*
And so you see it.
The gorgeous people, the one's you helplessly, hopelessly admire. Of course, only from afar you wouldn't want to openly be known as 'shallow' or 'superficial.' From far away you stare and wish you could possibly look like THAT. And 'that' is gorgeous.
It's hard to put a finger on it, but Millicent Bulstrode knew it was what she wanted. But she never knew what it was per se. She couldn't describe it, but it was something that she coveted.
The other girls' didn't know that before bed, Mil would twirl her hair up into a fancy knot and parade about in front of the mirror in her dress robes acting as though she was on the catwalk.
No one knew. And they wouldn't have cared anyways.
Millicent was never pretty her Mum joked once, "it just wasn't in her veins," and it really wasn't. The girl grew up feeling incredibly little self-worth as the other girls played with different colored, shiny new make- up kits and brushed their hair with one hundred strokes.
Outwardly, the girl would roll her eyes and say. "That's stupid, Pansy."
But inwardly she was thinking, "It isn't stupid."
You could see it; in the way the gorgeous people carried themselves. It was so blatantly apparent.
And in Millicent's case, stinging. It stung her poor little heart to see these kinds of people.
There was, Draco Malfoy no doubt Slytherin's resident hottie. His cold charm, and charismatic (to most) personality made him one of the girls' favorites. To talk about and to gossip about. And mostly, to stare at with this glint of girlish, peppy happiness. Rich and inviting, the now seventeen-year-old boy was.
Then you have, Pansy Parkinson. All the boys liked her. Her Father was an open and famous supporter of Voldemort, and they had quite a load of money. She curled her eyelashes every SINGLE day, and wore her licorice-black hair in a curly messy bun. The girl was charming and peppy.
And then you compare them to Millicent. Her head hanging low, and her shoulders were slouched. Carrying her books, because know one would carry them for her. And going for life with a bleedin' chip on her shoulder because, "no one liked me." Which was a direct quote, mind you.
She didn't know though; she didn't' know that so many people loved her presence. She didn't know how special she was. And she most certainly didn't know that people confided in her, and said things they would dare not tell anyone else.
On the cold October day, Malfoy came into the girls' dormitory. "Mils, what's up?" His eyes looked dark and foreshadowing and his cheeks were an unusual (for him at least) red.
Instinctively, she took his hand and sat him down beside her on the loveseat.
"Do tell, luv-" she said in a pleading sort of way.
"Tell you?" He drawled as he put his head on her shoulder.
"Yes, you look, I don't' know, like-"
"Terrible?" Giving her a classic, million-galleon smile.
"Not terrible. Still gorgeous, love."
Throwing his head back, he laughed in a hollow sort of way. "Thanks, Mil."
"For what?"
"For being here, when no one else is."
"Still not gonna tell me?"
"Still not."
*
And when Pansy was feeling lousy about her Potion's test, Millicent rolled her eyes and said, "You'll get 'em next time, Pans." 'Pans' was her personal nickname for Pansy, the very uptight, eccentric girl.
Pansy brushed a stray eyelash away from her eye. "Thanks Mil."
"For what?"
"For being you."
*
Her younger sister was coming to Hogwarts, the year that Millicent was in her sixth. Jane Bulstrode held her sister's hand as Mil soothed her about what the sorting ceremony would be like, "It's okay. It doesn't hurt you know, don't be silly, Janie."
Jane smiled up at her sister, "I know. But just keep saying it."
"It doesn't hurt."
And it didn't.
*
Baking an apple pie in the kitchens, Millicent made constant chatter (rarely did she have communication with the norms-) with the house elves.
They enjoyed her company, as she would bake them pie.
"I can perfectly well make pie," Doby reasoned sitting at the bar.
"I know you can," was the simple retort as Millicent took the apple pie out of the wizard-oven.
"Then why do you do it?" Doby questioned, taking a sip of cinnamon tea.
"Because, I can. And because you deserve it."
*
Taking note of Flobberworms, on her golden piece of parchment, Millicent looked up to see a short Hufflepuff boy staring at her.
Fighting the urge to say, 'get your scrawny little self away! Can't you see I'm trying to work' Millicent patted the seat next to her.
"What would you like?"
The first year grinned, "Can you help me?"
"With what?"
"With Potions."
"Oh. Sure. Make it quick though, little kid."
The boy went on to explain Professor Snape's favoritism, "He just doesn't like me! I swear!"
Patting him on the head in a motherly sort of way, Millicent picked up her Herbology book. "Look, let's pretend you don't like this book."
"Why wouldn't I like that book?"
"You just do, alright? Just pretend."
"Okay," the boy said obviously unconvinced.
"Now, you don't like this book, what do you want to do to it?"
The young boy fidgeted uncomfortably.
"C'mon," Millicent encouraged, "You hate this book's guts, what are you going to do about it?"
"I want it away from me," the boy said coolly looking at the book in disgust.
"That's a nice thought darling," she said, "But what are you going to do about it?"
"This," the boy said taking the book from her and slamming it on the hard floor.
"And-" Millicent began but she was soon cut off by the boy stomping loudly on it.
"That. And that." He said.
About ready to pick up the book, Millicent stopped him.
"No, you hate that book. Now, don't pick it up."
"But it didn't deserve 'that'-" the boy grinned.
"Why not?" Millicent questioned her gray eyes flickering in the heavy lights.
"Because it's just a book," he said giving the book a pitiful look.
"And Professor Snape is just Professor Snape." Millicent reasoned, "Now, I suggest darling that you go run on your merry way and keep that in mind. Got it?"
"Got ya."
Millicent winked at the boy as he smiled and winked back.
*
"You're a goddess, Mil!" Crabbe exclaimed, giving his friend Goyle a high- five.
"What? I just said I'd go to the ball with you-" she said, obviously failing to see how big of a deal this was to Crabbe.
"I know! Exactly. Thanks loads. I'll leave the last chocolate frog for you this time."
"Will you?" She grinned, tossing him a glare.
"No chance," he laughed as she ran after him; she had to get that chocolate frog!
*
But she didn't know that.
Mil never knew how much they loved her.
Mil didn't know how she was their princess, their friend, their confidant, and their angel.
She never knew that she was special, a rare gem.
And she went to the grave never knowing.
*
And so you see it.
The gorgeous people, the one's you helplessly, hopelessly admire. Of course, only from afar you wouldn't want to openly be known as 'shallow' or 'superficial.' From far away you stare and wish you could possibly look like THAT. And 'that' is gorgeous.
It's hard to put a finger on it, but Millicent Bulstrode knew it was what she wanted. But she never knew what it was per se. She couldn't describe it, but it was something that she coveted.
The other girls' didn't know that before bed, Mil would twirl her hair up into a fancy knot and parade about in front of the mirror in her dress robes acting as though she was on the catwalk.
No one knew. And they wouldn't have cared anyways.
Millicent was never pretty her Mum joked once, "it just wasn't in her veins," and it really wasn't. The girl grew up feeling incredibly little self-worth as the other girls played with different colored, shiny new make- up kits and brushed their hair with one hundred strokes.
Outwardly, the girl would roll her eyes and say. "That's stupid, Pansy."
But inwardly she was thinking, "It isn't stupid."
You could see it; in the way the gorgeous people carried themselves. It was so blatantly apparent.
And in Millicent's case, stinging. It stung her poor little heart to see these kinds of people.
There was, Draco Malfoy no doubt Slytherin's resident hottie. His cold charm, and charismatic (to most) personality made him one of the girls' favorites. To talk about and to gossip about. And mostly, to stare at with this glint of girlish, peppy happiness. Rich and inviting, the now seventeen-year-old boy was.
Then you have, Pansy Parkinson. All the boys liked her. Her Father was an open and famous supporter of Voldemort, and they had quite a load of money. She curled her eyelashes every SINGLE day, and wore her licorice-black hair in a curly messy bun. The girl was charming and peppy.
And then you compare them to Millicent. Her head hanging low, and her shoulders were slouched. Carrying her books, because know one would carry them for her. And going for life with a bleedin' chip on her shoulder because, "no one liked me." Which was a direct quote, mind you.
She didn't know though; she didn't' know that so many people loved her presence. She didn't know how special she was. And she most certainly didn't know that people confided in her, and said things they would dare not tell anyone else.
On the cold October day, Malfoy came into the girls' dormitory. "Mils, what's up?" His eyes looked dark and foreshadowing and his cheeks were an unusual (for him at least) red.
Instinctively, she took his hand and sat him down beside her on the loveseat.
"Do tell, luv-" she said in a pleading sort of way.
"Tell you?" He drawled as he put his head on her shoulder.
"Yes, you look, I don't' know, like-"
"Terrible?" Giving her a classic, million-galleon smile.
"Not terrible. Still gorgeous, love."
Throwing his head back, he laughed in a hollow sort of way. "Thanks, Mil."
"For what?"
"For being here, when no one else is."
"Still not gonna tell me?"
"Still not."
*
And when Pansy was feeling lousy about her Potion's test, Millicent rolled her eyes and said, "You'll get 'em next time, Pans." 'Pans' was her personal nickname for Pansy, the very uptight, eccentric girl.
Pansy brushed a stray eyelash away from her eye. "Thanks Mil."
"For what?"
"For being you."
*
Her younger sister was coming to Hogwarts, the year that Millicent was in her sixth. Jane Bulstrode held her sister's hand as Mil soothed her about what the sorting ceremony would be like, "It's okay. It doesn't hurt you know, don't be silly, Janie."
Jane smiled up at her sister, "I know. But just keep saying it."
"It doesn't hurt."
And it didn't.
*
Baking an apple pie in the kitchens, Millicent made constant chatter (rarely did she have communication with the norms-) with the house elves.
They enjoyed her company, as she would bake them pie.
"I can perfectly well make pie," Doby reasoned sitting at the bar.
"I know you can," was the simple retort as Millicent took the apple pie out of the wizard-oven.
"Then why do you do it?" Doby questioned, taking a sip of cinnamon tea.
"Because, I can. And because you deserve it."
*
Taking note of Flobberworms, on her golden piece of parchment, Millicent looked up to see a short Hufflepuff boy staring at her.
Fighting the urge to say, 'get your scrawny little self away! Can't you see I'm trying to work' Millicent patted the seat next to her.
"What would you like?"
The first year grinned, "Can you help me?"
"With what?"
"With Potions."
"Oh. Sure. Make it quick though, little kid."
The boy went on to explain Professor Snape's favoritism, "He just doesn't like me! I swear!"
Patting him on the head in a motherly sort of way, Millicent picked up her Herbology book. "Look, let's pretend you don't like this book."
"Why wouldn't I like that book?"
"You just do, alright? Just pretend."
"Okay," the boy said obviously unconvinced.
"Now, you don't like this book, what do you want to do to it?"
The young boy fidgeted uncomfortably.
"C'mon," Millicent encouraged, "You hate this book's guts, what are you going to do about it?"
"I want it away from me," the boy said coolly looking at the book in disgust.
"That's a nice thought darling," she said, "But what are you going to do about it?"
"This," the boy said taking the book from her and slamming it on the hard floor.
"And-" Millicent began but she was soon cut off by the boy stomping loudly on it.
"That. And that." He said.
About ready to pick up the book, Millicent stopped him.
"No, you hate that book. Now, don't pick it up."
"But it didn't deserve 'that'-" the boy grinned.
"Why not?" Millicent questioned her gray eyes flickering in the heavy lights.
"Because it's just a book," he said giving the book a pitiful look.
"And Professor Snape is just Professor Snape." Millicent reasoned, "Now, I suggest darling that you go run on your merry way and keep that in mind. Got it?"
"Got ya."
Millicent winked at the boy as he smiled and winked back.
*
"You're a goddess, Mil!" Crabbe exclaimed, giving his friend Goyle a high- five.
"What? I just said I'd go to the ball with you-" she said, obviously failing to see how big of a deal this was to Crabbe.
"I know! Exactly. Thanks loads. I'll leave the last chocolate frog for you this time."
"Will you?" She grinned, tossing him a glare.
"No chance," he laughed as she ran after him; she had to get that chocolate frog!
*
But she didn't know that.
Mil never knew how much they loved her.
Mil didn't know how she was their princess, their friend, their confidant, and their angel.
She never knew that she was special, a rare gem.
And she went to the grave never knowing.
*