Sorry this part took so long to come out! A lot of stuff have been happening in my life, and I have had writer's block for a long time.



A Quest for Love: Chapter 5

The Gryffindor girls' room was a mess, even messier than my room. There were clothes littered all over the floor, and every spare inch of desk, shelve, or chair was sure to be occupied by a hairbrush, lipstick, or some kind of accessory. In the middle of it all stood what was obviously Hermione's bed, immaculate, an oasis of neatness in the vast pigsty that was their room. I made a disgusted face, but fortunately Hermione didn't notice.

We picked our way carefully through the wrinkled cloth. I let out a relieved sigh when we finally reached her bed. Hermione smiled slightly. "I know, it's a bit . . . cluttered, isn't it. I gave up trying to tidy it up after out first month here. Even the houselfs can't keep it clean." I felt the tiniest bit of pity for her; it must have been trying for a perfectionist such as Hermione to be living amidst such chaos. But I couldn't bring myself to feel too sorry for her. After all, she was a Gryffindor, and as a loyal Slytherin, I should be have been celebrating her discomfort.

Hermione started choosing lipsticks from the selection that lay across one of the beds. She moved on to a pale eyeshadow, and what looked like mascara. When she had all of the makeup assembled in front of her, she set to work on my face.

She put a bit of brown eyeshadow first. I kind of liked it; it made my eyelids shimmer when I turned my head and looked sideways. Then she applied the mascara. I have really short eyelashes, but somehow they looked longer after she was done. My eyes are a chocolaty brown color, and they looked nice.

She left my cheeks alone, since they are naturally rosy, and moved on to my lips. All she did there was put on a pinkish lipstick, and some lipgloss. It wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be. The lipstick wasn't too dark, or too bright, or too pink. It suited me.

I was sitting in front of a mirror, and I could tell that I didn't look too bad. In fact, I looked pretty good, if I do say so myself. And more importantly, I didn't feel as if my neck couldn't support my head anymore after pounds of foundation had been coated onto my face. Actually, Hermione used everything in pretty moderate amounts.

After perhaps half of an hour, Hermione backed away to survey her work. "Your face is done. I don't think that anyone will be knocking your door down trying to force you to model for 'Witch Weekly anytime soon . . . "

I frowned. No Slytherin with any pride would stand by and let a Gryffindor insult them. I was just reaching out to hit her when Hermione cut me off.

" . . . but I do think that it is a definite improvement."

Well, that would have to do. "Okay," I said, bouncing up from the chair. Hermione grabbed the back of my robes before I could escape from the room.

"You can't honestly think I would let you out without doing something to your hair first, can you?" she asked, a mischievious glint in her eyes.

I started to back away. "No, thank you, I like my hair the way it is."

Hermione started to grin. "Aww, come on Millicent, don't you want to make a grand entrance?"

I stood silently, refusing to give in. Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. Eventually, I crumbled. "I guess so," I mumbled reluctantly.

Hermione's grin widened. "Well, the only way you can do that is with the proper hairstyle!"

I buried my head in my hands. Judging by her own bushy hair, Hermione didn't know the first thing about hairdressing. Nevertheless, I sat back down in front of the mirror.

Hermione skipped over to one of the beds and started hunting under it. I was sorely tempted to escape then, when her back was turned. But something kept me rooted to the chair. Perhaps Hermione had put a spell over it to make me stay in place. Or perhaps I just didn't really want to leave.

Hermione emerged, dusty and triumphant, holding up a collection of ancient curlers in one hand. I regretted then not having followed my instinct and left when I could have. I was trapped, and there was nothing I could do about it. If you can't tell, I hate curlers.

Well, she started snatching at tufts of my hair, pulling them this way and that and twisting them painfully around the curlers. She took forever, too. By the time she was on the fifth curler, after about forty-five minutes, I had had enough.

I tried to turn around and look at her, but as I moved my head, she moved with it. I felt like a dog trying to chase its own tail. It was pointless, so I stood up abruptly, before Hermione had the chance to push me gently back down. "Listen, Hermione," I said impatiently, "I don't care about my hair. I want to be done with this, okay? Take these stupid things out of my hair and let me go back down."

Hermione smiled indulgently, the way one would at a small child. "Don't worry, Millicent," she said in this soothing voice, putting her hand on my shoulder. "I understand. I promise, it won't take much longer."

Up until that point, I had kept my temper admirably, but that was the last straw. No Gryffindor would ever try to patronize me without regretting it. I grabbed a piece of her hair. She winced. "Mudblood, if I want to go, then you can't stop me," I growled at her. "Goodbye. I don't need an incompetent Mudblood hairdresser trying to keep me pent up in this pigsty! If you want to do someone's hair, why don't you try doing something about your own!" And with that, I let go of her hair and flounced out of the room without a backwards glance.

I hadn't calmed down at all by the time that I came out of the staircase which led to the Gryffindor common room. In fact, I was growing angrier every minute. I was so preoccupied that I was already halfway through the common room before I noticed the strange looks that I was getting. My audience had a stunned look on their faces. Suddenly, a great roar of laughter broke out. I wished that I could clone myself and throw them all out of the window, watch their broken bodies splattered on the pavement. Somehow, the thought seemed familiar. How many times could I embarass myself in front of the Gryffindors in one day? Perhaps I was hallucinating. I was just too excited, that was all. I rubbed my eyes, hoping that the sight was going to disappear. But it didn't. If anything, it had gotten worse, since quite a few people were coming down from their rooms to see what all the fuss was about.

What had I done this time? I checked my robes, but they were still black and in one piece. My shoes matched, I was wearing both of my socks . . . what could it be? I ran over to the window to see my reflection. And I almost screamed when I caught sight of it. It seemed that most of my hair was still piled up in curlers. The rest of it hung limply from the side of my head. I cursed myself for my carelessness.

I started to run to the portrait hole, but stopped midway. It probably would not have been a good idea to go show myself off to the whole school in this state. There was only one place left to go. So a minute later, I found myself trudging back of the flight of stairs that led to Hermione's room.

Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the center of the room. She was patiently winding her own fluffy hair around those curlers. I crept in meekly, and began untangling the curlers from my hair. It was a ghastly process. It took me almost thirty minutes to get them all undone. If Hermione knew that I was there, she didn't say so.

I slipped over to Hermione when I was done and dropped the curlers at her feet. She looked up at me. "Don't call me Mudblood," she said reproachfully. I looked at my feet. I had black shoes on, black shiny shoes with black laces. They were not very comfortable. I found myself wishing that I was wearing my yellow ducky slippers.

A quiet giggle brought me out of my reverie. Down on the floor, Hermione was laughing softly to herself. "What did they say when you went downstairs in those curlers?" she asked me, still chuckling.

I could feel my face go red. "They didn't say anything!" I said defensively. It wasn't a lie, really. Most of the people had been laughing too hard to do anything but gasp and point.

"Well, anyways, thanks for bringing back my curlers. I don't suppose you still want me to do your hair?"

"No, no, that's quite all right," I said hastily.

"Just come here for a moment. I promise you, if I'm not done in five minutes, you can leave."

Slightly reassured, but still rather doubtful, I walked towards Hermione. She grabbed a couple of bobby pins that lay on the floor. True to her word, she let me go five minutes later with my hair piled on my head in a messy bun.

This time, no one looked up at me when I appeared in the doorway of the common room. I suppose you have to look really ridiculous to make a grand entrance among the Gryffindors. Actually, I didn't want to be noticed. I spied Neville working on Transfiguration in a shadowy corner of the room. I wanted to surprise him.

I walked over to him, taking care to make as little noise as possible. When I was right behind him, I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey," I said softly.

Neville's eyes widened as he caught sight of me. "Wha-what-who?" he stuttered. Poor Neville.

"It's me."

The moonlight that filtered through the shutters illuminated Neville's features, and I could clearly see the fear etched across his face. "What are you doing?" he asked cautiously.

"Hermione was just doing some stuff to my hair," I replied nonchalantly.

"You look . . . kinda different."

"I know." I was starting to get impatient. How long would it take the boy to see my true beauty and realize that all along, I was his soulmate?

"Well, I have to do my homework now." Obviously he wasn't going to find out any time soon. But I don't like waiting.

"I could help you," I offered, moving in a bit closer. Neville scooted away quickly, as if I had bad breath or something. I don't think I have bad breath.

"Listen, Millicent, I need you to go! Don't you get it?" Neville's voice was rising, and he sounded as if he was starting to panic.

"Okay, Neville, I'll go soon," I assented willingly. "Can you just give me five minutes of your time?" Of course, it didn't really matter whether he would or not, but I figured that it couldn't hurt my cause to seem polite.

Neville sighed in resignation. "Fine, Millicent, what is it?"

"Nothing, really, I was just wondering if you would like to join me this weekend for some butterbeer?"

"Not really-" he paused when he saw the look on my face- "I mean yes, of course!" he squeaked out.

I caught hold of his hand and started to bend his fingers back slowly and deliberately. Neville let out a small cry. "What were you saying?" I asked.

"I said, yes, I'd love to!"

I continued to bend his hand into odd shapes. He was starting to turn pale now. I could hear his knuckles cracking. It sounded painful. I smiled. "And you had better be there, understand?"

"Yes! Yes! Will you let go of my hand please?"

"Are you paying attention to me?"

And suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a small white fist knocked against my nose, sending me reeling backwards. I looked up from my postion on the carpet and saw Neville staring at me from above, along with the rest of the Gryffindor common room. My gaze traveled down Neville's arm to his hand . . . it was still clenched tightly in a fist. It had been his punch, then. I staggered back up to my feet. Neville was staring at me, open-mouthed in shock. Apparently his sudden burst of bravery had startled him as much as it had startled me. I was dizzy; the world around me was nothing but a blur.

Somehow, I stumbled over to where Neville was rooted to the floor. I could hear a voice ringing through my head, telling me to fight, goading me on. The next part isn't really clear to me, but Neville told me later that I launched myself at him and punched him full in the center of his head. I do know that when the world stopped spinning around me, the first thing that I saw was Neville's small body lying prone on the carpet. His face was pale, and his eyes were closed. He reminded me of my brother, he looked so innocent and peaceful. My brother is dead. I shivered. I hadn't killed Neville; I could still see his chest rising and falling with each breath. But he would need to go to the Hospital Wing. I looked around; the common room seemed to be deserted. Great. Just when I finally need them, the Gryffindors aren't around to help. So characteristic. I sighed, and picked him up myself. He wasn't too light, but I could manage. Carrying Neville's limp body in my arms, I walked out of the common room and up to the Hospital Wing.





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I didn't plan to have Millicent and Neville actually get together when I started this series, but a lot of my reviewers have been asking me to make it work out, so I am seriously thinking about it. I know, I promised more Neville in this chapter, but he just didn't want to come in much. Sorry. The next part should not take as long as this to come out, and the more reviews, the sooner I will post it.

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