I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize for the long delay since I last updated "Confessions of a Fat, Ugly Slytherin." Don't worry, I haven't given up on it, but Chapter Six is being a brat, and I'm rather swamped with homework, so still no more "Confessions" anytime soon, I'm afraid. But since I realize that four months is a rather hellishly long period of time to wait, here's a ficlet from the Mil-verse. I've been wanting to write Millicent's Sorting for quite awhile now anyway, so…
Disclaimer: It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.
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"Bulstrode, Millicent!"
Trying not to look as nervous as she felt, Millicent walked slowly over to where the black-haired witch, McGonagall, waited with the Sorting Hat. Intellectually she knew that there wasn't really much to worry about – the odds of her becoming either a Gryffindork or a Hufflefluff were almost nonexistent – but apparently her brain and her stomach weren't speaking to each other, because it seemed that a large cloud of enraged butterflies had taken up residence in her abdomen.
Well, she reasoned, the very worst thing that can happen is that I'll have to live with people I hate for the next seven years of my life. And be permanently associated with either a group of gallant, hypocritical twits or a group of nauseatingly kind and cheerful twits. And –
Oh, Merlin.
Trying very hard not to think about what was going to happen, Millicent sat on the stool and gingerly placed the hat on her head. Get on with it.
"'Get on with it'?" the Sorting Hat chuckled in her ear. "It's a very important decision, you know, and we shouldn't rush things – no? Well, I can appreciate that. But where to put you?" Its tone became speculative. "You're certainly stubborn enough to be one of Helga's – "
Millicent gritted her teeth.
" – But somehow I don't think Hufflepuff would suit you. And you're far too cautious to make a good Gryffindor. I don't think they'd quite know what to make of you. No, it's Ravenclaw or Slytherin for you."
You're enjoying this, aren't you?
"Just being precise, m'dear, just being precise." Amazing, really, that a hat – even a talking hat – could manage to sound that prim. "Ravenclaw, then? Well, you certainly have the intelligence for it, and – " A chuckle. " – Just between you and me, they could use someone with common sense. But I'm afraid that wouldn't be a good choice either. You aren't of a terribly scholarly bent, and too much abstract intellectualism would drive you up the wall. No, with a mind like yours, it would be a shame to put you anywhere but SLYTHERIN!"
Still shaking a bit but feeling much calmer, Millicent handed the hat back to McGonagall and started walking over to the applauding Slytherin table. One conversation with an annoying hat down, she thought, seven years to go.