On my first full day as Head Boy, I unleash terror upon the first years in the hallway sending them scuttling off to their dormitories in fear of the unyielding power of the new Head Boy.

"You two little firsties... Stop running! Ten house points from whatever house you're in!"

Oh. Power. I can get used to this. You see the reason Longbottom was such a poor Head Boy - he was afraid to actually use his power for evil (like points taking). I managed to get him earlier on... He and Goyle were practically eating each other's faces in the Slytherin common room, so I took 20 points from Goyle for allowing such a snotty-nosed vegetation lover into our common room and they duly scuttled out to engage in illicit activities elsewhere. Result!

First year number one skids to a stop, his gigantic bag almost causing him to topple over onto the stone floor, and spins around in fear. Ah yes. I have this power thing down to a tee. "Are you talking to me?" FY1 (First Year 1) demands, looking more threatening than scared.

Merlin. Has Hugo been training up a miniature army of first years?

FY2 stops and scoffs at me, as I thrust my chest out to reveal my lovely shiny Head Boy badge.

"Yes I am talking to you. Ten points each from Gryffindor," I declare, noticing the red badge on their ties.

"Who is he?" FY1 asks FY2, with a demeaning glance in my direction.

"He's the Slytherin seeker," FY2 says, ferociously glaring at me. "He made us lose the game the other week."

FY1 does not look happy about this revelation. "I don't like him," he tells his friend.

"Yeah, well I don't particularly like you either, so scoot before I take away more points," I tell them forcefully. The thought of losing yet more house points does it for the little swots and they walk swiftly onwards, though I hear their footsteps running as soon as they get out of view.

Let's just hope they run into Weasley. She'll give them detention if she catches them running in the halls.

I tuck my potions textbook firmly under my arm and turn around to head to the Quidditch pitch. Thankfully I have a free lesson after Potions on a Friday and Potter, Zabini and I were planning to head for a quick fly around before lunch (when all the first years like to appear with their dodgy brooms from the 1900s and fly into walls and the like). However, as soon as I turn around, I am faced with her. Speak of the devil.

"Well, you're really getting the first years on your side aren't you."

I side-step her and carry on walking. "It's not my fault that Gryffindors are so blind they can't appreciate my superior skill on the Quidditch field."

"Don't walk away from me!"

I stop, and she catches up with me. "Why not? I'm late and you're engaging me in pointless conversation when you could be giving those little fiends detention, like I know you're dying to."

And I carry on walking. Because really, I can't afford to be standing my friend's up. Not when I have just lost one of my closest friends to the urchin that is Longbottom. Of course I have forgiven her for her poor taste (she could have picked that sixth year who picks his nose at dinner, so it's not so bad) but unfortunately spend little time with her as if I want to, Longbottom's saliva is an unwanted guest to our gathering.

Besides, my pale complexion is becoming almost translucent (curse Scotland and its permanent cloud cover!) and today there is a small slither of sunshine which I intend to bask in. Therefore, talking to Weasley is the least of my concerns, especially when I can tell she is about to have a rant at me for nothing in particular like she seems to enjoy doing.

"Where are you going?" She is practically jogging to keep up with my long strides. Bless the unfortunate midget. "I have a question to ask you."

"Ask it whilst we walk," I say, jumping down the steps outside.

"Are you free for a last minute Heads meeting this evening? We need to re-arrange the prefect rotation – Lizzy from fifth year has just told me that the Ravenclaw Quidditch training has moved to a Thursday and Harvey says..."

At this point I caught a glimpse of Zabini and Pot-head already starting to play without me, so was completely distracted and it pains me to say that I was not listening to a word she was saying to me, and only started to tune in again once we reached the gate to the Quidditch pitch.

"...Wizard chess is moving to Wednesday starting next week... something to do with Filch not being able to polish the pawns in time."

"Meeting sounds fine. Where and when?" I ask, and Weasley looks at me as if she is surprised that I haven't thrown a fit about having to give up my evening.

She stops walking and grabs my arm. "Were you even listening to a word I've been saying?"

"Of course, every word." Yeah, I totally blanked out about five minutes of her lecture. Never mind. She can't have said anything important.

"Then you would have heard me say where and when," she informs me smugly, knowing full well I hadn't been listening to her. Sweet Merlin, nothing's ever good enough is it! My attention span lasted longer than usual (approximately 20 seconds), what more does she want?

"Ha..." I say nervously. "Well, why don't you just remind me so that I can write it down?"

"Library. Eight. Be there." She lets go of my arm and follows me onto the pitch. "Now where is my cousin? I assume you're here with him now that you two are best chums and all."

As if on cue, Pot-head drops to the ground and jumps off his broom directly on the grass in front of us. "Malfoyyyy, why did you bring her? She's such a joy kill!"

"Albus Potter!"

Something is telling me that he's about to get told off... so I shuffle over to where Zabini has landed and is loosening his tie. "This tie is so restricting. That's the only reason Pot-head got that last one past me, it stopped me from moving my arm out quickly enough." He whips his tie off and drops it on top of his bag. I follow suit, undoing my top button as well and rolling up my sleeves.

"Right. I know we're friends and all, but old prejudices still stand. We must thrash Potter," I declare, we look over where he is being presumably lectured by his delightful cousin.

It is standing there, broomstick in hand, that I realise something rather life-changing. Weasley isn't as ginger and frizzy haired as I always thought she was. Admittedly, in our younger years she did look like she was permanently on fire, but currently her hair is looking more sleek and gently wavy rather than absurdly afro-like. Also the bright orange ginger has died down to a pleasant auburn.

"Weasley's not looking as frizzy as usual," I remark to Zabini.

Zabini snorts. "She's not been looking frizzy since the end of second year, moron."

I turn my head to the side and squint. You know if I didn't know who she was, and if she wasn't currently shouting her head off at someone, she might actually be passably attractive...

"Why are you suddenly realising this anyway?" Zabini questions me, rolling his sleeves up on his shirt. "Finally admitting your feelings... again."

"What do you mean again? I would never admit any non-existant feelings that I don't have for Weasley," I cough, looking away from her direction and picking up my broom.

"Train on the way here. Do you not remember?"

"That was bribery. If I didn't admit that then you would never help me take down Long-arse." I grin in Zabini's direction. "Fact, Zabby."

I hear him snort as I march over in Pot-head's direction to get rid of the loon so that we can begin our shoot-out competition. It appears they are merely in deep conversation rather than mid-family-argument. Therefore it is prime-time to interrupt and send away the Quidditch-hater.

"Pot-head. Unless you return to the pitch in the next five seconds you will automatically forfeit your first three shots at goal," I announce, standing my broom vertically up in the grass. "You joining in Weasley?"

"Pah! No!" She looks at me disapprovingly. "Where's your tie? You're not setting a very good example."

I roll my eyes. "Weasley, the only people here that I can set an example to are your cousin, who frankly has you on his case and therefore doesn't need me, and Zabini, whom all hope is lost for. Therefore I will remain tie-less thank you very much."

She gives me a funny look from head to toe. Which, being a Slytherin (and a Malfoy), I take my opportunity to purposefully mis-interpret. "Reminiscing about that time at dinner are you? Don't worry, I'll turn up to lunch suitably dishevelled."

"Wha-"

"Don't pretend to be scandalized. Your face gives you away," I grin widely. "Men! Let us play!" I declare, and put one leg over the other side of my broom. "See you later Weasley," I say as Potter soars into the air. "Save me a seat at dinner," I add with a sly wink.

Of course the wink was just for annoyance factor. Most women would probably swoon at such a wink and, in some more rare cases, feel it is an indication to jump my bones, but since Weasley is a prudish Slytherin-hating law-abider, I assumed that this wink would just serve to act as extra annoyance.

I could not have predicted how red her face would go. Or the ensuing stammer of, "Right... Yes... See you... Um... Later," that followed the aforementioned wink.

Utterly hilarious. Who knew she could get that embarrassed? Definately trying that one again, only with an audience for maximal embarrassment for our dear Head Girl.

List of things that have definitely changed about Scorpius Malfoy recently

1) I have arrived early for a Head's meeting. Have you ever heard anything so lame and suck-up-y at this? I think not. This is a prime sign that Malfoy is turning into a massive sop. Need to sort this out.

2) Forgot to do my hair this morning.

3) Forgot to look in a mirror at lunch to check that the hair that I did not do this morning was naturally appearing satisfactory after Quidditch practice. As far as I know I look like the back end of an albino badger right now.

4) Greeted the librarian with a jaunty wave as I came in.

Jaunty.

When have I ever been jaunty?

5) Have thus far not managed to wind the Head Girl up... I've lost my touch. Poor effort.

"Are you actually listening to me Malfoy, or are you writing in your diary?"

6) I appear so unmanly that people think I am writing in a diary. Merlin, I have sunk low. Must re-instate self as manly, domineering individual.

"Diary? Pah... I was jotting down notes on what you had said," I inform the Head Girl who is staring at me rather snootily right now. How could she possibly think I was writing in a diary?

That is a pastime that only first year girls engage in.

Weasley shuffles her pile of papers together forcefully. "I think we've pretty much covered everything we need to then. Is there anything you want to ask me?"

There are many things I wish to ask her. Or not necessarily her, but someone, for I am right in a tizzy here.

Do you think I am unmanly?

Does my hair look frighteningly ridiculous?

Am I turning into a massive sop?

So many issues face me at the current time. And right before my party as well, where my self-confidence will loom to an annual low due to the degrading costume that my mother will no doubt plonk me in.

"I'll take that as a No," she remarks when I make no reply. She gives me a funny look. If only she understood the torment going through my mind. I run a hand through my hair – it certainly doesn't feel like an albino badger's backside, but then again I have never felt one so it may still appear thus ridiculous.

"Alright," I declare, half to myself and half to Weasley. "I'm off to prepare myself for the horrors of my mother's costume making tomorrow, and I daresay you have some extra homework to do that you have set yourself." I smirk at Weasley with a raised brow. She rolls her eyes at me. "So, unfortunately, my beautiful face will once again leave your presence." Weasley snorts. "Try not to cry too much."

"Don't worry, I won't," she insists, quite forcefully. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I grin and move away from the table. I hear Weasley sigh behind me, so I turn with a smirk. "Every moment without me is anguish, eh, Weasley?"

"Go. To. Bed."

"Is that an invitation?"

She looks at me in disbelief. "Did it sound like an invitation? I think not."

"You never know with you Gryffs. Hidden meanings behind everything," I say in defence, before setting off. Embarrassingly my first few steps resemble that of a merry skip and I have to reign myself in and remind myself who I am – I am Malfoy. Malfoys do not skip. Malfoys do not jauntily wave at librarians. Malfoys are smug and arrogant and do not dare to greet someone who is lowly and common.

"Good night Mr Malfoy," the librarian smiles and waves.

"Good night!" I reply with yet another jaunty wave.

I am beginning to think all hope is lost.

I am turning into some uncontrollably pleasant creature! I am like a werewolf, but instead of turning into a wolf I am becoming something soppy and wimpish, like a Hufflepuff.

I am a were-Hufflepuff!

This is the greatest shame a Slytherin could ever endure.

A/N: Mmm... The party is happening soon, and just like poor little were-Hufflepuff Malfoy, we have a few questions...
1) Will Malfoy ever admit that he doesn't find the Head Girl as unpleasant as he thinks he does?
2) Will nice Malfoy prevail? Or will arrogant Malfoy return with vengeance...?
 3) And just why is Weasley going red whenever Malfoy hints at his nakedness...?

Until next time...

Gco. x