Sometimes, I really hate my Aunt Hermione. If she did not exist then I would not be sat here now, holding a booklet entitled, 'How To Be A Success When You're The Best', listening to some bossy Ravenclaw 7th Year with frizzy hair moaning on about how unfair it is to close the Library between 11pm and 7am on weekdays (10pm-8am on weekends) and that a maximum of sixteen hours a day isn't possibly enough time to work when 7th Years are studying for their NEWTs. I'd tell her to get a life but I can't be bothered. I'm too bored.

Anyway, back to the reason I hate Aunt Hermione. The only reason I am here is because her daughter, Rose, dragged me here as her fellow 6th Year Charms Student Representative (some stupid Ministry initiative to get students' voices hears – like James Potter doesn't have a big enough mouth to do that himself), the honour of which was bestowed upon her due to her mammoth brain capacity (which, let's face it, is not down to her dad's genes) and thus, I hate Aunt Hermione. If it were not for her, I would be enjoying the warm September sun with the rest of my peers. If it were not for her, I would be having a life. Fact.

Frizzy finally takes a seat, her face all blotchy, and it's Rose's turn to stand up and give the opinions of our class. Except that we don't have any because it was my job to ask people and I couldn't be arsed. So Rose is going to give her own opinions and make out that they're from the majority.

"Well," she says, clearing her throat nervously, obviously feeling guilty that she hasn't done the work properly; she really is her mother's daughter, that one. "Well, our class is-"

"Which year and class are you from?" asks Frizzy loudly, looking deathly serious as she poises a quill over some parchment. "It clearly states in the booklet that you need to state this, otherwise the rules of the meeting will be in disarray and it will all become meaningless!"

I throw my quill at her.

"Hey!" she yelps as it smacks into the side of her head.

"Sorry," I smile sweetly, "It slipped."

She frowns, rubbing her ear. I try not to snigger.

Rose is looking very disapproving. I roll my eyes at her, which she returns with a shake of her head.

I am so the black sheep of the family. Isn't life grand?!

Professor Flitwick, who's chairing the meeting and doesn't seem to have noticed this little exchange, looks up from his notes and says, "Yes, Miss Weasley?"

I nearly ask which one, but I bite my tongue, not wanting to antagonise Rose anymore than needed. Don't ever mess with her when she's in book-worm mode - I can still feel the bruise where she kicked me when I stole her Transfiguration notes last summer. Never piss-off a Granger when she's revising.

Rose throws me another dirty look before addressing Flitwick.

"Our group has said that they are looking forward to the three weeks focused on spells made famous by the Golden Trio but don't like the idea of having the exam date shifted to an earlier date so that it doesn't clash with the anniversary of the end of the Great War. They would prefer the date moved back, so that their revision time isn't cut."

Wow, who knew disapproval got you focused?

Flitwick nods.

"Very well. I don't see there being too much of a problem with putting the exam after the anniversary instead of before as it does seem slightly unfair to lessen time for revision. Thank you, Rose."

Rose smiles and sits back down, elbowing me in the process.

"Ow!" I hiss as she scribbles down what Flitwick said in her notebook. "You did that on purpose!"

She ignores me.

And I thought it was the Delacours who were meant to be all haughty!

Oh God, speaking of haughty people, Victoire is driving me insane! Ever since she and Teddy got engaged (after she got him to dump his other fiancée, I might add, but that's a whole other story) she has been wittering on, non stop, about how amazing the wedding's going to be and that she's going to look 'even more beautiful' than mum did because she won't be suffering from stress over the fact that a super-evil wizard is reigning-supreme. She's all heart, Victoire.

Oh and, of course, there'll be loads of press there, wanting to take pictures of the first two famous 'Great War kids' getting married. Which will mean Victoire, mum and Nana Molly will be on mega-high alert, making sure that everyone looks their best and are behaving themselves, which will completely put-pay to mine, James and Al's plans to get completely wankered (Rose refuses to join in – she says it wouldn't be very prefectly of her. I think her mum cheated with Uncle Percy, I really do).

And yeah, okay, there are huge plus sides to being famous: lots of freebies and free broomstick upgrades (not that we need them, we can always afford to buy the best) as well as countless VIP invites to everything from muggle film premieres (the UK Government are still very grateful to Uncle Harry for killing the bloke who was having thousands of their citizens murdered with no way for them to stop him) to grand Ministry balls. We were even hand-delivered personal invites to the launch of Viktor Krum's new SportsRobe Line - Uncle Ron ripped it up when he read it; Hermione went ballistic when she found out.

I just wish every detail of our lives wasn't chronicled in gossip magazines and newspapers – I don't enjoy having my face splashed all over Witch Weekly with the words 'When will Weasley do the same?' written above my head every time James gets snapped with some blonde girl with her boobs falling out. It's all very undignified.

As I'm musing over the price of fame, Rose prods me. Forgetting that I should ignore her as payback for her ignoring me, I look round at her and say quietly, "What?"

"Where's the DADA Rep?"

"What?"

"The Defence Against the Dark Arts Sixth Year Rep!" she whispers exasperatedly, as she looks round the room. "There's no one here."

"What about Finnegan?" I say, pointing him out.

"No, no," she whispers, almost angrily, as though I'm trying to piss her off by suggesting she's wrong. "He's here with Hannah, covering Transfiguration. There's not a single person from our year covering DADA! What'll Professor Hillock say when he finds out?!"

I stare at her.

"Rose, why do you care? It's not like you're the one who's going to get in the shit for not turning up."

"But I'm a prefect!" she hisses, as though that means she should be responsible for every person who's ever skipped a meeting.

"Rose, get a grip," I say, just as the door opens.

Everyone looks round to see who it is, and in walks a tall, good-looking boy with blonde hair, followed by another, slightly shorter one with messy black hair and glasses.

"Sorry, we're late, Professor," grins Scorpius Malfoy as he and Al Potter conjure up a couple of chairs and sit down. "We're here to represent Defence Against the Dark Arts."

I grin as I look back at Rose.

"There you go, Rosie. Malfoy's got it covered. No need for you to worry now!"

She turns a bright shade of red and puts her face in her hands.

Oh I love it when people have gigantic crushes on their cousin's best friends – it just makes the whole day a lot more entertaining!

A/N
Hey guys, so I thought I'd try my first first-person story since Where Does The Truth Lie? I know it's short but I'm just seeing whether you like it so far. If you do, drop us a review and I promise the next chapter'll be longer if I continue!:)