Disclaimer: I do not own anything HP-related.
Warning: This "missing scene" comes from my story "The Last Spy" and it won't make sense without having read that first, at least up to chapter 11 or past.
Hermione was in an overall cross mood. I'm sure I'm entitled to it once in a while, considering that I've somehow landed in an alternate universe in which the world has gone to hell in a hand-basket and I have to train with a bunch of unlikely people in hiding to kill my best friend who isn't so much my best friend anymore as he is a despotic, crazed tyrant.
Unfortunately, said "bunch of unlikely people" seemed bent on not allowing her to be today. She was merely angry when she was woken exceptionally and unnecessarily early by Luna's cheerful and noisy entrance to her room to ask if she wanted to risk their lives even more that day by venturing out to stock up on groceries, which had run unfortunately low that week. She was irate when Hannah Abbott woke her up an hour later to ask if Luna was going to the shops. She began to suspect some sort of conspiracy of friends or fate when Dean Thomas and Bethany Pritchard started arguing at the top of their lungs just outside her door about the effects of alcohol on successful spell-casting, using personal experience to augment their side of the argument. And she knew it when she walked in on Draco in the process of his fleeing Skye, a look of abject terror on his face as the woman pursued him with a grim determination, wand in hand.
"You little prick, come back here and I'll show you female weakness indeed! I'll female weakness you right out the door on your backside for the rebel-snatchers to catch! You'll be thankful by the time you land in their slimy paws! Stay still so I can hex you!"
"Sorry, H, gotta run, see you later," Draco said hastily as he dodged behind Hermione, using her body as a physical shield to aid his escape. Unfortunately for Hermione, as it turned out, for Skye chose that moment to strike out with the promised hex, and a furious Hermione found herself entertaining neon pink hair and a frilly pink and white dress.
"Skye Corwin!"
"Sorry, H, I'll make it up to you later," Skye called as she herself dashed past her inadvertent victim in hot pursuit of Draco. "Damn you, you son-of-a-bitch, Draco Lucius Malfoy, come back here as say that about my female weakness to my face, you cowering pup!"
Crashing items told Hermione that it wasn't bloody likely. Sighing, Hermione trudged back to the room she shared with Pansy and Skye, not even bothering to try transfiguring the clothing back to normal. If she knew Skye Corwin, the hex would have made it impossible for her to change them magically. What she hadn't counted on was the fact that Skye had taken that factor into account as well, and Hermione was effectively stuck into the hideous dress. The hair color, with some difficulty, was changed back and Hermione colored the air blue with her swearing as she struggled with the charms and counter-hexes. The dress though, stubbornly persisted. She tried changing outfits, only to find herself once more in the pink dress just when she'd thought she'd put on a sensible pair of pants. Resorting to magic meant the only change she found herself able to make was to remove one layer of ruffles and frills, upon which she discovered a second, third, and fourth layer of frills.
"Did you get in the way of Skye?" The humorous tone at the door alerted Hermione to the presence of Dean, who grinned at her unrepentantly.
"Insane woman," Hermione muttered, finally giving up and glaring at Dean for lack of the real culprit.
"You have to admit, it's ingenious," he said with a straight face.
"Dean Thomas, either get out and go find Skye, or help me fix my attire," she snapped.
He held up his hands to placate her. "Whoa, whoa, don't go all crazy-insane on me too," he cried, flashing a smile full of white teeth. "I'd rather not risk my life and limb at peril of Skye's wrath—you know how much Draco and she argue, they should just shut up and shag each other like bunnies already, so much sexual tension is not good for health."
"Anyone's health, not just theirs," Hermione muttering sullenly. "Well if you're not going to make yourself useful, then find a way to fix this!"
"But you look so pretty in pink!"
"Do you wish to sport the same dress, Dean? I may not be able to duplicate it down to the last ruffle, it might come out to three or four extra by mistake. I can't take the charm off but I can bloody well replicate it!"
"No, no, leave me some masculine pride," Dean exclaimed. "I'll try and help!"
Despite his help, both finally had to admit defeat. "Just what did Skye do?" asked Dean in wonder as he flopped down on Hermione's bed.
"Use permanent marker," Hermione replied grumpily.
"You're getting better at referring to Muggle things only with the Muggle-born," Dean teased.
"As opposed to you? Your argument with Beth this morning was filled with references to Muggle alcohols and disco and bar-hopping terminology that doesn't exist in Pureblood society."
"Beth is cool, she's gone bar-hopping before, with her fiancé before he died," Dean shrugged.
Hermione fell silent—every single one of them had sustained losses, either from the long war with Voldemort or the tyrannical reign of Harry after, or both. I suppose I have too, since I don't know what happened to my parents in this world and no one else seems to know either. And there's Ron, and Harry—I refuse to think of that person killing everyone as my Harry. It's been so long since I've been in my old world, it sometimes seems as if this is the real world and that past was a dream. I don't want to live here forever!
"Hey, could you—uh, Hermione, that's an unusual outfit you have on," Luna commented, entering as she carefully clutched a bleeding shoulder while staring at Hermione.
"Skye. Draco." Hermione explained sourly as Dean moved over to examine Luna's shoulder and Hermione dug in a drawer through the supply of balms and potions she'd brewed, obtaining the ingredients illegally. It was easier to find the individual ingredients through the black market than to find the completed potion.
"Ah…ouch." Luna winced as Dean prodded gently at the wound before telling Hermione which potion he thought would be the best for the jagged slice.
"You're lucky it didn't sever through a tendon or nerve," he told her as he waved his wand, furrowing his brow in concentration through a series of complicated steps. Slowly, the flesh knit together. "Hold still." He tilted the bottle, dripping a little of the clear liquid of the healing potion on the still-raw flesh, and Luna hissed in pain, screwing up her face, before it smoothed out again and the angry-red of the half-healed wound morphed into unblemished, smooth skin. "It'll be tender for a couple hours, maybe a day at most," he warned her, handing the bottle back to Hermione. "I'm not a trained mediwitch, and that was a nasty curse."
"None of us are," Luna said serenely, back to her dreamy carefree self. "The food's in the pantry, enough for about another week, but someone else can have a go at liberating groceries next time."
"I'll do it next time," Hermione promised, feeling a little guilty for not having gone with Luna to cover her.
"Great," Luna chirped as she skipped out the door. She turned back at the entrance as said cheerily, "Oh, by the way, did you know that Draco and Skye are out snogging by the kitchen? It's about time, don't you agree?" She turned around again and continued her merry way to her own room two doors down.
"What?" Dean scrambled up again, having just sat down. "Now this, I have to see!"
Skye and Draco? I know the entire group has been saying that it was only a matter of time, but— flabbergasted at this sudden turn of events, Hermione dashed after Dean down the rickety hallway of the small apartment they'd chosen as their hide-out because of its location in a rundown and disreputable area of town, to where the tiny kitchen jutted out awkwardly near the main entrance due to bad planning on the part of the architect.
And stopped, staring, her mouth hanging open as she took in the sight of Draco practically devouring Skye's mouth as if it were a feast to a starving man. Skye had grabbed a fistful of his blond hair (which she'd often derided as "long and sissy-looking and easy to exploit in a battle")—well, by the way she was manhandling the abused locks, it appeared as if she'd found another way to exploit them all together. Draco himself had pinned Skye to the wall by the kitchen door with a fierce concentration Hermione rarely saw when he was helping her brew potions. Too bad too, because if he'd paid as much attention to the potions as he was doing to Skye, they would have brilliant potions with the least amount of waste of ingredients rather than simply mediocre potions.
"Merlin's boggling brain cells, get a room you two!"
"Go away," muttered Draco in mid-snog.
"No unoccupied room," Skye added helpfully if rather breathlessly.
Hermione had had enough. "Skye Corwin, you will stop making out with Draco and take your thrice-curst hex off of me, and then you and Draco will take yourself off anywhere but the middle of the hallway. This instant, do you hear me?"
Her thunderous shriek at least had the effect of distracting the nauseating new couple on the block enough for Draco to cast her a murderous glance, Skye to hastily fumble for her wand to undo the pink-frilly-dress-hex. "Now, before you two go do…whatever, which I so do not want to think about, let me just say congratulations and, well, it's about time!"
"You can probably borrow mine, Bethany's, and Hannah's room," Luna offered with her usual pleasant calm. "Bethany's meeting a person who says he has several banned books he's willing to sell, tonight, and Hannah won't mind. She won the betting pool for when you would get together."
"Blast, that means I owe her a bar of Honeydukes chocolate," Hermione remembered glumly. "You could have been a good friend, Skye, and waited another month. That was when I was betting you and Draco would come to your senses."
"I lost out to Hannah too," Dean said from further down the hallway. "Looks like she bagged this one."
Skye looked horrified. "You bet on…on this happening?"
"Always knew I was precocious," Draco muttered to himself. Skye whirled at slapped the side of his head sharply. "Ouch! What'dya do that for, my sweet?"
"First of all, my name is Skye, not sweet, and second of all—" Skye glanced around at their very amused audience. "Second of all, if you don't take me away from these uncouth beasts and make me very happy, I won't be your anything."
Draco snapped to attention, although it was rather less impressive with his robes half-opened and in bare feet. "Yes Ma'am! Away from these uncouth beasts at once!" He swooped around her, lifting her effortlessly off her feet bridal style, striding off in the direction of Luna's room. The effect was a little spoilt by Draco's necessary slow pace, since Skye wasn't quite the frail and delicate woman—none of them were, after constant running from the rebel-snatchers and practice-duels when they weren't running.
"And don't forget to make her very happy!" Dean bellowed after them. A door slam was his only answer. Hermione giggled, and decided that since she no one had died, Skye and Draco had finally gotten together (despite losing her a bar of chocolate), and she was no longer wearing the disgusting pink dress (with frills), she was perhaps not so cross after all. Life was good. And once Draco and Skye have gotten over their little 'honeymoon' period, I am sooo hexing both of them—see how they enjoy wearing a very pink dress themselves!
A.N.: Hope you enjoyed the "missing scene"!