Crash Into Me.
Dear people,
I love reviews.
I love Harry Potter (it's not mine)
I also love John Mayer.. So everything might be really sad for a little while. His new CD is all I listen to. And there's this song called "Half of My Heart" (J.M's, not mine) and there's a line that goes : /Half of my heart is the part of a man, who's never truly loved anything./ And that's my inspiration for the chapter.
Here's Chapter 4,
Love,
InSleep
A/N – This is JK Rowling's, so not mine.
Hermione sat at her kitchen table with a glamorous witch in long magenta robes with heavily lined lips and dark eyeshadow. Her peroxide blonde hair sat perfectly on top of her head, held by a crystal clip. Hermione looked at her own jeans and t-shirt and ratty brown hair and felt dull. "So… What shall I wear?" Hermione asked self-consciously.
"What have you got? Any dresses? Or perhaps a skirt with a shirt? And have you any shoes that you haven't been wearing for 10 years straight?" The witch, Elenna, asked her carefully. "And I'll be able to do something with your hair, and you have very nice skin."
"Thanks. I think I have some dresses in the armoire… And some high heels in the front closet that I've never touched." That was the truth; her mother had sent her some ridiculous shoes for her job when it was new and exciting.
"Oh." Elenna ran off to Hermione's room and left her in the welcoming room. Hermione heard Elenna rummaging through the armoire and the dressers, when she arrived back in the main room, she held two dresses and a skirt that Hermione had bought only to satisfy Ginny's orders years ago. She also held a red satin shirt that Hermione wasn't aware that she owned.
"Elenna, is that my shirt?" Hermione asked, feeling foolish.
"God, no." Elenna dove into the front closet and yelled as she banged boxes around. "It's mine, I brought it in case you needed it. Not sure if it'll fit, but it's miles better than anything else you own." She reappeared with Hermione's spiky black shoes hanging around her hand. "These are great. Have you ever worn them?"
"Um, no." Hermione found herself being dressed by Elenna who first made her try the dresses. When it was obvious that Elenna had no time or respect for Hermione's sensible, pastel, summer dresses, it was time to try on the satin shirt and skirt. The skirt was a tight, high-waisted pencil skirt that landed just above Hermione's knees. The shirt was a tight fit in the chest, but was perfect in the shoulders and ribs. Elenna put her hands on her hips and smiled.
"Put on some black tights. That'll have to do Hermione." Hermione obliged, grateful to cover her legs, then found Elenna in the bathroom with make-up and hair creams.
"I think I know what to use on you." Elenna whipped out a bottle of toner and a brush. "Hang on just a second."
It did not take a second, nor a minute, not even an hour. Elenna spent 2 hours on Hermione's make-up and hair before she deemed her work "acceptable". When Hermione saw herself in the mirror, she blushed. Her hair was half swept back and held with pins, the rest was curling dutifully around her shoulders as if it had been born to do it. Her eyes were outlined with dark brown liner and white, green and brown shadows. Elenna had done something to make her cheekbones stand out more than usual and her lips were coated in a perfectly thin layer of pale gloss.
The entire look was flawless and clean. Hermione almost didn't recognize the perfect-looking woman looking back at her in the mirror. A pang of irony struck her in the gut; her outwards perfection contrasted her broken heart. For a moment, Hermione lost her breath.
"Elenna. This is perfect."
"I know, and I wish you luck tonight." Elenna started packing her supplies into a kit with a smile on her heavily made up face.
"Thank you so much."
"It's no trouble. Not for Draco. He must like you a lot, Hermione. He never paid for me to do Pansy's makeup unless they were going to a Malfoy function." Elenna continued her cleaning while Hermione sat in stunned silence. After an acceptable time, she felt a smile creep onto her face, then, amazingly, to her eyes.
**
Hermione arrived at Gilles' house 15 minutes late, and with heavy doubts about her skirt and shirt combination, she knocked on the door. Gilles' wife Margot answered the door and hugged Hermione tightly before ushering her into the cloak room. Margot was one of Hermione's new friends from the office. She was a pristine French witch with porcelain white skin and jet black hair that was always perfectly coiffed. That night she wore a tight green dress with black pumps and a black beret, à la French supermodel. Hermione looked herself over again as Margot hung up her old coat. When Margot turned around, her expression changed dramatically.
"'ERMIONE! You look fantastique!" Margot grabbed Hermione shoulders and turned her around to admire the uncomfortable ensemble. "Look at zes shoes!" Margot knelt to the floor in her fancy clothes and looked at the shoes in detail. "'Ow did you find these? And where!?" Margot's appreciation gave Hermione enough of a confidence boost to actually continue into the sitting room with her colleagues.
"Hermione!" She found herself in a bear hug with Tad, who had the aroma of alcohol in a cloud around his person. "You look amazing!" Tad's eyes rested at the point where Hermione's plunging v-neck joined. "Amazing."
"Hello Ms. Granger!" Tad's wife, Lauren hugged her next, sharing the aroma of alcohol with her husband.
"It's lovely to see you Lauren, Tad." Hermione accepted a glass of champagne from Claire who was looking around nervously in a silver shift dress. The bubbles felt deliciously welcome in Hermione's system, the champagne went a long way to make her feel a little bit less exposed.
Then she saw him.
He was seated against the dark wood wall with an empty champagne flute in his hand. The dozens of people walking in and out of the sitting room didn't seem so daunting when Hermione saw him. Pansy was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione started over but lost momentum and just stood in the middle of the room.
Then he looked up and his expression changed. The look of exasperated sadness was overcome with an expression of surprise and Hermione's face instantly took the same expression. Draco's thundery grey eyes didn't leave her brown ones as he got up and closed the distance between them.
"Hi." Hermione choked out.
He was wearing a deep grey cashmere-looking sweater and black pants. His usually unkempt blonde hair was styled back out of his face. Hermione shifted uncertainly.
"Hermione." Draco's mouth twitched. "You… look incredible."
"For a mudblood, you mean." Hermione's mouth just started talking, as if she had lost control.
"What are you talking about?!"
"Draco, it's 5th year and I'm tutoring you. I've just turned you down for a second time. I'm a stupid mudblood. I'm a stupid teenager." Hermione tried to drop his gaze but failed.
"You were so alive. I was the stupid teenager. I just wanted to tell you all the time how- Wait, why are you bringing this up?" Draco raised his eyebrows and Hermione could smell not only champagne but something stronger.
"I couldn't love you. There was Fred, and Ron and Harry would never have spoken to me again, not to mention you – How would you have explained that to your family?"
"Hermione, I don't think we should talk about this now." Draco placed his hands on her shoulders softly.
"I never gave you the chance. I couldn't have loved you." Hermione felt words falling out of her heart. "I loved him so much."
"I loved you!"
Hermione shook her head and tried to get out of his hold. "Let's not talk right now." She made it back to the cloakroom where she looked for her coat. She had foolishly started a conversation about something she'd never wanted to touch again.
"Hermione. You said you couldn't love me." Draco stood at the door, filling the cloakroom with heat and confusion. Hermione looked up and dared herself to truly see him. "In the past tense."
"Yes. When you loved me." Hermione dropped her expertly made up eyes.
"You couldn't love me when we were 15. But… What about … now." It wasn't a question. It came out as a dejected sigh.
"I don't know." Hermione regretted saying anything.
"Oh." He crossed the cloakroom in 2 steps and stood above her.
She was going to tell him that she was sorry for ever bringing it up, and that he should just forget everything. Alas, when the words were ready to be formed by her mouth, her mouth was preoccupied.
