Omgitsfanfiction
Title: Millicent Bulstrode's Birthday Surprise
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: zeft
Set: The Golden Trio's seventh year.
Characters: Millicent, Ernie, Pansy, Blaise and Hermione.
Pairing: Ernie/Millicent
Genre: General/romance
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 998
Disclaimer: Not were, not are, nor will ever be, mine.
Author's Notes: Written for a real-life Millie with a real-life birthday (how's that for Macmillan-level cheesiness? ;p). Additionally is a sequel to Interhouse Relations, featuring the same pairing. It's not essential for comprehension of this one to have read the other one, but I'm a review h0r so be my guest ;p
* ~ * ~ *
Slytherins weren’t known for being big on ceremony, and Millicent Bulstrode’s birthday was typically uneventful. Pansy Parkinson had gone to breakfast early and left a package on Millicent’s chest of drawers. Because of course, presenting it to her in person may have related in, gasp, expressions of sentiment, and as Slytherins they couldn’t have that, oh no.
Anyway the package had contained an expensive-looking but ridiculously detailed and frilly shirt that Millicent wouldn’t wear had she been a corpse. So much for Pansy attempting to make a lady out of her.
Blaise Zabini hadn’t given her anything per se, but had assured her on Saturday night he would be taking her up to the Astronomy Tower and getting her plastered with top-notch Firewhiskey. This was said with a smirk and a wink that made Millicent suspect that Blaise wasn’t quite as “alternative” as he made out to be. Fine then. If he attempted to get anything out of her along those lines, it would cost him dearly and ultimately he would fail. Although it wasn’t as practiced as his, Millicent had the constitution of an ox.
Tuesday mornings she had Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs. Ernie Macmillan was the Head Boy, and a Hufflepuff. Millicent, after goading from Pansy and Blaise, had taken Ernie to the party their lunatic of a House Head, Slughorn (far too jovial to be decent for a Slytherin, in her estimation), had thrown in order to “network” and “improve relations” with other houses. After a challenge Pansy had issued that declared her too conservative to ask anyone to the ball, Millicent had vehemently vowed to “ask the next pureblood boy who walks into the library.”
Which had been Ernie.
And the trouble was that despite her ranting and raving, Millicent hadn’t actually minded that much. If at all. There had been a surprising amount to talk about and Ernie had danced with her twice and led her with surprising decisiveness. She had even received the impression that they had come to some sort of understanding. Not a friendship exactly, but a tie of some sorts.
And she had felt a strange twitch in her stomach when as Head Boy he had been required to open the dancing with the Head Girl, Hermione Granger. What had they been talking about in the hallway before class, and why? While they had discussed all sorts during the ball, these days Ernie appeared too busy to give her anything more than the slightest of smiles as she swept through the door and plonked her load of books down on a desk across the opposite side of the room. She wasn’t sad exactly, but she realised that she had enjoyed having someone to talk to outside of the Slytherin common rooms. Someone who said what they meant and nothing more, with whom she didn’t have to sift through a conversation peppered with ambiguities and innuendos and subtle but hurtful little barbs.
They had barely spoken in weeks. Not that Ernie appeared to be deliberately ignoring her. That would be fine, because to ignore someone meant that it was a conscious decision to do so, that you were still aware of their presence. No, the problem was that Ernie seemed to have forgotten about her.
She couldn’t quite understand why she had expected today to be different, but she had.
Stupid, foolish girl, she barracked herself as she sat in the Slytherin common room that evening, the embers of the fire dying as her scrolls scratched furiously across the parchment. That’s what happens when you socialise with people outside of your own house. You grow soft. She pressed her quill down extra hard and got ink splotches on her Charms essay.
A tapping sound at the window broke her already fickle concentration and she looked out. Andromeda, the owl given to her when she had received her Hogwarts letter and banished her crippling fear that she was really a Squib, was hovering outside. Millicent quickly got to her feet and went across the room to the overhead window. Stroking the feathers of the bird as it settled on her arm (it was acceptable in Slytherin to show affection to one’s pets), she removed the letter from its talons.
The letter was only the second of its kind that Millicent had received in her life, yet it made her insides feel clammy. This envelop was too an elegant shade of vanilla with a family crest sealing it shut, the ink half-yellow, half-black.
Breathlessly Millicent slid it open, unaware of how Andromeda pecked at her hand for a treat.
And the sound of mooing greeted her.
The card was a cartoonish depiction of a field of plump cows chewing their cud. Except because it was a wizarding card, the cows were actually making noise. “It’s pasture birthday!” they boomed out. She flipped the card open and they continued to cry, “Sorry I didn’t moooove quickly enough.”
Dear Millicent, the letter read,
Sorry I was busy with Granger when you arrived for Transfiguration this morning. She wanted to talk to me about S.P.E.W. Again. Believe me, I would have preferred to have spoken to you and given this to you in person, but old Hermione can be quite tenacious.
Anyway, happy belated birthday.
Your favourite Head Boy,
Ernie Macmillan
P.S. Your present was too big for the owl to carry. And in case you didn’t pick up on it because yes, as you’ve pointed out in the past subtlety is most definitely not my thing, that is indeed a hint for us to meet up so I can at least give “that” to you in person.
The stupid card and the unbearable cheesiness of it all were designed so that the receiver was either supposed to roll her eyes or smile. Millicent did the former, and then (after carefully looking around to make sure that she was alone) the latter, her mouth splitting her face into an unrecognisable grin.
The End
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: zeft
Set: The Golden Trio's seventh year.
Characters: Millicent, Ernie, Pansy, Blaise and Hermione.
Pairing: Ernie/Millicent
Genre: General/romance
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 998
Disclaimer: Not were, not are, nor will ever be, mine.
Author's Notes: Written for a real-life Millie with a real-life birthday (how's that for Macmillan-level cheesiness? ;p). Additionally is a sequel to Interhouse Relations, featuring the same pairing. It's not essential for comprehension of this one to have read the other one, but I'm a review h0r so be my guest ;p
* ~ * ~ *
Slytherins weren’t known for being big on ceremony, and Millicent Bulstrode’s birthday was typically uneventful. Pansy Parkinson had gone to breakfast early and left a package on Millicent’s chest of drawers. Because of course, presenting it to her in person may have related in, gasp, expressions of sentiment, and as Slytherins they couldn’t have that, oh no.
Anyway the package had contained an expensive-looking but ridiculously detailed and frilly shirt that Millicent wouldn’t wear had she been a corpse. So much for Pansy attempting to make a lady out of her.
Blaise Zabini hadn’t given her anything per se, but had assured her on Saturday night he would be taking her up to the Astronomy Tower and getting her plastered with top-notch Firewhiskey. This was said with a smirk and a wink that made Millicent suspect that Blaise wasn’t quite as “alternative” as he made out to be. Fine then. If he attempted to get anything out of her along those lines, it would cost him dearly and ultimately he would fail. Although it wasn’t as practiced as his, Millicent had the constitution of an ox.
Tuesday mornings she had Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs. Ernie Macmillan was the Head Boy, and a Hufflepuff. Millicent, after goading from Pansy and Blaise, had taken Ernie to the party their lunatic of a House Head, Slughorn (far too jovial to be decent for a Slytherin, in her estimation), had thrown in order to “network” and “improve relations” with other houses. After a challenge Pansy had issued that declared her too conservative to ask anyone to the ball, Millicent had vehemently vowed to “ask the next pureblood boy who walks into the library.”
Which had been Ernie.
And the trouble was that despite her ranting and raving, Millicent hadn’t actually minded that much. If at all. There had been a surprising amount to talk about and Ernie had danced with her twice and led her with surprising decisiveness. She had even received the impression that they had come to some sort of understanding. Not a friendship exactly, but a tie of some sorts.
And she had felt a strange twitch in her stomach when as Head Boy he had been required to open the dancing with the Head Girl, Hermione Granger. What had they been talking about in the hallway before class, and why? While they had discussed all sorts during the ball, these days Ernie appeared too busy to give her anything more than the slightest of smiles as she swept through the door and plonked her load of books down on a desk across the opposite side of the room. She wasn’t sad exactly, but she realised that she had enjoyed having someone to talk to outside of the Slytherin common rooms. Someone who said what they meant and nothing more, with whom she didn’t have to sift through a conversation peppered with ambiguities and innuendos and subtle but hurtful little barbs.
They had barely spoken in weeks. Not that Ernie appeared to be deliberately ignoring her. That would be fine, because to ignore someone meant that it was a conscious decision to do so, that you were still aware of their presence. No, the problem was that Ernie seemed to have forgotten about her.
She couldn’t quite understand why she had expected today to be different, but she had.
Stupid, foolish girl, she barracked herself as she sat in the Slytherin common room that evening, the embers of the fire dying as her scrolls scratched furiously across the parchment. That’s what happens when you socialise with people outside of your own house. You grow soft. She pressed her quill down extra hard and got ink splotches on her Charms essay.
A tapping sound at the window broke her already fickle concentration and she looked out. Andromeda, the owl given to her when she had received her Hogwarts letter and banished her crippling fear that she was really a Squib, was hovering outside. Millicent quickly got to her feet and went across the room to the overhead window. Stroking the feathers of the bird as it settled on her arm (it was acceptable in Slytherin to show affection to one’s pets), she removed the letter from its talons.
The letter was only the second of its kind that Millicent had received in her life, yet it made her insides feel clammy. This envelop was too an elegant shade of vanilla with a family crest sealing it shut, the ink half-yellow, half-black.
Breathlessly Millicent slid it open, unaware of how Andromeda pecked at her hand for a treat.
And the sound of mooing greeted her.
The card was a cartoonish depiction of a field of plump cows chewing their cud. Except because it was a wizarding card, the cows were actually making noise. “It’s pasture birthday!” they boomed out. She flipped the card open and they continued to cry, “Sorry I didn’t moooove quickly enough.”
Dear Millicent, the letter read,
Sorry I was busy with Granger when you arrived for Transfiguration this morning. She wanted to talk to me about S.P.E.W. Again. Believe me, I would have preferred to have spoken to you and given this to you in person, but old Hermione can be quite tenacious.
Anyway, happy belated birthday.
Your favourite Head Boy,
Ernie Macmillan
P.S. Your present was too big for the owl to carry. And in case you didn’t pick up on it because yes, as you’ve pointed out in the past subtlety is most definitely not my thing, that is indeed a hint for us to meet up so I can at least give “that” to you in person.
The stupid card and the unbearable cheesiness of it all were designed so that the receiver was either supposed to roll her eyes or smile. Millicent did the former, and then (after carefully looking around to make sure that she was alone) the latter, her mouth splitting her face into an unrecognisable grin.
The End