Fic: Wednesday's Child (Millicent/Harry, PG-13)
Title:Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe
Author:Peggieliz
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it all.
Pairing: Slight Millicent/Harry
Rating:PG-13 for language
Wordcount: 2582
Summary: Sometimes after the war it's not easy to return to "normal life"... especially if the only life you've ever known is war.
Author's Notes: This one was a challenge for me - so your thoughts on it would be GREATLY appreciated!
The snap of branches alerted him to the impending intrusion, but he kept his eyes forward and his posture casual. The footfalls ended just behind him and still he didn’t turn. “What is it?”
“Molly asked me to call you in for supper.” Her voice was low and husky. It irked him really, she always sounded as though she’d just woken up from a rather deep sleep.
“Fine then.” He replied. There was no good reason for him to be so short with her, but he’d never been quite able to figure her out. She’d just sort of … appeared one day at Dumbledore’s side and they were all supposed to take it on blind faith that she deserved to be there. Bitterly, he turned his thoughts from the deceased headmaster and stared sullenly out into the horizon.
“You know, for the Boy-Who-Lived you do a rather spotty impression of having a life.” Millicent half regretted the words even as she uttered them, but part of her was just sick of his moping and sulking and making everyone else miserable.
“And you’d know so much about that, wouldn’t you, Bullstrode?” he snapped, turning to her. He’d been itching for a fight, for something to take his mind off the horrible guilt that churned in his stomach every waking moment. “Seeing as you have none to speak of.”
Her temper flared and her eyes narrowed. “You know less than nothing about my life, Potter, and you’d be wise not to make assumptions about it.”
“Oh I know plenty of your life.” He forced his eyes to dull and he brushed his hands together in a gesture he hoped appeared bored. “Common knowledge, isn’t it? The only daughter of Death Eater scum who deserted her family when it was evident that the war wasn’t turning in their favor.” Somewhere in his conscience he knew he shouldn’t be hurling the vile rumors at her, but he couldn’t make himself stop. “Turned over your brother’s life for Dumbledore’s favor, isn’t that it?”
Her already pale face had gone paler, eyes watering briefly before they hardened. She took a menacing step forward, “They call you the savior of the Wizarding world, do you know that? But you’re nothing but a scared pathetic excuse for a man! I wonder if you’ll ever be worth all the blood that was shed to keep you alive.” Her nails dug into her palm and she focused on the physical pain, avoiding the emotional scars that he had ripped open.
“Don’t you dare speak of them.” His voice was low and it shook as he took a step forward. “You aren’t worthy to even think their names you miserable cow!”
Her palm flew out, connecting with his cheek solidly enough to whip his head to the side. The tears that had threatened before gathered in pools on her cheeks. “Bastard!” she spat, chest heaving in anger. “You never knew anything beyond what your little friends told you, did you? Never thought for yourself for one moment of your life. Good people laid down their lives because they believed in YOU, Harry Potter. People with lives and families that wanted them bled out in the streets because they believed in you. And you say I’m not worthy? You may have destroyed one monster, but you’re worse than he was!” Her vision blurred through the tears that fell down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, and she wasn’t quite sure if her heart could beat any faster. Reaching into her pocket she withdrew something small and flat, flinging it into the dirt at his feet.
“You left that in your robes, and though you certainly don’t deserve any favors I will not be bound to you.” Turning she fled back to the safety of the burrow. Her feet carried her blindly and she narrowly avoided barreling over George as he came round a corner. She brushed by everyone until she was at last alone in her room. Uttering a locking and silencing charm, she hurled herself on the bed and wept.
+++++
Harry knew what it was without looking down, and he closed his eyes against the pain that threatened to overcome him. He’d carried the mirror in his pocket any time he ventured out of the house, often worrying it between his fingers when he was nervous. Reaching down he carefully brushed the dirt off of it. A drop of something spilled onto it and he looked up, expecting to see rain. Baffled at the clear night sky, he realized he’d spilled his own tears.
“What did you do to her?” He spun on his heel, not having heard the approach. Pansy Parkinson in full temper was a sight to behold. Her eyes were narrowed and she simply radiated with power.
“What?” he croaked, brushing awkwardly at the tears.
“Millicent, you bastard! How did you make her cry?” She was put off a bit by seeing him this way, but too concerned about her friend to let it show.
“I didn’t do anything but tell her the truth.” He waited for the anger to rise in his system, but it failed.
She snorted, “And what truth do you know about Millie, Harry?” Her hands went to her hips as she waited for a response.
“Just as much as anyone does… about her family and…” he trailed off awkwardly, all the heat gone from his temper.
She ran a frustrated hand through her dark hair and dropped down to sit on the grass, nodding to the space beside her. She was silent until he too dropped down, turning the mirror between his fingers awkwardly. “Do you remember when half of the Wizarding world thought you were in love with Hermione?” she began quietly. He nodded with a slight grimace. “A half-truth. You love her as a sister, but not as anything more. We’re all quite fond of half-truths, Harry. They’re easier to swallow and often times less painful than reality.”
She plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers. Pansy wasn’t quite sure why she felt that Harry needed to know these things, but she was never one to ignore an instinct. “Millicent’s father was a Death Eater. That is absolutely and wholly true. Her mother died when she was a baby, I suspect you’d know a bit what that’s like? She was raised to believe that Voldemort was right in all things, and that love came with a price tag. A high one.” She paused, torn between loyalty to her best friend and the knowledge that revealing half the story would do nothing to benefit either of them. “Did you know Terry Boot?” Harry nodded slowly, unsure where this was all going. “Terry and Millie were fast friends as firsties. Despite all that house nonsense, they were very close. Terry’s father worked for the Ministry, and you can imagine how well their friendship went over with their families. Still, they were closer than anyone can really imagine. He used to sit for her.” She remembered with a quirk of the lips.
Harry cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “Sit for her?”
“Ah. Yes. Well, Millicent sketches often. And I’ll swear you’re a liar if you tell her I told you. Anyway. Terry’s sister was killed in a Death Eater raid in our seventh year. Millicent’s father was the one who killed her. “
They were both quiet for a long moment. Disbelief and guilt were at war within Harry as he recalled the words he’d hurled at her moments ago. “I didn’t know.” He whispered.
“No, I don’t suspect you did. That’s part of the reason she never took the mark.”
“Part of?”
“Part of it was you, Harry.” He looked at her, dumbfounded by the possibility.
“Millie didn’t think she could survive without her family for a long time. She didn’t want to be a part of them, but she didn’t believe she’d be able to go at life without them. Terry reminded her that you never really had a family, and were managing on your own. She never doubted a thing Terry said, so she believed him when he told her to believe in you.”
“And her brother?” He rested his head on his knees in defeat, not wanting to hear the rest, but knowing he had to.
“Joshua is in Azkaban. He was turned over by Millicent, that part is true. He was wanted for the murder of Terry Boot.”
He closed his eyes, feeling like a complete and utter failure for the first time in his life. “I’m a bastard.” He muttered, sick with shame.
“I won’t argue with you there.” She sighed, looking towards the burrow. “You should apologize.”
Rising, she offered him a hand, a bit surprised when he took it and drew himself to his feet. “I don’t know that she’ll listen. I wouldn’t want to listen to me after all those horrible things I said.”
They began towards the house and she offered him a smile, “Are you a Gryffindor or not, Potter?” she teased.
“Right.” He muttered.
++++
In retrospect, it was probably the worst plan known to man, but at the time he conceived it Harry was desperate. Tugging the invisibility cloak more firmly around his shoulders, he pushed open the door to her room softly, relieved that it didn’t squeak on its hinges. Seeing her sleeping in the big bed all by herself he instantly regretted the intrusion.
She wore a blue sleep shirt that fell just to the tops of her thighs. He’d expected to be a bit repulsed, but they were oddly… well he wasn’t repulsed. She was rather long, most of it smooth, pale legs that looked soft and inviting. He’d seen women dressed in this state before, Hermione had long ago stopped looking at him as anything other than a brother, and often flopped around in her pajamas. The other women at the Burrow, Ginny, Hannah, Tonks, Katie, and that lot were all leanly built, athletic bodies that sported toned thighs and muscled abdomens. Everything about Millicent looked soft. Too inviting to really consider.
Her dark hair was pulled back from her head in a long plait, revealing a face that was soft with sleep. She was curled into her pillow and breathing softly through her parted lips. They too looked too soft to think about.
He’d come here at night to get some sort of clue as to what could soften her to his apology, but what he’d found was doing strange things to him indeed. The vanity across from the desk should have been littered with jars and bottles or other female trappings, but instead it held a littering of parchment. Curiosity got the better of him as he sifted through them.
Here were the sketches that Pansy had alluded to. Done in ink with a quick hand and a keen eye, some were only of body parts. Hands or ears that she dabbled with. But it was the portraits that held his attention. There was one of Pansy and Ron, nose to nose in the heat of an argument, then one of the two of them shooting each other curious looks at the dinner table. The one of Bill and Hannah made him blink, looking at the sketching of Bill pressing his hands to Hannah’s still flat stomach in wonder made him wonder just how much he had been missing out on. Then there was one of him, sitting by the fireside looking contemplative. And another of him on a broom, reaching for the snitch that would forever be just outside his grasp. There were several of Molly Weasley puttering about in the kitchen, or laughing with her whole body. They were beautiful really, and just a bit heartbreaking as he realized how much she was aware of without being a part of.
Suppressing a sigh he slipped from the room, unsure of what to do with his newly defined vision of Millicent Bullstrode.
++++
He found her the next morning sitting in the shade of the old climbing tree. She did not look up as he approached, but he knew by the tensing of her shoulders that she knew he was there.
“I’m sorry.” He blurted out, cringing at how pathetically inadequate the words sounded.
She looked up at him with a blank expression on her face.
“I. I was wrong about you, and I shouldn’t have said those hateful things. I know it’s a pathetic excuse, but I was hurting and I needed a fight.”
She nodded slightly, the mask of indifference fading a bit. “We’re all hurting still, Harry. You aren’t the only one who lost something.” She willed herself not to break as the memory of Terry’s face, twisted in pain, flashed in her eyes.
He sank down beside her, resting his head back against the rough bark. “It’s hard to… Sometimes, I forget….” His voice faded out, at a loss for words that would fix things. “I thought I understood everything about the war until it really started to happen. Then, the things I’d known for so long weren’t… they weren’t always right. And the people I thought were out against me were suddenly people who were fighting beside me.”
Millicent closed her eyes for a moment, finding her voice and quelling the tears that seemed all too present recently. “It was easy when we were younger to know where our loyalties were. You were loyal to your house, even if that meant hating another house for no good reason. You were loyal to your family, and you were loyal to your friends. But things change, Harry. And sometimes you have to trust someone without knowing their whole story. The war is over now. We’re finally through with being afraid and with looking over our shoulder for the next hex. It doesn’t change the pain of losing someone, but it makes it ok to believe in people again.”
Her soft, sleepy voice shifted through his system, tilting it a bit more than he would have liked.
“It’s hard sometimes, no matter how badly I want to reach out…I… There are certain people who I used to reach for that are gone now.” He felt the familiar pain squeeze around his heart as he pictured Sirius’ face. He snuck a glance at her and found her watching him intently. “There are people who I want to reach for that I’m afraid won’t reach back.” He finished lamely. He could feel his face flush and wished there was some way to swallow the words back down.
Her lips, those too soft lips, quirked in a ghost of a smile, “I guess you’ll never know until you try.” She replied, returning her gaze to the sky.
Summoning all of the courage that he’d made the hallmark of his life, he reached out tentatively and slipped his hand beneath hers. She froze for an instant, and his heart sped up in anticipation. Slowly, she laced her fingers with his.
“I’m sorry too. You weren’t the only one who said hateful things.”
“You were right though… I have a poor excuse for a life at the moment.”
“Things change, Harry. You’ll just have to get used to that.” Gently, he squeezed her hand, enjoying the feel of it beneath his own.
“That’s something I don’t think I’ll mind doing at all.”
Author:Peggieliz
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it all.
Pairing: Slight Millicent/Harry
Rating:PG-13 for language
Wordcount: 2582
Summary: Sometimes after the war it's not easy to return to "normal life"... especially if the only life you've ever known is war.
Author's Notes: This one was a challenge for me - so your thoughts on it would be GREATLY appreciated!
The snap of branches alerted him to the impending intrusion, but he kept his eyes forward and his posture casual. The footfalls ended just behind him and still he didn’t turn. “What is it?”
“Molly asked me to call you in for supper.” Her voice was low and husky. It irked him really, she always sounded as though she’d just woken up from a rather deep sleep.
“Fine then.” He replied. There was no good reason for him to be so short with her, but he’d never been quite able to figure her out. She’d just sort of … appeared one day at Dumbledore’s side and they were all supposed to take it on blind faith that she deserved to be there. Bitterly, he turned his thoughts from the deceased headmaster and stared sullenly out into the horizon.
“You know, for the Boy-Who-Lived you do a rather spotty impression of having a life.” Millicent half regretted the words even as she uttered them, but part of her was just sick of his moping and sulking and making everyone else miserable.
“And you’d know so much about that, wouldn’t you, Bullstrode?” he snapped, turning to her. He’d been itching for a fight, for something to take his mind off the horrible guilt that churned in his stomach every waking moment. “Seeing as you have none to speak of.”
Her temper flared and her eyes narrowed. “You know less than nothing about my life, Potter, and you’d be wise not to make assumptions about it.”
“Oh I know plenty of your life.” He forced his eyes to dull and he brushed his hands together in a gesture he hoped appeared bored. “Common knowledge, isn’t it? The only daughter of Death Eater scum who deserted her family when it was evident that the war wasn’t turning in their favor.” Somewhere in his conscience he knew he shouldn’t be hurling the vile rumors at her, but he couldn’t make himself stop. “Turned over your brother’s life for Dumbledore’s favor, isn’t that it?”
Her already pale face had gone paler, eyes watering briefly before they hardened. She took a menacing step forward, “They call you the savior of the Wizarding world, do you know that? But you’re nothing but a scared pathetic excuse for a man! I wonder if you’ll ever be worth all the blood that was shed to keep you alive.” Her nails dug into her palm and she focused on the physical pain, avoiding the emotional scars that he had ripped open.
“Don’t you dare speak of them.” His voice was low and it shook as he took a step forward. “You aren’t worthy to even think their names you miserable cow!”
Her palm flew out, connecting with his cheek solidly enough to whip his head to the side. The tears that had threatened before gathered in pools on her cheeks. “Bastard!” she spat, chest heaving in anger. “You never knew anything beyond what your little friends told you, did you? Never thought for yourself for one moment of your life. Good people laid down their lives because they believed in YOU, Harry Potter. People with lives and families that wanted them bled out in the streets because they believed in you. And you say I’m not worthy? You may have destroyed one monster, but you’re worse than he was!” Her vision blurred through the tears that fell down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, and she wasn’t quite sure if her heart could beat any faster. Reaching into her pocket she withdrew something small and flat, flinging it into the dirt at his feet.
“You left that in your robes, and though you certainly don’t deserve any favors I will not be bound to you.” Turning she fled back to the safety of the burrow. Her feet carried her blindly and she narrowly avoided barreling over George as he came round a corner. She brushed by everyone until she was at last alone in her room. Uttering a locking and silencing charm, she hurled herself on the bed and wept.
+++++
Harry knew what it was without looking down, and he closed his eyes against the pain that threatened to overcome him. He’d carried the mirror in his pocket any time he ventured out of the house, often worrying it between his fingers when he was nervous. Reaching down he carefully brushed the dirt off of it. A drop of something spilled onto it and he looked up, expecting to see rain. Baffled at the clear night sky, he realized he’d spilled his own tears.
“What did you do to her?” He spun on his heel, not having heard the approach. Pansy Parkinson in full temper was a sight to behold. Her eyes were narrowed and she simply radiated with power.
“What?” he croaked, brushing awkwardly at the tears.
“Millicent, you bastard! How did you make her cry?” She was put off a bit by seeing him this way, but too concerned about her friend to let it show.
“I didn’t do anything but tell her the truth.” He waited for the anger to rise in his system, but it failed.
She snorted, “And what truth do you know about Millie, Harry?” Her hands went to her hips as she waited for a response.
“Just as much as anyone does… about her family and…” he trailed off awkwardly, all the heat gone from his temper.
She ran a frustrated hand through her dark hair and dropped down to sit on the grass, nodding to the space beside her. She was silent until he too dropped down, turning the mirror between his fingers awkwardly. “Do you remember when half of the Wizarding world thought you were in love with Hermione?” she began quietly. He nodded with a slight grimace. “A half-truth. You love her as a sister, but not as anything more. We’re all quite fond of half-truths, Harry. They’re easier to swallow and often times less painful than reality.”
She plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers. Pansy wasn’t quite sure why she felt that Harry needed to know these things, but she was never one to ignore an instinct. “Millicent’s father was a Death Eater. That is absolutely and wholly true. Her mother died when she was a baby, I suspect you’d know a bit what that’s like? She was raised to believe that Voldemort was right in all things, and that love came with a price tag. A high one.” She paused, torn between loyalty to her best friend and the knowledge that revealing half the story would do nothing to benefit either of them. “Did you know Terry Boot?” Harry nodded slowly, unsure where this was all going. “Terry and Millie were fast friends as firsties. Despite all that house nonsense, they were very close. Terry’s father worked for the Ministry, and you can imagine how well their friendship went over with their families. Still, they were closer than anyone can really imagine. He used to sit for her.” She remembered with a quirk of the lips.
Harry cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “Sit for her?”
“Ah. Yes. Well, Millicent sketches often. And I’ll swear you’re a liar if you tell her I told you. Anyway. Terry’s sister was killed in a Death Eater raid in our seventh year. Millicent’s father was the one who killed her. “
They were both quiet for a long moment. Disbelief and guilt were at war within Harry as he recalled the words he’d hurled at her moments ago. “I didn’t know.” He whispered.
“No, I don’t suspect you did. That’s part of the reason she never took the mark.”
“Part of?”
“Part of it was you, Harry.” He looked at her, dumbfounded by the possibility.
“Millie didn’t think she could survive without her family for a long time. She didn’t want to be a part of them, but she didn’t believe she’d be able to go at life without them. Terry reminded her that you never really had a family, and were managing on your own. She never doubted a thing Terry said, so she believed him when he told her to believe in you.”
“And her brother?” He rested his head on his knees in defeat, not wanting to hear the rest, but knowing he had to.
“Joshua is in Azkaban. He was turned over by Millicent, that part is true. He was wanted for the murder of Terry Boot.”
He closed his eyes, feeling like a complete and utter failure for the first time in his life. “I’m a bastard.” He muttered, sick with shame.
“I won’t argue with you there.” She sighed, looking towards the burrow. “You should apologize.”
Rising, she offered him a hand, a bit surprised when he took it and drew himself to his feet. “I don’t know that she’ll listen. I wouldn’t want to listen to me after all those horrible things I said.”
They began towards the house and she offered him a smile, “Are you a Gryffindor or not, Potter?” she teased.
“Right.” He muttered.
++++
In retrospect, it was probably the worst plan known to man, but at the time he conceived it Harry was desperate. Tugging the invisibility cloak more firmly around his shoulders, he pushed open the door to her room softly, relieved that it didn’t squeak on its hinges. Seeing her sleeping in the big bed all by herself he instantly regretted the intrusion.
She wore a blue sleep shirt that fell just to the tops of her thighs. He’d expected to be a bit repulsed, but they were oddly… well he wasn’t repulsed. She was rather long, most of it smooth, pale legs that looked soft and inviting. He’d seen women dressed in this state before, Hermione had long ago stopped looking at him as anything other than a brother, and often flopped around in her pajamas. The other women at the Burrow, Ginny, Hannah, Tonks, Katie, and that lot were all leanly built, athletic bodies that sported toned thighs and muscled abdomens. Everything about Millicent looked soft. Too inviting to really consider.
Her dark hair was pulled back from her head in a long plait, revealing a face that was soft with sleep. She was curled into her pillow and breathing softly through her parted lips. They too looked too soft to think about.
He’d come here at night to get some sort of clue as to what could soften her to his apology, but what he’d found was doing strange things to him indeed. The vanity across from the desk should have been littered with jars and bottles or other female trappings, but instead it held a littering of parchment. Curiosity got the better of him as he sifted through them.
Here were the sketches that Pansy had alluded to. Done in ink with a quick hand and a keen eye, some were only of body parts. Hands or ears that she dabbled with. But it was the portraits that held his attention. There was one of Pansy and Ron, nose to nose in the heat of an argument, then one of the two of them shooting each other curious looks at the dinner table. The one of Bill and Hannah made him blink, looking at the sketching of Bill pressing his hands to Hannah’s still flat stomach in wonder made him wonder just how much he had been missing out on. Then there was one of him, sitting by the fireside looking contemplative. And another of him on a broom, reaching for the snitch that would forever be just outside his grasp. There were several of Molly Weasley puttering about in the kitchen, or laughing with her whole body. They were beautiful really, and just a bit heartbreaking as he realized how much she was aware of without being a part of.
Suppressing a sigh he slipped from the room, unsure of what to do with his newly defined vision of Millicent Bullstrode.
++++
He found her the next morning sitting in the shade of the old climbing tree. She did not look up as he approached, but he knew by the tensing of her shoulders that she knew he was there.
“I’m sorry.” He blurted out, cringing at how pathetically inadequate the words sounded.
She looked up at him with a blank expression on her face.
“I. I was wrong about you, and I shouldn’t have said those hateful things. I know it’s a pathetic excuse, but I was hurting and I needed a fight.”
She nodded slightly, the mask of indifference fading a bit. “We’re all hurting still, Harry. You aren’t the only one who lost something.” She willed herself not to break as the memory of Terry’s face, twisted in pain, flashed in her eyes.
He sank down beside her, resting his head back against the rough bark. “It’s hard to… Sometimes, I forget….” His voice faded out, at a loss for words that would fix things. “I thought I understood everything about the war until it really started to happen. Then, the things I’d known for so long weren’t… they weren’t always right. And the people I thought were out against me were suddenly people who were fighting beside me.”
Millicent closed her eyes for a moment, finding her voice and quelling the tears that seemed all too present recently. “It was easy when we were younger to know where our loyalties were. You were loyal to your house, even if that meant hating another house for no good reason. You were loyal to your family, and you were loyal to your friends. But things change, Harry. And sometimes you have to trust someone without knowing their whole story. The war is over now. We’re finally through with being afraid and with looking over our shoulder for the next hex. It doesn’t change the pain of losing someone, but it makes it ok to believe in people again.”
Her soft, sleepy voice shifted through his system, tilting it a bit more than he would have liked.
“It’s hard sometimes, no matter how badly I want to reach out…I… There are certain people who I used to reach for that are gone now.” He felt the familiar pain squeeze around his heart as he pictured Sirius’ face. He snuck a glance at her and found her watching him intently. “There are people who I want to reach for that I’m afraid won’t reach back.” He finished lamely. He could feel his face flush and wished there was some way to swallow the words back down.
Her lips, those too soft lips, quirked in a ghost of a smile, “I guess you’ll never know until you try.” She replied, returning her gaze to the sky.
Summoning all of the courage that he’d made the hallmark of his life, he reached out tentatively and slipped his hand beneath hers. She froze for an instant, and his heart sped up in anticipation. Slowly, she laced her fingers with his.
“I’m sorry too. You weren’t the only one who said hateful things.”
“You were right though… I have a poor excuse for a life at the moment.”
“Things change, Harry. You’ll just have to get used to that.” Gently, he squeezed her hand, enjoying the feel of it beneath his own.
“That’s something I don’t think I’ll mind doing at all.”