Another misty and unpleasant morning had dawned in Slytherin tower, and third-year Millicent Bulstrode was determined to beat the gloom. As usual, she had awoken early, and Pansy had not. Rather than cast an itching curse until she rolled out onto the thinly carpeted floor, Millie had elected to use more pleasant methods.
"Hey, Parkie, I brought you waffles," she called through deep green curtains. With a kindness that most would consider out of character. "Eat quickly, or you'll give Flitwick a heart attack from anticipation." It boggled the girls' minds why every boy in their year looked right past the thinly veiled flirtations of their charms teacher.
"He can go pet a niffler, for all I care," Pansy Parkinson sputtered out through yawns.
"Come on, I'm not going to class alone," called Millie. With a hint of a plea.
"You'll get used to it," Pansy told her snobbishly, going back to sleep. Without sympathy. "I'm not a first-year Hufflepuff-- you can't bully me into not ditching. I don't care if he casts twenty 'accidental' vanishing charms on your skirt."
"You get dressed right now or I'm hitting you with a Bat Bogey," Millie growled. With fear clothed in annoyance.
"Oh, please. I'm not keeping Draco waiting so I can critique your hexes," Pansy laughed as she finally arose and pulled on a lavender robe that was definitely not part of the school's dress code. Without remorse.
Millie looked her old friend in the eyes for a moment, then decided it would be better to regard the poster of the Singing Sorceress above her bed. "You're no fun anymore." With feigned indifference.
"Look, Millicent, nobody likes you!" she burst out finally. Without a shred of tact. "Can't you just grow up? Not even Crabbe and Goyle are as dense and horrid as you."
Millie began unconsciously balling her hands into fists, then stopped and looked down at these reflexive weapons. Quietly, she flattened them. "You used to be fun," she muttered. With a sinking feeling.
Pansy looked up. "Those days are over now. Draco doesn't want a tomboy for a girlfriend. Besides, what you call fun is barbaric." Without noticing the scathing tone she had adopted.
"You're turning into both our mothers," she realized. With a sense of loss.
"They don't have it so bad," Pansy observed. Without caring.
She combed her hair, dabbed on some blush, and ambled out the dormitory door. "I'm going now," she called over her shoulder.
Without regret.