Queen Beatrice and Madam Malkin give Hermione a makeover. What will her friends think of the results?
Saturday 5th October 1996, 08:54 am
Dear Diary,
Lavender was right; I look like Mrs Weasley.
Despite my best efforts, I can't work out why the combined brains of Beatrice, Amelia and Madam Malkin would ever think this outfit was suitable for a teenage girl. Sure, my clothes are supposed to be Princess-worthy now (at least, when my grandmother can see me), but this? It's ridiculous.
Or maybe I'm too grumpy to appreciate the look? I didn't get much sleep last night, between Lavender's tirade about my looks, her plans to steal the man I might be in love with and worrying about princess lessons this morning.
Oh, and don't forget me kissing Ron. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!
Because I had to get up early again to shove breakfast in my face before coming to Ballindalloch Castle, everyone else was asleep. I was able to catch a quick shower in peace and hide my grandmother's present in my bag without anyone spotting me.
It's good that I decided to wear my usual Saturday clothes and change once I got to my grandmother's because I'm pretty sure I would have been laughed out of Gryffindor tower if anyone had caught me wearing this outfit.
It doesn't help that my face is puffy from crying all night long. Honestly, I never usually let Lavender affect me this much, and I feel awful that her taunts reduced me to tears, but it was too much last night, especially as I was already reeling from kissing Ron before I left the common room.
Ugh. I can't even begin to contemplate why I did that. Why did I even bring it up? Way to make yourself feel even worse, Hermione.
Anyway, I have snuck into one of the many bathrooms off the foyer at Grandmother's castle to get changed into the beige chinos and floral blouse Beatrice sent to me last night. And they look ridiculous, as I'm sure you've already gathered. Apparently, the accompanying jumper is cashmere, but I can't bring myself to pull it over my head. The material is itchy, and it feels like it might burn me.
No, do you know what? There's no way I can wear this. I look ridiculous. Princess lessons are hard enough as it is, without me having to feel like an old lady throughout them. I am going to get changed, and Grandmother will have to deal with my tatty jeans and my Gryffindor jumper.
.
.
.
.
Now that I am back in my old clothes, I feel a whole lot better, although it's done nothing to mask the state of my face. If I decide to take the throne, and I'm already having serious doubts, I have to make sure I stay true to myself. I can't rule a whole kingdom if I don't feel comfortable.
At least today's session will only last a few hours. I am hoping that getting a chance to watch the Quidditch tryouts later will get me into a better mood. I'll need it if I'm to face Ron this evening. He probably has a million questions about why I thought it was okay to kiss him.
Or maybe I could hide at Ballindalloch for the rest of my life and not have to deal with the shame of my overly forward move on Ron and the subsequent rejection. I replayed the image in my head, over and over again last night, wondering how he might have reacted, each thought getting increasingly worse until I felt sick.
But that's a worry for later, as there are bigger Billywigs to catch this morning.
I guess I should head out and deal with Grandmother, even though all I want to do is stay here forever. Although, part of me is kind of looking forward to seeing how she reacts to my refusal to wear her stuffy clothes.
To be fair, this bathroom is the same size as the whole of my mum's house, so it could be possible.
Until I remember to write again x
Hermione stows her diary away in her bag, burying it deep under the vile chinos, blouse and jumper her grandmother sent her last night, then flushes the toilet in case any of the castle's many members of staff are hovering around outside the bathroom. She wouldn't put it past her grandmother to send out spies, and despite the fact Hermione brazenly walked into the building wearing non-princess-standard clothes ten minutes ago, she doesn't want anyone to know she had been hiding in the toilet to get changed.
After washing her hands, just in case, then checking her bag is shut to hide all incriminating evidence, Hermione wanders back through to the foyer, trying her best to look nonchalant.
The room is quiet, aside from Dedalus, who is busy cleaning a coat of armour that giggles every time the small wizard shifts the duster. Tonks has already wandered off to the Order Headquarters, wherever that is, probably seeking out the second breakfast Hermione deprived her of this morning.
Buoyed by her blatant defiance of her grandmother's wishes, Hermione doesn't wait for permission to seek out Queen Beatrice. Instead, she takes a couple of steps towards Dedalus, already feeling more confident than last weekend, despite her pounding headache and still puffy face, and waits for the guard to notice her.
It's almost her castle, anyway.
Dedalus is too busy cleaning the coat of armour to notice her. She clears her throat before saying, "Good morning, Dedalus, is my grandmother in the drawing room today?"
He turns quickly, a huge smile appearing on his face. "Oh good morning, Princess. Yes, same room as last week. Do you need further instructions on how to get there?"
"No, I think I have it," she replies. "Have a lovely day."
"You too, Princess."
Hermione shifts her bag further onto her shoulder before wandering the same way she took last weekend, dragging her fingers along the various gilded photo frames. The portraits' cheery greetings fail to sort out her bad mood, which increases with every step she takes. The castle reeks of privilege and wealth, and Hermione isn't sure she wants to be a part of it all, at least not today.
Eventually, she finds the room and, without bothering to knock, she pushes the door open and heads straight into the grand room.
Queen Beatrice stands in the large window, talking with a squat, grey-haired woman. Amelia sits in her usual spot on the most central sofa with two other young women. At the sound of the door closing, everyone's attention turns to Hermione, who shrinks back against the wooden door frame.
The queen's jaw drops as she takes in Hermione's appearance, although she quickly recovers and pastes a tight smile across her face. She's forever putting on a prim and proper performance—how exhausting. The teacup clatters as Beatrice sets it down on the nearest surface, then glides across the room towards Hermione.
"Where are the clothes I sent you?" she chastises as she moves. "I was very clear in my instructions for you to wear them this morning. And why do you look so tired? Have you not been getting enough sleep? It's unbecoming of a princess to have bags that size under her eyes."
Hermione dumps her bag at her feet then takes a hesitant step towards her grandmother, steeling herself for further defiance. Trying her best to sound sunnier than she feels, she replies, "Thank you for the gift, Grandmother, but I couldn't wear them. They were itchy and uncomfortable. So I decided to stay in my clothes. I'm not even a princess yet, after all."
As the two witches meet in the middle of the room, the queen regards Hermione closely, her eyes narrowed. Beatrice's lips purse together, and Hermione shrinks back against the telling off she's about to get.
But it doesn't come.
Instead, the older woman lets out a disgruntled sigh then places her hands on Hermione's shoulders, kissing the young girl's cheeks and leaving a sticky residue of her lipstick on Hermione's skin.
"We'll deal with it later," she murmurs into Hermione's ear, her voice low but barbed, expressing her discontent at the teenager's bold move.
Without allowing Hermione to catch her breath, Beatrice spins her around to greet the other women in the room.
"Well, it's a good job we have a pamper session planned for you today. This is Madam Malkin and her assistants. They are here to give you a makeover."
A groan escapes Hermione's lips as her heart plummets straight through her chest and lies heavily into her stomach. A personal overhaul is not what she was expecting today, and there's no way she has the patience or the temper to deal with it.
"A makeover?" she spits out. "Why would I need a makeover? I thought Madam Malkin was here to fit me with new robes?"
The older lady steps closer to Hermione and Beatrice, taking the young witch's hand before curtseying. "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions is my primary business, but after the school rush, I find myself with plenty of time on my hands. I decided to use that time to build a second business with a focus on beautification services. My assistants, Deborah and Fiona, are the masters of their craft.
"As soon as I got Beatrice's plea for help, I knew I had to step up. And it seems I'm here in the nick of time."
Dread fills Hermione's heart, which still sits heavily in her stomach. Although she knew her grandmother wasn't all that impressed with her appearance last week, a small part of her had hoped that a new wardrobe and a bottle of Sleekeazy's would be enough to get her through the many public events she might have to suffer should she decide to take the throne.
Obviously, she thought wrong.
"B-beautification services? Don't you think that's a little extreme? I'm happy to wear makeup, Grandmother, when I need to, but an entire overhaul feels a little too much."
Madam Malkin tsks, then walks the same circles around Hermione as Queen Beatrice last Saturday, giving the young princess a similar assessment. When the old witch speaks again, she addresses her words at the queen and not Hermione.
"Yes, yes, you were right, Beatrice, dear. Her hair is a mess, more triangle shaped than anything else. It's going to take a lot of magic to untangle this Diricawl nest. Once we've done that, I'm thinking we might need to use Hair-Be-Gone wax everywhere that might be on show for the Ministry dinner next Saturday: legs, armpits, eyebrows. That should keep it all under control without needing extra maintenance during the week. Then I'll teach Hermione my patented makeup charms, although the Muggle way is always the best when it comes to the face."
Ministry Dinner? Hermione makes a mental note to find out more when she gets five minutes. She can't afford to let the unannounced social occasion distract her from Madam Malkin tearing apart her appearance.
"After that, I can pop up once a month to keep it all tidy."
Beatrice purses her lips in contemplation. "Are you sure that's enough to get her sorted? She needs to make a good impression next weekend, even though she still isn't sure if she'll be accepting the crown."
"I am right here, Grandmother. You can both talk to me directly!" Hermione resists the urge to stamp her foot in frustration as she steps out between Madam Malkin and Queen Beatrice, forcing their attention back on her. She's fed up with them talking over her head about her. "What's wrong with my hair, anyway?"
Her skin prickles in discomfort at the thought of having to change how she looks to impress a bunch of stuffy old suits at a Ministry Dinner. Sure, she whines all the time about the tangle of curls that sits on top of her head, but she has never wanted to do anything drastic to change it. The last thing she wants is to look like an entirely different person.
"Nothing is wrong with your hair if you plan on being a plain teenage witch, Hermione," Beatrice replies. "But you are royalty."
The response does nothing to calm Hermione, and the young witch almost misses her grandmother's following question to Madam Malkin, as she's so absorbed in her grumpy mood.
"What about her teeth? I'm not sure who she inherited them from, as nobody on my side of the family looks like a chipmunk."
"Oh, that's easily taken care of. Just a simple charm. Do you have her mother's permission?"
Clamping her hands over her mouth, Hermione lets out a small squeak. Inside, she fumes about the blatant disregard of her feelings and the way Beatrice and Madam Malkin are talking about her as if she's not there. Hermione and her mother have always agreed that braces would be the right solution to sort out her teeth when the time is right, and the young witch can't believe that Jean Granger has agreed to Beatrice getting them sorted with a charm.
Without even sending an owl to warn me.
The queen waves a hand, dismissing Madam Malkin's question. "Yes, yes. Jean has said it's fine."
"How?!" Hermione bursts out. "I was planning on getting braces once I graduated Hogwarts. And shouldn't you be concerned with my permission, not my mother's? I'm of age, after all."
"Psssht. A princess can't be seen with orthodonture, not when we have magic to fix our shortcomings. You'll use the charm, and that's that. Now let's get to work."
"Don't I get a say in this?" Hermione protests, even as a chair slides underneath her legs, forcing her to sit down. "It seems unfair that you're allowed to make decisions that affect my appearance without even consulting me."
A black cloak fights against Hermione's squirming and ties itself around her neck.
"To protect that lovely jumper from all the potions and charms," the assistant named Deborah drawls as she pulls out a scary-looking comb and her wand.
"You agreed to princess lessons, dear." The queen settles on the sofa, smiling as Amelia passes her another full cup of tea. "This is all part of being a public figure: being preened and primped. Enjoy it. I'm sure many of the young witches you live with will be jealous when you show up at dinner tonight."
"Dinner?!" Hermione screeches, her stomach lurching as she tries to get back out of her seat. "But I promised Harry and Ron that I'd be at tryouts today, and they start at one. I can't miss it, they'll hate me!"
"I'm sure your friends will understand. They will probably be too engrossed in flying to even notice that you're not there. If they're going to get upset over something as insignificant as a missed Quidditch tryout, then maybe they're not your real friends after all. When you take the throne, they'll have to get used to you not being around."
"If I take the throne, I'll be able to tell them why I can't make their important events, especially after promising. Can I at least send them an owl?"
"And tell them what? That you preferred to write your essay than see their silly tryouts?" Beatrice shoots back, giving Hermione a pointed look.
Defeated, Hemione sinks back in her seat, her stomach tying in tight knots. Her only hope is that Madam Malkin might be more efficient at her makeovers than Beatrice expects.
"You'll see soon enough, Hermione, that your country will have to come first before anything else. It's better to let them think you got distracted and forgot about them than to give them a reason to believe you chose to not attend their silly little tryouts.
"And don't forget your posture, dear," the queen finishes before taking a long sip of her hot drink.
Hermione sneers and does nothing to adjust how she's sitting, slumping lower in her chair in defiance of her grandmother. She's in too bad a mood now and doesn't care enough to please her anymore.
"Of course," she snipes, "I must make sure that my back is straight."
The assistant, who has been watching the interaction with beady eyes, chooses that moment to interrupt. "Are you ready to begin, Princess?"
"Do your worst," Hermione mutters in reply before closing her eyes. She takes a couple of deep breaths, letting them out slowly to ward off the incoming panic attack.
She doesn't want to change her appearance. Lavender teased her ruthlessly last night about her painted nails, something so tiny and insignificant, Hermione had forgotten about them. She doesn't want to think how the bitches in her dormitory will react to a full-blown makeover.
With a sinking feeling, she realises it's not only Lavender and her minions she has to worry about. What about Ron and Harry and the rest of their friends? How will they react to a new look?
Hermione groans and slumps further into her seat, wincing as the assistant tugs at a knot in her hair. She tries her hardest not to overthink how awful everything will be when she returns to Hogwarts later.
Saturday 5th October 1996, 01:38 pm
THIS IS AN ABSOLUTE DISASTER. I LOOK LIKE LAVENDER BROWN.
There is no way I can show my face again at school. They're all going to laugh me off the face of the earth. Harry and Ron are going to hate me.
Madam Malkin was far more efficient at her work than Beatrice first suspected, and despite the amount of work she apparently had to do, she finished about twenty minutes ago.
My grandmother, of course, is delighted with the results. She spent the ten minutes after my grand reveal gushing over how princess-like I looked. I think I even saw a tiny tear escape her eyes. She is proud, for Merlin's sake, and all because I look like a normal princess now and not a freak. In the two weeks I've known her, I've not seen Beatrice express this much emotion at all, apart from her disgust at me for showing up in the wrong clothes or anger when I fail to follow her instructions to the letter. If I didn't know better, I'd think that my grandmother is trying to manipulate my looks to be more like my dad and less like my mum.
When Madam Malkin revealed my new face, my grandmother grew ecstatic and even clapped her hands, which is the most pleasure I've ever seen her show. On the other hand, Tonks was so put off by my new appearance that she dropped her mug of coffee, forcing me back into the bathroom to hide.
This is all so stupid. We finished the makeover early enough for me to rush back up to the castle, and instead, I am holed up in a toilet, too afraid to show my new face. Every time I lift my head from my diary, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and don't even recognise the girl staring back at me.
Madam Malkin's assistants have pulled my hair out of its usual tight, frizzy curls. It now falls in dark waves down my back, in the exact same way that Lavender styles hers. There are even blonde highlights, tiny little strands that heighten my natural colour.
Ugh, I got shivers down my back as I wrote that.
My eyebrows are still thick, but they've been plucked and waxed into a tidier shape, adding definition to my forehead and eyes. The stylists didn't go too hard on the makeup, either, and have only applied enough to accentuate what is already there. The charms they have given me are easy to use, too, if I should want to.
Which I do not.
It's my mouth that's throwing my entire identity into disarray. My front teeth are no longer too large for my mouth. Instead, Madam Malkin has shrunk them down so that they fit in with the rest of their little white buddies, and it's changed the entire way the lower half of my face looks.
And do you know what sucks the most? Part of me kind of likes this new look.
I know, that's awful. I have always preached about embracing your most natural self, that you don't need beauty products or to style yourself in a certain way to look nice. And here I am, hair styled, makeup on, TEETH CHANGED, and I am shamelessly enjoying it.
I know I should be rushing back up to Hogwarts right now, but I don't want to leave this bathroom. Ever. Maybe I can ask for a transfer to Beauxbatons? I'm sure Fleur's sister will look after me, especially if I tell them that I'm a princess now.
Ugh. Tonks is knocking on the door. I can't do this. I can't show my face to anyone. I can't face the shame of everybody knowing that Hermione Granger has changed her appearance to fit in.
My life is officially over.
Tonks hammers on the bathroom door, disturbing Hermione from her writing.
"Hermione, come on," she calls through the pink-painted wood. "We need to get moving if you want to make it back to the castle in time."
"No, go away," Hermione calls in reply.
"I promise that my reaction was down to surprise. I've gotten used to how your face looks, and now it's different. But I mean that in a good way."
Hermione sighs and snaps her diary shut anyway before wiping the tears from under her eyes. She observes her new look in the mirror again, trying to work out a way to conceal the changes that have been made. Maybe she could pull her now wavy hair into its usual french plait? But that'll only hide her new hair. Her eyebrows and mouth will take a lot more work to cover up.
A mascara streaked tear travels over her foundation covered cheek. Hermione whispers once more for Tonks to go away and leave her alone.
"Hermione, if you don't unlock the door, I'll do it magically and drag you up to Hogwarts. You can't hide in there forever. And I really want to catch the end of the tryouts. I miss Quidditch!"
Even though Hermione's hands twist the strap of her bag, she knows the Auror is right. She forces her eyes open and wipes the remaining evidence that she's been crying from her face before checking her reflection one last time.
"Maybe the boys won't even notice the change," she tells herself before pulling her bag into her shoulder and yanking the door open. Hermione jumps back in surprise as she comes face to face with Tonks' wand.
"There you are!" the pink-haired girl proclaims, pocketing her wand before stepping back to allow the young witch past her. "I meant what I said when I was shouting at you. You don't look bad at all. It's quite a striking look."
"Thanks, but you don't have to be kind just because my grandmother is paying you to look after me." With a heavy sigh, Hermione traipses back through the foyer and towards the front door, waving a half-hearted goodbye to Dedalus.
Tonks hurries after her.
"I'm not, I promise," she replies. "Hufflepuffs can be honest when we need to be, we're not all sweetness and kind. And I am being honest with you right now. Honestly, you'll get back to school and nobody will pay a blind bit of notice to your new look and you'll worry what all this fuss is about."
"I hope so." Hermione makes it to the wrought-iron gates that mark the boundary of Ballindalloch Castle.
"Trust me." Tonks yanks on Hermione's arm and pulls her to a stop. She hesitates for a moment before pointing her wand at the princess's face to perform a freshen up charm. "There. We can't have you turning up at the tryouts looking a mess, can we? That's no way to impress Ron, after all."
"Oh, will you stop that? I don't fancy him."
"Sure. Whatever you say." Tonks smirks. "Now come on, let's go before we miss tryouts and dinner."
Letting out a shaky breath and summoning all her Gryffindor courage, Hermione nods. "Okay. I can do this."
"Of course you can."
Without giving Hermione a chance to take back her decision, Tonks tightens her grip, turns on the spot, and apparates them to Hogwarts.
⁂
As soon the castle grounds come back into view, and her feet make contact with the grass, Hermione sets off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, moving as quickly as she can without stopping to check if Tonks is following her. A fresh surge of courage has taken control of her body, and Hermione isn't willing to stop it.
It's rained since this morning, and her feet slip and slide on the moss-covered stones, but she pushes on. Up ahead, she can see a lone figure flying near the goalposts, and she picks up her pace, almost breaking into a run to get to the tryouts in time.
But despite her best efforts, she's too late. As soon as the house flags and stands tower over her, a crowd of students dressed in red and gold exit, talking animatedly as they head up the hill towards the castle.
"I missed it," Hermione cries as she sags against Tonks, her hand rubbing her side where a stitch has formed. "I thought we'd have enough time to make it back. Ron and Harry are going to be pissed."
Tonks pats her shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort the young witch, then says, "Maybe they didn't notice you weren't there. A lot of people showed up to watch. What do you want to do now? Do you want to head back up to the castle before it rains again?"
It would be so easy for Hermione to slip into the crowds of Gryffindor supporters and act surprised when her best friends show up, pretending like she's seen it all. But that's the coward's way out, and she's pretty sure they'll spot her lies, especially when they set eyes on her makeover.
Her eyes flit over the crowd, but there's no sign of anyone carrying broomsticks or dressed in the Gryffindor training kit. "I think the boys are still here. I should probably head over to the changing rooms and wait for them."
"Well, off we go then."
With a heavy sigh, Hermione follows the path around the left-hand side of the pitch, cursing as a light drizzle fills the air. Bugger. Tonks puts up a quick Impervius to protect them from the rain as they seek out the changing room.
A barrage of shouting and laughter greets them, but Hermione is too scared to wander in. It's not that she's concerned about seeing something she shouldn't—the changing rooms are non-gendered, after all. But with her bravery fleeting, Hermione welcomes the opportunity to delay the inevitable, even if it's only for a moment longer. With nothing else to do, she leans against the wall next to the door and waits.
⁂
It takes twenty minutes for the potential team members to leave, the wall of noise moving with them. Hermione keeps her head ducked low, hoping that nobody will recognise her, even as Tonks greets all of her new friends enthusiastically.
I need to have a word with her about being more discreet.
As usual, Harry, Ginny and Ron are the last to leave, brooms hooked over their shoulders and happy looks on their faces. They banter between the three of them as they walk, too distracted in dissecting the session to notice Hermione hovering nearby.
"Wotcher, you three!"
Hermione's heart sinks as Tonks calls for her friends' attention. She had been hoping that they would head back to the common room without noticing them, affording her a little bit longer. Then she could ask the Auror to reduce her protective charm, get a little rain on her head and hope that the makeup washes off and her hair returns to its usual frizzy mess.
Fat chance of that happening, Madam Malkin's charms will withstand a dragon attack. Or at least, that's what she said.
"Oh, hiya Tonks!" Harry is the first to reply, wandering over to the waiting pair. "What are you two doing down here? I assumed we'd see you back at the common room. What did you think of tryouts?"
"They didn't watch them," Ron replies. The usual sparkle from his beautiful blue eyes is missing as his gaze burns into Hermione. She shrinks back, taking a step away from the others as his jaw locks into a sneer and his cheeks flush bright red. "Where were you?"
"Time slipped away. I'm sorry but it's just—"
He interrupts her by raising his hand. "Don't bother with the excuses. You promised you'd come and support us."
"Something came up!"
"You mean you didn't want to take a break from your homework? Or you didn't fancy braving the rain to cheer on your best friends?"
"No, it's not that at all, Ron." Hermione cries in exasperation, anger bubbling low in her stomach as he doesn't give her a chance to explain.
A sudden frown appears on his face. "What have you done to your hair?"
"Nothing!" Guilt joins anger as she steps away from his piercing glare, shame creeping up over her face in a hot wave. She hates lying to him, but how else can she explain what she's been up to all morning?
"Are you wearing makeup? What the fuck has happened to your teeth?"
Ron's shout snaps Harry into action, and he steps away from the arguing pair. He places a hand on Ginny and Tonks' back before pushing them up the path, removing the Auror's shield from where it's protecting Hermione. "I think we should head up to the castle, don't you?"
A tiny buzz of magic rushes over her shoulders as Tonks doubles her efforts to protect Hermione from the elements, even at a further distance. The Order member protests Harry's command, but it fades into the distance as disgust floods over Ron's face.
"What's going on, Hermione?" His voice is low as he speaks, giving Hermione no reassurance that things will be okay. There's an edge of disappointment in his questions, which churns all the emotions around in her stomach. She didn't know one person could feel so much all in one go.
Still, she matches his tone as she replies, trying her best to avoid the oncoming argument. "I wish I could explain, Ron. But please, please trust me that I couldn't get out of my plans. I would have been here if I could."
"Did you have a date?" The tips of Ron's ears turn pink. "Who is he?"
All of the tension from last night's confrontation with Lavender, combined with the disregard for her welfare from Madam Malkin and Beatrice this morning and Ron's distrust merge together, and a fire ignites deep inside Hermione. Her heart races as an overwhelming sense of injustice overcomes her, and she clenches her fists by her side as she shouts, "Is that how little you think of me? That I would throw out plans with you for someone else?"
Dark clouds form over Ron's face as he takes a step closer. "So what then?" he spits out. "What is so important that you'd break a promise to me? You got all dolled up. What for?"
"I am not all dolled up!"
"Yes you are! You look like one of Lavender's minions. Even worse, you look exactly like Lavender!"
Hermione steps back, stung. She takes a couple of deep breaths before asking in a quiet voice, "Do you think it looks that bad?"
She closes her eyes, even as tears fill them up. Crying in front of Ron would be the worst thing that could happen right now; she doesn't want him to see the effect he has on her.
"I…it's…you're…well..." His face turns red as he struggles to force the words out. "It's just, there used to be a time when you cared more about what was inside your head, not what was on it. You used to be loyal and now I barely see you. It's like you're avoiding me…us…or something. And then you turn up late looking like this?" He shakes his head. "You're not even Hermione anymore."
The words cut deeper than she ever could have imagined and hurt more than all of the insults from Lavender, Madam Malkin and her grandmother combined. Hermione risks opening her eyes, grimacing as a lone tear escapes.
Please don't cry. Please don't cry.
She catches a quick glimpse of the sad look on Ron's face before he turns on his heels and stomps his way up the path, barging through Harry and Ginny as they look on in dismay.
"Ron, wait, please?" Hermione pleads but her words fall on deaf ears.
As he passes Tonks, Ron stops and points an accusing finger at the Auror. "Ever since you turned up, Hermione has changed. It's all your fault. Harry, Gin. Are you coming with me?"
Without waiting to see if they're following, he continues his strop up the hill towards the castle.
"Guys, I'm sorry—" She takes a step towards them, determined to at least keep them on her side, but before she has a chance to complete her sentence, Ginny interrupts her.
"I never expected you to be the kind of person to swap studying for makeovers." The redheaded girl makes a move to leave but then turns back, giving Hermione the filthiest glare. If looks could kill, Hermione would be Avada Kedavra'd ten times over. "Ron flew well today, not that you care or even bothered to ask. You look ridiculous, by the way."
Harry grimaces then takes Ginny's hand and yanks her up the path. Hermione wraps her arms around herself and watches them follow Ron towards the castle, a strange sensation settling over her.
She had never felt so estranged from them before. It's like she belongs to another world now, and everything she once held dear is slipping out of her grasp.
"I guess I let down more than one person today." She shifts her gaze to her feet as Tonks approaches, holding her arms out for a hug. Hermione shakes her head and turns away from it. She doesn't deserve comfort from anyone.
"He'll come around. They all will, eventually."
Hermione sighs. "I don't know. I wouldn't blame them if they didn't. I've been an awful friend recently. I wish I could explain it all to them, then they might understand why I'm not around, and why I look this way."
"I don't think you're an awful friend at all. You're only doing your best."
"If it's okay with you, I think I'd like to spend the rest of the day alone." Hermione wipes her eyes and her nose, then lifts her head, casting her gaze up at the castle. "If I promise not to venture out then at least you can get an early finish?"
"Are you sure? What about dinner?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Alright, well I'll send Kingsley a patronus so he can make sure the night shift is ready earlier." Tonks looks thoughtful for a moment before speaking again, "Maybe you should see if you could find Ron and explain everything to him? Surely it'll be okay if you only tell one person? It might be good to have a friend on your side other than me?"
Hermione shakes her head. "No, it's no use. He won't talk to me now anyway."
Without waiting to see if Tonks is ready to leave, Hermione heads up the path, feeling the pull of magic as she steps out of the Impervius charm and lets the cool drizzle cover her skin. If only she could wash away the awful afternoon and start again.
She moves with determination, blocking out all of Tonks' attempts to cheer her up as she enters the castle and steps onto the moving staircase. Hermione only has one goal in mind: creeping into the common room and up to bed without anyone bumping into her. The last thing she needs is Lavender getting a glance at her new look.
There's no way Hermione could deal with that on top of everything else today.