After Malfoy had walked back and forth the corridor for three times, muttering under his breath, Hermione saw a gleaming glass door appear in front lined with gold, with the words "Claude's Salon" written in large letters across the panel.

"You," Malfoy pointed at her before pushing open the door, "Need a makeover from Claude."

"Bonjour!" A man with a sharp goatee dressed in a sharp yet casual looking suit greeted them as soon as they stepped in, "Ah Draco! Comment allez-vous? 'avent seen you in quite a while! Your mozzer iz wiz yoo again, non?"

"No, Claude," Draco sulked, "I've brought… a friend. She needs some help."

"She, eh? Did I hear correct? A mademoiselle ozier than your mozzer?" Claude peered around Malfoy's shoulder and assessed Hermione, who stared him resolutely in the eye.
"Ah…" Claude looked back at Draco with a knowing look in his eye, "We'll get her into shape in no time. Antoine —" he snapped his fingers at a fashionably dressed helper "get some proper clothes for this young lady. We'll make her stunning." He winked at Malfoy before pushing Hermione to a seat in front of a mirror.

"Zis hair," Claude tugged at Hermione's bushy curls, tutting, "We'll have to pull zem straight. And add a few blonde highlights. Here? Or zair…" After mumbling suggestions to himself, Claude finally got to work on Hermione's hair, directing a pair of floating scissors nimbly and cutting at lightning speed. Meanwhile, another helper worked on Hermione's face, first giving her a moisturizing face mask, then sticking cucumber slips onto her closed eyes, which reminded her of the spa ads she always saw in the muggle world. Then, while her hair was pulled straight by a strange contraption, foundation, concealer, eyeliner, lip gloss — all the works of makeup—were applied onto her face.

Finally, the brushes stopped and the contraption was removed.

"You can open your eyes now," Claude's voice had a triumphant smile in it, "Ma cherie, you are beautiful."

Hermione's eyes sprang open at the command, sucking in a breath as she took in the person in the mirror. She blinked, and so did the girl in the mirror. She moved her hands up to touch her perfectly straightened hair. Her fingers meandered down her face, coming to rest at her newly trimmed eyebrows, long, mascaraed eye-lashes, and dark brown eye-shadow that brought out the even deeper hazel of her eyes. Her lips looked soft with the lipstick as well, covering her originally dry and chapped lips.

"This make-up is magic. It'll last for at least 2 days with zero damage or fatigue to skin," the helper told Hermione, grinning proudly.

"Draco!" Claude sang, "Come see your girlfriend!"

"She's not —" Hermione could hear Malfoy say before he stopped mid-sentence. Through the mirror's reflection, Hermione could see him stop in his tracks, his jaw nearly becoming unhinged as he took in the sight.

"Granger, you look…" his voice trailed off as he gulped visibly.

"Oui, oui, we know she's gorgeous," Claude interrupted, "Ah and here's Antoine with the clothes." Antoine had come back with a whole rack of clothes. From what Hermione could see, almost all consisted of some revealing element — full with plunging necklines and tight tank tops.

Before any of them could react — or for Hermione to protest — she was ushered into a changing room by an excited Claude. The first set of clothes were stuffed into her hands and the changing room curtain was shut fiercely closed. Not wanting to deal with the hyped up French guy outside, Hermione sighed and pulled off her baggy sweater to change into the clothes. It was the one with a plunging neckline and tight bodice. She groaned. This is all for revenge, she reminded herself.

After a few minutes, the curtain shifted open slowly. But before anyone could see the petite figure within the changing room, a person strode forward and shut it back again.
"That's quite enough, Claude," came the cool voice of Draco Malfoy, "She's still a student. I won't have her dressed like that." And under his breath, he hissed, "Granger, get that hideous thing off, do you hear me?"

"Ooh," Claude cooed, "Protective, aren't we?"

While changing back into her sweater with a sigh of relief, Hermione thought through his quick reaction when he had caught a glimpse of what she was wearing. He had averted his gaze immediately, rushing forward to her rescue. She hadn't expected that. Draco Malfoy, being a gentleman for once, she mused.

After all that hassle, in which Malfoy turned down the whole rack of clothes, grumbled at no one in particular, took out a sack of galleons from his robes to pay for the service, stuffed them into Claude's arms, and dragged Hermione out of the room.

"Be sure to come visit again, Draco,"Claude bowed them out the door, smirking, "And remember to bring that belle-dame back soon." He winked flirtatiously at Hermione.

"You didn't have to pay for that," Hermione protested when the door swung shut and melted back into solid wall, "I have money as well, y'know. Plus, I was the one who got that makeover, not you."

"Granger," Malfoy drawled, turning to peer down at her, "I am a VIP and it cost me over 300 galleons. We have a 75 percent off discount for VIPs. Are you sure you could've managed the full price?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, faux concern and the irritable haughtiness of someone who has never worried about money in his life. Hermione went silent. He was right; she did not have that kind of money.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered grudgingly. Malfoy grunted in response, waving his hand off-handedly.

With their invisibility charm back on, both crept back to their shared common room. It had been long past midnight and Malfoy went directly to bed, complaining all the while about how long the makeover had lasted. Hermione, however, sat down at her table and proceeded to start writing an essay on venomous plants that had been recently discovered in East Asia. Professor Sprout may seem lenient, but she did not receive late homework well.

But soon, Hermione's head drooped down and came to rest on her folded arms. It had been a long, long day.

I really need to rest … for just one minute. Then I'll get up and continue my work, as usual, she thought to herself drowsily.

Her body apparently did not comply, for in a split second, her lids had closed shut and her chest had eased into deep rhythmic breaths. For someone who had always been a light sleeper, it was the first time in a very long time for her to sleep so soundly. She was even far too deeply asleep to notice a pair of long, pale fingers pulling a warm quilt over her hunched body.