Author's Note: Hello, Lovelies! I'm getting better, see? I'm hoping you all are well. :) Anyway, this is a bit of a filler chapter but if I'd continued it, it honestly would have been too long, so I'm splitting it in two. I hope you all still enjoy it, despite the little cliffy. Things are developing though, and there will be a answers eventually. I promise. Big, big thanks to Dovey, Guest, and RoyalIceDragon for reviewing! I would love to hear from you all. Your thoughts and time are greatly cherished. Go have fun! -CC

The Seamstress

Even though it was mostly uncomfortable, he was quiet and she could appreciate that. There was the occasional sound of him readjusting in his seat, but nothing more. He had simply picked a book from the stack and read, tea forgotten on the tray between them. Hermione wasn't sure how he knew what he was looking for, but they were his books after all, and thinking twice about it, realized that she really didn't want to know what he knew. He had wandless ability and power that gave her an ominous feeling whenever she witnessed it. It was unsettling.

"You're staring." He placed his index finger on the line and looked up. His gray eyes appeared warmer than usual, lacking the steely edge they were so prone to.

"May I have some parchment?" It was the first time she'd spoken in three hours.

"Of course, I was just going to send down for dinner. Are you hungry?" She nodded, brushing a curl behind her ear shyly. It still felt strange to ask for things.

"Alright." He snapped once and Tibby appeared. Her hooked nose touched the floorboard as she bowed at her tiny waist. "Would you bring some quills and parchment, and have dinner sent up?"

"Tibby will. Right away, Master Malfoy."

"Thank you." There was a faint 'pop' as she disapperated.

Turning his attention back to Hermione, he asked, "Have you found anything?"

"I have a few ideas." She answered with a humble shrug. He knew very well that her "ideas" were most likely solutions.

"Such as?" He prompted.

"Well, every spell has a counter spell, even if it isn't known, right?"

"I'm aware."

"Er right. So, the trick to altering a spell is finding the counter, the root language, and then making the change, which sounds a lot simpler than it is, but you get the gist."

"Yes. I was just reading that. It says here that common spells are based in ancient languages."

"That's true. Spells have ages. The more common a spell is, the more likely that it is older, and the older a spell is, the more difficult the linguistics are."

"How do you know how old a spell is?"

"That's one of the tricks. If there isn't any documentation, which is still the case for most of the common spells, you have to guess based on the linguistics you have; the sounds and origins of the incantation itself."

"Ah."

"Luckily for us, the glamour spell is relatively new as far as spells go, and thus, the root language is more familiar, and even better than that, it's a created spell, which makes it loads easier to find the counter and make the change."

"Erm, alright yeah, so how do we do that?" He had only followed about half of what she said, and made a mental note to research spell-making more. She talked quickly when she was excited.

"With very new spells the counter can be made simply by saying the charm backwards. Also, certain spells have opposing processes, which are their natural counters like the heating and cooling spells. That's probably not the case with the glamour spell. From the documentation, we know that the spell was made during Late Antiquity, and Latin, or Vulgar Latin, was the common language."

"And that means…"

"Latin is a language of 'endings,' if you will, and that means that it's easy to manipulate. It means that I simply have to tweak the format of the counter with an added ending and pronoun, which means…" She looked down at the book in her lap, "that I know the spell." She finished animatedly. There was a gleam to her, maybe an aura was a better description, but Hermione Granger was in her element.

"You really are bloody brilliant, aren't you? I mean, I've heard the stories and I saw you in class, but Merlin's beard, it's true. You're actually the brightest witch of our age, aren't you?" He watched with earnest appreciation as the compliment was awarded a flattered blush. He hoped that comments like that would help him conceal the truth from her, if only for a bit longer.

"I'm just highly logical," she answered, excusing the praise away.

"How did you learn all of this, Granger?"

"I started using a time-turner in third year so I could take more classes and complete an independent study program…and I wasn't supposed to tell anybody about that." Both blonde eyebrows rose in surprise. How did Weasley not know that about her?

Draco rolled his eyes and gave facetious smirk, "I think I shall have to call the authorities. You're looking at life imprisonment, my deepest regrets."

"Alright, alright, I get it. " She smiled, and his heart did that irritating flutter thing he hated.

"You're secret is safe with me. I promise not to tell anyone that you broke the rules to study more."

Dinner arrived, carried on trays by Rhonda and Elsie. Draco watched for a reaction, and found that there was none, at least not one that would be perceived by the trivial gentry. She did scratch at her thumb just once.

Hermione felt distant from them. In fact, she felt distant from everything. Very shortly, she would no longer be Hermione Granger. She would become a completely different person, a totally new identity…being. Her body wouldn't be a costume; a garment she could slough off, it would be her honest-to-goodness form. The thought probably should have scared her more, but she was tired of being Hermione Granger. She was so damn tired.

"I think dinner calls for a break."

Hermione's resolve deflated a bit. She was determined, and she didn't know how long that would last, but by Merlin if she was going to turn into a pureblood, she was going to do it right. She would make the world a better place somehow.

"The spell will only take a moment. Go ahead and start."

"Wait just a moment." Draco was nauseous. He might just vomit if he had to watch her. He needed a moment, some time to prepare. He had to come to terms with the fact that she would never look the same. He had to memorize her; burn her likeness into his mind. "Wait until the glamour wears off. We need to talk about a few things."

"If we wait until the glamour wears off, we might make a permanent mistake. People have seen me." She would push this. She had to push forward, no looking back.

"Hermione, just wait… please." She'd never heard him plead like that. Draco Malfoy was a man of demands, of action, of orders. Had she ever heard him say 'please' before? If she had, she suddenly couldn't remember. The word did not suit him. "Let's have dinner and talk." She sighed, and took the plate he held out to her.

"I have opened a bank account for Amelia Van Rogan, you, at Gringotts. I've moved 30,000 galleons into it to start while I locate the real Van Rogan heir. There shouldn't be any complications as far as you're concerned. I've also secured a wizard to help you find a suitable home. You'll just pick whatever you like and…what is it?"

Amelia's face was pale and she was twisting her hands in the most fidgety of manners. "That's a lot of money." She barely made eye contact with him.

"Yes, you're supposed to be a wealthy heiress, remember?"

"You're giving me 30,000 galleons." Her voice was meek.

"Yes, to start, so you can get anything you need. It would look odd if you had to ask me for everything."

"But I can earn wages now."

"Amelia, most purebloods don't seek employment. I don't expect you to build a fortune."

"I can't just take your money!"

"Don't worry yourself with it."

"It just doesn't feel right. I'll never be able to repay you, and I don't even know why you're doing this for me. I don't know anything at all, actually…" Draco watched as the uncertainty clouded her mind, and her eyes searched his face, as if she could draw the explanation out from his pores.

"Alright, I'm only going to say this once, because it makes me sound like a complete arse, but here. You are not going to spend all of my fortune. I couldn't spend it all if I tried, and neither could you, alright? And, I don't want you to repay me. I have to do this, and one day I'll tell you a story explaining why and you'll wish that I hadn't, and you'll hate me again, but as for now, just trust me."

Amelia huffed in irritation. As if trusting him was just so bloody easy!

"I know, Hermione, I know this is frustrating, but please try. I will give you everything in my power; everything that you need."

"I don't know how to feel about that."

"The money means nothing to me."

"That's not what you used to say."

"Yeah, well, I was a prick. I'm working on it."

"Noble."

"Maybe one day."

It was a mixture of bittersweet sadness and excitement. She touched her new eyebrow as she peered into the mirror. Eyebrows were surprisingly varied from person to person. Amelia's and Hermione's were similar, but still different somehow. There was a knock on her door.

"Amelia?" He was constantly using her new name, trying overwhelmingly to make sure that she was used to it. His expressions never betrayed it, but Hermione could tell that he was worried for her, nervous that all of this lying and acting would fail, but she couldn't think about that anymore, not if she wanted to maintain her sanity.

"Come in." She beckoned from the mirror.

"Out of all of the rooms in the manor, you choose this one?" He shook his head slightly as he walked in, "Anyway, are you ready to go?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

"I pushed the meeting back to lunch. We need to get you some robes. I hope that's okay with you."

"Oh, yes, I suppose this dress is getting a lot of use." She touched the blue silken pleat at her waist.

"It compliments you, but we should go. Do you have your ring? Wand?"

Hermione followed him to the grate in his room and off to Diagon Alley they went. She mentally congratulated herself on her graceful exit into the shop. It was familiar, like Madam Malkins' but more...expensive. She eyed the rack next to her, yes, definitely more expensive. The store was empty apart from a sales clerk, and what appeared to be a seamstress (both looking at their own feet), and a middle-aged witch with thinning hair and gobs of makeup clumped around her wrinkling eyes.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy, and thank you for choosing Apalla's by Phillipa LeMays," She spoke.

"Yes, I appreciate you closing on such short notice. "

"Anything for our most appreciated patron." The middle-aged woman waved a plump hand patronizingly. Amelia noticed a silver and black band. Was she allowed to be speaking to Draco in such casual terms? Hermione would need to study the interactions for acceptable patterns, though she was certain that looking for logic in the aristocracy would be futile.

"Right. This is Ms. Amelia Van Rogan. She is in need of a new wardrobe."

"Well, you certainly came to the right place. Come this way, Dear." The crone made a grab at Amelia's hand, and the anxiety set in. She jerked her hand away abruptly and stepped back as if she'd been hit. She felt affronted, and aggressed, like the last thing she could handle was this stranger touching her, but she wasn't sure why. Her mind was empty, but her heart was pounding and her breath was lodged in her throat. She looked to Draco who peered back at her with almost imperceptible concern. Did he have to be so good at hiding everything? She needed him to tell her that it would be alright! She needed to know what the hell was going on with her! Why was she suddenly so afraid?

"Please excuse me, Ms. Van Rogan. I am so sorry. That was terribly…that was just so silly of me. I don't know why I did that, I never do things like that...I just, I apologize." The witch was stammering and her chest, which was too bare in the animal print she wore, was fiery with embarrassment. On some level Hermione felt bad for causing such awkwardness, but mostly she felt relief that she wouldn't be touched again. Neither Draco nor Amelia spoke in acknowledgement of the apology, and the witch continued to suffer in discomfort.

"Would you allow our seamstress to take your measurements, Ms. Van Rogan?" She tried again. Hermione swallowed the last of her apprehension.

"Yes. Shall I stand on the platform there?"

"Whatever is agreeable to you, Ms. Van Rogan, of course." Hermione was sure that her steps were obviously unsteady, but tried to portray a confident front. Why was she so shaken? The witch was a shopkeeper for Merlin's sake! As Hermione stood and tried to mentally calm herself, the seamstress moved forward.

"May I look upon you, Ma'am?" The voice was soft and unthreatening.

"Yes," and Amelia was eye to eye with Katie Bell.