for fell_beast2
Beruthiel asked for: Millicent Bulstrode, third year, Dementors.
300ish words, Millicent, various Slytherins, PG.
"It's all right, Millicent will go get us some food," Pansy coos, fluttering her hands around Draco's formerly injured arm as he complains of hunger. God, he's a dramatic little brat. Probably sulking about getting detention and losing points from that dementor stunt. "Know where the kitchens are, Bulstrode?"
"Yes," I say peevishly, closing A Dish Best Served Cold: Time Delays in Charms, Jinxes, Hexes, and Curses and turning towards Pansy. "Don't you?"
Pansy shoots me a dirty glare, while Daphne looks surprised and approving (they've never really gotten along, Daphne and Pansy: always competing to be queen bee). I roll my eyes; it's easier to give Pansy her little victories than worry about nasty rumors for weeks afterward. "I'll be back," I mutter, shrugging on my dressing robe and slouching towards the wall.
The halls seem colder lately, like the dementors keep slipping little bits of their fog through the cracks. Dad told me about them and said to keep back and not get too close; he works out at Azkaban sometimes, and he's never been one to mince words about dangers. "Best to duck your head and keep low, Mill," he told me over the summer. "They'll suck your life away as soon as look at you."
Shuddering, I ascend the last set of stairs, and peer out into the entrance hall.
No one there. Last time Mrs. Norris set Filch on me, and I got twenty points taken plus detention: four hours collecting niffler poo in Hagrid's garden. Filch gloated and said the stuff was useful in cleaning enchanted metals, but he never did figure out why Mrs. Norris smelled so funny and looked so shiny two weeks later. Ha.
My brother Roderick told me how to get to the kitchens right before I came here. Pretty surprising when he did, my brothers aren't usually that generous. They're all a bit older than I am. Tyson and Sterling both work at the apothecary with Mum (she was a Bobbin), and Roddy travels around collecting the stuff they need. Roddy's a bit shady: very quiet on where his supplies come from, and I think he deals potions on the side.
Ah, kitchens. The house-elves all scurry around me, squeaking in their stupid little voices about "an honor" and all that crap. I tell them to get me some tarts (figures Pansy would like those best: she is one) and some scones for that smarmy Malfoy.
When a tray zips over from the corner, holding my tarts, I look at a blackberry one interestedly. You know, that's just the color of that potion for boils... I'm pretty good at Potions, though I'd hate to go into it as a profession, and I think I could time-delay the boils to wait a week or so, disguise the taste, and fix it so maybe the boils come out on the arse...
Ha. Maybe Pansy won't be so full of herself then.
300ish words, Millicent, various Slytherins, PG.
"It's all right, Millicent will go get us some food," Pansy coos, fluttering her hands around Draco's formerly injured arm as he complains of hunger. God, he's a dramatic little brat. Probably sulking about getting detention and losing points from that dementor stunt. "Know where the kitchens are, Bulstrode?"
"Yes," I say peevishly, closing A Dish Best Served Cold: Time Delays in Charms, Jinxes, Hexes, and Curses and turning towards Pansy. "Don't you?"
Pansy shoots me a dirty glare, while Daphne looks surprised and approving (they've never really gotten along, Daphne and Pansy: always competing to be queen bee). I roll my eyes; it's easier to give Pansy her little victories than worry about nasty rumors for weeks afterward. "I'll be back," I mutter, shrugging on my dressing robe and slouching towards the wall.
The halls seem colder lately, like the dementors keep slipping little bits of their fog through the cracks. Dad told me about them and said to keep back and not get too close; he works out at Azkaban sometimes, and he's never been one to mince words about dangers. "Best to duck your head and keep low, Mill," he told me over the summer. "They'll suck your life away as soon as look at you."
Shuddering, I ascend the last set of stairs, and peer out into the entrance hall.
No one there. Last time Mrs. Norris set Filch on me, and I got twenty points taken plus detention: four hours collecting niffler poo in Hagrid's garden. Filch gloated and said the stuff was useful in cleaning enchanted metals, but he never did figure out why Mrs. Norris smelled so funny and looked so shiny two weeks later. Ha.
My brother Roderick told me how to get to the kitchens right before I came here. Pretty surprising when he did, my brothers aren't usually that generous. They're all a bit older than I am. Tyson and Sterling both work at the apothecary with Mum (she was a Bobbin), and Roddy travels around collecting the stuff they need. Roddy's a bit shady: very quiet on where his supplies come from, and I think he deals potions on the side.
Ah, kitchens. The house-elves all scurry around me, squeaking in their stupid little voices about "an honor" and all that crap. I tell them to get me some tarts (figures Pansy would like those best: she is one) and some scones for that smarmy Malfoy.
When a tray zips over from the corner, holding my tarts, I look at a blackberry one interestedly. You know, that's just the color of that potion for boils... I'm pretty good at Potions, though I'd hate to go into it as a profession, and I think I could time-delay the boils to wait a week or so, disguise the taste, and fix it so maybe the boils come out on the arse...
Ha. Maybe Pansy won't be so full of herself then.