Cockle

Another boy shambled up to Pansy and offered a flower. She took it without looking away from Millicent, who sat across the table eating the lemon pie her mother sent her once a week. When Pansy looked into the mirror every morning she saw something ugly: a turned up nose, thin lips, squinty eyes, and oily skin. She knew the boy saw the same thing. She also knew the boy was wealthy, pureblooded, and had traditional parents; just like her. And that explained that.

The boy was still nearby, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes on Pansy. She wouldn't have looked up at him if his shadow weren't cast over Millicent, obscuring her view.

"You're looking surprisingly pretty today," the boy said.

He was looking straight between her eyes, not into them, which made her think that he had not meant to insult her more than he meant to scare her away. Or else he was scared himself, which meant she had to hurry this along or she would never return to concentrating on the freckles across Millicent's nose or the warmth of her foot under the table. Now that Pansy thought of it, if she slid her foot just left their shoes would be touching, and that would almost be like their skin touching. But since Pansy was aware of their feet now, she wasn't sure if Millicent would take the action as accidental if Pansy were to go through with it---was Millicent noticing their feet too? Was she really so interested in her pie? If Pansy threw her fork at the boy would Millicent look up at her for one fleeting moment?

The boy cleared his throat, eyeing the flower he had given her as if he wished to take it back and give it to another girl. "I hope that rash you developed in Potions last week has cleared up, Pansy."

Millicent's eyes flicked up to him, and then to Pansy, but Pansy wasn't able to enjoy the look because Draco Malfoy began to laugh beside them; Millicent went back to her pie.

"I didn't hear about the rash," Draco said loudly. A few people at the Slytherin table leaned in for more. "Do tell, Pansy."

The standing boy's ears were turning pink. He remained like a loyal dog waiting to be fed or sent away. Pansy liked that he was enduring, but that didn't mean she liked him more than Millicent, who was eating her pie at a much slower rate than before.

"I never had a rash," Pansy finally said.

"But I asked you about it in the infirmary," the boy said. "I remember your blue dress."

"That was my sister, Posey." She looked at Millicent for a reaction. There was a small smile on her lips now; apparently she knew Pansy had no such sister. "And I don't wear dresses," she said, looking back to the boy.

"Oh, I see."

He flattened the front of his uniform, as if he needed to look his best for this show, and Pansy noticed for the first time that he wore the Ravenclaw crest. Oh, she thought. So he thought he was clever. He thought he'd swagger up and throw her medical embarrassments in her face and go back to his House table and slump over his encyclopedia, giggling with his bespectacled friends. He thought he spout off her private business right in front of Malfoy, who anyone knew was a gossip if there ever was one, with hopes that Pansy would become a mockery and his parents would no longer want him to court her.

Was he as observant as his crest suggested? Had he seen the looks she'd been giving Millicent? He might have chosen this moment especially---just the moment that Pansy longed most to place the sole of her shoe onto the toe of Millicent's and press down just so that Millicent's square jaw would tense and her hand would reach across to Pansy's and she would say, "Please take your foot off my foot." Had he known that she had appreciated Millicent's company in an unwholesome way since fourth year, at the Yule Ball, when Pansy had seen her hair tied up in ribbons? When his parents asked him to court Pansy, did he smile on the inside, through his disgust, and think, "Sure I will, and I'll have a little fun with her too. I'll ruin her chances with that dog, Millicent Bulstrode"?

Well, he was the only dog around here!

Pansy threw down her napkin. That made Millicent look up. Or had she been looking up all along?

"Well," Pansy spat, "ask me, why don't you?"

The boy scuffed his feet on the ground, ruining his freshly shined shoes but thinking nothing of it. "Pansy," he said with just the right combination of sweetness and spite. He spoke loud enough so that this end of the Slytherin table could hear. "Would you do me the honor of, perhaps, a walk in the gardens after dinner?"

"No."

He released a breath. "Thank God," he said, and shambled away.

Pansy started to eat again. Malfoy became bored and turned to Crabbe and Goyle. But Millicent still looked at Pansy. From the corner of her eye, Pansy saw the lemon pie was smashed to bits; one couldn't decipher the crust from the yellow, gelatin filling. Millicent's fork was nowhere to be seen, except for the markings it had left on the surface of the table.

Millicent's eyebrows were drawn in. "You have a new suitor every week," she said in her deep, quiet voice.

"They're all worthless. And don't call them suitors."

"I'd think you'd...like it. The attention, I mean."

"It's not for me to like. It's for the promotion of honorable wizardry."

"And you don't like that?"

"I would if it were someone else doing the promoting."

Millicent exhaled slowly, looked down at her pie, and said, "Some of them must like you."

"I don't think so."

"Some of them must think you're pretty."

Pansy felt a rumble in her stomach. It wasn't from hunger; they had just finished supper. If this meant Millicent thought she was pretty, then she shouldn't ruin it by responding incorrectly. She turned to wipe the oil of her face on her sleeve.

Draco tapped Pansy's shoulder. "So what was his name?" he asked.

"Don't know. Goldstein, I think."

"You'll never get married. You'll be old and wrinkled and you'll go crawling after every boy who ever asked you to go---"

"To go for a moonlit walk? To have a study date?"

"It's the proper thing to do. A pureblood girl needs a pureblood boy," he said imperiously, surveying the length of the table with his goblet to his lips.

"You don't seem concerned with courting girls."

"I'm busy with my studies."

"How long have you been studying Snape's backside, again?"

His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to retort. Then he smirked at her. "I like you, Pansy."

"I know that."

"Which is why I recommend that you accept the next study date offer you receive. I bet you would learn to stay out of my business, you ugly little thing."

She flicked him on the nose and they shared a smile.

"Besides," Draco continued, "getting yourself a boyfriend would distract you from less savory pastimes."

"What does that mean?"

His eyes wandered toward the other side of the table, toward Millicent, and Pansy found the rumble in her stomach returning. How could he---? How could he possibly---?

Millicent was looking at them both, but not showing any sign that she knew what they were talking about. But she knew Millicent was not stupid. Malfoy had outed Pansy on purpose!

She turned back to him, but he was gathering himself and looking like nothing had happened. "Yes," he sighed. "You should really get a boyfriend, a pureblood from a respectable old family. Think of the combined wealth."

"Malfoy---"

"You'd be so happy," he drawled, and before she could think of a response he was sauntering away with his cronies.

Pansy felt unwavering pressure in her chest. It was pushing harder against her, harder, because it wanted her to turn and look at Millicent directly no matter how embarrassed she was. Her ribcage was tightening. It would break soon, when the pressure became unbearable. She had to see whether Millicent was angry or she would regret it.

She turned. It wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. Millicent was not angry as far as she could tell, though she was not happy. Pansy didn't know what to say to make the air light. No jokes or snappy derisions about Gryffindors came to mind, so she settled on, "You haven't finished your pie."

"No," Millicent said softly. "It didn't taste good anymore."

Silence again, despite the noisy Hall. Pansy toyed with the flower still in her hand. At least it wasn't an actual pansy this time around.

"Um," Millicent said. "Have you finished your Transfiguration essay?"

"No. I don't know what concealment charms have to do with transfiguring moose into rabbits."

This seemed to spark something in Millicent. "Well, you have to think about the corresponding parts. Moose have antlers; rabbits don't. You have to work the concealment into the spell or else your rabbit will have something weird sticking out of its head."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "That's the worst part about this subject: you have to know the whole anatomy of what you want to transfigure."

"Yeah, it's hard. No one's really good at it but McGonagall---and probably Granger."

"I know. It's disgusting."

"I could help you study, though," Millicent added. "I'm okay at it sometimes. McGonagall told me so."

"Are you---I'm mean---are you sure?"

"I don't have anything better to do."

"Oh."

Millicent looked down in thought. Then she looked up again. "We could meet in the common room tonight."

"Yeah. At eight---or whenever."

"Okay."

"All right," Pansy said shakily, as Millicent stood up to plod out of the Hall.

Pansy stared at her wide, retreating form. She was looking down as she walked. She had clenched fists, with fingernails covered in chipped red paint, and within her fingers was a fork---the one whose whereabouts Pansy had not known before.

She smiled at Millicent's demolished pie for several moments, hoping that she could contain herself until their---their study date! They had a study date. Together. Side by side.

Maybe their shoes would touch.