between her fingers.

Flint groaned in exasperation. "I wish you'd lay off Weasley. Penny's never going to give me the time of day if she thinks we've got it in for her mate, is she? Besides, she's not that bad."

"Well, sure, I mean, if you like your women as plain as a burlap sack."

Rose could feel the heat from her face scorching the dusty air around her. There was an odd lump to her throat and her knees felt locked in position. Somehow, she knew they'd fail her if she tried to get up and leave.

"Look," Oliver sighed, "she doesn't always look quite so, er, rural as she did the other night. We had just come from the bloody Forest, you know and, well, I may have accidentally pushed her into a bush at one point or another."

She felt an odd little wave of endearment for Oliver Flint.

"Please! The girl's got a scowl on her as if she's been smacked by the Whomping Willow! Shame really, there was a picture of her mum in the Prophet the other day and she actually looked quite fit. Some people just have no luck with genetics, I guess."

Rose had heard just about as much as she could take. She could hear the blood pumping around her skull, an unusual wetness to her eyes, and she couldn't find the grace to be the bigger person, to be the mature or honourable individual. She didn't care that Malfoy was just another slimy snake or that he was probably just showing off in front of his friend – she had never been so hurt and insulted in all of her measly seventeen years of life.

Snatching up her books and papers with shaking hands, she toppled her chair as she bolted round the corner. The two Slytherins, still deep in conversation, barely had time to register the furious swish of her wand before she'd slammed the library door behind her and raced for the Gryffindor tower – leaving one to stare after her, red faced, and the other grappling with the trademark Weasley retaliation: a very well-aimed Bat Bogey Hex.

O

A/N: Qus: What have we learnt today? Ans: That Rose gives the absolute worst Christmas presents.

I also discovered, in my very old notes for this story, that I had also intended to have 'Nicholas Finnigan' as a character… I wonder whatever happened to him? Poor old Nick.