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Okay. This is a fic I have been working on for a time now. It is fairly long, so I am going to post it in two parts. But there are things about it I am not happy with and I am looking for people's opinions on what works well, what you like, what could be changed, worked on, elaborated, etc.
IT IS NOT H/D. As much as I love the boys, even I need a break at times. Harry and Draco are in the fic, and you can take their actions as you like, of course. But the main ship is actually a rather unusual one: Millicent/Dean.
I would really appreciate getting your thoughts on how this one works. Some things about it are rubbing me the wrong way and I am not sure what to do. Thanks a ton, everyone.
Title: The Education of Dean Thomas
Author: RurouniHime
Pairing: Millicent/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dean has never tutored a Slytherin before. But there are some lessons that can only be learned outside of the books.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. They belong to JK Rowling.
Jane says
"I've never been in love - no"
She don't know what it is
She only knows if someone wants her.
"I only want 'em if they want me..."
"I only know they want me..."
She gets mad
And she starts to cry
Takes a swing but
She can't hit!
She don't mean no harm
She just don't know...
What else to do about it.
~Jane’s Addiction, “Jane Says”
~~
If he hadn’t looked over his shoulder that day in Potions a few weeks ago, none of this would have happened.
Dean Thomas could safely say that that particular idea held little appeal for him.
He’d been brewing a potion with Seamus, and he’d dropped the root of asphodel, something Snape would probably hex him over, considering that the head of Slytherin had spent twenty minutes pounding it into their heads how rare it was this time of year. Grinding root of asphodel into the floor stones was not something Dean wanted to explain to the sour tempered professor, and he had darted down to grab it, glancing around to see whether any of the Slytherins had seen him. He had horrible visions of Pansy Parkinson leaping to her feet, pointing at him with a claw-like finger, and using her shrill voice to effectively slam him with a weekend’s worth of detention.
What he had seen instead was the quiet gaze of Millicent Bulstrode fixed on him from her seat two rows back. Not hatefully. Not even annoyed. She was just... looking at him. Gazing. She caught herself a second after they locked eyes and looked away, a blush rising on her pale skin, but Dean had stopped and pondered her for a moment. He’d never really given the tallish Slytherin girl any thought before. She’d always been there, of course, but never as more than a side-line observer. Dean did not even think he’d ever heard her speak.
But for some reason, she was looking at him, cocoa-colored eyes fixed on his. Dean’s mind was elsewhere throughout the remainder of the class. He added the ingredients automatically, managing to get the desired effect without drawing down Snape’s wrath. But he was thinking about Millicent Bulstrode. She was not particularly pretty. Not like Parvati and her sister, certainly, but then, they were absolutely gorgeous, weren’t they? No, Millicent Bulstrode was rather plain, to be honest. Very tall, about level with Dean himself now that he thought about it. Her body had finally caught up with the rest of her over the last year, and she was no longer the bulky, awkward, sullen Slytherin girl she had been. She gave the sense of being too tall for herself, if that were possible.
Something in her eyes. Wide and curious, with the patience, he felt, to contemplate an object of interest for hours. And she’d been contemplating him.
When class ended, Dean was jerked out of his reverie by the voice he had worked so hard to avoid. Snape called him over to his desk with an impatient flick of his fingers. Seamus gave Dean a sympathetic look and followed the rest out of the room while Dean made his way to the front of the classroom, his mind rushing hurriedly over what he might have done wrong and if there was any way to fix it in the five seconds it took to reach Snape’s desk.
“Thomas,” Snape intoned in a disgruntled voice.
“Yes, sir?” Dean asked, cringing.
“It has come to my attention that I have a student who is doing so dismally in this class that I am beginning to think passing is no longer an option.”
Was Snape talking about him? Dean knew he was doing exceptionally well in Potions. Thank Merlin.
Snape glowered at him. “Since you have been doing so passably lately” – here the man sounded as though he wanted to spit – “it seems I must address the option of requesting your assistance in this matter, as unappealing as the idea is.”
Dean was a little frightened of the sour lilt to Snape’s voice. “How... how so?”
“Quite frankly, Mr. Thomas, this student's work is appallingly similar to a first year’s, and she is going to fail the course if she continues in this fashion. I would much rather pair her with another Slytherin, but aside from Mr. Malfoy, you are the only one... qualified.”
Snape might as well have been telling him he looked like a salamander for all the warmth in his voice.
“I cannot ask Mr. Malfoy to instruct her. He has enough on his plate, what with being a prefect. You, on the other hand, do not seem to be participating in much of anything important. Doing this would garner you a bit of extra credit for the course, and keep in mind, Mr. Thomas, I do not give out extra credit to anyone.”
“You want me to tutor her?” Dean asked, before he could stop himself. “A... a Slytherin.”
Snape frowned. “Yes, a Slytherin. Sadly, this is the only acceptable solution, even if you are a Gryffindor. And I always ensure that my students receive the best.”
Dean swallowed, feeling anger rise in his chest. Yeah, right. The students of your house, you mean. Why don’t you get Neville some help then? He would refuse, flatly. Even if Snape did give him extra credit... well, nothing was worth spending his free time with a Slytherin.
But he was curious. If nothing else, it would be something to tell Seamus and the rest of his dorm-mates about. A Slytherin failing Potions? His friends would have a heyday.
“Who is it?”
Snape raised an eyebrow at him as if he knew exactly why Dean wanted to know, but couldn’t see a way to get around it. “Millicent Bulstrode.”
Dean had no clue why he ended up answering as he did. He knew how Slytherins were, after all. Every last one of them was the same. Except suddenly, Dean was unconcerned with the wonders of gossip and the trials of sitting with a Slytherin on his free evenings.
Millicent Bulstrode.
Dean said yes.
* * *
He chose the library for their first meeting, and had Snape relay the information to Millicent, because when it came right down to it, he really didn’t know how to approach her. Oh, he had questions. Thousands. But none of them took on a form coherent enough for him to voice. One of the clearest ones had to do with why Millicent was looking at him that day, but it threw Dean because what he really wanted to know was why he cared so much. About her looking at him.
He arrived early and picked out several books on Potions, setting them down on a table in the back. He really had no idea what level she was at in the class. He figured that this first meeting might as well be a getting-to-know-you session. And surprisingly, Dean was not feeling all that upset about it. Just oddly curious.
She was so quiet that he almost didn’t hear her coming. She walked in a stately manner, shoulders thrown back, long black hair brushing down around her shoulders. Her arms held several books of her own that Dean recognized as class texts. She came up to the table and halted, looking down at him.
“Hello, Dean,” she said.
It was so simple, so unexpected. Especially from a Slytherin. Dean let himself concentrate on her voice because he realized he never had heard it before. She had a low voice.
“Hi... Millicent,” he answered tentatively. She gave him a tiny, shy smile that belied her forthright greeting, hugging her books to her chest.
Dean gestured to one of the chairs. “Um... you could sit down. If you want. And we can get started.”
Millicent pulled the nearest chair out a bit and folded her tall form into it. She placed her books carefully on the table, spreading long fingers out over the cover of the topmost one, and then turned hesitantly to look at him. “So...”
Dean smiled at her. Suddenly it didn’t feel so awkward. “So.”
Millicent’s smile was wider this time.
* * *
Dean settled for meetings four times a week. It turned out that Millicent was not all that horrible at Potions. She just said she didn’t understand certain concepts, such as the importance of order in ingredient adding. Dean found that to be a little strange, more of a problem with obstinacy than actual potions-making, but Snape had asked him to help her and it wouldn’t exactly hurt him to do it. Not really.
“Why can’t I just throw it all in at once?” Millicent grumbled one evening, frowning at the book in front of her. “It’s all going in the same place anyway.”
Dean grinned at her grousing. “How on earth did you make it this far in Potions, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” Millicent smiled, considering for a moment. Then, “Well, how does Neville make it through?”
“Hermione helps him quite a bit,” Dean said, and then clamped his mouth shut, scandalized at what he had just revealed to a Slytherin. But Millicent laughed, a throaty, appreciative sound, and nodded.
“Well, Pansy Parkinson knows what she’s doing, too.”
Dean grinned. “Riding her coattails, then?”
“Absolutely.” Millicent gave a satisfied sigh and shook her head. “But I can’t do that forever. Professor Snape wised up not too long ago and won’t let us work together anymore. Just as well… she’s a bit of a priss.”
Dean laughed out loud at Millicent’s frank tone and earned a grumble from Madame Pince at the front desk. They both looked at each other, chuckling softly, and turned back to their books.
“See,” Dean said in a quiet voice, “each ingredient is going to cause a different reaction depending on when you put it in. Take Polyjuice, for instance. It takes a month to brew. You have to let the first ingredient simmer for a week and reach the right potency before you add the second ingredient, or the reaction will be different.”
Millicent watched him avidly. Dean continued. “Say you put the lacewings in the first week, and then add boomslang skin like you’re supposed to. Your potion is coming along nicely. But if you don’t let the boomslang simmer with the lacewings for at least a week before adding the bicorn horn, it reacts differently. The boomslang skin hasn’t had enough time to fully react with the lacewings, and you’ll get a mixture that…” He consulted a text called Incredible Potion Mishaps. “…turns you into something resembling a newt.”
“Hmm, really should try that on Professor Binns, I suppose. He could stand a new look.”
Dean barely stopped himself from guffawing. Millicent had covered her mouth with her palm, her eyes dancing at him over the tops of her fingers.
“Somehow,” Dean managed between chuckles, “I doubt it would work the same way on a ghost.”
Millicent shrugged. “Somehow I really don’t think anyone would notice the difference.”
This time Madame Pince had to come over and tell them to plug up or pack up. They managed to quiet themselves enough to continue the tutoring, but Dean found himself smiling at her a lot more often.
It turned out that Millicent had a very odd, very interesting sense of humor. It was a bit mischievous, but not cruel in nature. Between telling him how much she would have enjoyed knowing the Weasley twins, and describing the time she’d managed to convince Theodore Nott that he was actually a Gryffindor at heart well enough to get him outside the Fat Lady’s portrait, tearfully begging for the password, Millicent became, in Dean’s eyes, something of a friend. He found it very easy to talk to her during tutoring: she seemed quite interested in learning the finer points of potions-making. But there was something about her that just put him at ease in general. He wasn’t sure what, but he had his theories. Maybe it was the way she promptly seemed to forget that she was a Slytherin and he was a Gryffindor from the moment he began tutoring her. Or the way her dark eyes widened ever so slightly when she finally grasped a concept they had been working on. Maybe it was the unapologetic way she laughed, a deep, all-consuming chuckle that built until Dean could not help but join her in merriment. She had an infectious personality, and Dean liked it very much.
Through the first week, Millicent improved steadily in Potions. They paired together in class to work on what she had learned, and he was surprised to find that she was a very attentive, careful potions-maker. Sometimes it made him wonder if he was really teaching her anything at all. Once or twice she assessed a botched potion so skillfully and remedied the problem so swiftly Dean had to take a step back and consider the reasons behind the tutoring sessions. At those moments, she seemed to catch herself, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She always asked him to continue the instruction, that she was feeling more confident in her potions skills every day. In his mind it was almost easier to go on doing so than to ponder over what Snape’s reasons were for his tutoring her. He often had the sneaking suspicion that she didn’t actually need his help at all.
In the end it didn’t really matter. Dean found himself less and less upset by the idea that he was no longer muddling through Snape’s class with Seamus at his side, despite his best friend’s quizzical looks and annoyed mutterings on his behalf. Evenings took on a new flavor that he anticipated with some excitement, because the meetings were no longer confined to Potions only. Millicent always arrived promptly, and set herself to distracting him with rather amusing stories about what went on in the Slytherin common room. Dean was only too happy to reciprocate with embarrassing recitations of Gryffindor brainlessness, many of which he was the star of. It never occurred to him until after they parted ways for the night that Millicent could take those stories and use them to make his friends’ lives miserable, and then the notion just seemed absurd.
He honestly didn’t think Millicent had it in her.
Dean began to notice other things as well, namely the way there always seemed to be an influx of male students in their section of the library. At first he wasn’t sure what to make of it. It took him a good week to connect the boys’ furtive glances to the way Millicent flushed and pursed her lips. And then Dean buried himself in his books, pretending to study while she pored over Potions ingredients, committing them to memory, when he was really sitting back and thinking about the connection. He began to consider Millicent herself.
She was tall, that was certain. He remembered her as shorter, with a confused grimace and too-large limbs. Seamus had once noted, a bit snidely, the resemblance between Millicent and her housemates Crabbe and Goyle, a joke Dean had found vaguely amusing, but ultimately insignificant considering he didn’t really care about any of them. She had changed a bit since third year. Her features were not exotic; the Patil twins’ smoky eyes and delicate bone structure came to mind, but Dean found the comparison lacking in a way he didn’t expect. Millicent Bulstrode had a round face framed by thick, dark hair, and an ungainly smattering of freckles over her nose. A face to be lost in the crowd. But, watching her smile all the way to the roots of her hair, Dean had the feeling her face was also one that, once memorized, wheedled a place into one’s thoughts more thoroughly than either of the Patils'.
It was her body that attracted the boys. Dean saw this almost immediately, once he thought about it. Well-shaped and leggy. Millicent had filled out in more ways than one, a realization that made Dean blush and shake himself, even though he knew she had no idea he was thinking it. She studied, Dean watched her, and he watched the boys drift past their table. He saw them focus their eyes a bit lower than was necessary to say hello, and felt a twinge of annoyance at their behavior. They obviously had no idea what she was really like, and he disliked all of them because he also knew they had no interest in finding that out.
The things that made Millicent tick were interesting to him. The fact that she both seemed to notice and not notice the attention given to her body made Dean simultaneously want to shake her soundly and congratulate her. He liked that she always held herself straight-backed under the scrutiny of her admirers, furiously flushed cheeks negated by the confident lift of her chin. The way she pointed with a long finger at the end of a straight arm toward a problem she saw in the text. Her lack of self-consciousness when seen in Dean’s company. It made him feel wanted, which made him feel happy.
It did not occur to him that she was directly involved with this feeling. Dean took it as it came, and was glad, if not surprised, by the friendship he was developing. The tutoring went on unchanged, and uninterrupted, if one did not count the silent gazes of males from various houses as they poked about for books they didn’t really need. There was one day when Dean walked into the library, greeted Millicent warmly, sat down, opened a book on the Wolfsbane Potion, and got halfway through the entire session without once thinking the word Slytherin.
Of course, that was the day.
* * *
“Oh, for Salazar’s sake, Bulstrode, what on earth?”
Dean looked up to see Blaise Zabini leaning on the end of their table, a disgusted sneer on his face. Dean frowned.
“Bugger off, Zabini. No one asked you here.”
The lanky Slytherin raised an amused eyebrow at him, his lip curling. “Bulstrode doesn’t mind.”
Dean glanced at Millicent, fully prepared for the indignant retort he’d come to expect. But when he saw her, he was dumbfounded. Gone was Millicent’s confident posture, her up-tilted chin. She sat hunched down, her arms crossed on the table in front of her, hair falling in her face. He could see she was biting her lip, but she wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye.
It was as if he were looking at a completely different person.
Blaise swaggered over, hitching a leg up on the chair next to Millicent’s, and leaned over her. “Hm. No hello then?”
Millicent’s eyes flicked up to Blaise’s and back down again. “Hello, Blaise,” she muttered.
Blaise smirked and glanced at Dean. “What the hell is this, Bulstrode?”
Millicent’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Dean frowned. He faced the Slytherin. “Get lost, Zabini, we’re—”
“We’re just studying, Blaise,” Millicent’s voice broke in softly. Dean blinked at her. Her voice was too quiet, too wispy. She didn’t sound like herself at all, and for some reason, it made him angrier.
Blaise surveyed Dean and chuckled derisively. “I don’t doubt it.”
The Slytherin leaned in further, his forehead nearly touching Millicent’s. His lip curled. “Why don’t you blow it off, Bulstrode? I can think of quite a few other things you could be doing right now, and none of them include a Gryffindor prick.”
Millicent’s eyes traveled up slowly and fixed themselves on Blaise’s. Dean forgot to be angry, watching them. He saw Blaise reach out and trail a finger down her sleeve. Millicent swallowed audibly. Her eyes were wide and luminous, the skin of her face paler than usual. Dean stared, his chest growing tight with confusion.
“Blaise.”
All of them looked up. Draco Malfoy, of all people, was standing at the end of one of the rows, looking hard at Blaise Zabini. His hands were shoved casually into the pockets of his black trousers, but his body was strangely rigid. Dean had the distinct sense of humming air in the small space around the blond. Blaise straightened, drawing his fingers away from Millicent, eyes on the other Slytherin. He made an impatient sound in his throat and stepped back. His whole body was tensed. Malfoy continued to look at him silently. Unblinking. Finally, Blaise gave a disdainful snort and walked away, throwing one last smirk over his shoulder. “See you, Bulstrode.”
Dean watched him until he disappeared, and then turned his attention back to Malfoy. The Slytherin prefect approached the table, his grey eyes now on Millicent. Dean glanced at her and noticed that she was shaking slightly. Malfoy halted at the table and Dean saw something flicker in his eyes. “Mil.”
Millicent nodded mutely, casting a wavering smile up at him. Malfoy seemed about to say more, but then he noticed Dean. Almost as if he hadn’t seen him there. A scowl darkened his face and his eyes narrowed. Dean glared back at him, wondering what Malfoy was going to do, and what he was going to do about it.
Looking at Dean the whole time, Malfoy spoke. “We’ll be at dinner then, when you’re done.”
He waited for Millicent’s nod, and then, with one last glower at Dean, Malfoy turned and walked down the aisle and out of sight. Dean turned to look at Millicent. She had gained back what little color her face normally had, but her eyes were still vacant.
“Millicent?”
She glanced at him, and flushed slightly. Grabbing one of the books in front of her, she opened it to a random page and began to read. “It’s nothing.”
“But—”
“Blaise is always like that.”
Dean knit his eyebrows. “Millicent, are you alri—”
“Look, Dean,” she said, flashing sparking eyes at him. “I said it’s nothing. Can we just finish up? I’m getting hungry.”
Dean looked at her for another moment, then nodded and opened his own book. He flipped silently through the pages until he found the potion he’d been looking for before Blaise’s interruption. But as he explained the specifics of the mixture, his mind was not on his words. He kept coming back to the expression on Millicent’s face, the predatory look in Blaise’s eye.
For one infinite instant, he had looked at Millicent’s eyes and known she was going to go with Blaise. It made his chest constrict, but he wasn’t sure exactly why.
* * *
The next day in Potions, Dean noticed that Millicent sat as far away from their normal table as she could and did not look at him for the entire two hours, even though he made many attempts to catch her eye.
While he was trying to get Millicent’s attention and failing miserably, Dean did notice a few other things. Blaise, for one. He was sitting next to another Slytherin girl whom Dean did not know at all, and their behavior was such that he began to wonder just how close they were. Blaise was all smiles, looking the handsome Slytherin part, finding excuses to brush her arm or make her giggle. Snape, of course, ignored them both, focusing all his energies on towering over Neville, who was quickly being reduced to an emotional wreck.
Another thing Dean noticed was Malfoy. The blond Slytherin sat impassively in his seat, paying no attention to the work Pansy was doing with their potion. He seemed to be scanning the room, contemplating things in something of a pattern. Three things in particular, Dean realized. One was Blaise and his partner. There was a rather frightening, dead pall to Malfoy’s eyes as he looked at his two housemates. But every time the girl gave a particularly loud giggle, Malfoy’s attention would shift to the second target: Millicent, sitting silently in the corner. No matter how many times Dean watched the shift, he was always surprised by the expression in Malfoy’s eyes. It was concern, something he had never associated with the Slytherin. And then it was time to look away because Malfoy’s gaze inevitably shifted from Millicent to himself, and the blond Slytherin would stare at him inscrutably for several moments. Dean was distinctly uncomfortable under Malfoy’s analysis; he felt like he was being picked apart by that hawk-like gaze.
That evening, he waited in the library for an hour. Millicent did not appear. Dean swung back and forth from trying to be patient to feeling extremely angry that she had blown him off. What was wrong with her anyway? They were getting along fine, actually getting some work done. Partnering in Potions so that Millicent could practice what she’d learned, and regardless of whether she actually needed the tutoring or not, she was excelling in leaps and bounds. He felt completely comfortable around her, found himself looking forward to their tutoring sessions. And now...
What exactly had happened last night? Suddenly Millicent had closed herself off, and was now avoiding him at all costs, in and out of Potions. He’d tried to say hello to her in the hallway between classes; he’d even made sure there wasn’t anyone else around, in case she was embarrassed about being seen with him – Dean had relegated the implications of that particular possibility to the back of his mind to worry about later – but she had brushed right past him without pausing.
Finally, Madame Pince came to shoo him out of the library. By then, Dean was in a foul mood. It was obvious that Millicent didn’t want to have anything to do with him any longer, and what made him mad was that he had no idea what he’d done. He didn’t know what the deal was with Blaise, or why Malfoy had taken such an interest in him lately. He didn’t know why Millicent had turned into such a shell of her normal self when Blaise had shown up. He had no idea why she hadn’t stood up for herself. She wasn’t normally like that.
For some reason, that made him furious.
Dean stormed down the hall, his book bag slung over his shoulder. Right now, he didn’t envy any unfortunate person he might run into. It didn’t matter who they were: Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. They were going to get bowled. He turned a corner and headed toward the staircase that led up to the Gryffindor common room.
“Dean!”
He spun around at the sound of his name, his foot poised on the first step, and saw her standing there, leaning against the wall with one hand. She was out of breath, her hair coming out of its hasty ponytail. She must have run all the way up from the dungeons. He looked at her face and his anger receded a tiny bit. Her dark eyes were so wide, so full of uncertainty.
“Millicent,” he said stiffly, stepping away from the staircase. It gave what sounded like an indignant rumble and began to move up into the darkness, leaving him behind.
Millicent ducked her head, taking a deep breath, and then walked along the wall, trailing her hand over the stones as if she might fall over without the contact. Dean waited as she drew near. He wasn’t sure what he expected her to say or do. Fleetingly he allowed himself to be glad that she was talking, that she was the one who had stopped him. But she’d also ignored him. Without any explanation. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that either. His frustration still simmered near the surface.
She halted a few feet away and looked at him, biting her lip. “Dean, I suppose you’re... mad at me.”
“Just a bit,” he muttered, and then stopped, trying to decide whether or not to be appalled at his caustic tone. Maybe she had a good reason after all. But she hadn’t needed to brush him off so severely that day. He hadn’t done anything except try to help her, for Merlin's sake. True, he had no clue why Blaise had gotten her so worked up, or why Malfoy felt it necessary to keep tabs on either of them. But it didn’t matter. He liked being around her, he admitted to himself angrily. They were friends, or so he’d thought. Friends stood up for each other. Obviously the feeling was not as mutual as he’d believed.
That realization hurt more than it should have.
“Oh Merlin, Millicent!” Dean hissed. “Who gives a damn if I’m mad at you or not? Why does it matter? This whole thing is a joke anyway. It’s obvious you don’t need the tutoring, or want it.”
“What?” Millicent said hollowly.
“I have no idea what Blaise said to you that was so disturbing, but you didn’t have to treat me like I don’t exist! I was only helping you because Snape asked me to, and I thought you liked the tutoring. I was only trying to help. It’s obvious that your friends don’t want you around me, even if it is just to tutor you. If you agree with them so completely, then maybe we should just stop this right now. I don’t know why Snape asked me in the first place. You’d do better with one of your friends.”
He turned to go, hoping that the staircase had descended again so he wouldn’t have to wait for it with her staring at him. He felt like a fool.
“I asked for you.”
It was sudden, blurted out in slightly desperate tones. Dean stopped, unwilling at first to believe her words.
He heard a sigh behind him. “There. There it is. I asked for you, alright? I begged Snape to have you tutor me.”
Dean had to see her. He couldn’t tell if this was some sort of joke if he couldn’t see her face. He turned and saw her looking down at the floor. Her gaze flicked up and met his. It wasn’t a joke, he could see it in her eyes. But Dean quelled the hope in his chest anyway. It was just silly to think that he cared enough to... that she might... He took a deep breath.
“Why?”
Millicent tilted her head and gave him a sad, lopsided smile. “I don’t know. I just...”
“I’m not the best in the class.”
Her eyes lit up suddenly, and a low chuckle escaped her throat. He recognized it. The Millicent he knew.
“I know that. If I wanted the best, I would have asked Draco. He’d tutor me in a second if I asked. But I didn’t want to have Draco teach me. And you seemed... nice. And you’re smart. I just thought that... oh, I don’t know what I thought.”
Dean thought he knew. Just for a moment. But it was silly to think those things, wasn’t it?
Millicent looked at him hesitantly. “Dean, I’m sorry I ignored you. And I’m sorry I missed our meeting. Do you think we could... I don’t know... try to study a little now?”
Dean found himself smiling at her, wondering why he was so quick to forgive a girl who didn’t explain anything. Seeing her smile, seeing her back to the way she normally was made him happy. He nodded once. “The library’s closed. Know anywhere else we could go?”
* * *
It wasn’t the warmest of spots, sitting against the wall in the Transfiguration corridor, but it was quiet and deserted, and far away from any common rooms or teachers’ offices. Dean knew from Harry and Ron that Filch spent most of the early evening down on the lower floors. How those two knew that particular bit of trivia, he couldn’t fathom, but... so far, neither Filch nor Mrs. Norris had ventured their way, and Millicent was back to her normal comfortable self.
“Millicent, can I ask you something?”
She looked up from her text on Invisibility potions and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Sure.”
Dean didn’t want to ruin the calm of the moment, but he had to know. “Why did Blaise get you so upset?”
Millicent flushed and ducked her head, and for a moment Dean thought he’d lost her again. But then she shrugged. “It’s really nothing, Dean. We... well, I... I somewhat fancied him earlier this year, and he...”
“Didn’t return the feeling,” Dean finished. Something like relief washed over Millicent’s face and she nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Dean considered. “And Malfoy?”
Millicent quirked her lip in a weird half-smile. “Blaise was a bit harsh. Draco... you could say he’s a little overprotective.”
Dean frowned, surprised. “I didn’t know you two were so close.”
“We weren’t, really. Not until—” She blushed again. “Not until the thing with Blaise. He just... Draco’s a good guy.”
Dean bit back a snort. No need to go into that at the moment. “So Blaise uses it against you, then.”
“Blaise likes a certain amount of control. At least that’s what Draco says. He’s got something over me now and...” Millicent broke off, her forehead wrinkling. Dean touched her shoulder.
“You were friends, weren’t you? Before. With Blaise.”
She turned sad eyes on Dean. “Something like that. But not anymore.”
No, he supposed not. That kind of thing could ruin a friendship. It was an idea Dean was beginning to dwell on.
“Do you still... like him?” he asked, stumbling over the awkward question. Millicent darted a quick glance at him and then shook her head fervently.
“No. No, that’s over. Long gone.”
“That’s... that’s good, then.” Before he could think about it, or find a way to talk himself out of it, Dean leaned over and gave Millicent a quick kiss on the cheek. Her eyes flew to his, wide and startled. Her mouth dropped open a bit and she closed it.
“Sorry, Millicent. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... done that.” Dean frowned, ashamed of his forwardness, appalled at his lack of inhibition. What had he been thinking?
The hallway was silent for a long moment. Then Dean felt a warm hand on his arm.
“No,” Millicent said, her voice soft and shy. “No, I liked that. Really.”
Dean smiled, relief spilling into every limb. He hadn’t managed to ruin anything. He glanced up at her and saw her looking back at him, pale face glowing. “Can I... do it again?”
Millicent nodded breathlessly, looking a little scared. Dean leaned in more slowly and touched his lips to hers, lingering there on their soft warmth before drawing away again. She lifted a hand to touch her mouth, blushing a little around the ears. Dean watched, fascinated.
There was the sound of a staircase rumbling into place somewhere on their floor. Both of them shook themselves and peered into the hallway gloom. When he looked back, Dean found Millicent gazing at him again in the same way he had first seen her look at him in Potions and realized that all his “silly thoughts” were not all that silly after all. Millicent chewed her lip delicately, a small smile on her face, and Dean began to realize that the moment, whatever it had been, was broken… but not irretrievable. He grinned slowly at that thought.
“Think we should be getting to our dorms. Before Filch catches us.”
“Yes,” she answered in a dreamy tone.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, feeling warmth beginning to spread through his body.
Her answering nod made it complete.
~End Part One~
On to Part 2
IT IS NOT H/D. As much as I love the boys, even I need a break at times. Harry and Draco are in the fic, and you can take their actions as you like, of course. But the main ship is actually a rather unusual one: Millicent/Dean.
I would really appreciate getting your thoughts on how this one works. Some things about it are rubbing me the wrong way and I am not sure what to do. Thanks a ton, everyone.
Title: The Education of Dean Thomas
Author: RurouniHime
Pairing: Millicent/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dean has never tutored a Slytherin before. But there are some lessons that can only be learned outside of the books.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. They belong to JK Rowling.
Jane says
"I've never been in love - no"
She don't know what it is
She only knows if someone wants her.
"I only want 'em if they want me..."
"I only know they want me..."
She gets mad
And she starts to cry
Takes a swing but
She can't hit!
She don't mean no harm
She just don't know...
What else to do about it.
~Jane’s Addiction, “Jane Says”
~~
If he hadn’t looked over his shoulder that day in Potions a few weeks ago, none of this would have happened.
Dean Thomas could safely say that that particular idea held little appeal for him.
He’d been brewing a potion with Seamus, and he’d dropped the root of asphodel, something Snape would probably hex him over, considering that the head of Slytherin had spent twenty minutes pounding it into their heads how rare it was this time of year. Grinding root of asphodel into the floor stones was not something Dean wanted to explain to the sour tempered professor, and he had darted down to grab it, glancing around to see whether any of the Slytherins had seen him. He had horrible visions of Pansy Parkinson leaping to her feet, pointing at him with a claw-like finger, and using her shrill voice to effectively slam him with a weekend’s worth of detention.
What he had seen instead was the quiet gaze of Millicent Bulstrode fixed on him from her seat two rows back. Not hatefully. Not even annoyed. She was just... looking at him. Gazing. She caught herself a second after they locked eyes and looked away, a blush rising on her pale skin, but Dean had stopped and pondered her for a moment. He’d never really given the tallish Slytherin girl any thought before. She’d always been there, of course, but never as more than a side-line observer. Dean did not even think he’d ever heard her speak.
But for some reason, she was looking at him, cocoa-colored eyes fixed on his. Dean’s mind was elsewhere throughout the remainder of the class. He added the ingredients automatically, managing to get the desired effect without drawing down Snape’s wrath. But he was thinking about Millicent Bulstrode. She was not particularly pretty. Not like Parvati and her sister, certainly, but then, they were absolutely gorgeous, weren’t they? No, Millicent Bulstrode was rather plain, to be honest. Very tall, about level with Dean himself now that he thought about it. Her body had finally caught up with the rest of her over the last year, and she was no longer the bulky, awkward, sullen Slytherin girl she had been. She gave the sense of being too tall for herself, if that were possible.
Something in her eyes. Wide and curious, with the patience, he felt, to contemplate an object of interest for hours. And she’d been contemplating him.
When class ended, Dean was jerked out of his reverie by the voice he had worked so hard to avoid. Snape called him over to his desk with an impatient flick of his fingers. Seamus gave Dean a sympathetic look and followed the rest out of the room while Dean made his way to the front of the classroom, his mind rushing hurriedly over what he might have done wrong and if there was any way to fix it in the five seconds it took to reach Snape’s desk.
“Thomas,” Snape intoned in a disgruntled voice.
“Yes, sir?” Dean asked, cringing.
“It has come to my attention that I have a student who is doing so dismally in this class that I am beginning to think passing is no longer an option.”
Was Snape talking about him? Dean knew he was doing exceptionally well in Potions. Thank Merlin.
Snape glowered at him. “Since you have been doing so passably lately” – here the man sounded as though he wanted to spit – “it seems I must address the option of requesting your assistance in this matter, as unappealing as the idea is.”
Dean was a little frightened of the sour lilt to Snape’s voice. “How... how so?”
“Quite frankly, Mr. Thomas, this student's work is appallingly similar to a first year’s, and she is going to fail the course if she continues in this fashion. I would much rather pair her with another Slytherin, but aside from Mr. Malfoy, you are the only one... qualified.”
Snape might as well have been telling him he looked like a salamander for all the warmth in his voice.
“I cannot ask Mr. Malfoy to instruct her. He has enough on his plate, what with being a prefect. You, on the other hand, do not seem to be participating in much of anything important. Doing this would garner you a bit of extra credit for the course, and keep in mind, Mr. Thomas, I do not give out extra credit to anyone.”
“You want me to tutor her?” Dean asked, before he could stop himself. “A... a Slytherin.”
Snape frowned. “Yes, a Slytherin. Sadly, this is the only acceptable solution, even if you are a Gryffindor. And I always ensure that my students receive the best.”
Dean swallowed, feeling anger rise in his chest. Yeah, right. The students of your house, you mean. Why don’t you get Neville some help then? He would refuse, flatly. Even if Snape did give him extra credit... well, nothing was worth spending his free time with a Slytherin.
But he was curious. If nothing else, it would be something to tell Seamus and the rest of his dorm-mates about. A Slytherin failing Potions? His friends would have a heyday.
“Who is it?”
Snape raised an eyebrow at him as if he knew exactly why Dean wanted to know, but couldn’t see a way to get around it. “Millicent Bulstrode.”
Dean had no clue why he ended up answering as he did. He knew how Slytherins were, after all. Every last one of them was the same. Except suddenly, Dean was unconcerned with the wonders of gossip and the trials of sitting with a Slytherin on his free evenings.
Millicent Bulstrode.
Dean said yes.
* * *
He chose the library for their first meeting, and had Snape relay the information to Millicent, because when it came right down to it, he really didn’t know how to approach her. Oh, he had questions. Thousands. But none of them took on a form coherent enough for him to voice. One of the clearest ones had to do with why Millicent was looking at him that day, but it threw Dean because what he really wanted to know was why he cared so much. About her looking at him.
He arrived early and picked out several books on Potions, setting them down on a table in the back. He really had no idea what level she was at in the class. He figured that this first meeting might as well be a getting-to-know-you session. And surprisingly, Dean was not feeling all that upset about it. Just oddly curious.
She was so quiet that he almost didn’t hear her coming. She walked in a stately manner, shoulders thrown back, long black hair brushing down around her shoulders. Her arms held several books of her own that Dean recognized as class texts. She came up to the table and halted, looking down at him.
“Hello, Dean,” she said.
It was so simple, so unexpected. Especially from a Slytherin. Dean let himself concentrate on her voice because he realized he never had heard it before. She had a low voice.
“Hi... Millicent,” he answered tentatively. She gave him a tiny, shy smile that belied her forthright greeting, hugging her books to her chest.
Dean gestured to one of the chairs. “Um... you could sit down. If you want. And we can get started.”
Millicent pulled the nearest chair out a bit and folded her tall form into it. She placed her books carefully on the table, spreading long fingers out over the cover of the topmost one, and then turned hesitantly to look at him. “So...”
Dean smiled at her. Suddenly it didn’t feel so awkward. “So.”
Millicent’s smile was wider this time.
* * *
Dean settled for meetings four times a week. It turned out that Millicent was not all that horrible at Potions. She just said she didn’t understand certain concepts, such as the importance of order in ingredient adding. Dean found that to be a little strange, more of a problem with obstinacy than actual potions-making, but Snape had asked him to help her and it wouldn’t exactly hurt him to do it. Not really.
“Why can’t I just throw it all in at once?” Millicent grumbled one evening, frowning at the book in front of her. “It’s all going in the same place anyway.”
Dean grinned at her grousing. “How on earth did you make it this far in Potions, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” Millicent smiled, considering for a moment. Then, “Well, how does Neville make it through?”
“Hermione helps him quite a bit,” Dean said, and then clamped his mouth shut, scandalized at what he had just revealed to a Slytherin. But Millicent laughed, a throaty, appreciative sound, and nodded.
“Well, Pansy Parkinson knows what she’s doing, too.”
Dean grinned. “Riding her coattails, then?”
“Absolutely.” Millicent gave a satisfied sigh and shook her head. “But I can’t do that forever. Professor Snape wised up not too long ago and won’t let us work together anymore. Just as well… she’s a bit of a priss.”
Dean laughed out loud at Millicent’s frank tone and earned a grumble from Madame Pince at the front desk. They both looked at each other, chuckling softly, and turned back to their books.
“See,” Dean said in a quiet voice, “each ingredient is going to cause a different reaction depending on when you put it in. Take Polyjuice, for instance. It takes a month to brew. You have to let the first ingredient simmer for a week and reach the right potency before you add the second ingredient, or the reaction will be different.”
Millicent watched him avidly. Dean continued. “Say you put the lacewings in the first week, and then add boomslang skin like you’re supposed to. Your potion is coming along nicely. But if you don’t let the boomslang simmer with the lacewings for at least a week before adding the bicorn horn, it reacts differently. The boomslang skin hasn’t had enough time to fully react with the lacewings, and you’ll get a mixture that…” He consulted a text called Incredible Potion Mishaps. “…turns you into something resembling a newt.”
“Hmm, really should try that on Professor Binns, I suppose. He could stand a new look.”
Dean barely stopped himself from guffawing. Millicent had covered her mouth with her palm, her eyes dancing at him over the tops of her fingers.
“Somehow,” Dean managed between chuckles, “I doubt it would work the same way on a ghost.”
Millicent shrugged. “Somehow I really don’t think anyone would notice the difference.”
This time Madame Pince had to come over and tell them to plug up or pack up. They managed to quiet themselves enough to continue the tutoring, but Dean found himself smiling at her a lot more often.
It turned out that Millicent had a very odd, very interesting sense of humor. It was a bit mischievous, but not cruel in nature. Between telling him how much she would have enjoyed knowing the Weasley twins, and describing the time she’d managed to convince Theodore Nott that he was actually a Gryffindor at heart well enough to get him outside the Fat Lady’s portrait, tearfully begging for the password, Millicent became, in Dean’s eyes, something of a friend. He found it very easy to talk to her during tutoring: she seemed quite interested in learning the finer points of potions-making. But there was something about her that just put him at ease in general. He wasn’t sure what, but he had his theories. Maybe it was the way she promptly seemed to forget that she was a Slytherin and he was a Gryffindor from the moment he began tutoring her. Or the way her dark eyes widened ever so slightly when she finally grasped a concept they had been working on. Maybe it was the unapologetic way she laughed, a deep, all-consuming chuckle that built until Dean could not help but join her in merriment. She had an infectious personality, and Dean liked it very much.
Through the first week, Millicent improved steadily in Potions. They paired together in class to work on what she had learned, and he was surprised to find that she was a very attentive, careful potions-maker. Sometimes it made him wonder if he was really teaching her anything at all. Once or twice she assessed a botched potion so skillfully and remedied the problem so swiftly Dean had to take a step back and consider the reasons behind the tutoring sessions. At those moments, she seemed to catch herself, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She always asked him to continue the instruction, that she was feeling more confident in her potions skills every day. In his mind it was almost easier to go on doing so than to ponder over what Snape’s reasons were for his tutoring her. He often had the sneaking suspicion that she didn’t actually need his help at all.
In the end it didn’t really matter. Dean found himself less and less upset by the idea that he was no longer muddling through Snape’s class with Seamus at his side, despite his best friend’s quizzical looks and annoyed mutterings on his behalf. Evenings took on a new flavor that he anticipated with some excitement, because the meetings were no longer confined to Potions only. Millicent always arrived promptly, and set herself to distracting him with rather amusing stories about what went on in the Slytherin common room. Dean was only too happy to reciprocate with embarrassing recitations of Gryffindor brainlessness, many of which he was the star of. It never occurred to him until after they parted ways for the night that Millicent could take those stories and use them to make his friends’ lives miserable, and then the notion just seemed absurd.
He honestly didn’t think Millicent had it in her.
Dean began to notice other things as well, namely the way there always seemed to be an influx of male students in their section of the library. At first he wasn’t sure what to make of it. It took him a good week to connect the boys’ furtive glances to the way Millicent flushed and pursed her lips. And then Dean buried himself in his books, pretending to study while she pored over Potions ingredients, committing them to memory, when he was really sitting back and thinking about the connection. He began to consider Millicent herself.
She was tall, that was certain. He remembered her as shorter, with a confused grimace and too-large limbs. Seamus had once noted, a bit snidely, the resemblance between Millicent and her housemates Crabbe and Goyle, a joke Dean had found vaguely amusing, but ultimately insignificant considering he didn’t really care about any of them. She had changed a bit since third year. Her features were not exotic; the Patil twins’ smoky eyes and delicate bone structure came to mind, but Dean found the comparison lacking in a way he didn’t expect. Millicent Bulstrode had a round face framed by thick, dark hair, and an ungainly smattering of freckles over her nose. A face to be lost in the crowd. But, watching her smile all the way to the roots of her hair, Dean had the feeling her face was also one that, once memorized, wheedled a place into one’s thoughts more thoroughly than either of the Patils'.
It was her body that attracted the boys. Dean saw this almost immediately, once he thought about it. Well-shaped and leggy. Millicent had filled out in more ways than one, a realization that made Dean blush and shake himself, even though he knew she had no idea he was thinking it. She studied, Dean watched her, and he watched the boys drift past their table. He saw them focus their eyes a bit lower than was necessary to say hello, and felt a twinge of annoyance at their behavior. They obviously had no idea what she was really like, and he disliked all of them because he also knew they had no interest in finding that out.
The things that made Millicent tick were interesting to him. The fact that she both seemed to notice and not notice the attention given to her body made Dean simultaneously want to shake her soundly and congratulate her. He liked that she always held herself straight-backed under the scrutiny of her admirers, furiously flushed cheeks negated by the confident lift of her chin. The way she pointed with a long finger at the end of a straight arm toward a problem she saw in the text. Her lack of self-consciousness when seen in Dean’s company. It made him feel wanted, which made him feel happy.
It did not occur to him that she was directly involved with this feeling. Dean took it as it came, and was glad, if not surprised, by the friendship he was developing. The tutoring went on unchanged, and uninterrupted, if one did not count the silent gazes of males from various houses as they poked about for books they didn’t really need. There was one day when Dean walked into the library, greeted Millicent warmly, sat down, opened a book on the Wolfsbane Potion, and got halfway through the entire session without once thinking the word Slytherin.
Of course, that was the day.
* * *
“Oh, for Salazar’s sake, Bulstrode, what on earth?”
Dean looked up to see Blaise Zabini leaning on the end of their table, a disgusted sneer on his face. Dean frowned.
“Bugger off, Zabini. No one asked you here.”
The lanky Slytherin raised an amused eyebrow at him, his lip curling. “Bulstrode doesn’t mind.”
Dean glanced at Millicent, fully prepared for the indignant retort he’d come to expect. But when he saw her, he was dumbfounded. Gone was Millicent’s confident posture, her up-tilted chin. She sat hunched down, her arms crossed on the table in front of her, hair falling in her face. He could see she was biting her lip, but she wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye.
It was as if he were looking at a completely different person.
Blaise swaggered over, hitching a leg up on the chair next to Millicent’s, and leaned over her. “Hm. No hello then?”
Millicent’s eyes flicked up to Blaise’s and back down again. “Hello, Blaise,” she muttered.
Blaise smirked and glanced at Dean. “What the hell is this, Bulstrode?”
Millicent’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Dean frowned. He faced the Slytherin. “Get lost, Zabini, we’re—”
“We’re just studying, Blaise,” Millicent’s voice broke in softly. Dean blinked at her. Her voice was too quiet, too wispy. She didn’t sound like herself at all, and for some reason, it made him angrier.
Blaise surveyed Dean and chuckled derisively. “I don’t doubt it.”
The Slytherin leaned in further, his forehead nearly touching Millicent’s. His lip curled. “Why don’t you blow it off, Bulstrode? I can think of quite a few other things you could be doing right now, and none of them include a Gryffindor prick.”
Millicent’s eyes traveled up slowly and fixed themselves on Blaise’s. Dean forgot to be angry, watching them. He saw Blaise reach out and trail a finger down her sleeve. Millicent swallowed audibly. Her eyes were wide and luminous, the skin of her face paler than usual. Dean stared, his chest growing tight with confusion.
“Blaise.”
All of them looked up. Draco Malfoy, of all people, was standing at the end of one of the rows, looking hard at Blaise Zabini. His hands were shoved casually into the pockets of his black trousers, but his body was strangely rigid. Dean had the distinct sense of humming air in the small space around the blond. Blaise straightened, drawing his fingers away from Millicent, eyes on the other Slytherin. He made an impatient sound in his throat and stepped back. His whole body was tensed. Malfoy continued to look at him silently. Unblinking. Finally, Blaise gave a disdainful snort and walked away, throwing one last smirk over his shoulder. “See you, Bulstrode.”
Dean watched him until he disappeared, and then turned his attention back to Malfoy. The Slytherin prefect approached the table, his grey eyes now on Millicent. Dean glanced at her and noticed that she was shaking slightly. Malfoy halted at the table and Dean saw something flicker in his eyes. “Mil.”
Millicent nodded mutely, casting a wavering smile up at him. Malfoy seemed about to say more, but then he noticed Dean. Almost as if he hadn’t seen him there. A scowl darkened his face and his eyes narrowed. Dean glared back at him, wondering what Malfoy was going to do, and what he was going to do about it.
Looking at Dean the whole time, Malfoy spoke. “We’ll be at dinner then, when you’re done.”
He waited for Millicent’s nod, and then, with one last glower at Dean, Malfoy turned and walked down the aisle and out of sight. Dean turned to look at Millicent. She had gained back what little color her face normally had, but her eyes were still vacant.
“Millicent?”
She glanced at him, and flushed slightly. Grabbing one of the books in front of her, she opened it to a random page and began to read. “It’s nothing.”
“But—”
“Blaise is always like that.”
Dean knit his eyebrows. “Millicent, are you alri—”
“Look, Dean,” she said, flashing sparking eyes at him. “I said it’s nothing. Can we just finish up? I’m getting hungry.”
Dean looked at her for another moment, then nodded and opened his own book. He flipped silently through the pages until he found the potion he’d been looking for before Blaise’s interruption. But as he explained the specifics of the mixture, his mind was not on his words. He kept coming back to the expression on Millicent’s face, the predatory look in Blaise’s eye.
For one infinite instant, he had looked at Millicent’s eyes and known she was going to go with Blaise. It made his chest constrict, but he wasn’t sure exactly why.
* * *
The next day in Potions, Dean noticed that Millicent sat as far away from their normal table as she could and did not look at him for the entire two hours, even though he made many attempts to catch her eye.
While he was trying to get Millicent’s attention and failing miserably, Dean did notice a few other things. Blaise, for one. He was sitting next to another Slytherin girl whom Dean did not know at all, and their behavior was such that he began to wonder just how close they were. Blaise was all smiles, looking the handsome Slytherin part, finding excuses to brush her arm or make her giggle. Snape, of course, ignored them both, focusing all his energies on towering over Neville, who was quickly being reduced to an emotional wreck.
Another thing Dean noticed was Malfoy. The blond Slytherin sat impassively in his seat, paying no attention to the work Pansy was doing with their potion. He seemed to be scanning the room, contemplating things in something of a pattern. Three things in particular, Dean realized. One was Blaise and his partner. There was a rather frightening, dead pall to Malfoy’s eyes as he looked at his two housemates. But every time the girl gave a particularly loud giggle, Malfoy’s attention would shift to the second target: Millicent, sitting silently in the corner. No matter how many times Dean watched the shift, he was always surprised by the expression in Malfoy’s eyes. It was concern, something he had never associated with the Slytherin. And then it was time to look away because Malfoy’s gaze inevitably shifted from Millicent to himself, and the blond Slytherin would stare at him inscrutably for several moments. Dean was distinctly uncomfortable under Malfoy’s analysis; he felt like he was being picked apart by that hawk-like gaze.
That evening, he waited in the library for an hour. Millicent did not appear. Dean swung back and forth from trying to be patient to feeling extremely angry that she had blown him off. What was wrong with her anyway? They were getting along fine, actually getting some work done. Partnering in Potions so that Millicent could practice what she’d learned, and regardless of whether she actually needed the tutoring or not, she was excelling in leaps and bounds. He felt completely comfortable around her, found himself looking forward to their tutoring sessions. And now...
What exactly had happened last night? Suddenly Millicent had closed herself off, and was now avoiding him at all costs, in and out of Potions. He’d tried to say hello to her in the hallway between classes; he’d even made sure there wasn’t anyone else around, in case she was embarrassed about being seen with him – Dean had relegated the implications of that particular possibility to the back of his mind to worry about later – but she had brushed right past him without pausing.
Finally, Madame Pince came to shoo him out of the library. By then, Dean was in a foul mood. It was obvious that Millicent didn’t want to have anything to do with him any longer, and what made him mad was that he had no idea what he’d done. He didn’t know what the deal was with Blaise, or why Malfoy had taken such an interest in him lately. He didn’t know why Millicent had turned into such a shell of her normal self when Blaise had shown up. He had no idea why she hadn’t stood up for herself. She wasn’t normally like that.
For some reason, that made him furious.
Dean stormed down the hall, his book bag slung over his shoulder. Right now, he didn’t envy any unfortunate person he might run into. It didn’t matter who they were: Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. They were going to get bowled. He turned a corner and headed toward the staircase that led up to the Gryffindor common room.
“Dean!”
He spun around at the sound of his name, his foot poised on the first step, and saw her standing there, leaning against the wall with one hand. She was out of breath, her hair coming out of its hasty ponytail. She must have run all the way up from the dungeons. He looked at her face and his anger receded a tiny bit. Her dark eyes were so wide, so full of uncertainty.
“Millicent,” he said stiffly, stepping away from the staircase. It gave what sounded like an indignant rumble and began to move up into the darkness, leaving him behind.
Millicent ducked her head, taking a deep breath, and then walked along the wall, trailing her hand over the stones as if she might fall over without the contact. Dean waited as she drew near. He wasn’t sure what he expected her to say or do. Fleetingly he allowed himself to be glad that she was talking, that she was the one who had stopped him. But she’d also ignored him. Without any explanation. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that either. His frustration still simmered near the surface.
She halted a few feet away and looked at him, biting her lip. “Dean, I suppose you’re... mad at me.”
“Just a bit,” he muttered, and then stopped, trying to decide whether or not to be appalled at his caustic tone. Maybe she had a good reason after all. But she hadn’t needed to brush him off so severely that day. He hadn’t done anything except try to help her, for Merlin's sake. True, he had no clue why Blaise had gotten her so worked up, or why Malfoy felt it necessary to keep tabs on either of them. But it didn’t matter. He liked being around her, he admitted to himself angrily. They were friends, or so he’d thought. Friends stood up for each other. Obviously the feeling was not as mutual as he’d believed.
That realization hurt more than it should have.
“Oh Merlin, Millicent!” Dean hissed. “Who gives a damn if I’m mad at you or not? Why does it matter? This whole thing is a joke anyway. It’s obvious you don’t need the tutoring, or want it.”
“What?” Millicent said hollowly.
“I have no idea what Blaise said to you that was so disturbing, but you didn’t have to treat me like I don’t exist! I was only helping you because Snape asked me to, and I thought you liked the tutoring. I was only trying to help. It’s obvious that your friends don’t want you around me, even if it is just to tutor you. If you agree with them so completely, then maybe we should just stop this right now. I don’t know why Snape asked me in the first place. You’d do better with one of your friends.”
He turned to go, hoping that the staircase had descended again so he wouldn’t have to wait for it with her staring at him. He felt like a fool.
“I asked for you.”
It was sudden, blurted out in slightly desperate tones. Dean stopped, unwilling at first to believe her words.
He heard a sigh behind him. “There. There it is. I asked for you, alright? I begged Snape to have you tutor me.”
Dean had to see her. He couldn’t tell if this was some sort of joke if he couldn’t see her face. He turned and saw her looking down at the floor. Her gaze flicked up and met his. It wasn’t a joke, he could see it in her eyes. But Dean quelled the hope in his chest anyway. It was just silly to think that he cared enough to... that she might... He took a deep breath.
“Why?”
Millicent tilted her head and gave him a sad, lopsided smile. “I don’t know. I just...”
“I’m not the best in the class.”
Her eyes lit up suddenly, and a low chuckle escaped her throat. He recognized it. The Millicent he knew.
“I know that. If I wanted the best, I would have asked Draco. He’d tutor me in a second if I asked. But I didn’t want to have Draco teach me. And you seemed... nice. And you’re smart. I just thought that... oh, I don’t know what I thought.”
Dean thought he knew. Just for a moment. But it was silly to think those things, wasn’t it?
Millicent looked at him hesitantly. “Dean, I’m sorry I ignored you. And I’m sorry I missed our meeting. Do you think we could... I don’t know... try to study a little now?”
Dean found himself smiling at her, wondering why he was so quick to forgive a girl who didn’t explain anything. Seeing her smile, seeing her back to the way she normally was made him happy. He nodded once. “The library’s closed. Know anywhere else we could go?”
* * *
It wasn’t the warmest of spots, sitting against the wall in the Transfiguration corridor, but it was quiet and deserted, and far away from any common rooms or teachers’ offices. Dean knew from Harry and Ron that Filch spent most of the early evening down on the lower floors. How those two knew that particular bit of trivia, he couldn’t fathom, but... so far, neither Filch nor Mrs. Norris had ventured their way, and Millicent was back to her normal comfortable self.
“Millicent, can I ask you something?”
She looked up from her text on Invisibility potions and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Sure.”
Dean didn’t want to ruin the calm of the moment, but he had to know. “Why did Blaise get you so upset?”
Millicent flushed and ducked her head, and for a moment Dean thought he’d lost her again. But then she shrugged. “It’s really nothing, Dean. We... well, I... I somewhat fancied him earlier this year, and he...”
“Didn’t return the feeling,” Dean finished. Something like relief washed over Millicent’s face and she nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Dean considered. “And Malfoy?”
Millicent quirked her lip in a weird half-smile. “Blaise was a bit harsh. Draco... you could say he’s a little overprotective.”
Dean frowned, surprised. “I didn’t know you two were so close.”
“We weren’t, really. Not until—” She blushed again. “Not until the thing with Blaise. He just... Draco’s a good guy.”
Dean bit back a snort. No need to go into that at the moment. “So Blaise uses it against you, then.”
“Blaise likes a certain amount of control. At least that’s what Draco says. He’s got something over me now and...” Millicent broke off, her forehead wrinkling. Dean touched her shoulder.
“You were friends, weren’t you? Before. With Blaise.”
She turned sad eyes on Dean. “Something like that. But not anymore.”
No, he supposed not. That kind of thing could ruin a friendship. It was an idea Dean was beginning to dwell on.
“Do you still... like him?” he asked, stumbling over the awkward question. Millicent darted a quick glance at him and then shook her head fervently.
“No. No, that’s over. Long gone.”
“That’s... that’s good, then.” Before he could think about it, or find a way to talk himself out of it, Dean leaned over and gave Millicent a quick kiss on the cheek. Her eyes flew to his, wide and startled. Her mouth dropped open a bit and she closed it.
“Sorry, Millicent. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... done that.” Dean frowned, ashamed of his forwardness, appalled at his lack of inhibition. What had he been thinking?
The hallway was silent for a long moment. Then Dean felt a warm hand on his arm.
“No,” Millicent said, her voice soft and shy. “No, I liked that. Really.”
Dean smiled, relief spilling into every limb. He hadn’t managed to ruin anything. He glanced up at her and saw her looking back at him, pale face glowing. “Can I... do it again?”
Millicent nodded breathlessly, looking a little scared. Dean leaned in more slowly and touched his lips to hers, lingering there on their soft warmth before drawing away again. She lifted a hand to touch her mouth, blushing a little around the ears. Dean watched, fascinated.
There was the sound of a staircase rumbling into place somewhere on their floor. Both of them shook themselves and peered into the hallway gloom. When he looked back, Dean found Millicent gazing at him again in the same way he had first seen her look at him in Potions and realized that all his “silly thoughts” were not all that silly after all. Millicent chewed her lip delicately, a small smile on her face, and Dean began to realize that the moment, whatever it had been, was broken… but not irretrievable. He grinned slowly at that thought.
“Think we should be getting to our dorms. Before Filch catches us.”
“Yes,” she answered in a dreamy tone.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, feeling warmth beginning to spread through his body.
Her answering nod made it complete.
~End Part One~
On to Part 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 05:42 pm (UTC)From:I liked this first part. ('cept for the icky het at the end, but well, there's no getting around that!) I thought it was well written and you managed to take the cliche of tutoring and have it be different. (And I really like that it seems Millicent doesn't even need tutoring.) I like Dean as well, he's a really nice guy, and Blaise is such a prick! I'm gussing there's going to be a lot more to that in part two?
I'm not sure about the Snape bit, he just seems a little off to me. I think it's because he really does praise Dean highly, disgusted tone of voice or not. In my head, Snape uses words like adequate, passable, and 'you'll do' when talking about the Gryffindors. (I so so so hate saying anything critical, 'specially since you've been so nice and haven't ripped me a new one for that horrible piece of work of mine on ff.net, but I know I love it when people give me good crit, so I'm trying, and ignore me if you want!!)
I'm actually liking Millicent more than I thought I would too. Partly because she's really tall. Like me. :) Okay, so that's not the only reason. She's like how I think a lot of the Slytherins are around each other. More open, and funny, and strong and smart. Only she's being that around Dean as well. It's nice.
(Is it really bad that I noticed every single part about Draco and how he's like the godfather of Slytherin which is really really sexy even though he doesn't though this story isn't about him?)
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 09:57 pm (UTC)From:But it really does help me. I will look into the Snape bit. Thought I had him pegged, but now that I think about it, you are right about him using words like "passable", and "acceptable", especially concerning a Gryffindor student. I will see what I can do.
Heh. I meant for Draco to be noticed, silly! I love the guy, after all. And I LOVE how you have termed him the Slytherin Godfather! So... so... right!
So thanks a whole bunch for reading this for me and giving me feedback. It just hasn't been sitting right with me, and I was getting impatient with my inability to sort it out for myself. It was annoying me to no end.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:00 pm (UTC)From:You know I have a Godfather!Draco thing running around in my head now, right? Guh, so cool.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:12 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:16 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:20 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:22 pm (UTC)From:Okay, just snarfed my water thinking of Luci doing the orange peel scene.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:29 pm (UTC)From:I may be the only person ON THIS EARTH who has not seen The Godfather.
*ducks flying objects* Yeah I know, I know! I'll go rent it! SOON.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 10:41 pm (UTC)From:*stands with you*
no subject
Date: 2005-09-10 12:19 am (UTC)From: