This is my first foray into this pairing, and my first real slash, so be gentle with me.
I would like to thank my wonderful beta, stgulik, for her stellar work, and encouragement, and DMuse, for giving me the story and not allowing me to rest until I wrote it.
This story contains explicit sexual content and slash (M/M).
The week before Millicent Bulstrode boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time, she was summoned by her paternal grandmother, Odessa Bulstrode – the sane one. Her mother's mother, Falysal Booker, of the Wolverhampton Bookers, was as mad as a stick, and her family avoided going to visit her unless absolutely necessary. She kept cats, and was like as not to mention a few going missing whenever she made stew.
Odessa had invited Millie for tea, and as Millie sat on one of her grandmother's slick horsehair chairs and tried valiantly not to slide off, Odessa began with, "So. Hogwarts."
"Yes, Nan," she'd answered, and took another sip of tea. "Hogwarts."
The old woman blew over her cup to cool her brew. In her dry voice, redolent with Lancastrian undertones, she said, "I'm not going to lie to you, Millicent. You're the spitting image of your mother, child. And your mother was born with face like a smacked arse and the years did nothing to improve her situation. I'm afraid as you mature, you'll be just as repugnant to the opposite sex as she. Why your father married her is still a mystery even the great Merlin himself couldn't solve."
Millie slipped slightly on the chair, and pushed herself back upright, levering herself by pressing a dirty boot on the leg of her lace bloomers and smearing them with mud in the process. Her grandmother watched her with thinly veiled disappointment.
"And you're ungraceful and awkward and fat. But you have lovely hair," Odessa continued with a smile, as if that made up for everything.
"Thanks," Millie answered, swallowing, wishing the tea and biscuits didn't taste like ash in her mouth. She idly fingered a tight braid. She was looking forward to going to Hogwarts, if only so she could wear her hair down and not have daily headaches from her braids. Her mother always braided them so tightly they actually bent.
"But none of that matters, my dear."
Millie squinted her small, dark eyes. "Then why did you bring it up?"
The old bat looked at her granddaughter slyly. "Because you are a witch, and a damn good one. You levitated yourself when you were two year old. Two! That's very good. Worthy of your father's bloodline. But there's summat else."
Millie waited, hoping that it wasn't against the law to hex old ladies once she had a proper wand.
Odessa continued, "There will always be those who will exploit your ugliness, who, in the guise of charity, will pretend to befriend or be enamoured of you. Do. Not. Trust. Them."
Millie rolled her eyes. She was eight stone already and a year older than most of her peers. She wasn't stupid. "I won't."
"Good." Odessa sat back with a satisfied air. "Because one day they will need you, and you can tell them to fuck off."
Millie nodded. She knew all about that, too.
"But there will be the rare ones, the very rare ones, who will care for you regardless – poor creatures though they will be - and those, my dear, will be worth cherishing, even keeping."
Millie watched as her grandmother popped another digestive in her mouth. "Nan, how will I know the difference?"
Odessa regarded the young girl so hard that Millie began to feel uncomfortable. She looked down at her muddy dress, her wrinkled pinafore, the bedraggled ends of her tight, black braids, and her chubby, awkward hands. "How will I know who to trust, Nan?" she asked again.
Odessa put her tea cup down. "You won't. You'll just have to bumble about until the others screw you over, and the ones who don't, well, them's the ones to rely on."
On the evening everyone arrived at school and was sorted (Millie had known she'd be in Slytherin; she had told the Sorting Hat that's where she wanted to go, and if he said some other poxy House, she would rip him a new arsehole), Millie sat down at the Slytherin table beside Draco Malfoy. She didn't have to be told who he was; everyone knew the Malfoys. He introduced her to Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Goyle was an ugly scrote, with a head like a root vegetable and the dumbest laugh she'd ever heard. Vince Crabbe was her distant cousin and had all but forgotten she knew him. That side of the family was thicker than shit, her dad always said.
"Alright, Lemon Squeezy?" he said, with a guffaw.
"Yeah, Vince, you poxy lamebrain," she replied, and helped herself to corn.
"Why does he call you Lemon Squeezy?" asked a girl sitting across from her. She had been identified as Pansy something-or-other, and she was one of those pretty, vain girls who liked to befriend plug uglies like Millie to make themselves look even prettier by comparison.
Crabbe laughed his dull-witted bark again, and pulled the corners of his eyes to make them slant. "Millie's mum always braids her pigtails so tight, her eyes look oriental. It's rhyming slang."
Everyone laughed at her expense, and she gave the two fingers. "Oh yeah? And who gave you that pudding bowl haircut? The orderlies at St Mungo's?"
"Oi, you lot, use your pie holes for eating," growled a sixth-year Prefect named Marcus, and the rest of them went back to their meal, but they kept looking at her and giggling.
"Easy peasy," Goyle whispered, behind his drumstick.
"Lemon squeezy," Pansy giggled, and almost, but not quite laughed bubbles into her pumpkin juice.
"Hands and kneezy," Draco smirked, leaning back like a big shot.
"Japaneezy!" Crabbe crowed, and they all burst into haw-haw-haw laughter that made Millie want to punch their lights out. She was rising from her chair when-
"I said shut it!" Marcus growled. "Snape's already staring daggers at you lot. You don't want him leaving his dinner to come down here, believe me. You'll have plenty enough opportunities to piss him off as it is."
Of all of them, Draco was the least impressed. "Snape doesn't have any real power. He and my father are good friends. He knows which side his bread is buttered on."
Marcus looked at Draco with a sneer. He, like Millie, was one of the ugly ones. "I'm looking forward to hearing you tell Snape that, Malfoy."
Severus Snape was just imposing enough for Millie to feel intimidated. He had an ugliness about him that seemed planned, almost pre-ordained. He was tall and thin as a shadow, all cut-glass cheekbones and prison pallour. He had large hands with long fingers and his nose was big enough for two. His black hair was the same colour as hers, but it didn't half need a good washing.
When he walked into the Slytherin Common Room that first night, he stood in the doorway, his black eyes sweeping over the lot, his head twitching as it swiveled around the room, like a gear with rusty cogs.
"Welcome back, Slytherin upper classes," he said, his tone just this side of mocking. He had a deep voice like a pipe organ, and Millie could hear a Northern drawl beneath that posh rumble. "I'm sure your summer has been adequately long enough for you to have forgotten most of what you learned last year. If not, then I expect a better performance overall academically from you this term.
"As for first years." His eyes slid over to where they were, all huddled in a corner of the common room near the exit, the only place the upper classmen would relinquish. "This is your family. The other houses place great importance on loyalty, scholarship and bravery. This house values all those attributes. For itself. Your loyalty is to your House. Your grades reflect your House. I don't give a toss how brave you are as long as you don't. Disgrace. Your. House."
He inspected them carefully. "No doubt some of you will experience homesickness, and may long for your mums. This isn't anything to be ashamed of. Your upper classmen will help you to adjust. But they're not going to baby you, so you must learn to rely on yourself. If you need to have a little cry, go ahead, but never let the other Houses catch you. This is the only place at Hogwarts that will give you succor."
He drew the long sleeves of his robe around him like the wings of a bat. "Now. One final word. If I hear of anyone, boy or girl, bullying another in this House, you'll be out on your arse faster than you can say Salazar Slytherin. There will be NO bullying in this House," he snarled, like he was already angry at them.
"And that goes for you girls as much as you boys. Boys: No buggering in the shower. That is rape, and I will have you on the first train home. Girls, that applies to you as well. Any girl who thinks she can get away with it will wear that plunger until it has to be surgically removed." He looked over to a rough group of older girls who were giggling and gossiping. They were short-haired girls with fags in their purses and broader shoulders than many of the males.
Snape eyed one in particular, a tall girl with dead ordinary brown hair that frizzled around her head. It reminded Millie of her mum's rusty pan scrubber. "Do I make myself clear, Adelaide Shwinner, Veronica Saltgrass?"
"Yes, sir," the brown-haired girl, Adelaide Swinner replied. Her voice was almost as deep as Snape's. The other girl, a prettier thing with vapid blue eyes, nodded impatiently.
"Fine," he replied, and gave them all one last glance. "My office hours are from three o'clock to half-past four, Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. If you need me at any other time, find a Prefect. I don't expect to be bothered otherwise regarding any complaints on your behaviour. If you get caught, you deserve what you get.
"Now, get to bed and don't be late for class tomorrow. Anyone losing House points on the first day of school gets a week's detention with Filch."
As he prepared to go, a prefect cornered him, asking a question about Quidditch, and Millie headed for her dorm. As she passed Adelaide, the older girl deliberately shouldered her, causing Millie to stagger sideways into Snape. "Watch where you're going, Bulstrode!" the girl snarled, showing off for her friends.
Millie's wand was in her hand and Adelaide's nose was bleeding before she could take another step. Adelaide howled in pain and anger. Snape whirled around. "What the hell is wrong with you, Schwinner?"
Clutching her bloody nose, the fourth-year pointed in Millie's direction. "She attacked me for no good reason. I wad dood nufink!" she snarled, as her voice grew more nasal and clogged.
Professor Snape frowned at Millie. "Causing trouble already, Miss Bulstrode?"
Pissed off, Millie glowered at Adelaide. "If it comes looking for me, it'll find it."
Snape looked at her a moment, then repaired Adelaide's nose with a flick of his wand. "Get to your room, Schwinner. We'll discuss this later."
"But she attacked me! Veronica, tell him-"
"If you make trouble, Adelaide, someone will find it. It looks like someone has, so suck it up and get to your dorm room. You're lucky I've just made a bet with Professor McGonagall that Slytherin will win the House Cup this year, or I'd take away ten points for picking a fight. And don't come the cowboy with me, Sonny Jim," he quipped, as she started to protest. "I'm not stupid and I'm not blind. Get to bed."
Adelaide walked away, but not before aiming a look at Millie that any fool could have translated. Feeling persecuted and sorry for herself, Millie stumbled past Snape toward her own dorm. His hand shot out and landed on her shoulder. "A word, Miss Bulstrode."
She slumped and turned to face him. He was about eight feet tall next to her. She stared hard in the vicinity of his navel.
"You're Derrick Bulstrode's girl, aren't you?"
When Millie nodded, Snape added, "Del and I were in the same year together."
"He told me," she said lowly, wondering when he was going to assign her detention.
"Miss Bulstrode," Snape said, and she glanced up at him. He was gazing forward, eyes squinting slightly, as if looking at something he didn't want to see. "Hogwarts likes its normality. Deviation from the routine, from the normal, whether in talent, behaviour or physical appearance, isn't especially appreciated here. You'll find out very quickly that money and prestige and beauty are the preferred currency."
"Aren't they always?" she quipped, and to her surprise, he almost smiled.
"I cannot disagree with you there. Anomaly is not encouraged, nor is it desirable. And forgiveness is hard to come by. Do you understand?"
She looked at him, hard. Sullenly, she replied, "Yeah. If you're not a Malfoy or a Quidditch player or pretty, you don't stand a chance." She sneered at him. "I'm ugly, I'm not stupid."
To her surprise, he bowed slightly and made an almost courtly gesture in the direction of her dormitory. "It never occurred to me to call you either." He nodded to himself as if his mind were made up about something. "Good. You'll do well as long as you keep that attitude. You might even thrive here."
He turned on his heel and swept out of the room, his voluminous robes billowing behind. Millie watched him go, then rolled her eyes. Her dad always said Snape was a bit of a pillock.
A year later, she was spending an evening scrubbing toilets with Filch. "Who says there's no contact in dueling?" she grumbled, trying not to think about what she was removing from the inside of the toilet.
Snape had put her in detention for, as he put it, 'brawling with a Gryffindor like a common Muggle.' It hadn't done any good to explain that Granger was a common Muggle, and that's why she had had her in a headlock and was winning.
"Stupid Duelling Club. What's the point of fighting if you can't fight dirty? How else can you be sure you'll win?"
"I guess you need to make sure no one's looking next time," Filch muttered, as he dipped a squeegee into one of the toilets, then began cleaning the mirrors with it. He'd explained that this discouraged the older girls from putting on their lipstick and then kissing the mirrors. Once they learned how he cleaned them, the mirrors were surprisingly free of this particularly female brand of graffiti. "What were you doing, biffing around that Granger girl anywrote? She don't seem like all that bad a sort."
Millie shrugged and pulled the chain. The toilet gurgled, burped, then flushed. She heard a low moan. "Sorry, Myrt," she said, and was rewarded with a large backsplash that soaked her robe clear through. "Mardy bum," she muttered, wiping water from her face.
She backed out of the stall and opened the door to the next one. "I don't really have nothing against her, it's just we were dueling. It seems like to me that the point is to win. Well," she shrugged, "I was winning, until Snape said-"
"That's Professor Snape, Millie," Filch corrected, his voice mild. He tapped on the door jamb of the stall. "Here, that's enough. You'll get so tired you won't be fit to study." He took the brush from her, and she leapt up to sit on the table near the door, her stumpy legs dangling.
Filch made quick work of scrubbing out the last three toilets while Millie watched. He often did this when she got detention, which was more often than she felt she deserved, but not as often as she had expected. It was just that Millie hated to be told to do something pointless, just to be doing it. She hated to be ordered about unless it was for a good cause, and saw no reason to be polite to someone who was a dick, even if he was a professor.
"That poof Lockhart gave me the detention," she groused, "but Professor Snape assigned it."
Filch's laughter always sounded like a rusty hinge, little used and on the verge of breaking. "You've got the measure of Lockhart, that's for sure. Him poncin' about; it sticks right in me clack." He dropped the scrubber into the bucket and rose with a groan. "But Professor Snape put you wi' me, 'cause you've got a pop quiz in Charms tomorrow. He wants you to study hard and make a good grade."
He finished the last stall, flushed, then pulled out a battered pocket watch. It was the colour of old brass and as big as a salad plate. He peered at it hard, as if half-expecting to catch it lying about the time. "There we are. You've got about fifteen minutes before dinner's done. Run get your tea, then go and study."
Millie looked at him with mistrustful eyes. She slid off the table, and grabbed her bookbag. "Here. Why're you being so nice to me?"
Filch looked at her hard. "Who says I'm being nice? You've had to scrub three floors of toilets and barely got to eat. I've not been nice, lass. I've been Ol' Filch." He gave her a look that said, work out what I'm trying to get through your thick skull, lass.
When she didn't reply, he lowered his head. "Besides, Madam Pomfrey told me you've been visiting Mrs. Norris." He sniffed and pulled at his nose. "She says you sit with her and give her a stroke or two, and brush her." His lip trembled. "She likes that, the brush. She can be bad for sheddin'."
Millie ducked her head as well, abashed as always to get caught at a tenderness. She shrugged. "I like cats. And the hair comes off easy enough. It was just too bad what happened. I just figured she might feel it, even if she is, you know, petrified."
"Yeah, well," he cleared his throat. "I'm appreciative of the gesture. Not many would think of it."
She nodded, feeling a blush stealing into her face. Gruffly, she said, "Don't worry, Mr. Filch. Everyone will know what a hard case you are."
He cleared his throat again and nodded approvingly. "And don't you forget it, missy."
The last day of school in Millie's third year, Adelaide Schwinner and Veronica Saltgrass cornered her in that self-same lav. She was having a shower, after a particularly dirty final Herbology lesson. Normally she showered in the evening, when no one was about to laugh at her chubby legs, her overly-developed bosom. At fourteen, Millie had taken on a growth spurt in every direction, and was at a loss as to what to do with her voluminous breasts, the crinkly black hair between her legs, the strange dreams she had at night that left her feeling sweaty and distinctly crampy.
That day, however, she had walked into the showers just as the last Quidditch practice had ended, and there they were: the tall, strong girls that had made her Hogwarts life a misery every time she passed them in the common room or deliberately shouldered her out of their way to breakfast.
It had bothered her for the past three years that she let them get away with it. She was more than happy to put that Granger bint in a headlock and pound her into the ground, but something about biffing your own House mates made her feel like she was doing something wrong. Something that Snape would be disappointed about.
The subtle bullying she could take: bang, bang, back to your neutral corner. But lately, they had gotten a little more aggressive. With the end of their seven years at Hogwarts imminent, they seemed to be of a mind to push Millie's buttons. And she had so many for them to push: her looks, her intelligence, her lack of grace. So each day, the snide remarks got a little more pointed, the bumps and the pushes a little harder.
The previous week, they had knocked her down the stairs. One outstretched foot as she went racing toward Potions, and she went flying, books everywhere, her robe landing over her head, revealing her less-than-pristine old knickers. She could hear the peals of laughter, and wanted to smash their smug faces in so bad-
She looked up into the frowning face of Professor Snape. His expression was one of profound disapproval. "Miss Bulstrode-"
"Fell," she panted, gathering her books, ignoring the giggles from the Gryffindors, the fiery pain in her lacerated knees. "I fell."
"Indeed," he replied, his voice dark. "You lot, get to your classes! Go!" he barked, and the others scattered like leaves, leaving Millie huffing and seeing red.
"Get to the Infirmary, Bullstrode. Have Madam Pomfrey check your wounds."
"I'm fine. Just let me sit down," she had begged through gritted teeth. "Don't single me out any more than I am, okay?"
He sighed. "Very well. See me after class for some Dittany."
It was the last sodding day of school; she should have known better, but when she tried to back out of the shower room, she was spotted before she could walk away.
"Well look who's here, Ronnie," Adelaide drawled. She turned toward Millie, proudly displaying her hard, Quidditch-toned body, all tight breasts and lean muscles and broad shoulders. Her voice took on a nasal, exaggerated Northern drawl. "It's Millie Squeezy."
Millie sighed and stomped off toward the changing room, where she put her bathrobe and toiletries in a locker, sealing it with a personalised locking charm. She went into one of the toilet cubicles and sat, waiting for them to leave. She could hear their low voices as she waited.
Finally, the water was shut off, and the two girls chatted about summer and plans and other things Millie didn't give a toss about, as they padded around, drying off and getting dressed. The shower room door opened with a squeak, and their voices disappeared through it as it closed behind them.
Relieved, Millie quickly ducked into the shower room and started scrubbing. The fertiliser Sprout had made them use stank like shite and stuck like glue, and Millie was busy scrubbing her legs when she was tackled from behind.
A large hand clapped over her mouth, and she was dragged down onto the cold tiles. "You lost me my graduation present, you squealing little pig," a low voice snarled, close to her ear. "Snape sent a Howler to my folks after you blabbed about falling down the stairs."
"I didn't say anything!" Millie cried out, gasping as Adelaide pulled and twisted Millie's hair. Tears spurted from her eyes, and she tried to claw her way free.
"Shut up! I was getting the new Nimbus Excelsior Broom for graduation, but thanks to you, Mum says I'll have to work over the summer to earn it. I think you need a lesson in House loyalty, Lemon Squeezy," Adelaide growled in her ear. "What do you say, Ronnie? Think she needs to be taught a lesson?"
Veronica giggled. "Yeah, Addy." She pinched Millie's face, hard. "I think you're a rotten, stinking little snitch. You even smell like one."
The two girls laughed as Millie struggled; she managed to push the hand from her mouth. "I didn't tell him anything, you stupid bint!" she snapped back, trying to get purchase on the slippery floor. A hard hand slapped her face, and she saw stars.
"Aren't you a little spitfire, Squeezy? I bet you told Snape because you're a boot-licking little toady. Like he cares what happens to an ugly little shoat like you."
Millie fought as they slapped her and pinched her nipples and pulled her hair. A hand went between her legs, and Millie roared in fear and anger as the two older and bigger girls held her down. "Gerrof me!" she screamed, fighting, but they were too strong, too determined.
A fist on the side of her head rocked it back against the wet floor, and she fell back, dazed. Her legs were forced apart, and Adelaide pushed between them, holding a plunger in her hand. Millie watched in growing fear as Adelaide pulled the black rubber plunger from the stick and tossed it aside.
"I think Squeezy deserves a little punishment herself, don't you, Ronnie?" she said, blazing with angry lust.
"Yeah, yeah, Addy. Give it to her," Veronica giggled. She was kneeling on Millie's chest, making it hard for her to breathe. Millie began to whine as she felt the cold stick forced between her-
"Squeezy, meet Johnny," Adelaide said, her eyes glittering with hate. "Here's his stick, and there's his rubber. You might say that he services all the ugly girls in Slytherin. And let's face it: he's about as close to a boy as a slag like you is ever gonna get."
"What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" A cold female voice rang through the shower room over the patter of the water still falling from the nozzle.
Millie looked up to see Professor Sinistra throw Adelaide and Veronica off her with a spell so powerful the two older girls flew across the room like rubbish on the breeze. Millie jumped up and dashed into the locker room. She didn't bother to dry herself; it was difficult dragging her bathrobe over her damp skin, but she had to get out of there. Finally, she retrieved her things and ran for the door.
She would be damned if she let them see her cry.
"Miss Bulstrode, stay where you are. You two, come with me now." Sinistra's normally quiet voice was cold and flinty with anger. "You are going to explain to Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore why you tried to sexually assault Miss Bulstrode."
"Assault?" Adelaide scoffed. "Huh. She was asking-"
"Don't even attempt to insult me by saying Miss Bulstrode asked you to do it. I saw you both. You make me ashamed to be a Slytherin. Come with me now."
As she herded the two older girls out of the shower room, she turned back to Millie. "Miss Bulstrode, go to the Infirmary immediately. That is not a suggestion. That is a direct order from your Head of House."
Feeling sick with mortification, Millie dragged herself to the Infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey fussed and prodded. Satisfied that Millie was suffering from nothing more than a few slaps and pinches, Madam Pomfrey let her go back to her dormitory with a Pain Potion and a Calming Draught. Millie took neither.