Current mood:	embarrassed
Current music:	The Yam - Fred Astaire

(late - meep) For the HP Flashficathon:
My deepest apologies to the person this was for! I've been away, and my attempts to get this posted while I was gone fell through. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Anyway, it's here now:

Title: Grown Ups
Author: Mawaridi
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry Potter/Millicent Bulstrode
Summary: Growing up is lonely. So is losing someone you love. Two unlikely people find they have more in common than they realised.

Grown Ups

Even as a little girl, Millicent Bulstrode was a tough, no-nonsense sort of kid. You'd never catch anyone calling her "Millie," or pinching her round apple cheeks, thank you very much, not unless they wanted to lose a finger for their trouble. She realised, from an early age, that she wasn't the sort of child that people dote on and coo over, and so she chose to be the other extreme: the child that no mother wanted her little ones to play with. The child that all the other children were scared of.

She was taller, heavier and stronger than most other kids her age, and that didn't change as she grew older. She would never be pretty, or even attractive, but there was something striking about her dark eyes, heavy black hair and Amazonian frame that meant she could never be overlooked, and that suited Millicent just fine. All the pretty girls were completely wet, anyway.

When she went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she met Pansy Parkinson - another tall girl with yellow-blonde hair and a rather unfortunate nose - and learned that caustic insults and an acid wit could get you just as far as physical force. She and Pansy found solidarity in their mutual unattractiveness, and soon befriended three boys with the same problem: huge, ugly Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and Draco Malfoy, who was short and anaemic looking, with a face like a malnourished rat. The five of them, Millicent decided, would be a force to be reckoned with.

And they were, for a while. They dedicated themselves to making life miserable for anyone who wasn’t a Slytherin (particularly those stupid Gryffindors), and they made up the main part of Professor Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad, wielding delicious authority over everyone else in the school. But then, after that short-lived dream was brought crashing down around their ears, things started to change.

Millicent came into the dormitory one afternoon before Transfiguration and found Pansy tangled up in the arms of Adrian Pucey, one of the seventh years. Her robes unfastened and pushed up around her waist, and there was plenty of time for Millicent to see that Pucey had his hand in her knickers before Pansy shoved him away.

“Shit, Millicent. We were just...ah...” Pansy nearly fell off the bed trying to cover herself up, but there was no mistaking what Millicent had walked in on.

There was also no mistaking why Pucey was so interested. Somehow, Pansy had become...well...stunning. She still had the same round, pouty face and unfortunate nose, but now she also had legs that defied description and breasts that Pucey seemed to find absolutely fascinating. Even with Millicent standing right there, staring at him in mute astonishment, he appeared to have no interest in stopping his attempts to swallow them whole.

Later, Pansy shrugged apologetically and said “Sorry you had to walk in on that. But you know how it is. There’s nowhere private in this place.” She laughed, casual and supremely confident, and Millicent wondered how she had ever failed to notice how much her friend had changed. “You see, Adrian was upset because he lost that quidditch game to Hufflepuff, and I was...you know, comforting him. I guess things got a bit heated.” She waggled her eyebrows in a way that was most unlike her, and sort of disturbing.

“We’re all grown ups, right?” said Pansy airily, and Millicent had been under the impression that they were all sixteen, but she nodded and smiled anyway, because she wasn’t sure how else to react.

The girl Millicent had once looked upon as a kindred spirit had discovered new methods to get what she wanted. Mature, worldly methods. Methods Millicent had never dreamed of, and could never hope to employ.

Pansy wasn’t the only one of her friends who had transformed in this way, either. Although Vince and Greg were still as huge and ugly as ever, Draco’s rat-faced pallor had turned into a sort of angular elegance over the years; pale and interesting, rather than pinched and sickly. He was still a bit on the short side, and kind of girly, but he could no longer be called ugly, by any stretch of the imagination. The surreptitious glances he kept getting from giggling younger girls in the common room made that perfectly plain.

All of a sudden, Millicent felt as if someone had yanked a rug out from under her feet and left her wobbling helplessly, totally off-balance. She was no longer a member of an elite club of unattractive kids, sticking it to all the pretty people around them. Now she was just ugly Millicent Bulstrode again, built like the side of a barn and about half as good looking.

She stood at the top of the overhanging bank by the edge of the lake in the cold grey of early morning, tossing pebbles down into the water and hugging her cloak close against the cold. Mist still drifted across the glassy surface and waved in tattered ribbons from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Millicent felt dull and stupid, a little girl who’d been left behind by the older kids, and it made her so angry. It wouldn’t surprise her if Adrian Pucey was back in the girls’ dormitory right now, laughing at her while Pansy gave him a...a blow job or something.

Furious, she kicked the ground in front of her and sent a spray of dirt and tiny stones showering over the edge of the bank.

“Ow,” said the bank. “Who’s that?”

Millicent stared, wondering if she had gone suddenly mad. Then a face popped up from below the overhang and frowned at her through glasses sprinkled with dirt. It was Harry Potter, messy hair, scar and all, looking rather ticked off. Millicent’s face settled into an automatic scowl.

“You want to watch your big feet?” said Potter irritably, squinting through his grimy glasses. He took them off, polished them roughly on the sleeve of his jumper, and then put them back on. The lenses were now liberally smeared, as well as grubby.

“Serves you right for skulking around in the dirt, Potter,” Millicent said, folding her arms as he stood up and scrambled onto the bank. “What were you doing down there, anyway?”

“Wanking,” Potter deadpanned. Millicent’s scowl deepened. Was everyone obsessed with sex except her? She almost believed him, until he bent down to retrieve a pile of text books and dumped them on the edge of the bank, rolling his eyes at her. Millicent tried to frown harder, but discovered it was impossible, so she squinted at the cover of the topmost book instead.

“Theoretical Occlumency,” she read aloud. “A beginner’s guide to...telepathic defence practices?” She snorted. “What a load of...”

“Yeah,” Potter said quickly, scooping up the pile of books again and holding them to his chest defensively, like a shield of worn leather and crackly parchment. “That’s exactly what I said. But you’d be surprised.”

“I doubt it,” she sneered, and snatched the book out of his hands.

“Hey, give that back!” he demanded, but Millicent, being a couple of inches taller than Potter, waved it in the air just out of his reach with a mocking grin. He glared at her furiously, but refused to make a grab for the book. “Give it back,” he repeated, through gritted teeth.

“No, I don’t think so,” Millicent replied, turning her back to him and looking down at the book. It fell open in her hands at a spot in the middle, where a folded piece of parchment had been tucked between the pages. “Well, well, what’s this? A love letter or something?” With a surge of malicious glee, Millicent glanced over her shoulder at Potter. He was standing very still, his hands balled into fists at his sides, and glaring at her. Smiling spitefully, she unfolded the letter and began to read.

“‘Dear Snuffles,’” she recited in a sing-song voice, “‘Everything’s so hard, now, without you. The nightmares won’t go away, and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and want to talk to you, but then I remember that I can’t.’ Aww. How sad,” her lip curled.

“‘I’m trying to study harder at Occlumency this year. Dumbledore says it’s even more important than ever now, after everything that’s happened, and even though I think it’s pretty obvious that I can’t trust anything he says anymore, he’s right about that. If I’d tried harder last year, Voldemort...’”

Millicent trailed off. She looked up at Potter questioningly, sure it had to be some kind of joke, but he was staring hard at his own feet as if they’d done him a terrible wrong and he was plotting their deaths. Millicent felt slightly uneasy, all of a sudden, about reading this, but she continued anyway. Now she read silently, though.

If I’d tried harder last year, Voldemort wouldn’t have been able to trick me, and you’d still be alive. It’s my fault you’re gone. I may as well have killed you with my own h

There was nothing more, just an ink blot and a few damp smears. Millicent read through it again, head spinning, and then looked up to find Potter staring at her again, tight-lipped.

“Are you finished?” he said, quietly but so fiercely that Millicent put the letter back inside the book and handed it back to him without a word.

He rifled through the book until her found the letter, and then dropped “Theoretical Occlumency” unceremoniously on the ground. With visibly shaking hands, he gripped the letter and ripped it into shreds, hurling the pieces under his feet and scuffing them into the dirt.

Then he dropped to the ground himself and buried his face in his arms, hugging his knees.

Millicent was horrified. She had absolutely no idea how to deal with a blubbering Harry Potter. Tradition said she ought to make the most of it - rub salt into the wound, see if she could make him feel any worse - but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was well aware that there was something going on that she had no understanding of whatsoever. Something involving telepathy, and Voldemort - Merlin’s beard, Voldemort! - and someone important who had died. Something horrible. And - and, heaven help her - she felt kind of responsible for this. Guilty, even.

Without really thinking about it, she suddenly found herself crouching in the dirt next to the silently shaking Potter, and giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder.

“Er. There, there,” she said stiffly. He flinched and lifted his head, blinking rapidly.

“I’m not crying,” he said heatedly, in a cracked voice.

“Nobody said you were,” Millicent said quickly. “Is there...um...I mean can I... Do you...uh...do you want to talk...about it?”

“NO.”

She had no idea what she was supposed to do, and it was all so unsettling. She’d never been good with emotions and heartfelt talks. She had no idea how to comfort someone who was pretending not to be upset. Potter looked as if he’d like to hex her into next century, and she had no idea what to do.

Then she remembered what Pansy had said earlier, about Adrian Pucey and the Quidditch match.

It was ridiculous. It couldn’t possibly help. She shouldn’t feel any obligation to try and help anyway. But...

Trying not to think too much about what she was doing, Millicent leaned forward and carefully pressed her lips against his.

She’d never actually kissed anyone before, though, so it wasn’t exactly story-book perfect. Their noses and chins bumped, and Millicent wasn’t really sure what she was supposed to be doing, so she stayed perfectly still with her lips pressed together and her eyes shut tight.

Potter blinked at her as she pulled away. Well, the shock value, at least, seemed to have cured him. But Millicent wasn’t really satisfied with this first attempt; there seemed to be something lacking, so she leaned in and tried again.

This time, she tilted her head so their noses didn’t squash together, and softened her mouth a bit, so it wasn’t quite so much like kissing a maiden aunt. But Potter wouldn’t keep still, so she cupped his face in both hands to hold it in place. And then he slid a hand up her arm, fingers curling around her wrist, and she realised that the reason why he kept moving was because he was trying to kiss her back.

It was something of a shock. Millicent hesitated briefly, and Potter took the opportunity to take control, pressing forward and tangling his fingers in her hair. Actually, now that she got into the swing of it, Millicent could sort of see why Pansy was such a fan of this kissing business. She sighed against his mouth and then, almost involuntarily, murmured his name. “Mmmharry.”

As if someone had flicked a switch, the two of them sprang apart and stared at each other in alarm. Neither one was quite sure what had just happened. Slowly, Millicent lifted a hand and touched her tingling lips, her eyes widening. Potter stared back, just as wide eyed.

“I...” he gaped. “I...ah, Christ.”

“Shit,” said Millicent, horrified.

“What just...?”

“I don’t know. I thought you...”

“No.”

There was a terribly uncomfortable silence. Then: “You will never breathe a word of this to anyone, right?” Millicent said sharply, getting to her feet. Potter stood as well, collecting his stack of Occlumency books as he did so. He looked pale and shaken.

“Right,” he said quickly. “You too.”

“Right,” said Millicent.

“Erm.”

Potter nodded a few times and then, clutching his books to his chest, he dashed off towards the castle as if You-Know-Who was after him. Which, Millicent thought, remembering the letter, he really sort of was.

Feeling a bit shaken herself, Millicent started after him, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders and keeping her eyes on the ground. She felt fuzzy and light headed, and still not really sure what was going on. Of all the things she thought of Harry Potter, one of them had never been that he would be the first boy she ever kissed.

On the other hand, it was sort of empowering. Already she felt older and more worldly, if still slightly dizzy.

She was so intent on her thoughts and the progress of her own feet that she didn’t notice Potter standing in front of her until she had almost walked into him. He was standing at the base of the steps that led up into the castle, holding his collection of books and looking pinched and nervous. Millicent blinked at him in surprise.

“Er,” he said eloquently. “That is, I wanted to say...um...” he trailed off and sighed. Then he leaned forward and, very softly, kissed her on the corner of the mouth. “Thank you,” he finished.

“For what?” Millicent replied stupidly.

“For invading my privacy and making me feel like an idiot,” he said with a faint smile. “You know, I’ve really been wishing that someone would do that to me.”

Millicent laughed. She was surprised that he made her laugh, but she laughed all the same. “In that case, any time,” she said. “Next time, I can punch you in the face, too, if you like.”

It was...weird. Almost comfortable. Almost normal, if she didn’t think too hard about who she was talking to, and how much she hated him. Then something moved in the corner of her eye and Millicent glanced up to see Pansy standing at the top of the steps. She was rooted to the spot and staring down at them in mute alarm.

Potter followed Millicent’s gaze and sighed. He made a face at Millicent and then turned around and headed inside, hurring past Pansy and into the castle with his head down. As soon as he was gone, Pansy sprang to life, racing down the stairs towards Millicent two at a time, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Millicent,” Pansy shrilled. “I was coming to look for you, because I thought you might be upset with me but...Millicent! Tell me I did not just see what I think I just saw!”

“I guess that depends on what you saw,” Millicent said mildly. Pansy had gone quite red in the face.

“Did I just see you...kissing Harry Potter?” she demanded, her voice rising to a pitch that could probably only be heard by dogs and vampire bats. Millicent looked up at the castle, at the arched doorway where Potter had disappeared a moment earlier, and smiled.

“Oh, come on, Pansy,” she said airily, “It’s no big deal. We’re all grown ups, right?”