I am pissed off.

I completely have the right to be pissed off too! Gryffindor has just lost the final Quidditch match of the year. To Slytherin. I had played hard, but it wasn't enough. I lost to Malfoy again.

I march up to the Heads Common Room that I share with Malfoy. Malfoy won't be there—he's probably already celebrating his win in the Slytherin Common Room. Stupid fucking bastard. He just had to score that last point before Lily caught the snitch.

We would have won, had it not been for that last point.

To be fair to Lily he literally made the shot seconds before she caught the snitch. And we WERE losing so by just enough so she figured if she caught the snitch we would win. Well, we would have won if Malfoy hand't scored that last point. She's never going to let herself live that down. She's going to replay it in her mind every day, see it in her dreams at night. She's going to need therapy.

"Purple waves" I say to the portrait of the lady in the violet dress.

The portrait swings open and I try my damndest to slam it as loudly as I can behind me. This was not supposed to happen! Gryffindor was supposed to win! Of course, we're still in the running for both the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup; we just have to beat Ravenclaw by a wide margin in April.

Urgh. I can't wait to get in the shower- to feel the nice, warm water on my body, wiping off all the dirt and slime that was warranted by the Quidditch game. I couldn't bear to see all the disappointed faces down in the locker room, so I had to come up here. I throw my broomstick in the entryway and slowly begin taking off my layers of Quidditch gear.

"Weasley, I know that you want me, but I generally enjoy taking the clothes off of girls. Not that I'm not enjoying this little strip show."

"Fuck, Malfoy! You scared the shite out of me!" I scream at him.

Obviously I hadn't noticed Malfoy sitting in the armchair, already showered and clean. If I had noticed him, I would have waited until I was in the bathroom to begin undressing. I was under the impression that I was alone.

Malfoy lifts his lips up into his signature smirk. "I assure you that was not my intention, Weasley. It is no fault of my own that you seem to scare easily."

"I do not scare easily!" I growl at him.

"Obviously you do, you have just ratified said statement due to the fact that when I walked in on you, you screeched 'You scared the shite out of me!'." He counters.

Why does he always talk like that? I find it quite annoying. When I yelled at him about it one time, he told me that he was brought up to speak like a proper person, not an 'inconsequential swine'.

And I'm quoting here. I mean seriously, what seventeen year old male frequently uses words like 'inconsequential swine' and 'ratified'?

"Whatever, Malfoy. I don't have time to exchange extensive vocabulary words in the form of insults with you, I'm going to shower."

He smirks at me again. Damn his arrogant, egotistical, preposterous smirk!

"Better start studying the dictionary, Weaslette, I believe you are running out of 'big words'."

"Shove off Malfoy."

"Oh and Weasley?"He calls to me.

Merlin, can't he just let me leave to shower in peace? Does he really have to rub in the fact that Slytherin just won? Or more importantly, that I lost to him, once again?

"What do you want, Malfoy? I do not need a bloody play by play of the game so you can gloat about winning the Quidditch match!"

He takes a step closer to me, the smirk on his face widening. His grey-blue eyes spark with life the way they only do when you know an insult of the most vicious, hurtful kind is going to be hurled in your direction.

"I won, fair and square Weasley, but that's not what I wanted to inform you of." He says as his eyes flicker over my body.

Is he giving me the once-over?

I fold my arms over my chest; suddenly I seem to remember that I am in fact, shirtless and arguing with Malfoy. A seventeen year old boy. I'm not exactly largely endowed down there, but my breasts aren't microscopic either. And he's a teenage boy. Not exactly a normal teenage boy, but a teenage boy nonetheless.

He brings his head down close to mine, bending down so as to whisper in my ear, "Nice bra." He brings one pale hand to my shoulder and with his long finger lifts up my bra strap before letting it slide from his finger with a snap and it makes contact with my skin again. He quickly straightens himself up, smirks at me once more, and then turns around and stalks out of our common room.

But not before I began to blush. Oh no, he definitely saw the blush. It's not my fault I blush! I completely blame my father for this awful genetic mutation.

Some girls look cute when they blush. They get two cute little pink dots on their cheeks. But not me. Oh, no. My blush turns my entire face a narsty, blotchy, red that travels all over my face and all the way down to my neck.

I glance down at the bra I had worn today.

Oh this is not good. It's red and gold and lacey; very, very lacey. I had worn it because if all had gone well today, my boyfriend, Tyler Wood, and I were most likely to get ahem active later on tonight.

That's not going to happen now.

Now, instead of my boyfriend seeing my new beautiful bra, Malfoy has seen it. And commented on it. Not only commented on it, but complimented me on it! I think I might have to burn it now.

A/N: So, this came to me in a moment of inspiration. I know it's pretty typical Scor/Rose because they're fighting and all...but hey give it a chance! Right?

Anyway, I haven't decided if I just want to leave this as a one-shot or continue on...I'll figure it out in due time. So, for now this will not be labeled as completed.

I hope you like it!

Let me know what you think!

~wwccd