Convergence

"Move your fat arse!"

Millicent Bulstrode had never been described as a beautiful girl. She would never be dainty and delicate like many of her classmates, and she would never even be described as striking because her features were plain. Her most remarkable trait was that she was a large girl, and that was, in her opinion, the least flattering way for a girl to be described.

That didn't mean that she would stand back and just take insults on her appearance, especially by a scrawny Hufflepuff with more mouth than brains.

She turned around, ready to curse him out and hex him unconscious. She stopped as she saw that the Hufflepuff had spoken to Neville Longbottom, and apparently hadn't even noticed her presence in the hall. She turned back around, ready to continue her journey to the Great Hall for dinner when Longbottom's pitiful squeak made her turn back towards the action.

She assumed that the squeak had been articulate in Longbottom's mind, but it just sounded sad and jumbled out loud.

The Hufflepuff laughed.

Longbottom said, "See you later, Zacharias."

It was then that Millicent realized that Longbottom considered the Hufflepuff a friend.

She stood still in the hall until Longbottom had reached her, and then asked, "Why do you let him treat you like that?"

"W-w-what?" stuttered Longbottom dumbly.

"That Hufflepuff. If he would have talked to me like that, I would have hexed him," Millicent said.

"Zacharias was just being Zacharias. He always talks to me like that. It's his way," Longbottom replied.

"I still say he's walking all over you. For a Gryffindor you're pretty spineless," Millicent said, and walked into the Great Hall. She didn't look to see if Longbottom had followed her.

***

Two weeks later, Millicent was sitting alone in the library. She had commandeered a secluded table near the back from a pack of first year Ravenclaws, and was now diligently working on her Transfiguration essay. There were a few advantages to being the largest girl in Slytherin House, and she liked to use them all, especially ones that involved frightened first-years. The fearful obedience she garnered from them was a poor substitute for the respect that she didn't possess of her peers, but it was a substitute nonetheless.

She was nearly halfway done when Longbottom sat down in the empty chair at her side, and said, "I think you're right."

She blinked, looked at Longbottom, then returned her attention to her essay and completed her thought about the inherent problems in cross-species transmutations before setting her quill down carefully so that the ink wouldn't speckle her essay. "You think so," she said.

"I shouldn't let people treat me like that, or push me around," Longbottom said earnestly."My friends tell me that, but--"

"Listen," Millicent interrupted. "Do you realize that you're talking to Millicent Bulstrode, the Slytherin? I could eat you for breakfast."

"But you were nice to me," Longbottom said. "And it made me think, so I thought you'd like to know that what you said meant something."

"You're making a big fuss over nothing," Millicent snapped. "I don't know why I talked to you then, and I really don't know why you're talking to me now."

"I just thought that you understood," Longbottom said.

"Understood what?" Millicent's voice rose sharply.

"Being an outsider. Being alone," Longbottom rawly confessed. "You probably don't understand fear, but I know that you're made fun of just as much as I am."

"I think you should go," said Millicent, pulling one of her reference books closer and pushing the pages open randomly.

"I starting thinking about why you would've talked to me the other day, and I realized that we're a lot alike," Neville said.

"Run along, little Gryffindor," Millicent said testily. She was nothing like Longbottom. He was a hapless fool that was good for nothing but being a bumbling idiot, who let others walk over him. She had heard rumors concerning last year's incident, the one where Lucius Malfoy was arrested and the Dark Lord's return was confirmed by the press, but she was positive that Longbottom's name had been mixed in by accident, just like he had undoubtedly been sorted into the house of bravery and courage by accident.

Though, she acknowledged wryly, he was showing some of that courage now, however misguided the attempt was.

Longbottom gave her a hurt look, and silently stood. "I guess I was wrong," he said.

This time, he was the one who walked away without looking back.

***

That night, sleep eluded Millicent. She glared up at the hangings of her bed, as though they were responsible for her insomnia. She kicked at her blankets for a minute, succeeding only in tangling her sheets around her body uncomfortably rather than relieving the tension that kept her from sleeping.

Much as she wanted to deny it, even to herself, Longbottom's words today had affected her. Longbottom had affected her. When had the Gryffindor gained the confidence to approach a Slytherin? House lines were drawn thick between their houses, and few dared to cross them. It was like the two houses were at war with one another, rather than a simple school rivalry, and only insults and destruction could pass between them, not comradery and sympathy for each other's plights.

She wondered, sometimes, what it would be like in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, where there was no great enmity with another house. Life seemed simpler across house lines. Millicent reminded herself that Slytherin was not the only house whose reputation was negative, that she would rather be a bullheaded foolhardy Gryffindor than be considered a pushover Hufflepuff.

But Neville Longbottom seemed determined to cross every line that had been drawn between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He had approached her, and had talked about his feelings. His feelings! Like he didn't think that she was just the intimidating, large Slytherin girl everyone made fun of, like he thought that she actually had feelings.

By now, she had freed her legs from their bed sheet prison, and she lay enclosed in the warm womb of her bed, and she was beginning to think that there might be more to Longbottom than she had first considered.

He wasn't always spineless, like he had been in the hall. When the Umbridge catastrophe had happened, he had been in the midst of it all. He hadn't even needed to be. She remembered standing there, keeping a struggling Granger pinned to the wall, hearing that Neville had been captured trying to keep the Weasley girl from harm.

She remembered the one day outside Potions when Neville had lost his mind and tried to attack Draco. In the common room that evening, theories abound had bounced off the stone walls, but no one had known exactly what had set Longbottom off.

She remembered sitting with Vincent and Gregory, offering a derisive comment every once in a while, like she often did. She often drifted between the factions of Slytherins, not having strong binds of friendship with any of them. She had friends- Pansy and her group accepted her presence with them, but as they never went out of the way to include her in their exploits, she couldn't think of herself as part of them.

I thought you understood... Being an outsider.

Longbottom's words came back to her, and she stared into the darkness. Maybe he had been right. Maybe she was an outsider. But he sure as hell didn't understand anything about her. He was too soft to understand her.

She turned onto her side, and listened to her roommates breathe, and let her thoughts worry her into a troubled sleep.

***

"Why do you think you understand me?" Millicent asked.

Longbottom looked up, startled. He was sitting at the same table Millicent had been at when he had approached her, for which she was glad. This was one of the tables shielded from view from the library proper by shelves of books, and therefore she didn't have to worry as much about being spotted by nosy Gryffindors who would start a fight or by her own housemates, who would question her motives to no end.

She wasn't quite sure of her motives, so she didn't want them questioned yet.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Um," said Longbottom. He looked frankly terrified. Millicent realized then that she was looming over him, hands on her hips and undoubtedly looked as though she was going to kill him if he answered wrong. She sat down in the chair beside him, and stared at him expectantly.

"I have to finish this," Longbottom said, motioning weakly towards the roll of parchment he had been working on.

Millicent picked it up and looked at it derisively. "Herbology?"

"I happen to like Herbology," Longbottom said. "It's interesting."

Millicent blinked. "You like Herbology, but you're dismal at Potions."

"What does Potions have to do with this?" Longbottom asked.

"Potions is like an extension of Herbology, that's all," Millicent replied. "If you like Herbology, Potions shouldn't be that hard. A lot of it overlaps, like properties of ingredients and methods of harvesting."

Longbottom shrugged. Millicent narrowed her eyes. "This has to do with Professor Snape, doesn't it?"

Longbottom shrugged again.

"You were terrified of him - I remember the boggart incident then - but you're scared of him enough to ruin your occupational opportunities? Many Herbology-related careers require Potions knowledge, after all," Millicent said. She'd spent a lot of time reading career brochures lately, trying to find the perfect career.

"I'll manage," Longbottom said. "I don't need Potions."

"Why does Professor Snape bother you so much?" Millicent asked, almost idly. Longbottom quaked with fear whenever her bitter Head of House approached him, and while Professor Snape was cruel to the boy, he'd never done anything that, to Millicent, justified Longbottom's terror.

"I... I can't," Longbottom said, looking around nervously. "You wouldn't understand, and it's... I can't."

"I thought you said that you understood me," Millicent said. "So shouldn't I get to try to understand you? It's only fair."

"Slytherins don't do fair," Longbottom said with absolute surety.

"And Gryffindors don't let fear dictate their lives, but you're doing a pretty good job of that," Millicent replied.

"You don't know anything," snapped Longbottom. And in the moment that aggravation gave way to anger, Millicent saw that Longbottom had potential to be more than a chubby, weak Gryffindor. His features were determined and sure, and the raw beginnings of the man he could someday be were visible through his childlike face.

Millicent knew then that she wanted to know him better, that she was willing to let him know her secrets so that she could find out what complexities lay beneath his simple exterior.

"Come on," Millicent said.

"What?" Longbottom asked.

"Come on. We need to find somewhere we can talk in private, without having to make sure no one sees us fraternizing with the enemy."

"I know a place," Longbottom said.

Millicent found herself walking down the hall, keeping a decent distance between her and Longbottom for appearance's sake. No one was paying them any mind separately, but together it was likely that they would have caused a scene. Millicent was curious as to where Longbottom could possibly be leading her as she tailed him through the Charms corridor, coming to a stop at a door that he opened with a quick Alohomora, and lead her inside.

It wasn't a room, or even a broom closet like Millicent had thought. It was a corridor.

"This is the forbidden third floor corridor!" she said.

"They haven't actually announced it as forbidden since first year, so I reckon that means we're allowed here," Longbottom replied, employing a surprising Slytherin outlook. "And no one ever comes here."

"How did you know it was here?" Millicent asked.

"I accidentally ended up here first year," he replied with a shudder. "With Harry, Ron and Hermione."

Millicent looked around for anything shudder-worthy, but other than a suspiciously large chain attached to one wall, resting on the carpet that covered the center of the floor, the corridor was empty. "Why was it forbidden?"

"Because of the giant three-headed dog," replied Longbottom.

Millicent snorted, then looked at Longbottom and realized he was serious. "So you came face-to-face with a giant three-headed dog in your first year, but Professor Snape nearly makes you cry."

"The dog nearly made me cry, too," Longbottom offered, then flushed.

Millicent just laughed. She walked a little ways down the corridor, and found a deep stone bench against one wall. The windows in this corridor were high on the walls, letting light filter down through the dust, and she found it, despite the filth and sense of abandonment, a strangely soothing environment.

"Why does Professor Snape bother you so much?" Millicent asked again. She knew that she'd given Longbottom little reason to trust her, but she felt that the answer to this question could explain a lot about the boy.

Longbottom looked torn, but finally said, "Because he's a Death Eater."

Millicent had expected something bigger than that. Every sweet, pure, good-hearted witch and wizard in the world hated Death Eaters. Of course Longbottom would. But she would have expected something more to account for his apparent gut-wrenching fear of the man, rather than past political affiliations. "And?" she said.

Longbottom paced through the dust for a minute, with an unreadable expression on his face as he left footprints and sweeping, sliding marks with his robes on the dusty floor. "My parents were Aurors," he said suddenly.

She realized in that moment that she'd only ever heard mention of Longbottom's grandmother, the one whose clothes he had reputedly dressed the Snape boggart in.

"They were really good, too," he said. "Well respected. Gran always tells me I'm never going to be the wizard my father was."

So they were dead, then. That had happened to a lot of Aurors during the First Rise, though she supposed to their children it would be personal. She opened her mouth to say something, but Longbottom spoke before she had the chance to say something meaninglessly sympathetic, like the phrases she had gotten used to hearing.

"They still broke, though," Longbottom said. He was staring up into the dust, now, and Millicent thought it looked like he was speaking to a higher power, rather than just her. "Gran takes me to visit them every holiday, and four times a summer."

They weren't dead, after all. "What do you mean, broke?" she said cautiously.

'They were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse," Longbottom said. "After You-Know-Who fell. It's why the Lestranges were sent to Azkaban. They're insane. I like to think Mum recognizes me, but I think she smiles at everyone." He seemed to have forgotten she was there. "Dad's stayed the same as long as I remember. He's never changed, never recognized me, never acknowledged my presence. But Mum remembers, somewhere in her mind, I think. She always gives me a wrapper when we visit. Gran always says its rubbish and to throw it in the bin, but I can't throw away the only thing my Mum gives me. She looks so.. intent when she hands them to me. Like there's meaning hidden in the tiny squares of paper, and if I was smart enough, if I was a good son, I'd be able to see it."

Neville - she could no longer think of him as just Longbottom, not after hearing that - continued to stare at the dust particles and the rafters, at the windows high above them and at the late afternoon light drifting through them. Millicent didn't know if there were words to be spoken in response to such a raw confession, and decided that silence was the only thing powerful enough to match it.

"She did it to me, too," he said after a long, painful pause.

"What?" Millicent said dumbly. This was far out of the realm of what she had expected, and she was at a loss.

"Bellatrix Lestrange. She put the Cruciatus Curse on me, and laughed when I screamed."

"When you were a baby?"

"Last year. When we went to the Department of Mysteries, when You-Know-Who was revealed. She was there, and so were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and they all three were responsible for my parents being like they are. Barty Crouch Jr. is dead, but he was here last year pretending to be Moody. I've met all four of the people responsible for my parents being taken from me, but I didn't manage to do a thing to them." He smiled wryly. "I'm not cut out for revenge."

Millicent said softly, "Revenge isn't the most important thing."

Neville turned so that he was facing her, not standing in profile like he had been for his confession. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes, the best revenge is to beat the system," said Millicent. "Have you ever thought that maybe becoming a better wizard than your father was would be the best way to get revenge on the Death Eaters, on your gran and on your parents?"

"I don't want revenge on my parents!" Neville said, horrified.

"You aren't mad at them for not being strong enough to withstand the Cruciatus? You did, after all," Millicent said.

"But that was just for a minute," Neville said. "They were tortured."

"You aren't mad at them for not being there for you?" Millicent said. "For not protecting you, for not saving you from their messes?"

Neville watched her intently. She could feel the unasked questions lingering between them, and saved him the trouble of coming up with a tactful way of asking. "My mother was killed by Aurors."

"Was she a..." Neville was obviously unwilling to apply the label to someone she cared for.

"My parents were Death Eaters," Millicent confirmed. She wondered if Neville's admission had sounded so loud in the empty hall. She could practically hear the words being echoed and sliding back to her sinuously through the emptiness, twisted beyond recognition. "My father still is, of course, it's a lifetime commitment."

"But you didn't know about what happened to my parents," Neville said.

"Father doesn't like me to know about those things. They aren't ladylike. Not that he's succeeded in raising me to be a lady," Millicent said. "Besides, he doesn't trust me not to tell." She quirked her lips. "Apparently there's some validation for that."

"When?" Neville asked. She didn't need further clarification.

"She died when I was a baby. I can't remember her at all, all I know of her is the portrait that's in my father's bedroom," she replied.

"I'm--"

"No," Millicent cut him off. "I don't want your pity, just like you don't want mine."

Neville took the few steps that separated them, and sat down on the bench next to her. He said, "I don't know why I told you all that."

Millicent gave a tight smile. "Me either."

Neville gave her a sideways glance. "You're easy to talk to. I've never told anyone that."

"You mean you never answered the other little Gryffindors when they asked?" Millicent asked.

"They never asked," he replied. "Half of them still don't know - no one really associated the name Longbottom with me when the Death Eaters escaped Azkaban and they listed their crimes in the paper."

Millicent was surprised. Slytherin may be the house of snakes, but they made sure to know the backgrounds of their classmates. Such things were important in knowing where allegiances and weaknesses might lie. Suddenly, a light dawned on Millicent. "That's why you tried to attack Draco last year!"

Neville looked embarrassed. "Yeah. He just made me so mad, making fun of St. Mungo's. . ."

"Don't be embarrassed," Millicent said. "You need to show that you have balls more often."

"I'm trying to be better, that's why I'm in DA. That's where I know Zacharias..." he trailed off. "I probably shouldn't mention the DA to you."

"Because I'm Slytherin?" Millicent said.

"Yeah," Neville said pensively.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Why do we consider Slytherins evil?" Neville asked. "I mean, you're just a girl, like anyone in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw."

"Thanks," Millicent said wryly. "I love being compared to Gryffindors."

"You know what I mean," Neville said, grinning at her. Somehow, someway they had grown comfortable enough that they could tease each other. Millicent was mildly alarmed at how far her guard had fallen, but she also knew that she didn't want to put it back up. Neville just inspired her to loosen up, and she rarely got to be something other than the big girl who was too clumsy and plain to really fit in with the giggling girls, but too feminine to enjoy constantly being surrounded by the boys.

But she was really beginning to enjoy Neville's presence.

"You're not so bad for a Gryffindor, you realize," Millicent said. She half-turned so that she could see him more clearly. He looked at her then turned his attention to the pale stone of the bench they were seated on. He traced a finger along it, clearing off more dust. Millicent knew her robes would be covered in dust when she left the corridor.

When she left the corridor. She didn't want to. This was a safe haven from the rest of the world, from everyone else, from being just Slytherin sixth year Millicent Bulstrode. Here she was just Millicent who was beginning to like just Neville.

"Millicent?" Neville said tentatively.

It was the first time he'd called her by name.

"Yes?" she replied, wondering where in the world the huskiness in her voice had come from.

"Please don't pound me," Neville said.

Millicent began to ask why when Neville leaned across the tiny distance between them - when had she scooted so close? - and kissed her.

A few long, warm moments later, they parted. Millicent let her eyes flutter open, and found herself smiling shyly at Neville, who gave her an equally shy smile in return. She reached to where his hand lay between them, and tangled her fingers in with his in a move to show him that she was not going to pound him for taking liberties.

"Um, Millicent?" Neville asked hesitantly. "You aren't going to... tell. About my parents, and about this, I mean. Are you?"

Millicent felt an odd sort of pride that a Gryffindor would have the foresight to ask. "I won't. As long as you do the same, of course."

"Oh, I wouldn't!" Neville said earnestly. Millicent couldn't help but laugh at how his face lit up.

"Do you want to meet here again?" Millicent ventured. "Sometime?"

"I'd like that," Neville said. "I'd like that a lot."

"Me too," admitted Millicent, then added with a smile, "A lot."