Warnings: This story is set post-OotP, and may contain inadvertent spoilers. "A Work in Progress" is contraindicated for readers with an allergy to original characters or with Acute Mary-Sue-itis. It contains annoying original character: you have been warned.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J. K. Rowling. This fanfic is for entertainment purposes only, and no profit is being made from this fanfic.
Dedication: A work in Progress is dedicated to lj user"moontime" , for indulging my own loyalty to Slytherin House.
Mildred Harkness threw herself across her bed and wondered, not for the first time, if she'd ever be memorable for anything other than being the plumpest first-year in Slytherin.
"What's wrong, Millie?" asked Veronica, her voice dripping with concern, managing to score a hat trick of sheer annoyance: the tone, the question, and the stupid nickname all managed to make Mildred grind her teeth. Nevertheless, she brought her mood under control before answering smoothly.
"Nothing, Ronnie dear," said Mildred, striving for chumminess. "I've just been walking around the grounds for exercise, and it's made me a little crabby."
Veronica nodded. "I understand," she said, smiling, and for a second the sheer gall of it-as if that skinny bitch has the faintest idea-almost broke through Mildred's determination. Still, part of succeeding at school meant having friends, and since Mildred was as yet too much of a non-entity to attract any other friends than Ronnie Miller, she was determined to make a go of this "best friend" thing. Being alone might be less frustrating, but nobody ever got ahead by being perceived as a moody loner. She smiled back.
"I just need to catch my breath," she said.
"Well, don't get your uniform crumpled," Veronica said sweetly. "There's a house meeting in half an hour, and all the first years have to be in attendance. You don't want to look sloppy."
"Who called the meeting?" Mildred asked, sitting up.
"The prefects, of course," said Veronica, tossing her hair. "The Sixth-year prefects, to be exact. They said we had to be there. Not that I mind," she added, contentedly, "if that dreamy Draco Malfoy is going to be there." She giggled.
Mildred laughed weakly, but thought, 'first chance I get, I'm trading her in for someone with a functioning brain cell!'