Millicent just wanted a bloody cup of tea. Instead she'd stumbled across Granger in some kind of melancholic daydream, blocking the way to the kettle. Folding her arms, she sighed loudly, and, when that didn't shake Hermione from her reverie, weighed the pros and cons of simply shoving her way past, interrupting the genius at work. The fact that she even paused to debate was a sign of just how much Millicent grown to tolerate her roommates -- once she wouldn't have given the matter a second thought.
Before she'd decided, Granger turned round, smiling like she was pleased with something or other, and Millicent tamped down a flash of annoyance. Weren't there better places to indulge in contemplation than the middle of the fucking kitchen?
"About time," she grumbled, not returning Hermione's greeting. Stepping past the other witch, she fetched the kettle and began filling it at the seat. Damn Marrowood and its effect on her magic. At home she could've made three cups of tea by now. "What were you so bloody distracted with anyway? Ghosts steal your knickers or something?"