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25 August 2012 @ 08:41 pm
Fic: Dangling Conversation  
Title: Dangling Conversation
Pairing/Characters: Lily Evans
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~400
Summary: She's more than just a pretty face
A/N: Another drabble written for the HP Welcome Home Ficathon on LJ. Based on the prompt: The pretty little mudblood. Enjoy!

. . .

Deception is easy, and men are particularly vulnerable.

They don't seem very different from one another, men. Especially not at Slughorn's party, where the sleazy junior politician isn't all that different from the Ravenclaw chatting her up.

The similarities are easy enough to spot whenever she mentions it. That God awful thing nobody wants to talk about or hear about or think about.

They'd rather talk about themselves, show off, impress her as if she cares about their important friends or their job offers.

She'd rather discuss far more important matters.

Did you know that the murder-rate of Muggle-borns—especially Muggle-born women—rose over the summer?

And she loves the surprise, blossoming into their expressions when her lips bear politics instead of mindless chit chat about the finger foods or favorite Quidditch teams.

I plan to become involved in Muggle-born activism after Hogwarts. For personal reasons, you see. I reckon that it's my calling right now, rather than becoming a Healer.

Their lips curl—stiff, tight—more of a sour grimace than a solemn smile. Eyes flash, crinkling at the outer corners and shining with thinly veiled skepticism underneath feigned curiosity. And their expressions stay like this, frozen as their heads slowly nod. They're hearing, but they're not listening.

The Ministry's slow response to these attacks..it's embarrassing, don't you think? I've written letters, several.

They try to change the subject because no one wants to talk about the dark and the grim, especially not from a girl so nice to look at.

Nasty business, that. Waste of time.

It's hard, being passionate about that pesky little thing called reality. It's like a foul quirk, a flaw in the fucking plan of casual cleavage ogling and shallow schmoozing.

Not—not yet. I'm sure someone will reply soon, though.

It's over soon enough. They find a distraction—an old colleague, another beautiful woman, a sudden need to refill their wine glass—and they're gone; dodged the bullet disguised in red lipstick and tits.

It used to hurt, the obvious disappointment between sweeps of roaming eyes.

But now—in some awful, nauseating sort of way—it's almost fun.

A litmus test. Who sees her as more than just a pretty little Mudblood?

Men. They get such poor marks.

Current Location: home
Current Mood: okay
Current Music: Grimes - Oblivion