"If Rosie's sorted into Slytherin, I'll eat my socks!" laughs Uncle George.
"No way!" giggles my younger cousin Lily, "Not Rose! She's way too much like a Gryffindor, like Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, Dad, Mom, you, and well everyone."
I snort, "You forgot Roxanne, Dominique, Louis, and Lucy. All of them are Weasley's and three are Ravenclaws and one's a Hufflepuff."
Lily fake pouts and Uncle George props his head up with his arm, listening intently.
"Yes, but none of them are in Slytherin." she smiles, proud of herself for keeping up with the debate as long as she has.
I lean in to her ear and whisper, "Well, if I'm in Slytherin then Albus will be also."
She snickers, "He's been muttering about the Sorting Ceremony since he got his letter, 'I mean Ravenclaw's decent and Hufflepuff's bearable but Slytherin seems downright horrid!'" she mimics in his voice.
Uncle George shakes his head, "You'd better not let Uncle Harry hear you or he'll get into his speech about that arse- excuse me- Severus Snape."
Lily and I just loose it.
I remember that memory as I study for Charms the common room. Eat your socks, Uncle George.
The Slytherin common room, ha. My legs are over the side of a green velvet arm chair and my head is propped up with a green and silver stripped pillow. I feel the warmth of the fireplace as it crackles and turn my head to peer out of the windows into the lake. A school of silver fish dart by.
It is nearly eight o'clock and I peer around the common room. The couches are empty and it is quiet. I stand up and leave my parchment and books on my chair so I can stretch. I remember that some Gryffindor seventh year is having a party.
Loud music, check. Snogging, check. Illegal alcohol and underage drinking, double check. Um- activities, check. Hangovers in the morning, check. Almost all of the fifth years failing their Charms test because of said hangovers, check.
Merlin's beard, I sound like my mother.
You'd think me being a Slytherin I would be incorrigible, haughty, snarky, sarcastic, rude, spoiled, bratty, spiteful, and a downright arse. Not true at all (except for the snarky and sarcastic part)! I'm actually quite pleasant past nine in the morning after my coffee (or three) and I'm quite intelligent. But now you sound vain.
Shut up, mind. See? Now I'm having a fight with myself! I might as well be chucked into St. Mungo's psychic ward now.
"I agree, before you hurt someone. Agrippa's knickers, I bloody don't feel safe around you after nine but even at eight fifty-nine you're a great mess." says a voice behind me.
Whoops. Must've said the last bit out loud.
But, I know that voice.
Scorpius Malfoy, the only child of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass, saunters in like he owns the place. Well, he kind of does.
"And what do I owe the pleasure of this visit to?" I smirk.
"Why do I need a reason to see my best best friend, Rosie Posie Weasley?" he replies.
Now that warlocks and witches, is a complete Slytherin. He's incorrigible, haughty, snarky, sarcastic, rude, spoiled, bratty, spiteful, and a downright arse. And to make matters worse he's elegant, eloquent, charming, graceful, and is very nice looking.
Damn you, female hormonal teenaged brain.
Did I mention sarcastic because Malfoy and I are far from best friends, not even friends.
He and I are acquaintances and our thread of acquaintance is held together by a certain cousin of mine, Albus Severus Potter.
"You absolute prig! Why are you interrupting my studying? We have a test tomorrow, Malfoy!" I say, already annoyed.
What I want to say is: Your temperament annoys me, your silky blonde hair annoys me, your chiseled face annoys me, and most of all, your looks you give me across from the table during meals annoy me. You're the most frustrating person I have ever met. You nudge my shoulder to keep me awake in History of Magic and then you snicker about me to Simon Nott. You insult my hair and then you twirl it on your finger. You copy my homework and you don't help me brew potions. You say you have counted my facial freckles while I slept in the library and then you flip me off at dinner. You ate all of my sweets from Honeydukes in third year and then you bought me more. I have been pushed in the lake, pranked at the Burrow, sweared at in DADA, and thoroughly humiliated by you. Then you apologize, buy me flowers, take me out for a butterbeer, and everything is okay? No, it isn't!
He walks towards me with a look of utter shock. Must've said that too. Oh shite.
I stumble back and grab the arm of the chair.
He reaches out and takes my face in his hands gently.
"I-um-well-see-you-me-um-have-to go-Mal-" I stutter, my eyes probably the size of quaffles.
He looks into my eyes and I stare hypnotized into his steel grey ones. I begin to speak but he sighs, "Rose?"
"Y-yes?" I squeak.
"Shut up."
He presses his lips firmly on mine. I am at an absolute loss for words. My thoughts in my brain vanish and every panic single about how danger and Malfoy go together disappear. I forget that he is an utter prat while fireworks go off inside my chest. He grabs my hair and my waist.
His hair is silky. My fingers go through it. After what seems like hours, we break away. His hair is tousled and sticking up in places. He smiles. I blush profusely.
Oh shite. Merlin's beard. Did I just snog Malfoy?
I stand there awkwardly. The minutes tick by. Professor McGonagall ages. By, now it seems that we should have white hair and wrinkles.
"Are you just going to stand there? No, 'Malfoy, you are a complete idiot.' or 'Malfoy, you are a particularly good kisser.'" he says.
I stand there, in shock.
"Hello? Rosie Posie Weasley? Rose? Weasley? Rose Jean Weasley!"
"Mhmm." I reply.
"You should sit down."
"Mhmm? Sure."
He leads me to my armchair. I sit on his lap as I try to regain my senses. I'm too sleepy to bother.