Confessions Of A Fat, Ugly Slytherin

Millicent sat up and blinked.

The landscape around her looked like something out of a child's picture book, complete with a grassy meadow, a clear blue sky, and fluffy white clouds. She had no idea where she was, but it sure as hell wasn't the fifth year girls' dormitories.

"Milly Mil, Milly Mil, come over and play!"

Millicent swerved around in the direction of Pansy's voice. The other girl looked like she had gone back to being six years old, her chubby little face with none of the hardness that would eventually shape her adolescent appearance, but it was undoubtedly Pansy. But she looked so happy, happy as the older Pansy never had.

"Pansy?" Millicent said cautiously.

Pansy stomped her foot. "You're no fun," she complained, and turned her head. "Cho!" she called. "Cho, come over and play!" She turned back to Millicent, looking puzzled. "What's wrong, Milly Mil? Don't you want to see Cho? She's our bestest friend, even though she's dead."

"She's dead?" Millicent repeated blankly.

Pansy giggled. "Of course, silly! Her mummy didn't take away her scissors in time, and now she's dead dead dead dead dead. She can't see now, but she's so nice!"

"What do you mean, she can't - "

But Pansy's answer, if there was an answer coming, was stopped by the sight of a much younger-looking Cho.

Cho was smiling. She was barefoot, wearing a bright blue sundress; she looked so bright and cheerful, in fact, that it took Millicent a few moments to realize that her eyes were not eyes, but vacant, bloody sockets.

"Hi, Milly Mil!" she chirped, blood dripping down over her upper lip. "Come and play with us!"

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"...And then you arch your wrist just so, and then you pour. Do you have all that, dear?"

"Yes, Mum," came Pansy's voice. "What happens if I spill?"

Millicent looked up slowly. Pansy was sitting at a table across from Narcissa Malfoy, a silver teapot and two delicate porcelain cups between them.

"Mum?" Pansy said again, smiling at Narcissa. "What happens if I spill the tea?"

Narcissa smiled back. "Then we'll burn you at the stake, dear."

Pansy sighed happily. "Oh, I'm so glad."

The door - had there even been a door there before? - opened and Draco walked into the room. He was wearing a full suit of armor and carrying a sword, but neither Pansy or Narcissa seemed to think this was odd. Smiling, he said, "Hello, Mother. Hello, Pansy," before drawing his sword and chopping off Pansy's head.

Pansy's head rolled on the floor. Narcissa poured herself a cup of tea, her wrist arched just so, and said nothing.

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She stood in a graveyard this time, ringed by a circle of robed, hooded wizards who could only be Death Eaters. A high, icy voice split the air.

"Pansy Dracaena Parkinson, you are accepted as a Death Eater."

Pansy stepped forward, her face alight with eagerness. "Yes, My Lord," she said, and held out her left arm. Smiling a cold, cruel smile, the Dark Lord pressed his hand against Pansy's arm and waited.

The air filled with the smell of burning flesh as Pansy began to scream.

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Millicent woke with a start.

She was breathing hard, as though she had just finished a long race, and her mouth was gaping open. It was just a dream, she whispered to herself. Just a dream. Just. A. Dream.

But it was a long time before she fell back asleep.