Worthless.

That's what I see in her eyes; every time she looks at me those eyes are judging me, telling me just how little I matter.

Oh, she may act like my friend but I know she only really puts up with me because she knows that no one else will give her the time of day – family status or not.

And that's what it all comes down to at the end of the day isn't it? The only way she'll even consider you to be important enough to be friends with her is if you come from a witch family on equal par with hers.

The problem there is that in her eyes, the Hallows are equal to none.

The day we first met is one I can still remember, at the start of our first year at Cackle's. The way she spat out my name as if it was something disgusting, a foul taste on her tongue. Her cold gaze which had already lowered me to dirt level.

Drusilla Paddock. Worthless.

I was a no name to her, just another one of the mindless girls who had come to Cackle's who weren't fit to even think about magic while sharing the same class as one of the esteemed Hallows.

She only really accepted me because no one else would. I was lonely back then, desperately seeking a friend to call my own. I probably would have been friends with HB if she'd asked.

I'm not sure what you'd say I found in Ethel, not a friend certainly.

I feel like an echo sometimes, when we're working together in potions or in chanting. Her voice always rings just that little bit clearer than mine, her knowledge of ingredients and brewing methods just that little bit more precise. She finds a way to shine brightly, while I'm forced to walk five paces behind her. A meaningless echo to her strong sharp tone.

If I didn't know better, I'd say she had that effect on all people. Her ability to seem so much more experienced and mature next to the other girls. But lately, I think it's just me that she has that effect on. I tend to look inept next to her, no matter what I do.

Worthless.

The thing is, none of that really bothers me about our friendship. In all honesty, I could live under that judging stare for many years to come and still be fine with it. I could carry on playing second fiddle all my life if I really had to.

No, what bothers me is that all she has to say is "Jump."

And I'll ask without fail, "How high?"

I'll do all of the work and she'll take all of the praise. I'll brew a potion that messes up Hubble Bubble and her friends, and she'll be the one to throw the snide looks and insist that the whole thing was all her brilliant idea while I just stand in the background, a shadow.

And I'll never say a word against it.

After all who am I, Drusilla Paddock, to say a single word against Ethel Hallow?

Maybe I'm really not worth all that much after all.

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A.N: My first fic...and it turned out to be a little more depressing than I'd intended at first, until the plot ran away with me. Drusilla's character interests me, I'd always wondered why she and Ethel stayed friends as long as they did, thinking about that sort of inspired this really.
Hope you liked it~