FIC: "Daring to Love" for anguis_1
Recipient: anguis_1
Author/Artist: cardigrl
Title:Daring to Love
Rating:PG
Pairings:Millicent Bulstrode/Vincent Crabbe
Word Count:4325
Warnings:AU in that Vincent is alive, UST, Frequent Snape References
Summary:Learning to live is hard. Daring to love is even harder. A post-Hogwarts short story featuring hurt/comfort as Millicent, Vincent and Greg struggle to make a life for themselves on their own terms.
Author's/Artist's Notes:Thanks to my wonderful beta who made this a much better fic than it otherwise would have been. I really hope you like this, anguis_1. I'm sorry for the lack of smut, but they are cautious people, these characters. And I hope you don't mind the liberal Snape references. I picture Millie especially as someone who learned to internalize things and be cautious in what she says. And Millie had a lot of thinking to do. So we see some past events through a Millie filter instead of canon's Harry filter.
***
Hood pulled low against the wind and steady drizzle, Millicent Bullstrode trudged through deserted streets. Little other than her square shape marked the woman under the heavy wool cloak as at all unusual. She turned and walked slowly up the steps to the door of one of the nondescript rowhouses lining the street. Dull eyes barely registered the scars and chinks littering the building's dilapidated exterior.
As she reached out to grasp the doorknob, her low voice sighed, "Home at last." Most onlookers would think it only a tired whisper of relief at the end of a cold, wet walk. Wizards would recognize it for the password it was, albeit an unusual one.
Millicent stepped through the door into a cold, empty foyer. As she hung her cloak on a nail set roughly in the wall, she thought with bittersweet regret of the fine furniture that once had filled her family's London town home. Her shoulders slumped as she considered how unlikely it was that she could ever restore the home to even a shadow of its former self. A crash came from the kitchen, and Millicent rolled her eyes. She snorted to herself and raised her head, straightening her shoulders.
"Chin up, Millie," she muttered to herself, before heading down the hall. As she opened the kitchen door, an unidentifiable smell, along with the odor of something burning, assaulted her nostrils.
"Greg, no!" Millie shouted, as Gregory Goyle, his back to her and his wand pointed at a pan of flaming something, snapped "Aguamenti".
Rushing over to him, she threw a shoulder block into his side, knocking him off balance and causing his spell to land wide of the mark. Not for the first time, Millie was grateful for her father's insistence that she learn to defend herself physically, scorning the wizarding world's over-dependence on magic. As she clutched Greg's arm in an attempt to remain upright, Millie also thanked Merlin for her bulk. Without the heft to knock Greg off balance, she would have been fighting a flash fire in the kitchen instead of clinging to his meaty arm and using his bulk to stabilize herself.
Millicent turned and grabbed the baking soda off the counter, where she had left it before going to work, and threw it on the pan. As the fire died, she glared at Greg.
"Greg," she said gently, "I know you didn't pay that much attention in class, but don't you remember how Professor Snape laid into you during that tutoring session for trying to use water to put out a potions fire? The same rules apply with greasy food. That's why I keep the baking soda handy by the stove. Just in case."
Greg shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I know, Millicent," he said softly. "I just panicked at the sight of the fire. When it started, I couldn't think, for some reason."
Millicent sighed. She knew, of course, that while Vince bore the physical scars of the fight at Hogwarts, Greg had been just as affected psychologically. She wished they had the money to have Greg see a counselor. She reflected bitterly for a moment on the irony of a Slytherin considering counseling, when the popular perception was that they knew nothing of the muggle world. Not to mention, the wizarding world was incredibly backwards when it came to emotional health.
"Never mind, Greg. Just try to keep in mind that the baking soda is there for just that reason, ok?"
"OK, Millie. But what I don't understand is why you would want to use that anyway. Why can't we just use another spell for it? There must be one."
Millicent looked at Greg with fond exasperation. "Yes, of course there is. But sometimes Muggle methods really do work better. The spell is so long and cumbersome, even Professor Snape admitted to me once that it was difficult to use. At the time, I wondered why he would be so comfortable using a muggle method, but, of course, we didn't know he was a half-blood then. Now, how is Vince? Did it go well today?"
Greg looked down at the floor and shook his head. "No. He's resting now, but he had a bad time of it this afternoon. More phantom pains, and his face..."
Millicent finally ended the painful silence by asking, "What time do you need to be at work tonight? It's still raining, so you should allow for extra travel time."
Greg nodded. "I was just making a fry up to get me through the start of my shift. That's a loss now, though."
Millie shook her head. "And I didn't stop anywhere to pick up food. I'm sorry, Greg."
"Don't worry about that, Millie." Greg patted his substantial stomach. "It won't kill me to go without a meal this evening. I was going to make tea for Vince, though, along with some biscuits for him. You'll take it up to him, won't you? I need to be leaving now. After all, I can't let my partner down. I'm still on probation, both at work and with the Ministry."
Millie bit her lip. It still annoyed her that all the Slytherins were treated as second-class citizens. Just because that twit Pansy had lost her nerve and suggested they accede to the Dark Lord's demands, that cow McGonagall had thrown all the Slytherin students out of the castle. They never even had a chance to decide whether to stay and fight. Nobody remembered that old Sluggy had stood shoulder to shoulder with the others in facing down the Dark Lord during the battle. And never mind that her own father had died battling the Death Eaters. Then there were the rumours about McGonagall and the sainted Harry Potter and what they had been up to right before the last battle. Unforgiveables on disarmed opponents, from what she'd heard.
But none of that mattered in the end. Potter and his sycophants were feted throughout the wizarding world, while Slytherins were put away in prison or put on probation until they could "prove themselves" to the self-righteous Gryffindor twits. Even the fact that Professor Snape had been fighting the Dark Lord all along made no difference.
Millie gave Greg a hug and said, "Off with you, then. I'll be fine. You know I'm stout enough to handle Vince, even if his nightmares start again." Greg hesitated and then, shrugging, grabbed his muggle coat from the back of a kitchen chair and walked out the room.
Now that she was alone, with no need to keep up a facade, Millie's shoulders slumped as she looked with dismay at the kitchen carnage. With a sigh, she set to cleaning up the mess. She knew it would be much quicker with magic, but some rebellious streak in her reveled in the puzzled expressions on her minders' faces as they checked her wand during the periodic probationary visits. They were always almost unable to imagine that a Slytherin could live while using little magic. She was certain they would have taken a perverse pleasure in the fact that she was forced to use her own cleaning spells, and she enjoyed disappointing them. Granted, it was ultimately a meaningless victory, but she took what satisfaction she could these days.
Besides, it does no good to whinge about things. As her dad had told her so many years before, she needed to do what needed doing and not rely on anyone else.
"Millie," he had said as he sat her down the night before she left the first time for Hogwarts, "it's essential that you learn to take care of yourself. You won't be able to rely on catching some man to do it for you, and it's just as well that you won't. A proper man will want you to be able to take care of yourself. No man with any self-respect wants a woman he has to babysit. No, he wants a proper partner who can stand up to him and be a real help. If only your mother had lived, you'd understand just what I mean, but someday, you'll know for yourself. Now, hexing and wands are all well and good, but you need to know what to do if you don't have your wand. And never forget, it's better to let your opponents underestimate you. Then you've got them right where you want them."
Of course, it had not taken her long to understand why her father said she could never rely on a man to take care of her problems. Her looks, especially her size, had made her an object of derision at Hogwarts. First, from Pansy Parkinson and Tracey Davis. Then the Gryffindors, who pulled their 'more-perfect-than-anyone' routine for the headmaster and his sycophants for six long years. They had ridiculed her for months for using a basic wrestling move her father showed her against that cow, Hermione Granger, who was just annoyed some book hadn't shown her how to break a simple hold. It was lucky for her that Greg and Vince had been her Slytherin housemates. They stuck together through thick and thin, even now.
And in the end, it was good that her father had insisted she learn how to do things without magic. She wondered, sometimes, if he had a bit of the Sight about him. Or if something else had warned him what could happen. Or, for that matter, some one else. She knew that Professor Snape had been friendly with her father when they were housemates. The Professor had never breathed a word about that to her, of course, but she had realized from comments her father made over hols that they kept in touch. Her father knew too much about what happened at Hogwarts for them not to be communicating.
She wondered sometimes about the Professor. He turned out to be a deep one, much more than any of them had suspected. She snorted to herself, contemplating with amusement just how much it must have galled McGonagall to have to admit she had been wrong there.
The kitchen cleanup done, Millie got the tea things around. She placed two cups, a large amount of biscuits and two sandwiches, and a large teapot on the tray and placed stasis and warming charms on the teapot. Of course, that would show up at the next wand check, but she just could not face the prospect of those stairs any more than necessary at this point.
Carrying the tea tray, Millie headed up the stairs. She was huffing, out of breath, by the time she reached the top of the two flights of stairs. She wished her father had been just a little more modern and put a toilet and proper bath on each floor, but then if wishes were horses...
At this point, it was more important that she, Vince and Greg all be on the same floor and that they have access to a full-sized bath for Vince's use. He was so prone these days to fits of the sulks that she wanted to make it as easy as possible to deal with him. Millie shook her head.
She missed the even-tempered boy she knew from their days at Hogwarts. Granted, he never showed that side of himself outside the Slytherin rooms. In fact, she admitted to herself, he really had been a bit of a thug, especially around Draco. But she remembered how gentle he could be with the younger Slytherins, particularly when they came in at the end of the day, struggling to hide their hurt at the way the rest of the houses treated them. It wasn't even the treatment from the other students. They were all used to that, and followed carefully Professor Snape's instructions on never being caught alone, especially after Montague went missing that time. No, it was the other professors . Sure, Snape used to land on them in the privacy of the Slytherin common room, and some of his detentions were downright inspired. But he never failed to back them in front of the rest of the school. Well, to be honest, she thought, Sprout and Flitwick weren't so bad, either. The rest of them, though, made clear they did not have much use for Slytherins, and considered them all stupid cheaters.
Catching her breath, Millie headed down the hall, which had chairs and tables placed strategically along the wall. She and Greg had learned from trial and error just how far Vince could travel without needing a break. They continued to hope that eventually he would not need those supports, but for now, they came in handy. Millie placed the tray on the sturdy table just outside the door to the bath. She wanted - no, needed - a quick wash up before tackling Vince. It was important that burn victims not be exposed to any more dirt or germs than absolutely necessary, after all. She refused to admit to herself that she might also be interested in looking her best before he saw her.
Surveying herself in the mirror, Millie was not dissatisfied with what she saw. Yes, she was fat. There was no point in denying that. She always had been, and that was the way things were. Her face was "not exactly that of a classical beauty," as Pansy had once sneered. But she had long black hair that shone with health, despite their setbacks. She had a welcoming smile, which put many people at ease when they saw it. Admittedly not everyone, but that was their loss. Her eyes, which her father had often wistfully said were just like her mother's, were a startling blue. She admitted to herself that her hands were roughened with work and cleaning at home, but they were well-shaped, and she took good care of them as best she could. When she left the bath, Millie felt refreshed and ready to face, with at least equanimity, the evening to come.
She picked up the tea tray, checked to verify that the stasis spell had held, and headed down the hall to Vince's room. She tapped softly and, having waited for a minute with no response, quietly opened the door and slipped inside.
Contrary to Millie's expectations, the room was well-lit and Vincent was awake. He lay in his bed, the pressure points, which would otherwise have been painful, alleviated by cushioning charms. A book hovered above his chest. She squinted, unable to identify the title. As Vincent turned her head to look at her, Millie was grateful that she no longer felt an urge to wince or otherwise react to his appearance.
Vincent had not been fortunate. Actually, Millie reflected, that was a bit of an understatement. Caught in the fire that had raged through the Room of Requirement, Vincent had at first been presumed dead. By the time someone on the recovery teams had realized he was alive, the damage from the fire had been left too long to be healed even by magical means. In fact, it was amazing he had lived at all, as the medics at St. Mungo's impressed upon her.
They had been unable to save his left arm and amputated it just below the shoulder joint. The medics had assured them both that as soon as he was ready, Vincent might be a good candidate for a magical prosthetic, given that they were able to keep the shoulder joint intact. The bigger issue, though, was the scar tissue and disfigurement along his left side, and especially on the left side of his face.
"Hi, Vince." Millie smiled her best smile. I brought up some tea and sandwiches. Would you like some?" She breathed a sigh of relief as Vincent responded with a hesitant nod. She settled the tea things on the bedside table and then dropped into a nearby chair.
"What are you reading?" she asked.
He twisted his fingers and the book closed. She could see the title: Simple Household Charmes, With Your Wand or Without. She wondered where he dug that up. That trick with his fingers, she recognized, came from Snape's common room lectures on study tactics, this one how to keep books open to take notes while studying. Of course, she knew - like all Slytherin girls - that the boys used it more to keep their hands free reading . . . other material. She shook her head. That was enough of that line of thought.
Vince said softly, "I don't really understand why you insist on working in some stupid muggle shop, but I thought if you didn't have to use your wand to do some charms at work, it would make it easier for you." He shot her a keen glance. Not for the first time, Millie marveled at the way everyone at school had written him off as just a stupid bully. It was amazing, she thought, how easy it was for a fat person to fade into the background and be dismissed as an irrelevant and thick, good for nothing more than muscle or, she thought bitterly cannon fodder.
"You know why, Vince. I won't work in Knockturn Alley; that just confirms for people their prejudices about Slytherins. The other jobs I could get in the wizarding world are just as physically demanding. You know I'm not a shrinking violet, but they would be even more demeaning than my current job. I'd have to put up with stares and snide comments. The Muggles at work were curious at first, but once they accepted that I went to a boarding school in Scotland - supposedly because my mother died and my dad travelled for work - they just don't care about my background."
Abruptly, Vincent's mood changed.
"At least you can go out and get work. You don't know what it's like, being stuck here day after day. Nothing to do but read stupid books and feel your face - not to mention your body -- getting stiffer and stiffer."
Millie felt a surge of exasperation. She was sick and tired of his violent mood swings, not to mention his self-pity routine.
"Honestly, Vince," Millie snapped. "For someone who never seemed vain before, you certainly seem willing to let your looks determine your future now. Go on, lie there and pout. I certainly can't stop you. But the medics said you could get better if you were willing to take a chance."
"That's all well and good for you to say," Vincent shouted. "But you're not the one who has to deal with the pain. You're not the one who has to face people staring at them in disgusted fascination. And you're not the one who has no way to pay for any of it, let alone make a living."
Millie had been sitting frozen in her chair, staring at Vincent as he ranted. But at the mention of payment, a light blazed in her eyes and she jumped to her feet.
"That's enough! I don't care what you say about it, I'm contacting Professor Snape --"
"No! We've discussed this before. I'll never forgive him for the way he betrayed all of us. My father is dead because of him, and --"
"You know that's not true, Vince. Your father is dead because he backed the wrong side and refused to try to fix his mistake. Besides, in the end it doesn't matter. If you really blame Snape for your father's death, why not take advantage of him? Point out to him that if he had even hinted at his position while we were in school, or if he hadn't betrayed everyone, your father would still be alive, your family would still have their money, and you wouldn't be stuck in this house, an invalid unable to get decent care? Call in the debt! No, he can't work miracles. But remember how he saved Draco's life when Potter attacked him? How will you know unless you at least try --" Millicent faltered, uncertain what to make of the odd expression on Vincent's face.
"Do you know how beautiful you are when you're angry?" Vincent asked.
Colour heightening on her cheeks, Millie shook her head.
"You are," Vince insisted.
Millie reached over to the table and retrieved the jar sitting beside the tea tray, trying to ignore her flush and the way Vince's eyes suddenly seemed glued to her chest as she stretched for it. "Enough foolishness. We need to get that ointment worked into your skin. I know you don't think it's helping, but it's better than nothing. And we could ask Snape to see if there's something that would really work."
She perched on the side of the bed, opened the jar, and greased up her fingers with the slimy goo, barely repressing a grimace at the feel of it. Millie reached out and gently touched his face, watching as the goo spread out to coat the burn marks on the side of his face. Vince reached over with his remaining hand, placing it on hers as she tried to work it into the tough crust of his skin.
"You are," he repeated, refusing to be sidetracked.
"Oh, Vince," Millie sighed. She did not want to admit - even to herself - just how much she had longed to her him say something like that. "You're just saying that because you haven't seen anyone other than Greg and me since you came here from St. Mungo's."
"Perhaps not. But you don't hear me saying anything like that to Greg."
Abruptly, Millie laughed, amused by the thought of Greg's reaction to a declaration from Vince.
"Millie, I love it when you laugh. The way your face lights up. The way you don't do anything by halves. When you laugh, you whole body joins in. Your belly shakes and everything." He moved his hand to her stomach and pressed softly.
She drew back and glared at him, hurt suddenly that he would mock her.
"I'm serious, Millie. You're so, I don't know, real. And when I'm around you, I can relax. With other girls, I'm always worried I'm going to . . . I don't know . . . break them or something." At the darkening expression on her face, Vince rushed to add, "I know I'm saying this badly. I've never been good with words. You know that. But I just wanted you to know I think you're really, really special."
He hesitantly moved his hand to her face and caressed her cheek. His fingers ghosted over her mouth and she sighed, her tongue involuntarily flicking out to brush his index finger.
"Vince," she whispered, "no."
This time he was the one who drew back, hurt.
Millie hastened to add, "I love hearing that from you. And you know I'm very fond of you. But . . . this is not the time. We need to get you better. And what about Greg?"
A low, frustrated sound, not quite a growl, erupted from Vince. "When will be the time, then, Millie? Are you only interested in perfect blokes? You know I'll never be that, no matter how much I heal. I'll never get my arm back. I'm never going to shrink. And I'm certainly never going to grow extra brain cells."
"That's not what I mean and you know it! But you're still at risk. Don't you remember the Mediwizards told us that you needed to be in as sterile an environment as possible? Yes, I know this is far from that. But we need to work on getting your skin healed as much as possible first, so you're not so vulnerable." Her heart oddly singing, Millie smiled at his look of annoyance. "So now you know why I've been so eager to talk to the Professor. I bet he has forgotten more than most of the St. Mungo's staff ever knew about skin-repairing potions and treatments."
Vince snorted. "You'd never know it to look at him."
"No, you're right there." Millie giggled a bit. "But what do I care what he looks like if he can help you. Finding him won't be easy. I hear he's gone to ground somewhere. But with this incentive, I'll move heaven and earth for you." Millie leaned over and gently pressed her lips to Vince's uninjured cheek.
Vince smiled. Millie reflected that smugness really did not suit him.
So she added, a bit tartly, "Now, get your hand off me and let me finish with this ointment." Maybe, just maybe, she reflected, she did finally understand just what her Dad meant all those years ago after all.
* * * *
The next morning, as Millie readied herself for work, she heard the front door slam, followed by Greg's heavy footsteps in the kitchen. She braced herself for the upcoming conversation and headed to the kitchen. Greg had the kettle on - thankfully with no sign of imminent catastrophe - and was putting away groceries. She stood in the doorway, watching him for a minute and debating how to approach the subject. Finally, she gave one swift nod. The direct approach is always best with Greg, she thought.
Greg turned in her direction as she entered the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
"Good morning," he said. "How's Vince?"
"Better," she replied, and then continued haltingly, "About that, Greg, you should know. I've always liked you a great deal. But as a friend --"
Greg interrupted her. "You two finally sort yourselves out, then?"
As she stopped, surprise writ large on her face, Greg chuckled. He gave her a hug and said, "Merlin's beard, Millie. A blind man would have been able to see you two belonged together. I'm just glad you two finally figured it out."
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Author/Artist: cardigrl
Title:Daring to Love
Rating:PG
Pairings:Millicent Bulstrode/Vincent Crabbe
Word Count:4325
Warnings:AU in that Vincent is alive, UST, Frequent Snape References
Summary:Learning to live is hard. Daring to love is even harder. A post-Hogwarts short story featuring hurt/comfort as Millicent, Vincent and Greg struggle to make a life for themselves on their own terms.
Author's/Artist's Notes:Thanks to my wonderful beta who made this a much better fic than it otherwise would have been. I really hope you like this, anguis_1. I'm sorry for the lack of smut, but they are cautious people, these characters. And I hope you don't mind the liberal Snape references. I picture Millie especially as someone who learned to internalize things and be cautious in what she says. And Millie had a lot of thinking to do. So we see some past events through a Millie filter instead of canon's Harry filter.
***
Hood pulled low against the wind and steady drizzle, Millicent Bullstrode trudged through deserted streets. Little other than her square shape marked the woman under the heavy wool cloak as at all unusual. She turned and walked slowly up the steps to the door of one of the nondescript rowhouses lining the street. Dull eyes barely registered the scars and chinks littering the building's dilapidated exterior.
As she reached out to grasp the doorknob, her low voice sighed, "Home at last." Most onlookers would think it only a tired whisper of relief at the end of a cold, wet walk. Wizards would recognize it for the password it was, albeit an unusual one.
Millicent stepped through the door into a cold, empty foyer. As she hung her cloak on a nail set roughly in the wall, she thought with bittersweet regret of the fine furniture that once had filled her family's London town home. Her shoulders slumped as she considered how unlikely it was that she could ever restore the home to even a shadow of its former self. A crash came from the kitchen, and Millicent rolled her eyes. She snorted to herself and raised her head, straightening her shoulders.
"Chin up, Millie," she muttered to herself, before heading down the hall. As she opened the kitchen door, an unidentifiable smell, along with the odor of something burning, assaulted her nostrils.
"Greg, no!" Millie shouted, as Gregory Goyle, his back to her and his wand pointed at a pan of flaming something, snapped "Aguamenti".
Rushing over to him, she threw a shoulder block into his side, knocking him off balance and causing his spell to land wide of the mark. Not for the first time, Millie was grateful for her father's insistence that she learn to defend herself physically, scorning the wizarding world's over-dependence on magic. As she clutched Greg's arm in an attempt to remain upright, Millie also thanked Merlin for her bulk. Without the heft to knock Greg off balance, she would have been fighting a flash fire in the kitchen instead of clinging to his meaty arm and using his bulk to stabilize herself.
Millicent turned and grabbed the baking soda off the counter, where she had left it before going to work, and threw it on the pan. As the fire died, she glared at Greg.
"Greg," she said gently, "I know you didn't pay that much attention in class, but don't you remember how Professor Snape laid into you during that tutoring session for trying to use water to put out a potions fire? The same rules apply with greasy food. That's why I keep the baking soda handy by the stove. Just in case."
Greg shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I know, Millicent," he said softly. "I just panicked at the sight of the fire. When it started, I couldn't think, for some reason."
Millicent sighed. She knew, of course, that while Vince bore the physical scars of the fight at Hogwarts, Greg had been just as affected psychologically. She wished they had the money to have Greg see a counselor. She reflected bitterly for a moment on the irony of a Slytherin considering counseling, when the popular perception was that they knew nothing of the muggle world. Not to mention, the wizarding world was incredibly backwards when it came to emotional health.
"Never mind, Greg. Just try to keep in mind that the baking soda is there for just that reason, ok?"
"OK, Millie. But what I don't understand is why you would want to use that anyway. Why can't we just use another spell for it? There must be one."
Millicent looked at Greg with fond exasperation. "Yes, of course there is. But sometimes Muggle methods really do work better. The spell is so long and cumbersome, even Professor Snape admitted to me once that it was difficult to use. At the time, I wondered why he would be so comfortable using a muggle method, but, of course, we didn't know he was a half-blood then. Now, how is Vince? Did it go well today?"
Greg looked down at the floor and shook his head. "No. He's resting now, but he had a bad time of it this afternoon. More phantom pains, and his face..."
Millicent finally ended the painful silence by asking, "What time do you need to be at work tonight? It's still raining, so you should allow for extra travel time."
Greg nodded. "I was just making a fry up to get me through the start of my shift. That's a loss now, though."
Millie shook her head. "And I didn't stop anywhere to pick up food. I'm sorry, Greg."
"Don't worry about that, Millie." Greg patted his substantial stomach. "It won't kill me to go without a meal this evening. I was going to make tea for Vince, though, along with some biscuits for him. You'll take it up to him, won't you? I need to be leaving now. After all, I can't let my partner down. I'm still on probation, both at work and with the Ministry."
Millie bit her lip. It still annoyed her that all the Slytherins were treated as second-class citizens. Just because that twit Pansy had lost her nerve and suggested they accede to the Dark Lord's demands, that cow McGonagall had thrown all the Slytherin students out of the castle. They never even had a chance to decide whether to stay and fight. Nobody remembered that old Sluggy had stood shoulder to shoulder with the others in facing down the Dark Lord during the battle. And never mind that her own father had died battling the Death Eaters. Then there were the rumours about McGonagall and the sainted Harry Potter and what they had been up to right before the last battle. Unforgiveables on disarmed opponents, from what she'd heard.
But none of that mattered in the end. Potter and his sycophants were feted throughout the wizarding world, while Slytherins were put away in prison or put on probation until they could "prove themselves" to the self-righteous Gryffindor twits. Even the fact that Professor Snape had been fighting the Dark Lord all along made no difference.
Millie gave Greg a hug and said, "Off with you, then. I'll be fine. You know I'm stout enough to handle Vince, even if his nightmares start again." Greg hesitated and then, shrugging, grabbed his muggle coat from the back of a kitchen chair and walked out the room.
Now that she was alone, with no need to keep up a facade, Millie's shoulders slumped as she looked with dismay at the kitchen carnage. With a sigh, she set to cleaning up the mess. She knew it would be much quicker with magic, but some rebellious streak in her reveled in the puzzled expressions on her minders' faces as they checked her wand during the periodic probationary visits. They were always almost unable to imagine that a Slytherin could live while using little magic. She was certain they would have taken a perverse pleasure in the fact that she was forced to use her own cleaning spells, and she enjoyed disappointing them. Granted, it was ultimately a meaningless victory, but she took what satisfaction she could these days.
Besides, it does no good to whinge about things. As her dad had told her so many years before, she needed to do what needed doing and not rely on anyone else.
"Millie," he had said as he sat her down the night before she left the first time for Hogwarts, "it's essential that you learn to take care of yourself. You won't be able to rely on catching some man to do it for you, and it's just as well that you won't. A proper man will want you to be able to take care of yourself. No man with any self-respect wants a woman he has to babysit. No, he wants a proper partner who can stand up to him and be a real help. If only your mother had lived, you'd understand just what I mean, but someday, you'll know for yourself. Now, hexing and wands are all well and good, but you need to know what to do if you don't have your wand. And never forget, it's better to let your opponents underestimate you. Then you've got them right where you want them."
Of course, it had not taken her long to understand why her father said she could never rely on a man to take care of her problems. Her looks, especially her size, had made her an object of derision at Hogwarts. First, from Pansy Parkinson and Tracey Davis. Then the Gryffindors, who pulled their 'more-perfect-than-anyone' routine for the headmaster and his sycophants for six long years. They had ridiculed her for months for using a basic wrestling move her father showed her against that cow, Hermione Granger, who was just annoyed some book hadn't shown her how to break a simple hold. It was lucky for her that Greg and Vince had been her Slytherin housemates. They stuck together through thick and thin, even now.
And in the end, it was good that her father had insisted she learn how to do things without magic. She wondered, sometimes, if he had a bit of the Sight about him. Or if something else had warned him what could happen. Or, for that matter, some one else. She knew that Professor Snape had been friendly with her father when they were housemates. The Professor had never breathed a word about that to her, of course, but she had realized from comments her father made over hols that they kept in touch. Her father knew too much about what happened at Hogwarts for them not to be communicating.
She wondered sometimes about the Professor. He turned out to be a deep one, much more than any of them had suspected. She snorted to herself, contemplating with amusement just how much it must have galled McGonagall to have to admit she had been wrong there.
The kitchen cleanup done, Millie got the tea things around. She placed two cups, a large amount of biscuits and two sandwiches, and a large teapot on the tray and placed stasis and warming charms on the teapot. Of course, that would show up at the next wand check, but she just could not face the prospect of those stairs any more than necessary at this point.
Carrying the tea tray, Millie headed up the stairs. She was huffing, out of breath, by the time she reached the top of the two flights of stairs. She wished her father had been just a little more modern and put a toilet and proper bath on each floor, but then if wishes were horses...
At this point, it was more important that she, Vince and Greg all be on the same floor and that they have access to a full-sized bath for Vince's use. He was so prone these days to fits of the sulks that she wanted to make it as easy as possible to deal with him. Millie shook her head.
She missed the even-tempered boy she knew from their days at Hogwarts. Granted, he never showed that side of himself outside the Slytherin rooms. In fact, she admitted to herself, he really had been a bit of a thug, especially around Draco. But she remembered how gentle he could be with the younger Slytherins, particularly when they came in at the end of the day, struggling to hide their hurt at the way the rest of the houses treated them. It wasn't even the treatment from the other students. They were all used to that, and followed carefully Professor Snape's instructions on never being caught alone, especially after Montague went missing that time. No, it was the other professors . Sure, Snape used to land on them in the privacy of the Slytherin common room, and some of his detentions were downright inspired. But he never failed to back them in front of the rest of the school. Well, to be honest, she thought, Sprout and Flitwick weren't so bad, either. The rest of them, though, made clear they did not have much use for Slytherins, and considered them all stupid cheaters.
Catching her breath, Millie headed down the hall, which had chairs and tables placed strategically along the wall. She and Greg had learned from trial and error just how far Vince could travel without needing a break. They continued to hope that eventually he would not need those supports, but for now, they came in handy. Millie placed the tray on the sturdy table just outside the door to the bath. She wanted - no, needed - a quick wash up before tackling Vince. It was important that burn victims not be exposed to any more dirt or germs than absolutely necessary, after all. She refused to admit to herself that she might also be interested in looking her best before he saw her.
Surveying herself in the mirror, Millie was not dissatisfied with what she saw. Yes, she was fat. There was no point in denying that. She always had been, and that was the way things were. Her face was "not exactly that of a classical beauty," as Pansy had once sneered. But she had long black hair that shone with health, despite their setbacks. She had a welcoming smile, which put many people at ease when they saw it. Admittedly not everyone, but that was their loss. Her eyes, which her father had often wistfully said were just like her mother's, were a startling blue. She admitted to herself that her hands were roughened with work and cleaning at home, but they were well-shaped, and she took good care of them as best she could. When she left the bath, Millie felt refreshed and ready to face, with at least equanimity, the evening to come.
She picked up the tea tray, checked to verify that the stasis spell had held, and headed down the hall to Vince's room. She tapped softly and, having waited for a minute with no response, quietly opened the door and slipped inside.
Contrary to Millie's expectations, the room was well-lit and Vincent was awake. He lay in his bed, the pressure points, which would otherwise have been painful, alleviated by cushioning charms. A book hovered above his chest. She squinted, unable to identify the title. As Vincent turned her head to look at her, Millie was grateful that she no longer felt an urge to wince or otherwise react to his appearance.
Vincent had not been fortunate. Actually, Millie reflected, that was a bit of an understatement. Caught in the fire that had raged through the Room of Requirement, Vincent had at first been presumed dead. By the time someone on the recovery teams had realized he was alive, the damage from the fire had been left too long to be healed even by magical means. In fact, it was amazing he had lived at all, as the medics at St. Mungo's impressed upon her.
They had been unable to save his left arm and amputated it just below the shoulder joint. The medics had assured them both that as soon as he was ready, Vincent might be a good candidate for a magical prosthetic, given that they were able to keep the shoulder joint intact. The bigger issue, though, was the scar tissue and disfigurement along his left side, and especially on the left side of his face.
"Hi, Vince." Millie smiled her best smile. I brought up some tea and sandwiches. Would you like some?" She breathed a sigh of relief as Vincent responded with a hesitant nod. She settled the tea things on the bedside table and then dropped into a nearby chair.
"What are you reading?" she asked.
He twisted his fingers and the book closed. She could see the title: Simple Household Charmes, With Your Wand or Without. She wondered where he dug that up. That trick with his fingers, she recognized, came from Snape's common room lectures on study tactics, this one how to keep books open to take notes while studying. Of course, she knew - like all Slytherin girls - that the boys used it more to keep their hands free reading . . . other material. She shook her head. That was enough of that line of thought.
Vince said softly, "I don't really understand why you insist on working in some stupid muggle shop, but I thought if you didn't have to use your wand to do some charms at work, it would make it easier for you." He shot her a keen glance. Not for the first time, Millie marveled at the way everyone at school had written him off as just a stupid bully. It was amazing, she thought, how easy it was for a fat person to fade into the background and be dismissed as an irrelevant and thick, good for nothing more than muscle or, she thought bitterly cannon fodder.
"You know why, Vince. I won't work in Knockturn Alley; that just confirms for people their prejudices about Slytherins. The other jobs I could get in the wizarding world are just as physically demanding. You know I'm not a shrinking violet, but they would be even more demeaning than my current job. I'd have to put up with stares and snide comments. The Muggles at work were curious at first, but once they accepted that I went to a boarding school in Scotland - supposedly because my mother died and my dad travelled for work - they just don't care about my background."
Abruptly, Vincent's mood changed.
"At least you can go out and get work. You don't know what it's like, being stuck here day after day. Nothing to do but read stupid books and feel your face - not to mention your body -- getting stiffer and stiffer."
Millie felt a surge of exasperation. She was sick and tired of his violent mood swings, not to mention his self-pity routine.
"Honestly, Vince," Millie snapped. "For someone who never seemed vain before, you certainly seem willing to let your looks determine your future now. Go on, lie there and pout. I certainly can't stop you. But the medics said you could get better if you were willing to take a chance."
"That's all well and good for you to say," Vincent shouted. "But you're not the one who has to deal with the pain. You're not the one who has to face people staring at them in disgusted fascination. And you're not the one who has no way to pay for any of it, let alone make a living."
Millie had been sitting frozen in her chair, staring at Vincent as he ranted. But at the mention of payment, a light blazed in her eyes and she jumped to her feet.
"That's enough! I don't care what you say about it, I'm contacting Professor Snape --"
"No! We've discussed this before. I'll never forgive him for the way he betrayed all of us. My father is dead because of him, and --"
"You know that's not true, Vince. Your father is dead because he backed the wrong side and refused to try to fix his mistake. Besides, in the end it doesn't matter. If you really blame Snape for your father's death, why not take advantage of him? Point out to him that if he had even hinted at his position while we were in school, or if he hadn't betrayed everyone, your father would still be alive, your family would still have their money, and you wouldn't be stuck in this house, an invalid unable to get decent care? Call in the debt! No, he can't work miracles. But remember how he saved Draco's life when Potter attacked him? How will you know unless you at least try --" Millicent faltered, uncertain what to make of the odd expression on Vincent's face.
"Do you know how beautiful you are when you're angry?" Vincent asked.
Colour heightening on her cheeks, Millie shook her head.
"You are," Vince insisted.
Millie reached over to the table and retrieved the jar sitting beside the tea tray, trying to ignore her flush and the way Vince's eyes suddenly seemed glued to her chest as she stretched for it. "Enough foolishness. We need to get that ointment worked into your skin. I know you don't think it's helping, but it's better than nothing. And we could ask Snape to see if there's something that would really work."
She perched on the side of the bed, opened the jar, and greased up her fingers with the slimy goo, barely repressing a grimace at the feel of it. Millie reached out and gently touched his face, watching as the goo spread out to coat the burn marks on the side of his face. Vince reached over with his remaining hand, placing it on hers as she tried to work it into the tough crust of his skin.
"You are," he repeated, refusing to be sidetracked.
"Oh, Vince," Millie sighed. She did not want to admit - even to herself - just how much she had longed to her him say something like that. "You're just saying that because you haven't seen anyone other than Greg and me since you came here from St. Mungo's."
"Perhaps not. But you don't hear me saying anything like that to Greg."
Abruptly, Millie laughed, amused by the thought of Greg's reaction to a declaration from Vince.
"Millie, I love it when you laugh. The way your face lights up. The way you don't do anything by halves. When you laugh, you whole body joins in. Your belly shakes and everything." He moved his hand to her stomach and pressed softly.
She drew back and glared at him, hurt suddenly that he would mock her.
"I'm serious, Millie. You're so, I don't know, real. And when I'm around you, I can relax. With other girls, I'm always worried I'm going to . . . I don't know . . . break them or something." At the darkening expression on her face, Vince rushed to add, "I know I'm saying this badly. I've never been good with words. You know that. But I just wanted you to know I think you're really, really special."
He hesitantly moved his hand to her face and caressed her cheek. His fingers ghosted over her mouth and she sighed, her tongue involuntarily flicking out to brush his index finger.
"Vince," she whispered, "no."
This time he was the one who drew back, hurt.
Millie hastened to add, "I love hearing that from you. And you know I'm very fond of you. But . . . this is not the time. We need to get you better. And what about Greg?"
A low, frustrated sound, not quite a growl, erupted from Vince. "When will be the time, then, Millie? Are you only interested in perfect blokes? You know I'll never be that, no matter how much I heal. I'll never get my arm back. I'm never going to shrink. And I'm certainly never going to grow extra brain cells."
"That's not what I mean and you know it! But you're still at risk. Don't you remember the Mediwizards told us that you needed to be in as sterile an environment as possible? Yes, I know this is far from that. But we need to work on getting your skin healed as much as possible first, so you're not so vulnerable." Her heart oddly singing, Millie smiled at his look of annoyance. "So now you know why I've been so eager to talk to the Professor. I bet he has forgotten more than most of the St. Mungo's staff ever knew about skin-repairing potions and treatments."
Vince snorted. "You'd never know it to look at him."
"No, you're right there." Millie giggled a bit. "But what do I care what he looks like if he can help you. Finding him won't be easy. I hear he's gone to ground somewhere. But with this incentive, I'll move heaven and earth for you." Millie leaned over and gently pressed her lips to Vince's uninjured cheek.
Vince smiled. Millie reflected that smugness really did not suit him.
So she added, a bit tartly, "Now, get your hand off me and let me finish with this ointment." Maybe, just maybe, she reflected, she did finally understand just what her Dad meant all those years ago after all.
* * * *
The next morning, as Millie readied herself for work, she heard the front door slam, followed by Greg's heavy footsteps in the kitchen. She braced herself for the upcoming conversation and headed to the kitchen. Greg had the kettle on - thankfully with no sign of imminent catastrophe - and was putting away groceries. She stood in the doorway, watching him for a minute and debating how to approach the subject. Finally, she gave one swift nod. The direct approach is always best with Greg, she thought.
Greg turned in her direction as she entered the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
"Good morning," he said. "How's Vince?"
"Better," she replied, and then continued haltingly, "About that, Greg, you should know. I've always liked you a great deal. But as a friend --"
Greg interrupted her. "You two finally sort yourselves out, then?"
As she stopped, surprise writ large on her face, Greg chuckled. He gave her a hug and said, "Merlin's beard, Millie. A blind man would have been able to see you two belonged together. I'm just glad you two finally figured it out."
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