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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.
Part 1
Over the next two weeks, Dean was happier than he’d been in a long time. He did try to keep things in perspective, of course. There was, after all, still the small issue of how to inform Seamus, and possibly the rest of his roommates, that he was now dating a Slytherin. He knew Seamus would not be particularly keen on it. He knew Neville would be worried. He knew Ron would start ranting about the fact that she was a “snaky dungeon dweller”, as he liked to term the Slytherins, and couldn’t he just pick someone he knew from Gryffindor again? And he knew Harry would sit there and squint at him carefully, because it was what Harry seemed to do lately.
And speaking of scrutiny... There was also the glaring reminder that he was currently under the observation of Slytherin’s leading student, and that was somewhere Dean did not wish to be. It wasn’t as though Malfoy was angry at him. But he was watching him. Carefully, like Harry. Blatantly. Always watching. Dean felt he was being circled by a shark. A shark with a potentially nasty bite, according to how fast Blaise had backed off in the library.
But somehow, Dean couldn’t really find it in himself to be worried. The more he was with Millicent, the more he wanted to be with her. She just seemed to... shine. Or maybe it was the new light he saw everything in. It was hard to believe someone had been crushing on him for so long without his knowledge. It was hard to believe he was dating a Slytherin. It wasn’t hard to believe he was dating Millicent. From stolen kisses over Potions books in a deserted library and not-so-stolen ones in the main hall after dinner, when the trickle of other students to their dorms had ceased, to the laughter she could ignite in him with a single mischievous story... Dean was beyond ever seeing her as just another faceless girl. In fact, he couldn’t get her face – plain, freckly, crinkled with laughter – out of his mind.
It was still an enigma to him that she let him kiss her at all. She never instigated it, and always dropped her head shyly before and after each kiss. But she was quite content to let him cradle her in his arms as they chatted in a deserted classroom after nightfall, happy to stroke his arm absently while smiling at something only she could see. Dean worried for a day or two about her apparent unwillingness to get close, but soon discovered that she was not unwilling, just... shy. Strangely.
He couldn’t remember ever giving her cause to distrust him.
They met nightly. Dates, he might call them, except that Seamus would say it was a pretty pathetic date when you just sat against a cold stone wall and talked. And kissed. Dean liked kissing Millicent. She was so slow about it, so languorous. He got the sense that she had done this before, and briefly wondered who it had been before him, but the only people he could come up with were Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. Understandably, Dean tended not to dwell on those particular ideas. It would have to be enough to just sit with Millicent and think that, whoever had come before, she was with him now. Sitting with him. Talking with him. Holding his hand. Because she wanted to. Really, it was amazing Seamus had not locked Dean in their room and demanded to know what all those goofy grins were about before letting him out.
Well. He’d tell Seamus soon. He was beginning to realize that, while he didn’t relish being argued at by his friends, he no longer cared what Seamus or the rest of them would say. And that was nice.
The day of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match was much like any other to Dean. He’d made plans to see Millicent that night after dinner, and had tentatively decided that tomorrow he would let his friends in on their little secret as well. But for now, his house was going to go out and fight for the House Cup, and Dean was only too happy to go along and cheer his friends on. He was in a perpetual good mood, after all.
The wind was blowing fairly hard and dark clouds were rolling overhead when everyone filed out and took their seats in the stands. The smell of rain was thick on the air. The balls were released, the teams kicked off from the ground, and Dean tried to look through the humid air to find Millicent in the Slytherin section. He didn’t see her, not really, but his mind fancied it knew exactly where to look, which section of wildly cheering students to focus on.
The game was hard and fast, with Gryffindor scoring four times to Slytherin’s three in the first fifteen minutes. For some reason, despite the lowering clouds, the high wind, and the fact that this was the most heated game Hogwarts had to offer, the air felt relaxed, calmer than usual. It seemed to Dean that he could see smiles on the faces of every player at one point or another. Ginny Weasley buzzed past with the Quaffle tucked under her arm and a huge grin on her face, the Slytherin Chaser directly behind her with something like contentment splashed over his features. Dean breathed deeply, watching the score leapfrog. It made sense. It had been too wet to fly lately. He supposed everyone was just happy that the weather had let up enough for them to get on their brooms and zoom about for once.
It wasn’t until the Snitch was sighted that the tension began to escalate. Dean should have suspected as much, knowing who the Seekers were for each team, but when Malfoy jerked his broom and dove for something no one else could see, it was as if the air stiffened, grew thicker. Harry was after him in an instant, face contorted grimly. Dean saw Malfoy grit his teeth and scowl when they both flashed past, and began to feel a bit uneasy. Something about Malfoy’s face... a determination that Dean had never seen there before; and there was Harry, looking just as furiously determined, rocketing along behind, the Snitch fluttering in front, bodies jostling each other for position, two outstretched arms reaching, reaching—
The roar was indescribable when Malfoy’s fingers closed over the tiny golden ball. The Slytherin stands looked as though they would collapse under the leaping and jumping about. Malfoy yanked up hard on his broom, leaving Harry to zip away in a wide arc. He raised the Snitch over his head and the screaming grew even louder, if that were possible. The Slytherins all began clambering for the stairs, determined to get down to the field to congratulate their Seeker.
The Gryffindor stands were quiet. Everyone looked thunderstruck. Dean watched as Harry landed, pulling his broom up irritably, and rubbed his face with one gloved hand. The rest of the team hovered nearby, and Dean could see that Ginny was speaking to Harry, something reassuring he was certain, but he couldn’t hear a thing over the wind. Suddenly Seamus stood up and grabbed his shoulder, nodding as if he’d decided something. He turned around and cupped his hand to his mouth.
“Come on, you lot. Slytherin’s not the only team with a fast Seeker.”
Dean smiled weakly and got up, hearing everyone else rise as well. Seamus was right. It had been a good game. Harry would need their support now, regardless of whether he’d caught the Snitch or not, and they certainly could not leave him standing alone down there. Especially with every Slytherin in the school headed his way. Dean could think of a few students who would be sure to rub it in his face.
It took a bit of shuffling, but the Gryffindors managed to get down to the pitch at about the same time as the Slytherins. Dean could see Harry standing there watching them come, his lips stretched in a thin line, holding his broom with one hand. Dean smiled and gave Harry a thumbs up, and saw his roommate’s lips twitch slightly. But suddenly the Gryffindor Seeker turned, looked back over his shoulder as someone whooshed closely overhead.
Malfoy landed next to Harry on the pitch, tossing back his sweaty blond hair and wearing the snide smirk he always seemed to sport. Harry’s body was stiffening, Dean could see it even from this distance. He watched as Malfoy pinched the wriggling Snitch between two fingers and held it up in front of Harry’s face, not two inches from his nose. Said something, but Dean couldn’t hear it. The glower on Harry’s face was apparent, and Malfoy grinned even wider. Harry shot something back at the Slytherin, his face distorting into a satisfied smirk, and all the amusement dropped from Malfoy’s expression. His hands clenched. Dean and the rest of his house were almost there.
Malfoy leaned in close to Harry and hissed something, lips taking on an even uglier twist than usual. Dean had no idea what it was the Slytherin said, but Harry’s head shot up, eyes flashing, and suddenly he wheeled back and punched Malfoy in the chin. The Slytherin staggered backward, working his jaw, and then lunged at Harry, fury striped across his face, the Snitch forgotten, pummeling into Dean’s roommate with both fists. A cry of anger broke from the crowd of Gryffindors, and Dean felt them push him into a flat-out run. But now Dean could feel the ire billowing up inside him, knowing, just knowing that Malfoy had instigated this with whatever he’d said, and painfully aware that Harry would be the one punished for throwing the first punch. All because Malfoy couldn’t have the grace to be a good winner. Ever. In one blinding instant, Dean hated Malfoy, hated every Slytherin for being such annoying, conniving pricks, became intent on throwing himself headlong into the now-running crowd of Malfoy’s housemates. He’d make them earn their lack of punishment, every last one of them.
He was almost there, could see the fury glittering in the eyes of the Slytherin students, wished he were the one currently shoving Malfoy’s head into the pitch instead of Harry, feeling his anger balloon when Malfoy landed a hard blow to Harry’s cheek, toppling the Gryffindor over. Hating the word Slytherin with everything in him.
But suddenly, someone was in his way. Madame Hooch, dropping down in front of him, her wand blasting the two combatants apart, indignant fury plain on her face. The Slytherins skidded to a halt on the other side of the Quidditch instructor, looking mutinous but uncertain. Dean jerked to a stop and felt someone bump him from behind.
With a strength born of her anger, Madame Hooch yanked the two Seekers to their feet. “What do you think you are doing? This is a bloody Quidditch game, not a ring for the two of you to pummel out your differences! Fifty points from each of your houses!”
Harry was still glaring murderously at Malfoy, his chin already beginning to bruise heavily, hands clenched at his sides, breathing hard. Malfoy’s chest was heaving just as much and he raised a hand to wipe blood from a long split on his lip. He sneered at Harry. Madam Hooch saw it and grabbed a handful each of their Quidditch robes, jerking forcefully.
“One more move out of either of you and your teams will do without you for the rest of this year and the next.”
Dean heard shifting from both houses, muttering. He looked up at the Slytherins, fully prepared to show them how much of this was their fault... and his eyes fell upon Millicent. She was standing at the front of the Slytherins, breathing hard, hair flurried about her head by the wind. Dean’s anger evaporated so quickly he nearly gasped.
Her eyes were wide, fixed on him. It occurred to him that she was the only one who had not come running down the pitch to fight. Rather, she had come to congratulate Malfoy, perhaps to stand beside him while the Gryffindors fumed and growled. To look at the first Slytherin Snitch caught in six years against their long-time rival. She was looking at him so painfully, fearfully. Dean knew somehow that she was not afraid of him. He didn’t know how he knew, but there it was, swimming in her expression. Millicent bit her lip, not taking her eyes from his, and suddenly he realized that she must have seen it. In his eyes, in his face, in the way he’d clenched his hands. The hatred. Flat-out.
Hatred of everything Slytherin.
Dean dropped his eyes, feeling his muscles go slack. He didn’t hate all Slytherins because he didn’t hate her. And he knew that she knew it. But he could still feel her gaze fixed on him, and the question in her expression burned its way into his mind. What do we do now?
* * *
It took Dean all afternoon to think of a way to deal with the situation. He went back to his room and shut the door, and none of his roommates noticed or cared because they were all down in the common room sitting around and staring morosely at the walls or at each other. All except Harry, of course. He and Malfoy had been carted off to Dumbledore’s office immediately by Madame Hooch. The Slytherins had sauntered off, their victory spoilt by the resulting fight, and the Gryffindors left as quietly as if someone had cast a silencing charm. Maybe it was just Dean, but the pitch looked unusually dark under the hanging clouds now, chilled beneath the gusting winds.
He wasn’t even certain Millicent would show up for their... date? Was it a date? He supposed so, even though it would just be sitting in a classroom holding each other and talking. After an hour of agonizing about whether or not he should even show up, Dean decided that he had to. He wanted to apologize to her, find some way to dispel that fear he had seen. Did she think he hated her? Dean knew that he didn’t. He'd never wanted to see anyone more in his life, in fact. But whether or not he could explain that there was a difference in his mind between her and her fellow housemates without offending her... he just wasn’t sure.
Dean skipped dinner, unwilling to see her until they could be alone, and waited in his room still trying to come up with an explanation. He hadn’t meant to get so angry. It was just that Slytherins – no, not Slytherins, Malfoy – always did things like that. It was something only he and Harry seemed to share, a mutual desire to rip each other apart, and it bled over into their housemates like a virulent disease. It manifested itself in everything they did… but nothing so fiercely as Quidditch. Dean couldn’t imagine hating anyone that much. The fact that his own anger had faded so quickly proved to him that he’d only been caught in the heat of the moment. But Millicent had witnessed it.
Anyone but her, and he wouldn’t have minded. But Millicent...
Finally, Dean crept out of his room, skirting the common room, which was thankfully empty, his housemates still at dinner, and headed down to the Transfiguration corridor. That room was never locked; McGonagall kept all her teaching supplies in her own office. If Millicent was coming, she would be there by now, he hoped. He paused outside the door, hearing footsteps within. Someone pacing. Dean took a moment to collect himself and then pushed the door open, an apology on his lips, not really knowing what he would end up saying. Best to get it all out as fast as possible.
“Millicent, I’m sorry about today. At the Quidditch game. I didn’t mean to get so—”
She spun to face him, and Dean was startled into silence by what looked like immense, helpless relief sweeping across her face... followed by... fear? Dean blinked, frozen, and in that moment, she had pulled him into the room and pushed the door shut behind him.
“Mil?”
“Shh, Dean, I don’t care about that.” Her voice was hitching for some odd reason. She pulled him in close and met his lips with a fierce kiss. Dean’s eyes shot wide open, and he had to force his arms to come up around her because they didn’t seem to remember how to work correctly. He couldn’t recall Millicent ever being so absolutely needy, so desperate to get close. Her teeth clacked painfully on his, but any sound he might have made was silenced by her tongue against his lips. Dean sluggishly gave himself over to the kiss, pushing her back a little to angle his head better, confused beyond anything he had ever felt, but more than willing to see what would happen. It was the first time she had ever kissed him, and it made his heart trip over itself. She made a small worried sound deep in her throat and pulled him flush against her with a jerk, startling Dean into momentary stillness yet again.
Well. Dean had never experienced this. But he could learn. She wanted to be close, for some reason. His crazy behavior today? It just wasn’t clicking together in his head, but... He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her long body against him, trying to get used to this new heat, this new... desperation. Her hands climbed to his face, damp and hot, running over his skin, through his hair, drifting down his shoulders, over his back, brushing his hips...
Wait a minute. Dean came out of the kiss gasping, blinking, and grabbed her wrists. “Millicent?”
She shook him free and reached again for his belt, unbuckling it faster than he could think. She was already at the buttons of his trousers when he grabbed her again, forcing her hands up and away.
“Mil... what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” she said, her dark hair hanging in a curtain between them. He was stunned by the hoarseness of her voice and almost let go of her wrists again, but caught them when she struggled to return to his trouser buttons.
“Mil. Wait a second—”
“I want to do this, Dean!” she shot back, twisting up to meet his eyes. Dean saw that they were red, dried streaks running down her cheeks. She looked determined. “Before I can’t anymore.”
“Wait— what?”
“Before you don’t want me anymore!”
Dean’s mouth dropped open. He lost his grip on one hand, grabbed it up again, wrapping his fingers around her wrist with enough force to leave bruises. “Millicent! What are you talking about?”
“You deserve this,” came her voice softly, muffled by the hair that had fallen across her face. As if she were settling something for herself. As if she hadn’t heard him.
Dean felt dully horrified. He gripped her hands tightly. “Millicent... I don’t deserve anything you don’t want to give me.”
“But I want to,” she said, eyes sparking defiantly, almost angrily. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Dean could only shake his head at her mutely. She scowled briefly and jerked at his hands. “It’s what all of you want. But you’re the first one who— who didn’t—”
“Millicent,” Dean managed through a constricted throat.
“It’s what he wanted, and then, once he had it, he... he just...”
Suddenly Dean understood all too well. He understood that he had completely misjudged a lot of things. All at once, he knew without a doubt who she was talking about, and he had never hated anyone in his life as much as he hated Blaise Zabini at that moment.
“He left you,” Dean ground out between clenched teeth. Millicent turned furious eyes on him.
“Why don’t you want me? I know I’m not pretty like Hermione, or Parvati. I’m not outgoing like Pansy. But I’m not nothing! I can have a boyfriend too. Boys like me just like they like her. You like me. I don’t want you to stop liking me! I don’t want you to... to... leave...” Her voice broke to pieces and she slumped forward. Dean gathered her quickly to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her shivering body.
“Mil... I...” Dean closed his eyes, and his mouth, not trusting himself to speak. He stroked her long, black hair as she sobbed, her hands balled into fists against his shirt, and tried not to think. But it was unraveling before him: the stares from the boys in the library... the inexplicable shyness she seemed to retain even after they had been together for two weeks... Blaise Zabini’s interruption. He saw the Millicent of that day as if he were standing there watching it on video. She had been so cowed, so upset, and Zabini had just stood there and...
Dean ground his teeth together. He pressed a soft kiss on the top of Millicent’s head where it rested on his shoulder. “Mil... I don’t want that.”
Her body went slack at his words and her voice drifted up to him, raw and empty. “Like him. You don’t want me either.”
Shaking his head, Dean pulled back and took her face in his hands. “No, that’s not... Millicent... I would never do that to you. I don’t think that you— look, what he did... Mil, I’m not expecting you to do anything for me. Certainly not that!”
Millicent’s voice caught in a sob. “But you-- I mean, you...”
“Why did you even think that I wanted that? Do you think that’s the only reason I...” Dean trailed off, unable to voice the repugnant idea.
She looked up at him with confused, watery eyes. “But you… at the game. I-I saw it. You’re a Gryffindor and... and I’m a Slytherin. I don’t hate you. I want to... I mean I l-like you, and… And I thought that if I... then you wouldn’t...”
“Oh, Merlin, Mil.” Dean rubbed his mouth with one hand. “I don’t hate you. And... and I would never ask you to do that.”
“But everyone else...”
“Who?”
“Dean, I’m not stupid! I see the way they look at me! It’s all they want.”
“You think it’s all I want from you.”
She shook her head and drew away, shrugging his hand from her shoulder and covering her face with one hand.
“How else am I supposed to keep you here?” she whispered.
Dean’s heart lurched at the hopelessness in her voice. In her mind, he realized, she had already lost him. Dean wanted to pound Blaise’s face in. Suddenly he understood the dead look on Malfoy’s face whenever he scrutinized his fellow Slytherin. But watching Millicent, bent like a wilted flower in the dim light from the windows, hearing her stifled sobs... suddenly Blaise receded into nothingness. All he wanted to do was tell her. Convince her of how wrong she was.
Dean slowly approached her, and laid his hands on her shoulders. She gave a start and jerked her head up, eyes flicking over his face wildly.
“Millicent, I’m going to kiss you now.”
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to protest, but Dean drew her to him, pressing his lips to hers. She went rigid. He could feel her lips quivering, and went gently over them with his own, placing tiny kisses here and there. Her body relaxed fractionally, and her arm came up around his neck, shaky. She finally accepted his kiss, let him deepen it. He felt her fingers curl against his stomach, felt her hand unclench, felt it move to his belt loops, fingertips hovering over the top of his trousers. Without breaking the kiss, he reached down and halted her movements, grasping her hand gently in his own.
“Not yet, Mil,” he murmured against her mouth. He could tell she heard him; her hand jerked a tiny bit in his.
“Not... yet?”
“Not for a long time.”
He guided her hand up to join the other around his neck, and then cupped her face and continued to kiss her. Her eyes drifted shut, hands clutching onto him like she was afraid he would disappear. Dean pressed a small kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling away.
“We’re not ready for that, Millicent. I’m not. And I know you aren’t.”
She looked at him with wide eyes, biting her lip. A blush was creeping up her pale throat. Dean touched the heated skin with his fingers.
She cleared her throat nervously, glancing away. “So... so now...”
“Now we just go slow.”
She flicked her eyes back to his, uncertainty making them darken. He found one of her hands, gave it a squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere. Just because we don’t... Millicent, that’s not why I like being with you.”
She dropped her head, hair falling forward, hiding her face again. He realized it was only one of many walls she had built up around her. “I’m such an idiot.”
“No. You’re not.”
He took her hand, guided her to the wall beside the door, and eased her down until they were sitting in a patch of soft moonlight. It seemed the clouds had finally broken a bit. “Mil. Tell me what happened with Blaise. Please.”
She looked at him for a long moment, and he could see the last vestiges of mistrust fall away. She gave a long sigh, and, leaning her head against his shoulder, her hand clasped in his, she began to talk.
* * *
It was several hours before Dean walked Millicent back down to the dungeons. The school had gone quiet long ago, the hallways shadowed and still. He felt like they were the only ones awake when they paused outside the Slytherin common room entrance. Millicent turned glimmering brown eyes to him and Dean felt his breath catch just from the deep openness in her irises. He kissed her slowly on the lips, heard her sigh and felt her arms clasp around him tightly. When they drew apart, she had a somewhat silly smile on her face, and Dean fell deliciously warm.
With a final dreamy wave, Millicent said the password and stepped backward through the passageway in the wall. Dean watched the wall close, stood there gazing at it for a long moment, and then turned, a faint smile on his lips, and walked away, back toward Gryffindor. He’d just reached the turn in the passage toward the stairs when the wall behind him creaked and a voice stopped him.
“Thomas!”
It was a boy’s voice. Dean turned, half-hoping it was Zabini so he could tell him what he thought of him. Push him into the wall. Something. It would make the night even more perfect.
But it wasn’t Blaise. It was Malfoy.
The blond Slytherin stood there, his hand still on the stones of the now-closed wall, eyeing Dean stonily. He was still in his school uniform, shirt untucked, tie loose around his throat. Dean saw the half-healed slice on his lower lip, red and raw but no longer bleeding. He looked calm, his breathing slow and steady, but then Dean got a look at his eyes. They were flickering, nervous. Ready to jump the gap into fury in a split second. Dean watched, fascinated by the chance to see the normally cool, indomitable Malfoy so openly affected. He knew in a detached sense that his next words would decide whether or not he went back to Gryffindor in one piece.
Dean smiled distantly. “Don’t worry, Malfoy. I won’t do what he did.”
A tiny flicker darted through Malfoy’s eyes. He stepped away from the wall and approached, watching Dean carefully. It was startling how quickly Malfoy could revert to the passionless expression Dean was used to. The Slytherin smirked faintly.
“Really."
Dean lowered his chin, feeling a scowl steal over him. “Zabini is a bastard, Malfoy. I don’t want that from her.”
Malfoy looked at him appraisingly, but not condescendingly, for once. Dean could feel a sense of connection to the other boy and it made him want to snort in surprise. Who would have thought he would ever have Draco Malfoy on his side, in even the slightest of ways?
“As long as you’re certain, Thomas.”
“I am. Why do you care anyway, Malfoy?”
For a second Malfoy scrutinized him in much the same way he had been doing all week. Then a smile – yes, an actual smile - crept over his face. “As you said. Zabini is a bastard.”
Dean couldn’t help it. He was half-smiling at the Slytherin before he realized it. “At least we agree on something.”
Malfoy inclined his head. “I assure you it’s the only thing, Thomas.”
For a moment, both were silent. Strangely comfortable, this standing-in-the-Slytherin-dungeons-with-a-Slytherin-and-not-speaking thing. Dean knew he should be uncomfortable. But he just couldn’t bring himself to feel it, even though he was five feet away from Draco Malfoy.
Actually... maybe it was because he was standing five feet away from Draco Malfoy. Dean wasn’t sure he could call whatever this was “trust,” but... it certainly wasn’t hate any longer.
“Why did you do that? Today.” Dean stared hard at the other teenager. He’d never have expected the Slytherin to answer him with anything but a sneer before, but there was a faint tether connecting them tonight, down in the dungeon corridor, and he knew it was enough for Malfoy to answer him.
Malfoy turned impassive eyes on him. “Why wouldn’t I? Potter and I have an understanding. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
Dean found he didn’t need any more explanation. Somehow it made sense. “Do we have an understanding then?”
Grey eyes bored into his head. Dean looked back steadily. After a moment, Malfoy nodded. “It would seem so, Thomas.”
Dean nodded in return. He’d passed some test. Something on behalf of Millicent, something Zabini had failed miserably and was still suffering for. But Dean had passed. He turned and walked away, feeling slightly relieved. Then he thought of something.
“She said you were a good guy. Didn’t believe her, really. Fancy that.”
Malfoy’s voice came in a low growl. “Be careful, Thomas.”
The blond pushed the wall open, turned his back on Dean, and went through without another glance. Dean walked back to Gryffindor tower with a small smile playing on his lips. He could still remember the scowl on the Malfoy’s pale face.
He’d be careful. In every way that Malfoy meant. Millicent’s freckled face flashed across his mind and his smile blossomed into a grin Seamus would have smacked him for. Malfoy had nothing to worry about. And neither did Millicent.
~End~
...
...
Thanks for reading.
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.
Part 1
Over the next two weeks, Dean was happier than he’d been in a long time. He did try to keep things in perspective, of course. There was, after all, still the small issue of how to inform Seamus, and possibly the rest of his roommates, that he was now dating a Slytherin. He knew Seamus would not be particularly keen on it. He knew Neville would be worried. He knew Ron would start ranting about the fact that she was a “snaky dungeon dweller”, as he liked to term the Slytherins, and couldn’t he just pick someone he knew from Gryffindor again? And he knew Harry would sit there and squint at him carefully, because it was what Harry seemed to do lately.
And speaking of scrutiny... There was also the glaring reminder that he was currently under the observation of Slytherin’s leading student, and that was somewhere Dean did not wish to be. It wasn’t as though Malfoy was angry at him. But he was watching him. Carefully, like Harry. Blatantly. Always watching. Dean felt he was being circled by a shark. A shark with a potentially nasty bite, according to how fast Blaise had backed off in the library.
But somehow, Dean couldn’t really find it in himself to be worried. The more he was with Millicent, the more he wanted to be with her. She just seemed to... shine. Or maybe it was the new light he saw everything in. It was hard to believe someone had been crushing on him for so long without his knowledge. It was hard to believe he was dating a Slytherin. It wasn’t hard to believe he was dating Millicent. From stolen kisses over Potions books in a deserted library and not-so-stolen ones in the main hall after dinner, when the trickle of other students to their dorms had ceased, to the laughter she could ignite in him with a single mischievous story... Dean was beyond ever seeing her as just another faceless girl. In fact, he couldn’t get her face – plain, freckly, crinkled with laughter – out of his mind.
It was still an enigma to him that she let him kiss her at all. She never instigated it, and always dropped her head shyly before and after each kiss. But she was quite content to let him cradle her in his arms as they chatted in a deserted classroom after nightfall, happy to stroke his arm absently while smiling at something only she could see. Dean worried for a day or two about her apparent unwillingness to get close, but soon discovered that she was not unwilling, just... shy. Strangely.
He couldn’t remember ever giving her cause to distrust him.
They met nightly. Dates, he might call them, except that Seamus would say it was a pretty pathetic date when you just sat against a cold stone wall and talked. And kissed. Dean liked kissing Millicent. She was so slow about it, so languorous. He got the sense that she had done this before, and briefly wondered who it had been before him, but the only people he could come up with were Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. Understandably, Dean tended not to dwell on those particular ideas. It would have to be enough to just sit with Millicent and think that, whoever had come before, she was with him now. Sitting with him. Talking with him. Holding his hand. Because she wanted to. Really, it was amazing Seamus had not locked Dean in their room and demanded to know what all those goofy grins were about before letting him out.
Well. He’d tell Seamus soon. He was beginning to realize that, while he didn’t relish being argued at by his friends, he no longer cared what Seamus or the rest of them would say. And that was nice.
The day of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match was much like any other to Dean. He’d made plans to see Millicent that night after dinner, and had tentatively decided that tomorrow he would let his friends in on their little secret as well. But for now, his house was going to go out and fight for the House Cup, and Dean was only too happy to go along and cheer his friends on. He was in a perpetual good mood, after all.
The wind was blowing fairly hard and dark clouds were rolling overhead when everyone filed out and took their seats in the stands. The smell of rain was thick on the air. The balls were released, the teams kicked off from the ground, and Dean tried to look through the humid air to find Millicent in the Slytherin section. He didn’t see her, not really, but his mind fancied it knew exactly where to look, which section of wildly cheering students to focus on.
The game was hard and fast, with Gryffindor scoring four times to Slytherin’s three in the first fifteen minutes. For some reason, despite the lowering clouds, the high wind, and the fact that this was the most heated game Hogwarts had to offer, the air felt relaxed, calmer than usual. It seemed to Dean that he could see smiles on the faces of every player at one point or another. Ginny Weasley buzzed past with the Quaffle tucked under her arm and a huge grin on her face, the Slytherin Chaser directly behind her with something like contentment splashed over his features. Dean breathed deeply, watching the score leapfrog. It made sense. It had been too wet to fly lately. He supposed everyone was just happy that the weather had let up enough for them to get on their brooms and zoom about for once.
It wasn’t until the Snitch was sighted that the tension began to escalate. Dean should have suspected as much, knowing who the Seekers were for each team, but when Malfoy jerked his broom and dove for something no one else could see, it was as if the air stiffened, grew thicker. Harry was after him in an instant, face contorted grimly. Dean saw Malfoy grit his teeth and scowl when they both flashed past, and began to feel a bit uneasy. Something about Malfoy’s face... a determination that Dean had never seen there before; and there was Harry, looking just as furiously determined, rocketing along behind, the Snitch fluttering in front, bodies jostling each other for position, two outstretched arms reaching, reaching—
The roar was indescribable when Malfoy’s fingers closed over the tiny golden ball. The Slytherin stands looked as though they would collapse under the leaping and jumping about. Malfoy yanked up hard on his broom, leaving Harry to zip away in a wide arc. He raised the Snitch over his head and the screaming grew even louder, if that were possible. The Slytherins all began clambering for the stairs, determined to get down to the field to congratulate their Seeker.
The Gryffindor stands were quiet. Everyone looked thunderstruck. Dean watched as Harry landed, pulling his broom up irritably, and rubbed his face with one gloved hand. The rest of the team hovered nearby, and Dean could see that Ginny was speaking to Harry, something reassuring he was certain, but he couldn’t hear a thing over the wind. Suddenly Seamus stood up and grabbed his shoulder, nodding as if he’d decided something. He turned around and cupped his hand to his mouth.
“Come on, you lot. Slytherin’s not the only team with a fast Seeker.”
Dean smiled weakly and got up, hearing everyone else rise as well. Seamus was right. It had been a good game. Harry would need their support now, regardless of whether he’d caught the Snitch or not, and they certainly could not leave him standing alone down there. Especially with every Slytherin in the school headed his way. Dean could think of a few students who would be sure to rub it in his face.
It took a bit of shuffling, but the Gryffindors managed to get down to the pitch at about the same time as the Slytherins. Dean could see Harry standing there watching them come, his lips stretched in a thin line, holding his broom with one hand. Dean smiled and gave Harry a thumbs up, and saw his roommate’s lips twitch slightly. But suddenly the Gryffindor Seeker turned, looked back over his shoulder as someone whooshed closely overhead.
Malfoy landed next to Harry on the pitch, tossing back his sweaty blond hair and wearing the snide smirk he always seemed to sport. Harry’s body was stiffening, Dean could see it even from this distance. He watched as Malfoy pinched the wriggling Snitch between two fingers and held it up in front of Harry’s face, not two inches from his nose. Said something, but Dean couldn’t hear it. The glower on Harry’s face was apparent, and Malfoy grinned even wider. Harry shot something back at the Slytherin, his face distorting into a satisfied smirk, and all the amusement dropped from Malfoy’s expression. His hands clenched. Dean and the rest of his house were almost there.
Malfoy leaned in close to Harry and hissed something, lips taking on an even uglier twist than usual. Dean had no idea what it was the Slytherin said, but Harry’s head shot up, eyes flashing, and suddenly he wheeled back and punched Malfoy in the chin. The Slytherin staggered backward, working his jaw, and then lunged at Harry, fury striped across his face, the Snitch forgotten, pummeling into Dean’s roommate with both fists. A cry of anger broke from the crowd of Gryffindors, and Dean felt them push him into a flat-out run. But now Dean could feel the ire billowing up inside him, knowing, just knowing that Malfoy had instigated this with whatever he’d said, and painfully aware that Harry would be the one punished for throwing the first punch. All because Malfoy couldn’t have the grace to be a good winner. Ever. In one blinding instant, Dean hated Malfoy, hated every Slytherin for being such annoying, conniving pricks, became intent on throwing himself headlong into the now-running crowd of Malfoy’s housemates. He’d make them earn their lack of punishment, every last one of them.
He was almost there, could see the fury glittering in the eyes of the Slytherin students, wished he were the one currently shoving Malfoy’s head into the pitch instead of Harry, feeling his anger balloon when Malfoy landed a hard blow to Harry’s cheek, toppling the Gryffindor over. Hating the word Slytherin with everything in him.
But suddenly, someone was in his way. Madame Hooch, dropping down in front of him, her wand blasting the two combatants apart, indignant fury plain on her face. The Slytherins skidded to a halt on the other side of the Quidditch instructor, looking mutinous but uncertain. Dean jerked to a stop and felt someone bump him from behind.
With a strength born of her anger, Madame Hooch yanked the two Seekers to their feet. “What do you think you are doing? This is a bloody Quidditch game, not a ring for the two of you to pummel out your differences! Fifty points from each of your houses!”
Harry was still glaring murderously at Malfoy, his chin already beginning to bruise heavily, hands clenched at his sides, breathing hard. Malfoy’s chest was heaving just as much and he raised a hand to wipe blood from a long split on his lip. He sneered at Harry. Madam Hooch saw it and grabbed a handful each of their Quidditch robes, jerking forcefully.
“One more move out of either of you and your teams will do without you for the rest of this year and the next.”
Dean heard shifting from both houses, muttering. He looked up at the Slytherins, fully prepared to show them how much of this was their fault... and his eyes fell upon Millicent. She was standing at the front of the Slytherins, breathing hard, hair flurried about her head by the wind. Dean’s anger evaporated so quickly he nearly gasped.
Her eyes were wide, fixed on him. It occurred to him that she was the only one who had not come running down the pitch to fight. Rather, she had come to congratulate Malfoy, perhaps to stand beside him while the Gryffindors fumed and growled. To look at the first Slytherin Snitch caught in six years against their long-time rival. She was looking at him so painfully, fearfully. Dean knew somehow that she was not afraid of him. He didn’t know how he knew, but there it was, swimming in her expression. Millicent bit her lip, not taking her eyes from his, and suddenly he realized that she must have seen it. In his eyes, in his face, in the way he’d clenched his hands. The hatred. Flat-out.
Hatred of everything Slytherin.
Dean dropped his eyes, feeling his muscles go slack. He didn’t hate all Slytherins because he didn’t hate her. And he knew that she knew it. But he could still feel her gaze fixed on him, and the question in her expression burned its way into his mind. What do we do now?
* * *
It took Dean all afternoon to think of a way to deal with the situation. He went back to his room and shut the door, and none of his roommates noticed or cared because they were all down in the common room sitting around and staring morosely at the walls or at each other. All except Harry, of course. He and Malfoy had been carted off to Dumbledore’s office immediately by Madame Hooch. The Slytherins had sauntered off, their victory spoilt by the resulting fight, and the Gryffindors left as quietly as if someone had cast a silencing charm. Maybe it was just Dean, but the pitch looked unusually dark under the hanging clouds now, chilled beneath the gusting winds.
He wasn’t even certain Millicent would show up for their... date? Was it a date? He supposed so, even though it would just be sitting in a classroom holding each other and talking. After an hour of agonizing about whether or not he should even show up, Dean decided that he had to. He wanted to apologize to her, find some way to dispel that fear he had seen. Did she think he hated her? Dean knew that he didn’t. He'd never wanted to see anyone more in his life, in fact. But whether or not he could explain that there was a difference in his mind between her and her fellow housemates without offending her... he just wasn’t sure.
Dean skipped dinner, unwilling to see her until they could be alone, and waited in his room still trying to come up with an explanation. He hadn’t meant to get so angry. It was just that Slytherins – no, not Slytherins, Malfoy – always did things like that. It was something only he and Harry seemed to share, a mutual desire to rip each other apart, and it bled over into their housemates like a virulent disease. It manifested itself in everything they did… but nothing so fiercely as Quidditch. Dean couldn’t imagine hating anyone that much. The fact that his own anger had faded so quickly proved to him that he’d only been caught in the heat of the moment. But Millicent had witnessed it.
Anyone but her, and he wouldn’t have minded. But Millicent...
Finally, Dean crept out of his room, skirting the common room, which was thankfully empty, his housemates still at dinner, and headed down to the Transfiguration corridor. That room was never locked; McGonagall kept all her teaching supplies in her own office. If Millicent was coming, she would be there by now, he hoped. He paused outside the door, hearing footsteps within. Someone pacing. Dean took a moment to collect himself and then pushed the door open, an apology on his lips, not really knowing what he would end up saying. Best to get it all out as fast as possible.
“Millicent, I’m sorry about today. At the Quidditch game. I didn’t mean to get so—”
She spun to face him, and Dean was startled into silence by what looked like immense, helpless relief sweeping across her face... followed by... fear? Dean blinked, frozen, and in that moment, she had pulled him into the room and pushed the door shut behind him.
“Mil?”
“Shh, Dean, I don’t care about that.” Her voice was hitching for some odd reason. She pulled him in close and met his lips with a fierce kiss. Dean’s eyes shot wide open, and he had to force his arms to come up around her because they didn’t seem to remember how to work correctly. He couldn’t recall Millicent ever being so absolutely needy, so desperate to get close. Her teeth clacked painfully on his, but any sound he might have made was silenced by her tongue against his lips. Dean sluggishly gave himself over to the kiss, pushing her back a little to angle his head better, confused beyond anything he had ever felt, but more than willing to see what would happen. It was the first time she had ever kissed him, and it made his heart trip over itself. She made a small worried sound deep in her throat and pulled him flush against her with a jerk, startling Dean into momentary stillness yet again.
Well. Dean had never experienced this. But he could learn. She wanted to be close, for some reason. His crazy behavior today? It just wasn’t clicking together in his head, but... He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her long body against him, trying to get used to this new heat, this new... desperation. Her hands climbed to his face, damp and hot, running over his skin, through his hair, drifting down his shoulders, over his back, brushing his hips...
Wait a minute. Dean came out of the kiss gasping, blinking, and grabbed her wrists. “Millicent?”
She shook him free and reached again for his belt, unbuckling it faster than he could think. She was already at the buttons of his trousers when he grabbed her again, forcing her hands up and away.
“Mil... what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” she said, her dark hair hanging in a curtain between them. He was stunned by the hoarseness of her voice and almost let go of her wrists again, but caught them when she struggled to return to his trouser buttons.
“Mil. Wait a second—”
“I want to do this, Dean!” she shot back, twisting up to meet his eyes. Dean saw that they were red, dried streaks running down her cheeks. She looked determined. “Before I can’t anymore.”
“Wait— what?”
“Before you don’t want me anymore!”
Dean’s mouth dropped open. He lost his grip on one hand, grabbed it up again, wrapping his fingers around her wrist with enough force to leave bruises. “Millicent! What are you talking about?”
“You deserve this,” came her voice softly, muffled by the hair that had fallen across her face. As if she were settling something for herself. As if she hadn’t heard him.
Dean felt dully horrified. He gripped her hands tightly. “Millicent... I don’t deserve anything you don’t want to give me.”
“But I want to,” she said, eyes sparking defiantly, almost angrily. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Dean could only shake his head at her mutely. She scowled briefly and jerked at his hands. “It’s what all of you want. But you’re the first one who— who didn’t—”
“Millicent,” Dean managed through a constricted throat.
“It’s what he wanted, and then, once he had it, he... he just...”
Suddenly Dean understood all too well. He understood that he had completely misjudged a lot of things. All at once, he knew without a doubt who she was talking about, and he had never hated anyone in his life as much as he hated Blaise Zabini at that moment.
“He left you,” Dean ground out between clenched teeth. Millicent turned furious eyes on him.
“Why don’t you want me? I know I’m not pretty like Hermione, or Parvati. I’m not outgoing like Pansy. But I’m not nothing! I can have a boyfriend too. Boys like me just like they like her. You like me. I don’t want you to stop liking me! I don’t want you to... to... leave...” Her voice broke to pieces and she slumped forward. Dean gathered her quickly to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her shivering body.
“Mil... I...” Dean closed his eyes, and his mouth, not trusting himself to speak. He stroked her long, black hair as she sobbed, her hands balled into fists against his shirt, and tried not to think. But it was unraveling before him: the stares from the boys in the library... the inexplicable shyness she seemed to retain even after they had been together for two weeks... Blaise Zabini’s interruption. He saw the Millicent of that day as if he were standing there watching it on video. She had been so cowed, so upset, and Zabini had just stood there and...
Dean ground his teeth together. He pressed a soft kiss on the top of Millicent’s head where it rested on his shoulder. “Mil... I don’t want that.”
Her body went slack at his words and her voice drifted up to him, raw and empty. “Like him. You don’t want me either.”
Shaking his head, Dean pulled back and took her face in his hands. “No, that’s not... Millicent... I would never do that to you. I don’t think that you— look, what he did... Mil, I’m not expecting you to do anything for me. Certainly not that!”
Millicent’s voice caught in a sob. “But you-- I mean, you...”
“Why did you even think that I wanted that? Do you think that’s the only reason I...” Dean trailed off, unable to voice the repugnant idea.
She looked up at him with confused, watery eyes. “But you… at the game. I-I saw it. You’re a Gryffindor and... and I’m a Slytherin. I don’t hate you. I want to... I mean I l-like you, and… And I thought that if I... then you wouldn’t...”
“Oh, Merlin, Mil.” Dean rubbed his mouth with one hand. “I don’t hate you. And... and I would never ask you to do that.”
“But everyone else...”
“Who?”
“Dean, I’m not stupid! I see the way they look at me! It’s all they want.”
“You think it’s all I want from you.”
She shook her head and drew away, shrugging his hand from her shoulder and covering her face with one hand.
“How else am I supposed to keep you here?” she whispered.
Dean’s heart lurched at the hopelessness in her voice. In her mind, he realized, she had already lost him. Dean wanted to pound Blaise’s face in. Suddenly he understood the dead look on Malfoy’s face whenever he scrutinized his fellow Slytherin. But watching Millicent, bent like a wilted flower in the dim light from the windows, hearing her stifled sobs... suddenly Blaise receded into nothingness. All he wanted to do was tell her. Convince her of how wrong she was.
Dean slowly approached her, and laid his hands on her shoulders. She gave a start and jerked her head up, eyes flicking over his face wildly.
“Millicent, I’m going to kiss you now.”
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to protest, but Dean drew her to him, pressing his lips to hers. She went rigid. He could feel her lips quivering, and went gently over them with his own, placing tiny kisses here and there. Her body relaxed fractionally, and her arm came up around his neck, shaky. She finally accepted his kiss, let him deepen it. He felt her fingers curl against his stomach, felt her hand unclench, felt it move to his belt loops, fingertips hovering over the top of his trousers. Without breaking the kiss, he reached down and halted her movements, grasping her hand gently in his own.
“Not yet, Mil,” he murmured against her mouth. He could tell she heard him; her hand jerked a tiny bit in his.
“Not... yet?”
“Not for a long time.”
He guided her hand up to join the other around his neck, and then cupped her face and continued to kiss her. Her eyes drifted shut, hands clutching onto him like she was afraid he would disappear. Dean pressed a small kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling away.
“We’re not ready for that, Millicent. I’m not. And I know you aren’t.”
She looked at him with wide eyes, biting her lip. A blush was creeping up her pale throat. Dean touched the heated skin with his fingers.
She cleared her throat nervously, glancing away. “So... so now...”
“Now we just go slow.”
She flicked her eyes back to his, uncertainty making them darken. He found one of her hands, gave it a squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere. Just because we don’t... Millicent, that’s not why I like being with you.”
She dropped her head, hair falling forward, hiding her face again. He realized it was only one of many walls she had built up around her. “I’m such an idiot.”
“No. You’re not.”
He took her hand, guided her to the wall beside the door, and eased her down until they were sitting in a patch of soft moonlight. It seemed the clouds had finally broken a bit. “Mil. Tell me what happened with Blaise. Please.”
She looked at him for a long moment, and he could see the last vestiges of mistrust fall away. She gave a long sigh, and, leaning her head against his shoulder, her hand clasped in his, she began to talk.
* * *
It was several hours before Dean walked Millicent back down to the dungeons. The school had gone quiet long ago, the hallways shadowed and still. He felt like they were the only ones awake when they paused outside the Slytherin common room entrance. Millicent turned glimmering brown eyes to him and Dean felt his breath catch just from the deep openness in her irises. He kissed her slowly on the lips, heard her sigh and felt her arms clasp around him tightly. When they drew apart, she had a somewhat silly smile on her face, and Dean fell deliciously warm.
With a final dreamy wave, Millicent said the password and stepped backward through the passageway in the wall. Dean watched the wall close, stood there gazing at it for a long moment, and then turned, a faint smile on his lips, and walked away, back toward Gryffindor. He’d just reached the turn in the passage toward the stairs when the wall behind him creaked and a voice stopped him.
“Thomas!”
It was a boy’s voice. Dean turned, half-hoping it was Zabini so he could tell him what he thought of him. Push him into the wall. Something. It would make the night even more perfect.
But it wasn’t Blaise. It was Malfoy.
The blond Slytherin stood there, his hand still on the stones of the now-closed wall, eyeing Dean stonily. He was still in his school uniform, shirt untucked, tie loose around his throat. Dean saw the half-healed slice on his lower lip, red and raw but no longer bleeding. He looked calm, his breathing slow and steady, but then Dean got a look at his eyes. They were flickering, nervous. Ready to jump the gap into fury in a split second. Dean watched, fascinated by the chance to see the normally cool, indomitable Malfoy so openly affected. He knew in a detached sense that his next words would decide whether or not he went back to Gryffindor in one piece.
Dean smiled distantly. “Don’t worry, Malfoy. I won’t do what he did.”
A tiny flicker darted through Malfoy’s eyes. He stepped away from the wall and approached, watching Dean carefully. It was startling how quickly Malfoy could revert to the passionless expression Dean was used to. The Slytherin smirked faintly.
“Really."
Dean lowered his chin, feeling a scowl steal over him. “Zabini is a bastard, Malfoy. I don’t want that from her.”
Malfoy looked at him appraisingly, but not condescendingly, for once. Dean could feel a sense of connection to the other boy and it made him want to snort in surprise. Who would have thought he would ever have Draco Malfoy on his side, in even the slightest of ways?
“As long as you’re certain, Thomas.”
“I am. Why do you care anyway, Malfoy?”
For a second Malfoy scrutinized him in much the same way he had been doing all week. Then a smile – yes, an actual smile - crept over his face. “As you said. Zabini is a bastard.”
Dean couldn’t help it. He was half-smiling at the Slytherin before he realized it. “At least we agree on something.”
Malfoy inclined his head. “I assure you it’s the only thing, Thomas.”
For a moment, both were silent. Strangely comfortable, this standing-in-the-Slytherin-dungeons-with-a-Slytherin-and-not-speaking thing. Dean knew he should be uncomfortable. But he just couldn’t bring himself to feel it, even though he was five feet away from Draco Malfoy.
Actually... maybe it was because he was standing five feet away from Draco Malfoy. Dean wasn’t sure he could call whatever this was “trust,” but... it certainly wasn’t hate any longer.
“Why did you do that? Today.” Dean stared hard at the other teenager. He’d never have expected the Slytherin to answer him with anything but a sneer before, but there was a faint tether connecting them tonight, down in the dungeon corridor, and he knew it was enough for Malfoy to answer him.
Malfoy turned impassive eyes on him. “Why wouldn’t I? Potter and I have an understanding. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
Dean found he didn’t need any more explanation. Somehow it made sense. “Do we have an understanding then?”
Grey eyes bored into his head. Dean looked back steadily. After a moment, Malfoy nodded. “It would seem so, Thomas.”
Dean nodded in return. He’d passed some test. Something on behalf of Millicent, something Zabini had failed miserably and was still suffering for. But Dean had passed. He turned and walked away, feeling slightly relieved. Then he thought of something.
“She said you were a good guy. Didn’t believe her, really. Fancy that.”
Malfoy’s voice came in a low growl. “Be careful, Thomas.”
The blond pushed the wall open, turned his back on Dean, and went through without another glance. Dean walked back to Gryffindor tower with a small smile playing on his lips. He could still remember the scowl on the Malfoy’s pale face.
He’d be careful. In every way that Malfoy meant. Millicent’s freckled face flashed across his mind and his smile blossomed into a grin Seamus would have smacked him for. Malfoy had nothing to worry about. And neither did Millicent.
~End~
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Thanks for reading.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 06:02 pm (UTC)From:She dropped her head, hair falling forward, hiding her face again. He realized it was only one of many walls she had built up around her. “I’m such an idiot.”
I really liked that part. It's amazing how many of us with long hair use it to hide. The interaction between Dean and Millicent is so sweet and innocent and young, and it's a lovely read. (Even though it's het!) The part at the end, between Dean and Draco was lovely as well. Very well done, m'dear!
And that conlcudes the only piece of het I will ever read! Just for you. Feel special. :)
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:00 pm (UTC)From:Haha! I do, no worries. Thank you so much for making my het story the ONE.
I'm glad you like this part. Oddly enough, I actually feel more comfortable with the first part, mainly because I feel there is something off about the Quidditch match (funny, because you liked that part!). But this helps me a great deal. I appreciate it muy much.
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Date: 2004-09-02 10:02 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:14 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:19 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:27 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:30 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 10:37 pm (UTC)From:Good thing Mil and Dean chose to meet in the Transfiguration classroom!
no subject
Date: 2004-09-05 11:13 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-05 11:23 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-06 03:04 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-06 05:35 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2004-09-06 06:26 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2005-01-17 08:44 pm (UTC)From:This was just so...squeefull I can't stand it. Millicent is so vunerable yet strong at the same time, and oh it makes me angry what Blaise did to her. *grinds teeth* I think what I really enjoyed about her was just her overall personality. It isn't that she is a Slytherin and yet a nice person, it is that she just is a nice person, if that made any sense. Her honest reactions and her sense of humor defy the belief that all Slytherins are bastards/sluts.
I loved the Gryffindor/Slytherin interaction, it seemed so bizarre and yet so right at the same time. The "understanding" between them is born of simply making an effort to understand.(although I'm still not sure what's up with the H/D relationship in this fic, have to keep working on it) Malfoy's concern for his housemates, as someone said earlier "Godfather"like, was absolutely priceless.
Um yes, this is entirely too long. As always, thanks for writing!
no subject
Date: 2005-01-17 11:25 pm (UTC)From:Thank you so much! I love that you took Mil as a person and not just a nice Slyth. Means a lot, hearing this. Heh, I had always intended to come back to this fic and edit with hopes of posting it in other places. It was an experiment, a plot bunny that just would not shut up. Thank you so much for letting em know what you thought! *smooooooch*
no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 08:39 pm (UTC)From:Millicent is so real. I've met several girls like her in high school. I like that it was her who didn't have a problem with Dean being a Gryffindor. Often it's the Slytherin who is portrayed as the one who has to overcome their prejudice.
Terrific job!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-22 10:21 am (UTC)From:Thank you so much for this review! I really appreciate it. It was a bug I had to get out of my system, and I have come to adore writing Millicent Bulstrode. Thanks again, babe.
There were no grande quests or anything like that. It was just exposing the relationships in Hogwarts.
If there's one thing I have learned from reading fantasy and other genres, it's that you don't need a huge cataclysmic event to create drama and conflict. Sure, they help get things going. But really, you can find interesting thoughts and subject matter in everything, down to the littlest everyday trip to the grocery store. Relationships between people, though... frikkin' smorgasbord. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 11:52 pm (UTC)From:Ok. Don't know why, but I loved this line. It's just so 'Harry' trying to be reflective and deep. heh.
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,
Ok, I loved this so much. Great work with her humour. I think you have a hard job in this fic. You have to convince us that Millicent is now graceful, someone the boys want to be near, and not the image of the stalky brute we have in our heads when we hear her name. You sold me in part two.
I did notice that Dean takes a good look at her in Potions class at the start of the fic, and goes into great detail about her looks and how she's changed. Then he does it again (repeating some of what was already established, like 'tall') after he starts to notice the boys throwing glances her way in the libreary. Might just want to review those sections.
Blaise and Draco are very nummy. On their own ends of the register, of course. heh.
Word swap
I would pair much rather her with another Slytherin, but aside from Mr. Malfoy, you are the only one... qualified.”
Dean swallowed. Was Snape talking about him? Dean knew he was doing exceptionally well in Potions. Thank Merlin.
Some of confusion here and a bit on the choppy side. One one hand he seems scared, and we hear his self-comment, and the next moment he seems confident about his potions grade, so his comment becomes void.
Snape frowned. “Yes, a Slytherin. You are the... best, even if you are a Gryffindor. And I always ensure that my students receive the best.”
Not really buying that Snape would ever say that. If he said Dean was the 'next acceptable choice', or something just shy of actual praise, I might believe him.
It was still an enigma to him that she let him kiss her at all. She never instigated it, and always dropped her head shyly before and after each kiss.
*melts* so beautiful.
The Quidditch match and Dean's reactions were wonderful. I loved the images in that scene. The fic really seemed to spring to life there, for me, anyway. I got a taste of the wind, heard the buzz of the crowd, and saw Millicent so clearly through Dean's eyes.
I adored the part where she confesses what happened with blaise, and Dean is the hero, through and through. What a stunning section.
Well, in my opinion, part one and two are like night and day. Part one has a lot of Dean's inner voice popping up, and it helps us to know him better, but it also seems to break the flow. Part 2 reads like how you write today. Images, senses, emotions and attention to just the 'right' words for job.
Sorry this is so long. *hugs*
YAY for rare pairs!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-22 10:23 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2005-09-22 08:51 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2005-09-10 10:03 am (UTC)From:Guh. *licks them* Really. Threatening and yet gorgeous and so. thoughtfully done.
and gangsterDraco is luffly :D.
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Date: 2005-09-22 10:24 am (UTC)From:Thank you, love!
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Date: 2005-09-11 09:26 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2005-09-22 10:25 am (UTC)From:Thank you so much! I'm so glad it worked for you. It was a little weird to step out of my normal pairing at the time, and now, going back to it, it still strikes me as fragile.
*loves your icon*
no subject
Date: 2005-09-25 03:46 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2005-09-26 05:16 pm (UTC)From:Thank you! Oh, I'm glad you liked this one. Quite far away from my usual pairings. In fact... *looks* I don't see any slash in this one.
O.o
Thanks for the lovely review!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 12:32 am (UTC)From:I like het much better, imo, although I may have to check out some of your slashy ficlets. :)
You're welcome!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 12:44 am (UTC)From:Thank you again!