Revenge is Sweet

Chapter One

How It All Started

My kids always ask me to tell them how I came over to Dumbledore’s side during the War, or how I met their father. I always tell them that those are stories for when they’re older. I never tell them it’s because those stories have a lot of "adult" themes.

Well, they’re getting to be adults now. Zinnia’s finished Hogwarts already; she’ll be marrying Terry Boot’s oldest son in the fall. Lobelia’s in her seventh year and I guess she’s theoretically an adult, too. But still, I’m reluctant to tell them.

It’s all very personal, I guess. Embarrassing, in many ways. And yet…they should know. So I’m writing it all down for posterity. Maybe I’ll even give this to my children before I die.

I’m not much of a writer, so I hope this makes sense.

If you were to ask me for a one-sentence summary of my early life, I would simply say this: I wanted to be appreciated. There were, on occasion, times when I went beyond that and thought that I wanted to actually be admired, but I was far too practical to consider that possibility most of the time.

My sad story begins at birth. My Dad is a big guy whose build could put Malfoy’s cronies to shame. My Mum was, evidently, a very nice lady; she just happened to be a bit too small.

When it was time to deliver, my Mum pushed and pushed and pushed. She pushed until the midwives could see the top of my head, but she couldn’t get me out any farther than that.

My shoulders were stuck. The midwives had checked my head size before delivery and told Mum that her pelvis was big enough. The head is, after all, the biggest part of the baby–usually. Not with me. I had these darn big shoulders that stuck in Mum and caused all sorts of problems.

I don’t know how they finally got me out, but they did, somehow. Mum, unfortunately, haemorrhaged as a result of all the interventions and died before they could stop the bleeding.

Dad never remarried–it was just him and me. Well, I had a nanny for the first few years, but I hardly count her as one of the family. She never stood up for me when strangers commented on me, which happened a lot. I guess they thought I was older than I was–I was rather large for my age–and treated me accordingly.

"Is she slow? She doesn’t speak very well." (Well of course, I don’t, I’m only two, you ninny.)

"Why don’t you act your age? You’re behaving like a three-year-old." (Guess what, lady. I am three.)

Luckily my Dad’s colleagues appreciated my build a little more. They said I would be a great Beater, just like my Dad. I guess it’s no surprise that I grew up liking Quidditch. How can you not, when Quidditch players are the only ones who like you?

Things got worse when I started school. It isn’t uncommon for wizards to have their children tutored at home, but for those who can’t afford that option, there are schools for the younger set. Mine was Oxford Wizarding Primary. Our teacher was a Squib, as most primary teachers in the wizarding world are. Most wizards don’t stoop so low as to teach little ones; most Muggles would have trouble understanding why they had to teach Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts instead of pounds (not to mention the whole quill thing).

I went off to school by Floo every morning and learned about reading and writing and math and stuff like that. Not too different from Muggle Primary school, except that science education was woefully neglected.

I wasn’t particularly bright, but I wasn’t the class idiot either. Nice and average. Except for my build. And my face. Both of which marked me "as ugly as sin" and led to lots of teasing.

My name didn’t help much, either. My Mum must have been delirious when she decided on ‘Millicent’; not unlikely, considering that she was dying at the time. In any case, this was cause for more harassment. Needless to say, I did the only natural thing and beat up the people who teased me. I could, after all; I was bigger than they were. I got to be a bit of a bully.

I was excited to get my Hogwarts letter. I would never excel at academics, I knew, but I hoped that I would find a magical subject in which I could be top of the class. Then, perhaps, I would be appreciated. The Sorting Hat remarked on my desire to succeed and put me in Slytherin.

Of course, things didn’t work out that way I wanted; I was, once again, nice and average. Except, of course, for my build and my face. At Hogwarts, luckily, I was ignored most of the time, rather than teased. That was a marked improvement over my early childhood.

Things changed in my fifth year.

It started one night in the Slytherin common room. I was heading out, on my way to the library, when Vincent Crabbe ran into the room and right into me. We stood there for a while, in close proximity to each other, staring. Then I went my way and he went his, and that was the end of it, right? Wrong.

The next day, he asked me if I would go on a walk with him so that he could apologize properly. We were down by the lake when he told me that he’d looked at me before, but he’d never really seen me until that night, never really realized before how beautiful I was. Who would have thought that Crabbe could be so eloquent? That night he kissed me. I was in love.

He roped me into going along with Malfoy and his gang. What can I say? It was fun. I could bully to my heart’s content and get away with it. Crabbe and I had lots of fun together: beating people up; having sex behind the greenhouses; beating people up; having sex in Hagrid’s garden; beating people up; having sex up in the Astronomy Tower.

It wasn’t until my sixth year that I started changing my tune. Contrary to popular opinion, this had nothing to do with the fact that Umbridge was gone and I could no longer be a bully. I think my misgivings began when I realized that Crabbe hadn’t owled me over the summer (even though he wanted to sleep with me as soon as we got back to Hogwarts).

And then there was the conversation that I overheard in October.

I was drifting off to sleep one night when I realized that I’d left my Runes homework in the common room. I slipped out of bed and was walking down the hall when I heard my boyfriend’s voice.

"It wasn’t the assignment I was expecting, but it hasn’t been too bad."

"Glad you think so. I would have died if it had been me," drawled the voice of Draco Malfoy.

What in the world were they talking about? I couldn’t recall any terrible homework assignments of late. I froze when Crabbe continued.

"Well, if nothing else, she’s a great piece of ass. Outstanding in the sack."

"I suppose that’s a plus," Malfoy said. "Thanks for putting up with her, Crabbe. You’ve done a good job; she’s on our side now. Now you just need to convince her that she wants to join the Dark Lord."

"I dunno, Draco. She’ll be a hard sell. She likes beating people up, but killing is another cup o’ tea. She’s a softie, deep down. And she’s got no family members who tie her to us. I need more lines for buttering her up."

"How about, ‘You’ve got the best breasts in Hogwarts’?" The sound of laughter chased me down the hallway as I fled back to my room.

So that was what this was all about, was it? Getting me to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Vincent didn’t love me. I couldn’t believe it. I’d wanted admiration; I thought he’d given it to me. I was wrong. He’d only loved the fact that I’d spread my legs for him every time I’d asked.

But it all made sense. For starters, I should have known that Crabbe couldn’t have come up with any of those witty compliments on his own. His main goal in life had always been to please Malfoy–and Malfoy’s main goal in life had always been to follow the Dark Lord. I marveled that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Unfortunately for Mr. Crabbe, I had learned a thing or two in Slytherin. I was going to make him regret taking advantage of me. Ah, but what to do? And whom should I ask for help? I thought for a long time, but the answer didn’t hit me until I was drifting off to sleep.