(Rated R for sexual content and themes
which will become apparent in Part 2.)
"Here, Miss. Let me get that trunk for you."
Hermione looked up from struggling to push her school trunk through the door and saw the landlord coming toward her, a look of concern on his face.
She gave a grateful smile and went back out to the sidewalk to retrieve her bag and the wicker basket containing an irritated Crookshanks. As she hefted both and headed for the door, she wondered how long they would remain sitting outside a place that wasn't even supposed to exist. She'd certainly had a difficult time convincing the Muggle taxi driver to stop here. He had looked bewildered when she told him to set the trunk down in front what appeared to be a shop specializing in ancient vinyl records, next to a shop of equally ancient books. In fact, he'd stared at her as if she were a spoiled and stubborn child, so Hermione had given him an excessive tip.
She was almost sixteen, after all, and well able to take care of herself.
The Leaky Cauldron was perfectly visible to her, of course. After a summer at home and away from the wizarding world, the shabby interior of the pub seemed like heaven.
"Miss Granger, is it?" Tom the landlord grinned his pleasant and toothless grin. "Aye, and a good thing you made a reservation. We does get crowded this time of year. Tomorrow'll be worse, 'course. The trunk'll be sent up to your room and I'll just go and get your key."
As he stumped off behind the bar to fetch the key, she looked around the public room. Witches and wizards in long robes and pointy hats occupied most of the tables. In one of the dark corners sat a loud party of goblins--guards from Gringotts having a pint at lunch perhaps. Few people her age were in evidence, though Tom was right that tomorrow, the day before the Hogwarts Express left Kings Cross, the pub and all of Diagon Alley would be full of students.
Over there in another dark corner there was someone who looked familiar. Could it be? Hermione frowned and stared harder. That was definitely Lavender Brown wrapped in a passionate embrace with-- whom? The boy whose lips were planted on Lavender's was dark-haired and clearly not Seamus Finnigan. He and Lavender had been an item during their fifth year, with no hint that they wouldn't carry on into sixth year.
None of my business, she told herself firmly. But, she did feel a little sorry for Seamus who seemed quite taken with Lavender.
Flash! Flash! Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by a couple of bright bursts of light from over her left shoulder. She turned with a start, fearful of some impromptu duel or a charm cast drunkenly by one of the patrons. No, it was a camera, she decided as she turned to find the source of the light.
The witch responsible for the flash sat at a table with a man and woman who were talking excitedly to her and pointing at the picture that her little camera had instantly produced. The witch's two-inch long scarlet finger nails caught Hermione's attention first, prompting a sharp stab of disgust mixed with anxiety in the pit of her stomach. With some horror, she recognized the witch wielding the camera, possibly the last person on Earth she wanted to see now--or ever.
Rita Skeeter glanced up at her for an instant, raising her heavily penciled eyebrows in what might have appeared to be a casual glance. But, Hermione detected a rather venomous glint behind the familiar jeweled spectacles.
"Number seven, Miss."
Hermione turned with a start, aware that her mouth had been hanging open. Tom stood behind her holding a large brass key. She fumbled with her bag and basket, shifting them awkwardly so that she could take the key, then fled upstairs to her room. She hoped that the pub was decidedly emptier by the time she came back downstairs.
~~~~~~~~~
"Don't stay out too late," she scolded Crookshanks as he sat poised on the windowsill, ready to leap out. He purred, rubbing his head on the side of the window frame, then gave her a quizzical glare.
"No, I won't forget to stop by the Magical Menagerie and get you some Mouse Munchies."
This seemed to content the cat, who made a satisfied yowl and then vanished. Hermione fussed with the window, making sure that it would stay open. She put his basket in the wardrobe and stood staring at nearly empty insides.
"How much to unpack?" she murmured to herself.
"Oh, not too much, I hope."
She peered into the wardrobe suspiciously, then laughed. A summer at her parents' house had almost made her forget that some mirrors answered back when you talked to them.
"Why's that?" she replied to the full length mirror hanging on the inside of the wardrobe door.
"Let me tell you about the last person who had this room," began the mirror. "Stuffed the wardrobe full to bursting, he did, and kept a very smelly pair of shoes inside for days."
Smiling to herself, Hermione said, "Well, I shan't need to unpack my school robes, at least." They were all too short because she'd grown a few inches over the summer. She took a few smaller items out of the trunk and put them in the bureau, then started sifting through her books.
This won't do, she thought, closing The Romance of the Cauldron: Potions through the Ages with a snap. She couldn't stay in her room all afternoon. The shops in Diagon Alley would be closing soon and the main reason for coming up to London today had been to get a little shopping done before the arrival of her friends. She needed new robes for school, of course. Thus, Hermione had asked her parents for permission to come ahead a day early on her own, making her feel quite grown up.
When Ron and Harry arrived the next day, there would be buying books and getting caught up on the summer's events; those two certainly wouldn't be interested in shopping for robes with her. And, there were dress robes to think about, too. With her birthday money, she wanted to buy herself something new; the old dress was short and getting a little tight. Hermione had grown out as well as up this summer and, although she wouldn't admit this to anyone, was pleased that she needed a new dress with a bit more room in the chest. Shopping for that was definitely something that she wanted to do on her own.
Her spirits improved as she came down the narrow stairs, daydreaming about what color dress she might find. Running nearly headlong into Lavender Brown in the dark, narrow corridor at the bottom of the stairs knocked her good mood apart, like the perfect roll of a bowling ball that sends all the pins flying.
"Oh!" Lavender exclaimed, looking surprised but a trifle smug, probably due to the long arm of Thomas Willoughby, a Ravenclaw who'd graduated this past year, wrapped around her shoulder.
"Hello, Lavender...Thomas." Hermione recognized him now. He had a dark, brooding face that had made half the girls at school swoon over his starring performance in the Ravenclaw production of Hamlet. He nodded at her with a bored look and seemed to want to drag Lavender off somewhere.
"Well, I didn't expect to find anyone from our year here today," she replied. "Thomas works at Quality Quidditch Supplies, you know, and he's been helping me, er, choose a new broom."
Hermione could count on one hand the number of time she'd seen Lavender on a broom. Why, even Neville Longbottom could handle a broom better.
"Yes, I have a bit of shopping to do as well, new robes." Hermione began uncertainly, but her growing suspicion that the other girl's tryst would be an unpleasant surprise to a certain member of their house prompted her to say, "Diagon Alley will be awfully crowded tomorrow. I expect loads of people from Gryffindor will be here. You probably wouldn't want to run into them, would you?"
Lavender tensed her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. While she pursed her lips and made to reply, Thomas toyed with the edge of her robe, then ran a finger along her neck in a very familiar way, one that made Hermione uncomfortable.
"Shopping for robes?" Lavender smiled sweetly. "A new look would suit you, something a bit more... fashionable than your usual. Sorry I don't have time to help you."
"Actually, I like shopping by myself," Hermione stammered as a hot blush crept up her neck. She was trying very hard not to think about those wandering fingers on Lavender's neck. What did it feel like to--?
Although it probably wouldn't do any good, Hermione found herself saying, "If I do run into anyone from Gryffindor, shall I say that I saw you?"
"It's really none of your business, Hermione Granger," the other girl said and turned away, eyes toward the door. Thomas whispered something in her ear and she giggled. Lavender snaked her arm around his waist and, with a sly backward glance, sauntered through the Leaky Cauldron's back door.
Right. What business is it of mine anyway? Hermione fumbled in her bag, pretending to look for something so that she didn't have to accompany the pair. They clearly found her company unwanted and she felt the same way about them.
"Minding your own business is a wise course, Miss Granger," drawled an acid voice behind her. Hermione whirled and came face to face with Rita Skeeter, who went on, "Best to concentrate on a new frock, instead of other people's affairs."
Hermione was finally tall enough to look straight through those jeweled eyeglasses and into the hard blue eyes. However, Rita Skeeter's hair -- more platinum blond than Hermione remembered, but with the same rigid and intricate curls -- towered over the her.
"Listening in on other people's conversations? That sort of thing can get you into trouble," replied a tight-lipped Hermione, determined not to be intimidated by anything about the infamous semi-retired journalist. She was dismayed at Rita Skeeter's appearance; the woman looked tanned and fit, artfully dressed in periwinkle blue robes accented with an intense fuschia paisley scarf at the neck. Hermione chided herself: did she expect that forcing Rita Skeeter to stop writing her slanderous muck for a year would turn her into a decrepit hag?
Now the woman flashed a polished and well made-up smile at her. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said and opened her large crocodile skin handbag. She extracted a book that Hermione saw - much to her horror - bore the selfsame smile or grimace, depending on how you looked at it.
'Witch and Famous: The Rita Skeeter Story?" she read incredulously as the smiling Rita on the cover waggled long scarlet fingernails at her.
"My autobiography," smirked the journalist and pushed the book at her. "I haven't been idle over the last year, have I? This is an advance copy, so you'll be one of the first at school to own it. Here, take it. I insist."
Hermione was stunned, torn between wanting to throw the book down and to pore over it to see who had been slandered - and how much truth Ms. Skeeter had decided to include. For several seconds, her mouth made little mewling noises without being able to form any words at all. Then, she looked up from the book and stared at Rita Skeeter through narrowed eyes.
"You said that you--if you've harmed any--"
"That'll do from you, Miss Granger," the woman hissed and wrapped her talon-like fingers around one of Hermione's arms. "I've kept my end of our bargain and I want no trouble from you in return, especially not now."
Hermione shook off the long sharp fingernails digging through the thin cotton of her blouse. I'm not afraid of you, she thought, yet something about the woman was decidedly unnerving. She pushed the tremor out of her voice with great effort and said, "If you'll excuse me, I have some shopping to do."
"Of course," Rita Skeeter nodded, giving the girl a careful appraisal before she turned on her heel and headed in the direction of the pub. She looked over her shoulder and called, "Pity they don't sell fashion sense in Diagon Alley."
~~~~~~~~~
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, read the sign. Hermione spent little time looking in the window at the display of fall fashion (earth-tones seemed to be in), but pushed into the shop, causing an unseen bell to chime merrily. A squat and cheerful witch wearing tawny robes with a moss-green scarf (scarves seemed to be in, too) greeted her as she entered.
"Come for Hogwarts robes, dearie?" She looked Hermione over carefully. "Yes, let's get you out of those Muggle clothes and into something decent."
Hermione explained that she'd need several new robes for school and proceeded to try on a set. She stood on a stool as the witch folded the hem to get the length right while enchanted pins flew from the pincushion on her wrist into the fabric. The girl looked down at the head bobbing about the bottom of the robe for several minutes before speaking.
"I'd also like to get some new dress robes," she said, "because we have balls sometimes and my old ones are, er, old."
"Certainly," Madam Malkin said as she stood and walked around Hermione, eyeing the evenness of the hem. "Let's see what you fancy."
Several minutes later Hermione was wearing a long, full-skirted dress and standing in front of twin mirrors, one that showed the front and the other that showed the back at the same time. The dress, a pale eggplant color, was as low-cut in the front as Hermione dared and also had a shockingly open back.
"As for the color, my dear," Madam Malkin was saying as Hermione turned to catch herself at different angles in the mirror, "how would a more mauve tone suit you?" With a wave of her wand, she turned the dress a darker, redder color.
"Blue," said Hermione firmly. "Can I just have blue?"
"Robins egg? Sky? Navy? (Ugh, forget that.) Midnight? Periwinkle, even?"
"Mmmm. The sort of a blue like a clear sky right before dawn in springtime," she said, closing her eyes and trying to imagine the view from her dormitory window at Hogwarts.
"Very well," replied Madam Malkin, irritated perhaps by the unfashionableness of the color choice.
Hermione opened her eyes and gasped. It was exactly the color of blue she'd been imagining. The skirt swished wonderfully as she watched herself in the mirror. There was just one more little adjustment.
"Er, it seems a little loose here," she said and pointed vaguely at the neckline.
"A bit more ooomph in the bust? Certainly," Madam Malkin replied cheerfully, causing Hermione to wince. With a few skillfully placed pins, the witch had redefined the dress, adding some new curves that Hermione almost blushed to see.
"That's fine," she said, nodding quickly. She rushed to get out of the dress and back into her jeans and blouse before she could change her mind.
Standing at the counter and paying for her purchases, Hermione felt quite pleased with herself. Choosing the dress had taken longer than she'd expected, she noticed as she checked her watch. There would just be time to get to the Magical Menagerie before it closed.
"With all the alterations, it will take a bit of time -- shouldn't be more than ten minutes -- to get your order wrapped up. Do you mind waiting?"
"I have something else that I need to get before the shops close," Hermione said, not sure that she wanted to explain that treats for her cat were of the same importance as a new dress. You had to know Crookshanks to understand how this could be so. "Can you have them sent round to the Leaky Cauldron? I'm staying there."
That made her feel grown up.
"Of course, Miss...?"
"Granger. In room seven."
Behind Hermione the door of the shop opened. The bell chimed and Madam Malkin looked up from the parchment on which she'd been writing Hermione's name in large, flowing script.
"Oh! Miss Skeeter!" exclaimed the witch, dropping her quill and hurrying around the counter.
Hermione turned more slowly, dreading another encounter as painful as the last. But, Rita Skeeter was on better behavior this time, perhaps because of the more public meeting place.
"Finished your shopping, have you?" she asked with all the sweetness of a meringue: mostly air with a hard crust baked on the outside.
The interior of the shop seemed to emphasize Rita Skeeter's artfully arranged appearance. Hermione was all the more irritated with herself for falling victim to it, even momentarily. She took up her bag from the counter and smiled back. "No. A bit more to do, if you'll excuse me." Then she addressed Madam Malkin, "Thank you for all your help."
"A pleasure, dearie," replied the short, cheery witch. "And don't worry about a thing. I'll fix the robes just as you wanted and send them straight away."
Hermione ducked her head and made for the door. Behind her, she heard Madam Malkin saying to Rita Skeeter in a lower, more confidential voice, "That special order has come in, Miss Skeeter. If you'll just step into the back, you can--"
As the door closed, Hermione wondered briefly what a 'special order' might entail, intrigued by the tone of the shopkeeper's voice more than anything else. But, she forced herself to drop the matter and hurried off to the Magical Menagerie.
~~~~~~~~~
"Where are you, you silly cat?" Hermione called as she let herself into her room. She closed the door and set her purchases on the bed. After looking under the bed and on top of the wardrobe, she concluded that Crookshanks was still catting about his former haunts in Diagon Alley. She drew the curtains, but made sure that the window was still open. He'd show up when he was ready, yowling for treats, even if it was the middle of the night.
The large paper-wrapped parcel from the robe shop had been waiting for her at the Leaky Cauldron, but she had not collected it until after dinner. Her meal in the dining room had been quiet; she'd only met a few other students, and no one that she knew particularly well. Of Lavender, there had been no sign, although Hermione had kept an eye out for her surreptitiously while reading The Romance of the Cauldron over dinner.
She was determined to know as much about potions as Professor Snape this year, if she could, and had applied herself to this task all summer. She'd also been giving Neville encouragement to do the same by owl, but was sure that he had not taken her advice.
Now, seated on her bed, she put aside thoughts of simmering cauldrons and lists of ingredients as she contemplated the brown paper package that lay before her. Inside, she discovered, were several similarly wrapped parcels, each with a red ribbon around it. She sifted through the ribboned packages, in a hurry to find the blue dress and to see how the final alterations had turned out.
One of the packages seemed too small and light to contain a set of robes or a full length dress. Perhaps that had been why she chose it first. When she pulled the ribbon off, the paper unfolded like an exotic brown flower to reveal a bit of white satin... What was this? Hermione held the thing up trying to figure that out.
Oh, she laughed to herself, it's a corset. Then, she blushed and realized just what kind of a corset it was. Not that she'd ever own such a thing, but one did see them in adverts and certain shop windows... and one couldn't help looking sometimes.
"For heaven's sake," Hermione said out loud, throwing it down on the bed. This was a mistake, of course. Someone else's purchases had been mixed up with her own. She quickly opened the other wrapped parcels and confirmed this. Everything else that she had bought was there: the heavenly blue dress and the black school robes.
A mistake. She'd send it back tomorrow, then.
She laid the shiny white corset across her lap, straightening it out and smoothing it with her fingers. But, wouldn't it be fun to try it on?
~~~~~~~~~
To be continued...