She turned back out, but was caught by Christophe, the French owner. "Mademoiselle Hermione!" He always had trouble pronouncing her name. He pulled gently on her arm, ushering her to talk to him privately. Hermione felt puzzled, but followed as the petite man quietly took her away from the rush of the skinny woman in different designed dresses and outfits.
"Yes, Christophe?" she said. Christophe was a good friend of Dumbledore's. His face dropped slightly.
"Hermione, have you noticed the new models we picked up? It's like they starve themselves, and they are like a toothpick!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, but what has that have to do with me?" she asked inquisitively. Christophe's eyes showed pity and an urgency to get out of whatever he had to tell her, they almost begged.
"Well, Hermione, lately, you have lost your touch," he said. Hermione felt like she'd been struck, she knew what was coming. "You've...you've put on a couple of pounds and it's noticeable." With that, he frowned completely. "I'm afraid that Vittoria must take your place for this dress." He pointed to the dress on her body that fit tightly because of her purging belly. "You're fired."
Speechless, Hermione turned back to the dressing room and changed back into her tan pants and black blouse. When she was out, she handed the dress to a beautiful, tan, skinny Vittoria. Tears threatened to pour from Hermione's eyes.
Everything she had worked for since Hogwarts, had gone to waste. There wasn't any jobs is the wizarding world that you actually had to use magic with. She needed money to pay for her place, and this had been the only job available. Hermione had actually grown to love it, and the people in it. She was at a loss for words, but she made a decision.
Her legs ran as fast as they could when she came up to Christophe. "Mademoiselle, no groveling." She looked him in they eyes.
"If I lose the weight by Friday at rehearsels, may I come back?" she asked, pleading. Christophe ruffled her hair(after the years it lost its bushy appearance) and smiled.
"If you think you can, but you have to fit into a size two," he said decisively. She nodded.
Then, she watched the models as they strutted down the runways, posing and sometimes smiling, sometimes not. Hermione studied each movement. Especially Vittoria, who was clearly the best out of all of them. She had a look on her face as cold as stone, and when she turned, it looked as if her heels never left the ground. It was a perfect run.
After the show, Hermione ran outisde and made sure no one was there around the building. She held her hands on her stomach, tears falling down her eyes.
"Goodbye, little one."
A/N: I know you hate me for this only being a one-shot, but it's just the way it is. Sorry! Let your imagination wonder who the father could be, because I know who it is.