Confessions Of A Fat, Ugly Slytherin

Pansy Parkinson always had the best makeup. Always had the most expensive blusher and eyeliner and lipstick and Anti-Pimple potion on hand. You-Know-Who could be knocking on the castle door, and Pansy would still pause to touch up on her makeup before she did anything else.

Millicent was grateful for that, in a way. Watching all of Pansy's elaborate rituals always made Millicent feel better about the fact that she was easily the ugliest girl in the year, if not the whole school. It was stupid to try and hide the fact with makeup, since she was convinced that nothing less than an act of God could cover up the fact that she was a large, heavyset girl with a face that only a mother gorilla could love. So, she didn't begrudge Pansy her beauty. Nothing that difficult to maintain could be worth it.

Even if she seemed to enjoy it so much. Especially the hair. It was almost like a rowing competition, Millicent thought as she watched Pansy brush out her hair. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Except that crew teams didn't use spray bottles or any other kind of mysterious cosmetic condiment.

"Aren't you coming to the Yule Ball, Mil?" Blaise Zabini asked suddenly, putting the finishing touches on her own glorious crown of sleek black waves. "I know that you didn't get a date, but..."

Millicent snorted. "What, and spend the night relishing the fact that I'm the ugliest girl on the floor? Especially with that Veela slut there? No, I think I'll just spend the evening gnawing out my liver in private, thanks."

"It's not all about looks, Mil," Pansy said, spraying her blonde curls for the tenth time.

"Said the girl who's going with the best-looking boy in the year," Blaise said with one of her trademark predatory smiles. It was an innocent-sounding remark, but Blaise had obviously chosen it to cut to the bone, and looking at the subtle lines of tension on Pansy's face that had appeared below the makeup, Millicent knew that the other girl had scored a hit.

Pansy wasn't going to the Yule Ball with just any boy. Pansy was going to the Yule Ball with Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and her fiancé in all but name.

"D'you want to go now?" she said to Blaise in a tense, sprightly voice.

Blaise slipped off her bed in her usual languorous fashion. "Yes, mustn't keep the boys waiting." She smiled at Millicent. "Have a good time, Mil."

Pansy, walking out the door with a steely simper planted firmly on her face, didn't say anything at all.

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The other Slytherins returned to the common room at midnight. Blaise wasn't back yet, (probably off snogging with some boy or another, Millicent thought disgustedly) but Pansy was there, stepping through the common room entrance on Draco's arm. Millicent watched through narrowed eyes as the other girl said goodnight to Draco and went up to the fourth year girls' dormitory, moving with the grim determination of someone who's just sustained a mortal wound but can't afford to collapse yet. After waiting a decent interval, Millicent got up and followed her.

Pansy was sitting on her bed, pink dress robes half-undone, staring off into space. "Pansy?" Millicent asked. "Are you okay?"

Pansy jumped, letting out a high, false laugh. "Oh! Hi, Mil. Yeah, I'm fine. I had a great time. A great time."

"Yeah, and Mudblood Granger failed a test last week." Millicent eyed Pansy critically. "Either someone spiked your butterbeer with Catatonia Potion, or something happened at the ball. Come on, Pansy. Don't bother trying to hide it. What happened that made you so upset?"

Pansy's face tightened, and then she wilted visibly. "I'm not sure, exactly. It's just - "

"Just what?"

"Just - " Pause. "It's sort of funny. I mean, I've known that my parents would arrange a marriage for me with Draco since I was six years old, but tonight - oh God, Mil, I was looking at him tonight and I realized, I'm going to marry this boy. I mean, I always knew it before, but - I'm fourteen years old, Mil! Fourteen years old! And I'm going to marry him after graduation. Two-and-a-half years from now! It's already planned out, Mil. Mum's already drawn up the guest list, and she's got a whole plan for the flowers and the cake and the decorations and which minister would be most socially advantageous to perform the ceremony and for all I know they've already started designing my wedding gown." She looked at Millicent with a hopeless expression. "I'm too young to get married, Mil."

"You still have some time."

"But not much. And you know what I really hate about it? It's not really about the fact that I'm getting married too young. It's more - oh, Mil, have you ever seen Narcissa? Not just looked at her and known that she was there, have you ever watched her? She's dead, Mil. There's nothing inside her now. They might as well have given her a Dementor's Kiss when she married Lucius. And I've seen pictures of her at school, Mil, she was beautiful, but it's gone now, dead and gone, and I don't want to end up like her, Mil, I don't want to die inside like she did."

"Pansy - "

"And my parents will never help me, they'll think it's such an honor for me to be Draco Malfoy's wife, the lady of the manor, they'll never believe that I'm miserable there. God, Mil, what am I going to do? I don't want to be another Narcissa!"

"Then don't."

Pansy blinked through her tears. "What?"

"Don't let the same thing happen to you. Look at what happened to Narcissa and use it." Millicent gave her a knife-edged grin. "We're Slytherins, Pansy. We use what we find. If you don't like what happened to Narcissa, then figure out what she did and then do something else. Don't just dither like a worthless Gryffindor."

"Mil!" Pansy shrieked, heaving a pillow at the other girl. "That's the most insulting thing I've ever heard in my life!"

Millicent caught the pillow and threw it back. "Glad you liked it. D'you know when Blaise is coming back? You'll probably want to be cleaned up before then. No need to let the All-Star Slut know that you've been crying." Her face softened. "It'll be all right, Pansy."

Pansy slumped back, looking lost. "I hope so," she said pensively. "You've got it easy. Not having a marriage arranged yet, I mean."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "That's because Mum hasn't found anybody who'll have me. Even my name is awful. Millicent Bulstrode." She spat out the syllables. "That's not a name, it's a skin disease."

"Hey, maybe you can use that to convince your parents. 'I can't marry him or he'll catch the Millicent Bulstrode!'" She sniggered, but her laughter turned to tears again. "I wish I could keep the Malfoys away that easily."

"It'll be all right," Millicent said again, not sure what else to say. "You'll be all right. I'll always be there, for all the good it'll do you."

Pansy looked at her, wide-eyed. "Really?"

Millicent grinned at her. "Well, that depends. How much money are you offering for a permanent friend?"

Pansy threw another pillow. "You're a terrible, terrible person, Millicent Bulstrode. You wound my tender sensibilities horribly." She grinned back, her first real smile that evening. "Thanks, Mil."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Go to bed, Pansy. It won't seem so bad in the morning."

"Words to keep in mind."

"Of course they are. Everyone is always inspired by my genius."

"You're so modest, too."

"I know. It's a burden I have to bear." Pause. "Night, Pansy."

"Night, Mil."