(no subject)
The hp_summersmut reveals got posted, so I can now post this here. ETA: I have just been reminded that the entry is friends-locked. Hence, it is now reposted under the cut.
Title; Love Is A Pink, Frilly Pillow
Author; sappholococcus (though it's listed in the reveal as hecticity)
Requestor; juvenilehell
Rating; NC-17
Pairing(s); Pansy/Millicent, Pansy/Draco and Draco/Theodore implied
Summary; Millicent has been fantasizing about Pansy since school. But when she finally gets what she wants, she finds that it isn’t everything she thought it would be.
Warnings; femmeslash, implied het and slash, unrequited love (verging on stalker-ish), kink (minor D/s, knife play, tie!bondage, biting), masturbation, hurt/comfort, flangst
Disclaimer; I don't own. You don't sue.
Author's note; I’ve never written femmeslash this explicit before (only RP’ed it) and I had a bit of trouble with Pansy. But I’m proud of how it turned out, and I hope you like it. Thanks to my ‘good lil helper’ maki_to13, as well as my lovely evil twin (dark_adrenalynn) for helping me out with this one. Have a lovely, smutty summer, juvenilehell!
Stage One: Obsession
It's the cold and wintry days that Millicent hates her life the most. The days when she looks even bigger than usual because of the clothes she wears to keep warm, when Daphne and Tracey accidentally-on-purpose mistake her for Crabbe or Goyle and she can't do anything about it because they'll only go sobbing to Pansy about their black eyes and broken nails, and it's Pansy's opinion that Millicent cares about the most.
These are the days when Millicent wishes she had someone to warm her bed besides her cat, when she lies awake dreaming of the pug-nosed girl who always seems happiest on the arm of a sleek blond boy. At least in her imagination, she can do anything -- and be anything -- she wants.
.:.
“Draco asked me to the Yule Ball,” Pansy tells her happily, her nose and cheeks flushed red with cold as they cross the snowy grounds.
Millicent just nods. She hasn’t seen Pansy much since the holidays started, but this is no surprise. Of course he did.
And any minute now she’s going to start raving about him, about how their life together is going to be absolutely perfect and everything a pureblooded girl could wish for…
“We’re practically married now, don’t you think? I mean, I don’t have a ring, but…”
No, you don’t, Millicent wants to say. So shut your mouth about him, already.
She imagines Pansy’s hand, but instead of a diamond ring it’s got a lovely, shiny cuff around the wrist. Not one of those horrid furry ones, either - fluff is best left to felines, in Millicent’s humble opinion.
In her mind, Pansy will like the cuff even more than the ring. Draco can make Pansy’s eyes brighten with girlish excitement, but Millicent wants them dark.
“My dress robes are pink, of course - I had them custom made, and I love the frills. Don’t you think frills look good on me, Millie?”
And there’s that horrid nickname again, but Millicent tolerates it because this is Pansy.
“I’m so glad Draco got black, he’ll match me no matter what - oh, for Salazar’s sake, what are those idiots doing?”
The image of Pansy’s frills ripping wonderfully beneath Millicent’s hands disappears, and she looks up. Pansy is frowning at a bunch of students having a snowball fight, most of whom have red hair that sticks out like wild berries in all the brilliant white snow.
“Weasels,” Pansy says derisively, and takes Millicent’s arm. “Come on, you’re going to help me get ready for the ball, aren’t you?”
.:.
No one has bothered to ask Millicent to the ball - no one but Goyle, but she’s hardly interested in him -- so she spends the night sitting by the punch and trying to tune out the odd sounds coming from Loony Lovegood, just a little ways away.
“I think I’d like dancing, if someone wanted to dance with me,” the blonde says almost amiably, though Millicent’s fairly sure that she’s talking to herself.
She ignores the part of her that thinks: maybe Pansy will notice me if I start dancing with a girl, and pours herself another cup of punch.
Smooth, she thinks as it goes down her throat.
Smooth like Pansy’s skin, gleaming in the dim light of the girls’ dungeon dormitory, and in her mind it’s her name on Pansy’s lips instead of Draco’s:
”And I think tonight is going to be our first time… I’ve wanted you for ages, you know. You’re so attractive, Millie…”
“Not as pretty as you, Pansy.”
There’s a knife in her hand instead of a hair clip, and she’s skillfully cutting Pansy’s bra and knickers off of her body. Tiny little drops of blood appear on her skin, red like her mouth, liquid like the desire in the air around them.
“You’re breathing really hard,” a soft voice notes from somewhere nearby. “What are you thinking about?”
Millicent looks up into wide, bulbous, eager eyes - Loony is staring at her, and she wants to run from that gaze. It feels like it could go straight through her skull.
“Nothing,” she spits.
“It must be a very sexy nothing, then,” Loony remarks, and then loses interest in the conversation, much to Millicent’s relief.
.:.
Pansy doesn’t come back to the dorm after the ball.
Millicent goes back alone, trying not to notice the way the other girls are giggling and glowing on the arms of their respective dates, but not because she’s jealous.
Why would she want a boy, anyway? What on earth does Pansy see in them?
She takes her dress robes off before getting into bed, and she doesn’t bother with pyjamas. Her cat isn’t there, for which Millicent is very grateful, because she doesn’t want anyone to see this.
Her fingers are far too large, much thicker than Pansy’s would be, but when she closes her eyes and imagines hard enough it almost works.
You want to know what you do to me, Millie?
Pansy’s voice is soft and a little bit raw, as though she’s been screaming. In ecstasy, if this is how Millicent makes her feel, because her fingertips are touching just there and they’re setting the tiniest, most hidden part of her body on fire.
“Pansy,” she moans aloud, gasping because there’s a finger inside her and it hurts, just a little.
You’ve never been touched like this, have you?
No, Millicent replies silently, and Pansy gives a low chuckle. She leans down to kiss Millicent, her red mouth soft and salty sweet from biting her own tongue.
When Millicent wakes the next morning there’s a stickiness on her inner thighs and the fingers of her right hand that wasn’t there before, and she’s alone.
She’s always alone.
.:.
When Pansy’s dress robes disappear, she doesn’t seem to notice. If anything, she blames it on Draco.
“You’re obsessed with me,” she accuses, and Draco smiles indulgently. Pansy looks pleased with this new development.
At night, Millicent’s bed smells like Pansy.
Stage Two: Denial
Millicent doesn’t want to go to Pansy’s wedding, doesn’t want to see her pledge herself to Draco. Most of all, she doesn’t want to see Pansy enjoy it.
But she’s going to go, of course she is. Pansy invited her, and Millicent has never in her life turned down an opportunity to see Pansy, no matter how much it might hurt.
The day that she gets the invitation, she starts to prepare herself. Her mind must now be her shield, the way her muscular body has been in the past.
It should have been long enough now that Pansy’s apathy has stopped hurting, really. But it hasn’t.
.:.
“Won’t you be a dear and do the zipper on my dress?” Pansy asks.
It’s amazing what a diamond ring and a lacey white dress will do to the way a girl carries herself, Millicent thinks. She doesn’t particularly appreciate being called a dear -- she’s never been very dear to Pansy’s heart, and she knows that all too well - but here she is anyway, helping Pansy get ready for the ceremony.
The skin just centimetres away from her fingers is warm, just like she’d always imagined, she can feel its heat even though she isn’t touching it. Millicent tries not to touch it as she carefully pulls on the zipper, she really does, but it’s no use.
Pansy shivers a little when Millicent’s knuckles brush her spine, and Millicent dies a little inside.
I want to do more than just make you shiver, she thinks, and she’s lost in fantasy again, shoving Pansy against the wall and devouring her mouth until the sweet, fairytale pureblood heiress act disappears.
”Oh, Millie, yes…”
She’s light as a feather, and even more beautiful when she’s flushed with desire.
“Mine,” Millicent says harshly. Pansy moans in response, arching against the larger body pinning her to the wall.
Millicent doesn’t want to interpret this as an attempt to escape, but she has to be sure. She pins Pansy’s hands above her head with just one of her own hands, using the other to rip off the tie she’s wearing (not her school tie, but the one she bought for the suit she’s wearing to the wedding) and ties it around Pansy’s wrists with a quick spell.
”Millie…” Pansy breathes, tilting her head back, and who is Millicent to resist that throat? She leans down to bite it, leaving lovely red marks right over her pulse, and Pansy’s moans grow louder. “Please, Millie…”
“…stuck?”
Millicent blinks, completely thrown by this interruption. “What?”
“The zipper, Millie. It isn’t moving. Is it stuck?”
“Oh. I… yes.”
Millicent makes a great show of attempting to undo the zipper, and finally pulls it smoothly all the way up.
“Thank you, Millie,” Pansy says, obviously relieved. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Later, when she’s kissing her new husband, Millicent wonders why she bothered.
.:.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Pansy asks, sipping her tea. Her eyes are watchful, too shrewd for Millicent’s liking, as if she can read her thoughts.
Millicent shakes her head.
“Oh, but Millie,” Pansy says (rather condescendingly, Millicent thinks), “Aren’t you lonely?”
Millicent hesitates. She is, but she doesn’t want Pansy to know that. Pansy’s pity would be far worse than her apathy.
“There’s a cute boy at work,” she lies, instead of answering.
“I still can’t believe you have a job,” Pansy laughs. “What do you do again?”
Millicent grits her teeth. Not everyone is a spoiled heiress like you, she thinks venomously, but all she says is, “Bodyguard.”
“Oh, that’s right, for that rich man, what’s his name?”
It’s amazing, really, how Pansy can completely miss the point. Millicent is not a bodyguard because she wants to curry favour with the rich, but because she’s a very experienced fighter. But of course Pansy has already forgotten about her job, she’s far more interested in her own world.
“I think I met him at a soiree about a week ago, he was drinking my favourite champagne, very good taste…”
Bloody socialite, Millicent thinks. She makes some polite excuse and gets up to leave.
But of course Pansy won’t let her go that easily. She makes her promise to come back for her birthday party, and Millicent doesn’t have the heart to turn her down.
.:.
Thursdays, Millicent goes to visit her father in Azkaban.
“Are you happy?” he asks.
“You’re kidding, right?” Millicent replies dryly, and feels very satisfied with the guilty look on his face.
Maybe if you’d actually thought about what that Mark would do to our family, I’d be happy, she thinks, though she knows it’s unfair.
It’s not really his fault that Pansy doesn’t like her, after all. But it feels nice to have someone to blame.
When she leaves the prison, she goes immediately to her favourite café on Diagon Alley - the prison is cold, and she’s always loved hot cocoa.
“Lots of whipped cream,” she tells the girl at the counter, and turns away so that she doesn’t see the usual odd look (look at that girl, she really ought to lose some weight, why is she ordering whipped cream?).
It’s when she turns around that she sees him. That perfect blond hair is recognisable at any distance, and it’s enough to incite Millicent’s fury just by existing.
But what Draco is doing is far worse than the perfect state of his hair, which she knows Pansy loves. He’s flirting, that much even Millicent can tell.
With Theodore Nott, of all people.
Millicent wants to wring their little homosexual throats (and okay, she knows that calling them that is a bit hypocritical, but she’s far too incensed to care). She even takes a step forward, about to stalk over to them, but just then a voice sounds behind her.
“Cocoa with extra whipped cream for Millicent Bulstrode.”
Theodore looks up at the familiar name, catches sight of Millicent’s stormy face, and nudges Draco.
Millicent is pleased to see that he looks just a tiny bit guilty, though she suspects it’s only because he was caught.
.:.
There are so many ways Millicent could use the incident to her advantage, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to sabotage Pansy’s marriage for her sake, even if it means that she’ll have Pansy to herself.
Millicent is not particularly happy to discover that she is a romantic.
She ponders this new revelation over a glass of wine - not her usual choice for thinking matters, but ice cream reminds her of whipped cream which reminds her of Draco, the cheating bastard.
She starts when her Floo suddenly activates.
“Millie!” Pansy wails, as dramatically as ever. “Millie, he doesn’t love me, what am I going to do?”
Millicent, like the good friend that she is, pretends that she has no idea what Pansy is talking about. She’s a little bit taken aback by how real Pansy’s tears are; never in her life has she seen the girl shed a tear if it wasn’t to her benefit.
In that way, she supposes, Draco really is the best husband for Pansy.
“I can’t believe this,” Pansy continues, practically throwing herself into Millicent’s lap. “It’s only been two years, how can he be bored of me already?”
Millicent has never been very good at dealing with other people’s emotions, but she pats Pansy’s back a bit awkwardly and tries not to grimace when Pansy’s tears start to soak through her shirt. She even tries to listen, but Pansy’s really not making a whole lot of sense.
“Doesn’t love me,” is about the only thing she can make out between Pansy’s muffled sobs, and once: “Going to die…”
“I’ll kill him for you,” Millicent offers loyally, but Pansy just laughs tearfully.
“That won’t solve anything, Millie, you know that, he doesn’t deserve it.”
Millicent disagrees, but she’s not about to say so to Pansy. She wipes somewhat clumsily at the wet streaks on Pansy’s face and tries to comfort her as much as she can.
Suddenly (and to this day Millicent has no idea how it happened), their faces are almost touching, and Pansy’s tears have stopped, though her cheeks are still wet and she’s sniffling in a way that Millicent would have found revolting if it had been anyone else.
Then she’s kissing Pansy, just like she’d always dreamed of doing, and Pansy isn’t pulling away. She’s making little sounds into Millicent’s mouth, somewhere between a sigh and a hiccup, and she responds eagerly when Millicent’s hand runs a bit too quickly over her body and slips beneath her skirt.
She’s just as warm as Millicent has always imagined, though not quite as wet. Then again, she hadn’t ever imagined doing this while Pansy was crying, and it’s only logical that her tears have taken up some of the moisture.
Pansy makes a muffled noise, not quite a moan, and then pins Millicent back against the couch. Millicent looks up at her with wide eyes, sure that she’s about to be told off - ‘you fucking dyke, don’t you dare touch me that way!’ - but Pansy’s mouth is still covering hers, and her hips are grinding down against Millicent’s hand.
“Pansy,” Millicent moans into her mouth, asking for more - something, anything. She isn’t really sure what to do with her fingers, but Pansy seems to have figured it out on her own.
“Yes,” Pansy moans back, but she doesn’t seem to be answering Millicent. Her head tilts back, breaking the kiss, and Millicent drinks in the sight as Pansy writhes wantonly on her fingers. “Yes, yes, yes…”
All too soon, it’s over. With a shudder and a soft exhalation that sounds a bit like ‘Draco’, Pansy goes still again, breathing hard. Millicent starts to kiss her again, reaching up to brush a lock of her damp hair away from her face, but Pansy pulls away.
She adjusts her skirt silently, without looking at Millicent. “I’d better be going,” she says finally, too cheerfully.
“Right,” Millicent says awkwardly, nodding.
She looks at her fingers, almost doubtfully. It happened, she thinks, but it’s not nearly as satisfying as she’d always imagined it would be.
“Bye, Millicent,” Pansy says, grinning and waving over her shoulder as she steps into the fireplace. At least I cheered her up, Millicent thinks ruefully.
She watches the green flames die, then summons her pink pillow with its frills gone nearly white with age and consigns it to the fire.
FIN.
Title; Love Is A Pink, Frilly Pillow
Author; sappholococcus (though it's listed in the reveal as hecticity)
Requestor; juvenilehell
Rating; NC-17
Pairing(s); Pansy/Millicent, Pansy/Draco and Draco/Theodore implied
Summary; Millicent has been fantasizing about Pansy since school. But when she finally gets what she wants, she finds that it isn’t everything she thought it would be.
Warnings; femmeslash, implied het and slash, unrequited love (verging on stalker-ish), kink (minor D/s, knife play, tie!bondage, biting), masturbation, hurt/comfort, flangst
Disclaimer; I don't own. You don't sue.
Author's note; I’ve never written femmeslash this explicit before (only RP’ed it) and I had a bit of trouble with Pansy. But I’m proud of how it turned out, and I hope you like it. Thanks to my ‘good lil helper’ maki_to13, as well as my lovely evil twin (dark_adrenalynn) for helping me out with this one. Have a lovely, smutty summer, juvenilehell!
Stage One: Obsession
It's the cold and wintry days that Millicent hates her life the most. The days when she looks even bigger than usual because of the clothes she wears to keep warm, when Daphne and Tracey accidentally-on-purpose mistake her for Crabbe or Goyle and she can't do anything about it because they'll only go sobbing to Pansy about their black eyes and broken nails, and it's Pansy's opinion that Millicent cares about the most.
These are the days when Millicent wishes she had someone to warm her bed besides her cat, when she lies awake dreaming of the pug-nosed girl who always seems happiest on the arm of a sleek blond boy. At least in her imagination, she can do anything -- and be anything -- she wants.
.:.
“Draco asked me to the Yule Ball,” Pansy tells her happily, her nose and cheeks flushed red with cold as they cross the snowy grounds.
Millicent just nods. She hasn’t seen Pansy much since the holidays started, but this is no surprise. Of course he did.
And any minute now she’s going to start raving about him, about how their life together is going to be absolutely perfect and everything a pureblooded girl could wish for…
“We’re practically married now, don’t you think? I mean, I don’t have a ring, but…”
No, you don’t, Millicent wants to say. So shut your mouth about him, already.
She imagines Pansy’s hand, but instead of a diamond ring it’s got a lovely, shiny cuff around the wrist. Not one of those horrid furry ones, either - fluff is best left to felines, in Millicent’s humble opinion.
In her mind, Pansy will like the cuff even more than the ring. Draco can make Pansy’s eyes brighten with girlish excitement, but Millicent wants them dark.
“My dress robes are pink, of course - I had them custom made, and I love the frills. Don’t you think frills look good on me, Millie?”
And there’s that horrid nickname again, but Millicent tolerates it because this is Pansy.
“I’m so glad Draco got black, he’ll match me no matter what - oh, for Salazar’s sake, what are those idiots doing?”
The image of Pansy’s frills ripping wonderfully beneath Millicent’s hands disappears, and she looks up. Pansy is frowning at a bunch of students having a snowball fight, most of whom have red hair that sticks out like wild berries in all the brilliant white snow.
“Weasels,” Pansy says derisively, and takes Millicent’s arm. “Come on, you’re going to help me get ready for the ball, aren’t you?”
.:.
No one has bothered to ask Millicent to the ball - no one but Goyle, but she’s hardly interested in him -- so she spends the night sitting by the punch and trying to tune out the odd sounds coming from Loony Lovegood, just a little ways away.
“I think I’d like dancing, if someone wanted to dance with me,” the blonde says almost amiably, though Millicent’s fairly sure that she’s talking to herself.
She ignores the part of her that thinks: maybe Pansy will notice me if I start dancing with a girl, and pours herself another cup of punch.
Smooth, she thinks as it goes down her throat.
Smooth like Pansy’s skin, gleaming in the dim light of the girls’ dungeon dormitory, and in her mind it’s her name on Pansy’s lips instead of Draco’s:
”And I think tonight is going to be our first time… I’ve wanted you for ages, you know. You’re so attractive, Millie…”
“Not as pretty as you, Pansy.”
There’s a knife in her hand instead of a hair clip, and she’s skillfully cutting Pansy’s bra and knickers off of her body. Tiny little drops of blood appear on her skin, red like her mouth, liquid like the desire in the air around them.
“You’re breathing really hard,” a soft voice notes from somewhere nearby. “What are you thinking about?”
Millicent looks up into wide, bulbous, eager eyes - Loony is staring at her, and she wants to run from that gaze. It feels like it could go straight through her skull.
“Nothing,” she spits.
“It must be a very sexy nothing, then,” Loony remarks, and then loses interest in the conversation, much to Millicent’s relief.
.:.
Pansy doesn’t come back to the dorm after the ball.
Millicent goes back alone, trying not to notice the way the other girls are giggling and glowing on the arms of their respective dates, but not because she’s jealous.
Why would she want a boy, anyway? What on earth does Pansy see in them?
She takes her dress robes off before getting into bed, and she doesn’t bother with pyjamas. Her cat isn’t there, for which Millicent is very grateful, because she doesn’t want anyone to see this.
Her fingers are far too large, much thicker than Pansy’s would be, but when she closes her eyes and imagines hard enough it almost works.
You want to know what you do to me, Millie?
Pansy’s voice is soft and a little bit raw, as though she’s been screaming. In ecstasy, if this is how Millicent makes her feel, because her fingertips are touching just there and they’re setting the tiniest, most hidden part of her body on fire.
“Pansy,” she moans aloud, gasping because there’s a finger inside her and it hurts, just a little.
You’ve never been touched like this, have you?
No, Millicent replies silently, and Pansy gives a low chuckle. She leans down to kiss Millicent, her red mouth soft and salty sweet from biting her own tongue.
When Millicent wakes the next morning there’s a stickiness on her inner thighs and the fingers of her right hand that wasn’t there before, and she’s alone.
She’s always alone.
.:.
When Pansy’s dress robes disappear, she doesn’t seem to notice. If anything, she blames it on Draco.
“You’re obsessed with me,” she accuses, and Draco smiles indulgently. Pansy looks pleased with this new development.
At night, Millicent’s bed smells like Pansy.
Stage Two: Denial
Millicent doesn’t want to go to Pansy’s wedding, doesn’t want to see her pledge herself to Draco. Most of all, she doesn’t want to see Pansy enjoy it.
But she’s going to go, of course she is. Pansy invited her, and Millicent has never in her life turned down an opportunity to see Pansy, no matter how much it might hurt.
The day that she gets the invitation, she starts to prepare herself. Her mind must now be her shield, the way her muscular body has been in the past.
It should have been long enough now that Pansy’s apathy has stopped hurting, really. But it hasn’t.
.:.
“Won’t you be a dear and do the zipper on my dress?” Pansy asks.
It’s amazing what a diamond ring and a lacey white dress will do to the way a girl carries herself, Millicent thinks. She doesn’t particularly appreciate being called a dear -- she’s never been very dear to Pansy’s heart, and she knows that all too well - but here she is anyway, helping Pansy get ready for the ceremony.
The skin just centimetres away from her fingers is warm, just like she’d always imagined, she can feel its heat even though she isn’t touching it. Millicent tries not to touch it as she carefully pulls on the zipper, she really does, but it’s no use.
Pansy shivers a little when Millicent’s knuckles brush her spine, and Millicent dies a little inside.
I want to do more than just make you shiver, she thinks, and she’s lost in fantasy again, shoving Pansy against the wall and devouring her mouth until the sweet, fairytale pureblood heiress act disappears.
”Oh, Millie, yes…”
She’s light as a feather, and even more beautiful when she’s flushed with desire.
“Mine,” Millicent says harshly. Pansy moans in response, arching against the larger body pinning her to the wall.
Millicent doesn’t want to interpret this as an attempt to escape, but she has to be sure. She pins Pansy’s hands above her head with just one of her own hands, using the other to rip off the tie she’s wearing (not her school tie, but the one she bought for the suit she’s wearing to the wedding) and ties it around Pansy’s wrists with a quick spell.
”Millie…” Pansy breathes, tilting her head back, and who is Millicent to resist that throat? She leans down to bite it, leaving lovely red marks right over her pulse, and Pansy’s moans grow louder. “Please, Millie…”
“…stuck?”
Millicent blinks, completely thrown by this interruption. “What?”
“The zipper, Millie. It isn’t moving. Is it stuck?”
“Oh. I… yes.”
Millicent makes a great show of attempting to undo the zipper, and finally pulls it smoothly all the way up.
“Thank you, Millie,” Pansy says, obviously relieved. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Later, when she’s kissing her new husband, Millicent wonders why she bothered.
.:.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Pansy asks, sipping her tea. Her eyes are watchful, too shrewd for Millicent’s liking, as if she can read her thoughts.
Millicent shakes her head.
“Oh, but Millie,” Pansy says (rather condescendingly, Millicent thinks), “Aren’t you lonely?”
Millicent hesitates. She is, but she doesn’t want Pansy to know that. Pansy’s pity would be far worse than her apathy.
“There’s a cute boy at work,” she lies, instead of answering.
“I still can’t believe you have a job,” Pansy laughs. “What do you do again?”
Millicent grits her teeth. Not everyone is a spoiled heiress like you, she thinks venomously, but all she says is, “Bodyguard.”
“Oh, that’s right, for that rich man, what’s his name?”
It’s amazing, really, how Pansy can completely miss the point. Millicent is not a bodyguard because she wants to curry favour with the rich, but because she’s a very experienced fighter. But of course Pansy has already forgotten about her job, she’s far more interested in her own world.
“I think I met him at a soiree about a week ago, he was drinking my favourite champagne, very good taste…”
Bloody socialite, Millicent thinks. She makes some polite excuse and gets up to leave.
But of course Pansy won’t let her go that easily. She makes her promise to come back for her birthday party, and Millicent doesn’t have the heart to turn her down.
.:.
Thursdays, Millicent goes to visit her father in Azkaban.
“Are you happy?” he asks.
“You’re kidding, right?” Millicent replies dryly, and feels very satisfied with the guilty look on his face.
Maybe if you’d actually thought about what that Mark would do to our family, I’d be happy, she thinks, though she knows it’s unfair.
It’s not really his fault that Pansy doesn’t like her, after all. But it feels nice to have someone to blame.
When she leaves the prison, she goes immediately to her favourite café on Diagon Alley - the prison is cold, and she’s always loved hot cocoa.
“Lots of whipped cream,” she tells the girl at the counter, and turns away so that she doesn’t see the usual odd look (look at that girl, she really ought to lose some weight, why is she ordering whipped cream?).
It’s when she turns around that she sees him. That perfect blond hair is recognisable at any distance, and it’s enough to incite Millicent’s fury just by existing.
But what Draco is doing is far worse than the perfect state of his hair, which she knows Pansy loves. He’s flirting, that much even Millicent can tell.
With Theodore Nott, of all people.
Millicent wants to wring their little homosexual throats (and okay, she knows that calling them that is a bit hypocritical, but she’s far too incensed to care). She even takes a step forward, about to stalk over to them, but just then a voice sounds behind her.
“Cocoa with extra whipped cream for Millicent Bulstrode.”
Theodore looks up at the familiar name, catches sight of Millicent’s stormy face, and nudges Draco.
Millicent is pleased to see that he looks just a tiny bit guilty, though she suspects it’s only because he was caught.
.:.
There are so many ways Millicent could use the incident to her advantage, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to sabotage Pansy’s marriage for her sake, even if it means that she’ll have Pansy to herself.
Millicent is not particularly happy to discover that she is a romantic.
She ponders this new revelation over a glass of wine - not her usual choice for thinking matters, but ice cream reminds her of whipped cream which reminds her of Draco, the cheating bastard.
She starts when her Floo suddenly activates.
“Millie!” Pansy wails, as dramatically as ever. “Millie, he doesn’t love me, what am I going to do?”
Millicent, like the good friend that she is, pretends that she has no idea what Pansy is talking about. She’s a little bit taken aback by how real Pansy’s tears are; never in her life has she seen the girl shed a tear if it wasn’t to her benefit.
In that way, she supposes, Draco really is the best husband for Pansy.
“I can’t believe this,” Pansy continues, practically throwing herself into Millicent’s lap. “It’s only been two years, how can he be bored of me already?”
Millicent has never been very good at dealing with other people’s emotions, but she pats Pansy’s back a bit awkwardly and tries not to grimace when Pansy’s tears start to soak through her shirt. She even tries to listen, but Pansy’s really not making a whole lot of sense.
“Doesn’t love me,” is about the only thing she can make out between Pansy’s muffled sobs, and once: “Going to die…”
“I’ll kill him for you,” Millicent offers loyally, but Pansy just laughs tearfully.
“That won’t solve anything, Millie, you know that, he doesn’t deserve it.”
Millicent disagrees, but she’s not about to say so to Pansy. She wipes somewhat clumsily at the wet streaks on Pansy’s face and tries to comfort her as much as she can.
Suddenly (and to this day Millicent has no idea how it happened), their faces are almost touching, and Pansy’s tears have stopped, though her cheeks are still wet and she’s sniffling in a way that Millicent would have found revolting if it had been anyone else.
Then she’s kissing Pansy, just like she’d always dreamed of doing, and Pansy isn’t pulling away. She’s making little sounds into Millicent’s mouth, somewhere between a sigh and a hiccup, and she responds eagerly when Millicent’s hand runs a bit too quickly over her body and slips beneath her skirt.
She’s just as warm as Millicent has always imagined, though not quite as wet. Then again, she hadn’t ever imagined doing this while Pansy was crying, and it’s only logical that her tears have taken up some of the moisture.
Pansy makes a muffled noise, not quite a moan, and then pins Millicent back against the couch. Millicent looks up at her with wide eyes, sure that she’s about to be told off - ‘you fucking dyke, don’t you dare touch me that way!’ - but Pansy’s mouth is still covering hers, and her hips are grinding down against Millicent’s hand.
“Pansy,” Millicent moans into her mouth, asking for more - something, anything. She isn’t really sure what to do with her fingers, but Pansy seems to have figured it out on her own.
“Yes,” Pansy moans back, but she doesn’t seem to be answering Millicent. Her head tilts back, breaking the kiss, and Millicent drinks in the sight as Pansy writhes wantonly on her fingers. “Yes, yes, yes…”
All too soon, it’s over. With a shudder and a soft exhalation that sounds a bit like ‘Draco’, Pansy goes still again, breathing hard. Millicent starts to kiss her again, reaching up to brush a lock of her damp hair away from her face, but Pansy pulls away.
She adjusts her skirt silently, without looking at Millicent. “I’d better be going,” she says finally, too cheerfully.
“Right,” Millicent says awkwardly, nodding.
She looks at her fingers, almost doubtfully. It happened, she thinks, but it’s not nearly as satisfying as she’d always imagined it would be.
“Bye, Millicent,” Pansy says, grinning and waving over her shoulder as she steps into the fireplace. At least I cheered her up, Millicent thinks ruefully.
She watches the green flames die, then summons her pink pillow with its frills gone nearly white with age and consigns it to the fire.
FIN.