bulstrode

@milbulstrode​  /  21 june 2004

Out of everyone in his friend group, Millicent Bulstrode was the one person Draco felt the least close to. 

He wished he could say it wasn’t her fault that they were so distant, but Draco wouldn’t be able to say that without outright lying. Millicent never did anything to him specifically, but she always was a bit too… odd for Draco’s taste. Always looking at him strangely, always making him feel like he was being watched. He swore one day she took out a tape measure and actually measured his head, but no one believed him when he said as much. 

Her general creepiness kept Draco at a distance, but Millicent was still part of his friend group. For better or for worse, she was one of them, and he did his best to move past the creepiness to keep his group at peace when every other part of his life was on the brink of shambles. That didn’t mean Draco had to be overly friendly with her, though; pleasantries were more than enough. That was why, when he came across Millicent at the gala, Draco put on a tight smile and actually bothered to interact with her. 

“Millicent. Have you actually managed to not cause chaos this evening, or should I expect it later on?”

… Pleasantries didn’t mean he couldn’t pass a few scathing remarks. 

Millicent didn’t mind Draco Malfoy. In spite of his lackluster and rude personality, she might even have enjoyed his company sometimes. But never had she felt anything more than a tense and distanced “friendship” to him, not that she’d ever made any exerted effort to extend her companionship any more than he had.

Notwithstanding their relationship (or lack of one, she supposed), she’d long laid claim to his head. Millicent was quite keen on keeping Draco’s head for herself when somewhere down the road, he no longer had use for it. Something about the way his face had formed made him the shining candidate for a rather lovely specimen of shrunken head. And it wasn’t that she’d ever kept her want for his head secret, per se, as she had asked anyone who might have an idea of what Draco’s plans for his body were after death. The answers were always mumbled, “I don’t know,”s, dodgy eyes, and quick exits from the conversation thereafter. Nothing useful. But Millicent knew her time would come.

After all, were they all not coming nearer to death everyday?

Spending an entire evening of being pursued and hiding and having conversations continually interrupted had been exhausting work, meaning she’d eventually found a wall to press herself up against and simply watch the crowd from, as opposed to being forced to be apart of it. Her lids had softly closed, breath slowed against the wall as she took the quick repose and tried to bask in her own silence for several moments. Tried. 

Her name spoken just beside her opened her eyes, a soft groan of discontent rolling off her tongue as she accepted her fate of, apparently, being the belle of the ball - would she ever not be sought out?

But this was Draco, she realized after a moment. Draco wasn’t full of energy. He wouldn’t drag her off somewhere, and it seemed no one was following him. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

Daphne had already made her rounds, politely chatting with friends of her parents and moving through the officials she usually saw as Rodulphus’ secretary. They were a boring bunch, but she couldn’t quite blame them for it. Anyone exciting would surely be banished from her boss’ sight in an instant, it was almost a miracle that she hadn’t been yet. He must really like her and Daphne supposed she could appreciate that. However she would not get stuck trying to converse with that crowd for the whole night and her frustration of not finding her friends anywhere in sight was starting to naw at her. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Spotting a familiar face, Daphne made a beeline for Millie seeing a particularly boring Hit Wizard starting a conversation. Frankly Daphne was saving the poor girl, doing her a favor. She’d be much better company than whoever this was. And after two yanks she had Millie’s attention.

“I can’t find the others,” she rolled her eyes, not bothering to acknowledge the wixen Millie had just been speaking to. In her eyes they were unimportant at the moment. “bet they’re taking a smoke break. Come with me to the drink table I think Cornfoot had been tailing me for the past five minutes and I’m not about to get into another conversation about which quill writes the best. It’s obviously a peacock feather with an extra fine nib.”

As usual, she made to reach for Millie’s arm to pull her away whether she liked it or not. “Look we’re loosing time he’s gaining on us.”

When had Millicent become the group supervisor? “I’m not their babysitter, y’know,” she hissed through her teeth as she tried turning back towards the conversation she actually wanted to have. Maybe if she had her body faced away from Daphne?

No, that didn’t work.

Millicent groaned as she was pulled away, too fast for her to offer an apology to the other or even say goodbye as she nearly tripped over her own feet following (being abducted by) Daphne. This encounter would not end well, she could simply feel disaster hanging in the air like a dark rain cloud.

“Cornfoot?” Suddenly the idea of moving as fast and far as possible was a good one, motivation now underfoot. Not even in death would one catch Millicent stuck in the tedious conversations Cornfoot led, about quills or anything. “It’s not a peacock feather, but that doesn’t matter,” Millicent muttered, falling into quick-paced step beside Daphne and repeatedly looking over her shoulder. 

WHO: @milbulstrode​ WHERE: Golowan Festival, Falmouth, Cornwall. WHEN: 14 June, 2004.

When he’d apparated directly onto Millicent’s doorstep with his arms laden with luggage and the pinpoint accuracy of a trip that he was capable of making blind-drunk or blindfolded, more muscle-memory than magical effort, after all these years, Blaise had understood that this was only the beginning of the battle. Their’s was a curious friendship, comprised of a complicated set of rules that Blaise barely understood on a good day and certainly didn’t understand after a long morning’s practice, in which seemingly everyone on the pitch had an axe to grind, what was supposed to be a relaxing bath and had turned into .. his showing up on Millicent’s doorstep with all of his luggage and the distinct feeling that he’d miscalculated somewhere along the lines.

His presence on her doorstep was not granted any fanfare, which was a recurring theme lately and it had taken a great deal of coaxing to get so much as a foot inside the door, let alone a place on the couch. Which, he supposed, naturally led him here; staring into the absurdly wide mouth of what the plaque affixed to the enclosure called a Leucrotta, and bonding, as it scratched its jagged antlers against the bars of its enclosure to the squeals of delight of sticky-fingered children and their chagrined parents alike.

“That one,” he informed her, staring up at the impressive beast that towered over him, Millicent, and the entire crowd. “That one’s yours.”

It was his fifth choice of the afternoon as they wandered around the enclosures, gawking at all the strange magical creatures that had been shipped in under what Blaise could only assume was a loose approach to ministry guidelines and avoiding great tufts of candy floss being wielded by tiny hands. The creature opened its improbable mouth and made a strange, haunting, bellowing sound that resonated deep in his ear drums long after it had finished. 

Then, decisively, “I like it.”

Millicent’s mood had been wickedly sour since the moment she understood what Blaise Zabini was doing in her home with clothing, toiletries, quidditch essentials, and a bloody cat. No warning; he came with absolutely no warning. When had he decided he was coming back? Why hadn’t he told anyone? The rat bastard thought he could simply crop up out of the blue and expect that she wouldn’t be upset that he felt entitled to her space.

She was, of course, thrilled to have her friend back in spite of all the trouble he caused her, and even felt vaguely warm thinking that her flat, her company, was his first choice to crash at and with.

If he believed for one second that he could waltz in suddenly then take her out to the zoo to mend the trust he’d broken, Blaise was dead wrong. No one held a grudge like a Bulstrode, and Millicent had taken due care to ensure the trait was passed onto her. 

“I hate it.” She loved it. The maw and the teeth and the unkempt mane; all of it she loved. It was only that the creature had been pointed out by Blaise, and she couldn’t let him be under any false pretense of forgiveness. Not yet. He had to earn it.

The peacocks that roamed the zoo grounds were rivaled in number solely by the small gnome-like creatures with pasty green skin that seemed to appear in every flower patch they passed, crooning and cooing and struggling to lift offerings of small flowers. Millicent grimaced down at one with disgust as it scuttled over her foot, pointed nose covered in flecks of mustard yellow pollen. 

Theo flinched. How many times could one be manhandled and carried away from a conversation in one night? How many nights could the same pattern of interactions occur over and over by the same person? “Daph–” Oh. Apparently, life could differ. 

Despite it being Millicent, a member of his inner circle and therefore an approved party to invade his personal space, still shouldn’t be so rough. He slowly slid his arm out of her hand, turning to spot her parents and their guest. More specifically, her mother glowering in their direction with a tight lipped expression before he blinked and Mrs. Bulstrode’s mask of polite society was firmly in place and immoveable. 

Slowly, sluggish in nature and decorum, his head swung back forward and Theo raised a brow in muddled confusion. If the new connection her parents were so desperate to force was who he thought he was, from the brief glance, then– “Tim works for Intoxicating Substances?” And he, if it was him, made a habit of checking in on Mulpepper’s storefronts far too often. “He’s thicker than Vincent. He doesn’t understand what a hint is.”

Drink gone, his expression soured. “I might.” A human shield seemed like the appropriate lot in life for Theo but that didn’t mean he would be forced to endure it without vices. Taking Millie’s non-pilfered-drink-holding-hand, he lightly (because friendship had it’s own rules and boundaries even if no one else seemed to think so) kissed the back of it before tucking it against the inside of his elbow and lead them along the wall in the direction of the Visitor Record Hall. “Did you know about the glass and marble fight with your third Duke? I think it might be the start of all of this.” This being the longstanding feud of two families he had never been keen to publicly shun until recently. 

Past the fireplaces, floo entrances much calmer than earlier as the fundraiser went on in the Atrium at large, Theo shook of her touch again and ducked behind the security booth guarding the door to Records of all the families in attendance and more. A flash of silver and he was holding out his case to her, a smoke already in his mouth. Midsummer. Inside. It was a nightmare and he’d been on edge all night for a chance to step away. “You haven’t seen Pansy, right?” The tip of his wand glowed briefly as he took his first puff in far too long and slunk against the wall.

The daggers she sent him as he very nearly mistook her for Daphne... he was lucky she needed him too much in this moment to cause a scene. Theo had too often arrived at her home uninvited (left out on the balcony due to the anti-Nott wards her parents had placed on her flat. but failed to extend outdoors) for her to be polite and mannerful when stealing him away from whomever he had occupied his time with. They weren’t important; she was. 

“Hell, you know him?” She looked this Tim man up and down, grimacing at the short lived image in her head of him trying to strike up a conversation with Theo every time he was around. If Theo didn’t care for him, Millicent certainly didn’t care for him. Not to mention that he actually seemed to enjoy her parents’ company in more than the be polite, nod, grin, and laugh at your elders sort of enjoyment. She seized up momentarily as Tim pushed further down the beelined path her mother had begun for him, then quickly launched into action. “Time to go,” Millicent hardly noticed the lips that brushed her hand in her haste to get away. 

While Theo was a tad more composed as they exited the main atrium, the witch couldn’t help but to glance continually over her shoulder; if they were to be followed, their pursuant would catch a wicked hex as punishment. 

The Bulstrodes were, by no means, a well functioning family. Millicent has proven over the short course of her life thus far, that she is a product of the Bulstrode disfunction, only ever adding herself into the chaos Purebloods so often wrought upon themselves.

Her very existence as a babe to a child exemplified her difficulty. From the time she could speak, she’d been interested in the more macabre and darker side of the world; her favorite toy was a literal stuffed animal - a taxidermied rabbit that the Bulstrode’s cat (Earl) had killed and left in the backyard. No matter how hard her parents tried to sway her otherwise, Millicent never did outgrow this interest and instead leaned into it further as she grew older, amassing a large collection of shrunken heads; preserved, venomous bugs; and every old fairytale book, unchanged from their original tales to be more kid-friendly. 

Come her Hogwarts years, Millicent found learning wasn’t exactly her strong point. She struggled through many of her courses, whether it was from sheer lack of caring or genuinely not understanding the course content. Though she was loath to admit it, she was most successful in Divination. None of her peers were allowed to know, however, of her extra lessons with Yaxley and her intrigue in tea leaves… lest they endlessly tease her for it.

Millicent entered the workforce almost immediately out of school, starting as an Obliviator’s assistant, then eventually working her way up the food chain. She’s well in the running for Head Obliviator, as soon as the position becomes available, but she’s not so certain she’s content with a position like that. Not when Bellatrix Lestrange is in power; she feels the Minister might benefit from more like-minded individuals working closer to her.

positive traits: - patient - opportunistic - quick-witted

Millicent genuinely tried to step out of her comfort zone; a Ministry event like this was not unlike other galas and parties she’d attended before, and her behavior thus far had not been unusual for these large gatherings. Spending a majority of her time at the punch table, making tedious small talk with coworkers, going out of her way to speak to the people who might appoint her to Head Obliviator as soon as old Bailey kicked the bucket (it also didn’t hurt getting on these Ministry officials’ good sides, in the event that an even higher up position became available). She tried to schmooze during these occasions; tonight should have been no different.

But one Daphne Greengrass had other plans.  She’d only just sidled into a conversation with one of the Hit Wizards, had barely greeted him before she felt a sharp tug at her elbow. Without turning around, Millicent lifted a finger to whoever was at her side to signal that she needed just a moment. The next tug was more of a yank, indignant and forceful, leaving her no other choice but to whip around with a dark glower upon her face. When she saw bushy curls and a very pointed gaze, however, she recoiled immediately, ripping her arm out of Daphne’s grasp as though she’d had hot metal put to her skin unexpectedly. “What the--" An expression of incredulity, “Daphne, what the fuck?” 

Millicent was not quite so adept at the schmoozing and mingling at large events as her parents were. It was, in fact, a hair frustrating to see them periodically throughout the night during galas and parties and such, speaking to a new person each time - usually someone she’d never once seen her parents around prior that evening. Worse yet was when they’d attempt an introduction, approaching their daughter with charming grins and a stranger forcibly dragged behind them. She didn’t need help making friends or connections, thank you very much. If she happened to catch her mother starting to glance both ways over her shoulders, scouting out the room to find her, Millicent knew it was time to mix into the crowd and disappear. 

This was precisely what ensued the evening of the fundraiser: a stranger and her parents together, her mother’s searching eyes, and an immediate swerve from the conversation she was currently engaged in with a coworker. Of course, she could have said she was busy or simply not interested in hosting a chat with someone she didn’t know and had no interest in knowing, but the absolute mess of a scene her parents would create wasn’t worth the hassle.