Beleaguered

Lips

They had told her today. She had been in her room- with her towering bed dominating the room and books littered around . She was so absorbed in her current piece that it took her few moments to notice the little creature standing next to her, telling her that her father was calling her.

Gently she had put down her brush. Her movements were slow, but her eyes skimmed the room in as if trying to catch something. Loose curls pulled out of the messy bun that she had place carelessly on top of her head, and her too large sweater kept sliding over her shoulder.

Softly she had answered, “I’ll go to him.”

Something unfortunate was going to happen today, she just knew it. She had shivered as she walked down the cold corridor, her ancestors looking down at her with a fierce hate. Yes, she was not a boy. Yes, she was not beautiful. Yes, she was never good enough to carry the great name of the Bulstrode.

She heard them whisper, but she didn’t listen. Who were they, but imitations of malice and hate. Prejudice ran through her ancestors veins as it did many other purebloods.

When she had reached the looming doors of her fathers study, she had paused.

Why did he disturb her? He mostly left her alone when she was home, both of her parents did.

Sighing gently, she had pushed open the door and entered. Her father had sat behind his Gothic desk, with both of his palms flat on the table. With a fierce frown he invited her to sit.

He had told her… explained everything. The smallest detail was not left out. Her father had said that she was lucky. It was much more than he would have ever thought her capable of. Luring in such a rich man. Such a influential man. Such a….powerful man.

She simply sat there, not moving a muscle. Her hands trembling in her lap. Her jaw clenching with the effort to keep her screams in. Finally her father had dismissed her, with a warning, “Do not fail us.”

She had walked down the corridor, not seeing or hearing anything around her. Simply walking. Her heart hammered in her head. Thump, thump, thump…

After entering her room, she had taken deep breaths willing herself not to lose control. She never lost control.

Taking small steps toward her bed, she stumbled and fell.

Lying on her back, she looked up at the painting of seraphs descending down to pull a dying, bloody man from the clutches of the demons that were trying to pull him down.

She remembered painting that image after her first year at Hogwarts. After she had met Severus Snape. He was the inspiration of many of her paintings. He was her patron.

Lying there she could feel sobs coming to the surface. She tried to contain them, but they escaped. Small grew into large, which grew into hysteric.

She had never been able to make choices in her life! And she still wouldn’t.

From birth her life had been dictated to serve the purpose of others. Again and again she was used for the purpose of others.

Why? Why would life be so cruel as to not let people live their own lives?

“I hope Draco Malfoy has his heart pierced.” Millicent said to herself as the last of her sobs subsided.

Taking a few deep breaths she slowly pushed herself up on her fours. She crawled to her bed, slipped through the covers and closed her eyes.

When was the last time she had cried? She couldn’t even remember. As those last thoughts ran through her head, her eyes closed. Just before she fell asleep a face flashed in her mind; platinum blonde hair, gray eyes and full lips.

Why was she thinking about his lips?

Millicent fell asleep, her brows furrowed.


Note from Author

Just something I wanted to try out.