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This led to Millicent accompanying the Carrow girls to the Slug Club Christmas party. She communicated to all who saw them that she was their protector, walking proudly, her shoulders thrown back and her eyes glistening with purpose.
Not that she felt it. She had a book in her pocket, and was looking forward to finding a dark corner where she could keep an eye on the girls but also keep at her book. (She had pockets because she had requested some of Crabbe's old hand-me-downs. It meant that the Muggleborns would whisper among themselves, just loud enough for her to hear, that she was "Bulstrode the Bulldyke." She kind of liked it.)
Also, because the holiday season was catching up to her, and without Solome to exercise with every day, some of her belly had come back, and she wasn't feeling particularly attractive or effective. She still exercised more than many of the Quidditch players, despite her lack of interest in the sport, but she wasn't doing nearly as much aerobics as she used to. Now she preferred strength work, since she could read while she was doing it.
Feeling excited to stuff herself with the rich treats, and since she was technically the girls' guest, she settled down in the corner and got herself a heaping plateful. Frog's legs - she hadn't had them since she was a young child, and her father was still alive and frequently showered the family with extravagant meals. Scallops wrapped in bacon melted in her mouth, and she could have swallowed the whole serving plate if she wasn't careful - her constitution was good, but her impulse control was not.
Fine Italian meats sliced as thin as fairy's wings landed on her tongue with decadent pleasure. Bruschetta made with olive, garlic, and portobello mushroom. Several varieties of crystallized pineapple, some flavored with passion fruit, others with ginger, and others with mango. Tea cakes made with milky untoasted bread, of perfect consistency through and through, with an impeccable dirigible jam and devonshire cream. Roasted duck, coated in a spicy apricot spread that clung to the tongue in heavenly delight. And so many strange kinds of fruit wines and meads, ranging from more countries than Millicent knew existed.
It was a motley arrangement overall, but the quality of each item was sensational, and there was a story behind each. Slughorn had included little cards next to each dish, which she dutifully picked up and studied as she stuffed her face.
She was loading up on the sweets and fats now, because she knew once she got home, her mother would guarantee that all their meals consisted of boiled vegetables and lean meat and then feign ignorance.
Despite her efforts to gorge herself, she kept her eye on the twins as they moved around the room. They eerily floated from one group of people to another, never separating for a moment, holding hands tightly, never engaging too long. They lingered a little longer with Luna Lovegood, and the three of them seemed to strangely understand each other. They all retreated to a dark corner of the tentlike room and sat, their pale skin glowing translucently in the dimness.
Then, Millicent noticed someone she'd never seen before. Wearing a long crimson flowing dress, with pronounced ruffles at the hem, the girl was beautiful. She had dark skin and skillfully-tamed tresses that were wrestled into an intensive updo. Her body, as Millicent admired it from behind, was on the thicker and flatter side, but her dress was well-tailored to it, creating the illusion of an hourglass figure out of her apple-shape. Her buttocks were a work of art all on their own, jiggling ever so slightly with every motion, visible even under the disguising flare of her skirt. The dress would have fit better if the girl lost a few pounds, but Millicent wasn't complaining.
Drinking in the girl, her fascinated eyes drifted from the girl's luscious bottom to her soft brown shoulders, with just a bit too much meat on them. The color of her skin reminded Millicent of her beautiful Solome, though this girl was significantly lighter. High yellow? Was that term appropriate? They'd studied racism in Muggle studies, but she hadn't precisely understood the point of it. Apparently just like wizards hated Mudbloods, Muggles hated people with darker skin. This seemed arbitrary and silly to Millicent, who didn't see the point of hating someone based on what they looked like - blood purity couldn't be told by how one looked, and there were pureblood families of diverse hues. The Zabinis being prime examples.
Oh, Solome.
Thinking of her lost love made her depression rage, and there was only one way that Millicent knew how to make herself feel better (at least that was publically appropriate): she ate.
Millicent got up and filled her plate again, watching closely as the girl turned to talk to Cormac McLaggen, who was looking uncommonly excited, his eyes bright and focused on the girl.
It was only then that Millicent saw the girl's face - and recognized her.
Hermione Granger?
Millicent nearly choked on the tiny spanakopita she'd popped into her mouth at that precise second. She coughed it out, all over the front of her nice dark green button-down, and she cursed under her breath at the disgusting flecks of partially-chewed pastry that splattered across her breasts.
"Let me get that for you," someone said at her elbow, and Millicent saw Flora and Hestia. Flora raised her wand and, cringing with revulsion, cast a scourgify. The mess was sufficient that one spell wasn't enough, and without a word, as though they had choreographed it, Hestia's birdlike hands grasped either shoulder of Millicent's shirt and pulled it taut, and Flora did the spell again with greater success.
"Thanks," Millicent said, surprised that the girls had bothered to help her.
The twins shrugged in nonchalant unison, and floated away, but not before Hestia whispered to her sister, "She eats so much."
It was strange to be acknowledged in such a way by the twins. At once, Millicent's mood plummeted even further. Was she going to get fired for this? She hoped not. It would be just like her to get fired for the simple fact that she was a lard arse.
Loathsomely, she looked around for Hermione Granger. The awkward girl from potions class was cornered by McLaggen even more completely than before - she was standing underneath the mistletoe, by the vast array of wines, and he had put his hand on her shoulder and was trying to draw her close. What a bore.
Millicent felt the jealousy surge through her in a very visceral way as she watched them. Hermione's hand was twisting at her hair, coy and nervous and awkward. Cormac was even worse, putting his arm over her shoulder, an intense look in his eyes. Millicent's eyes shot daggers at him when his gaze drifted in her direction. It didn't seem like either of them noticed, though.
What a strange turn of events it was, Millicent thought, to be attracted to a mudblood. Certainly this would go away if she thought very hard and very carefully about something else.
She closed her eyes, and tried to think about Professor Snape. She'd noticed him when she came in, and he looked dark and miserable as per usual. She tried to focus on her first and only detention with him, last year, where his sinewy hands had worked alongside her own pudgy ones, chopping up elk's bladders. She'd fantasized successfully about those hands many times since, but for some reason it wasn't working today. Her brain went through the usual channels of imagination, but she didn't have the same usual overpowering response in her darker regions.
Instead, her mind passed over the hundreds of times she'd seethed at Hermione Granger in class. All at once, she realized she'd been paying closer attention to the other girl than she had given herself credit for.
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