Chapter Thirty-Nine: Renovation
"You want them to what?" Severus roared. "Albus, that's the most half-baked, rattle-pated idea I have ever had the misfortune to-"
"Shut your gob, Sevvy," Minerva chastised. "It was my idea and I've already warned them to prepare."
"But you saw what those half-crazed horse-people did to Umbridge! What if Hermione and Cassandra can't-"
"I think the girls are a bit nicer than the Toadwoman," John observed calmly, closing the staffroom door behind him. "And the centaurs aren't really human or horse at all. S'one of their touchy points."
"Exactly why this is a bad idea!" Severus went on. Everyone looked at him as if he were mad, but Minerva, Albus and John knew why he was worried. "Those beasts have more touchy points than Moaning Myrtle and Cassandra Tyler has less tact than…I doubt if she has any!"
"Well, she does have some, just hasn't used it in quite a bit," John explained, smiling dreamily. "'Sides, we'll have Portkeys on she and Hermione both, just in case they need to get out of the Forest quick." There was something about the taciturn werewolf's voice, when he used it, that made everyone calmer.
"And the only ambassador for humans is Hermione," Albus added. "Cassandra is representing the ancient and powerful race of the werewolf, which has been discriminated against by humankind just as much, if not more, than that of the centaurs. That makes her equal to them, and the fact that she's a bitten and not a born werewolf makes her equal to humans."
"Cassandra's the referee?" Snape had a fair point there. The only professor more biased than he was the teacher of Yankish. "Honestly, have you all dropped a bolt?"
"Beautifully spoken, Sev." Cass shut the door behind Hermione as both females entered. There were purple stains on the Yank's forehead and arms, as well as a weird headband of flowers on her head. "You've been around me too long."
"Cassandra, I forbid you both to enter the Forbidden Forest. I'd sooner go myself."
"Too late," Cass and Hermione said as one.
"We just got back," Hermione explained. "Everything we could have hoped for went through, Headmaster."
"But I only told you to prepare for it this morning!" Professor McGonagall protested. "How on earth did you-"
"If we had gone later, we might've missed the Quidditch game," Cass explained. "Hermione'd already read over everything the library had on diplomacy, and my Auror books had some on it, so we just off and went."
"And the verdict was?" Remus Lupin asked.
"The centaurs will oppose Lord Voldemort uniformly," Cass announced. "There now exists a temporary state of truce between the races, for which cession the centaurs request the Ministry get its' head out of its' arse once the war's over. I promised them it would have to anyway if I had anything to say about it, and they seemed to find that exceedingly amusing."
"The centaur leader made Cass an honorary member of the Forbidden Forest's tribe," Hermione added, gesturing to the strange headdress and berry-juice markings.
"I'm a hound," Cass explained proudly. There were several chortles at that pronouncement.
"Apparently centaurs used to keep hunting hounds, who enjoyed tribal status in ancient times, and since Cass is to them more a wolf than a human, they have made her one of them …as a hound." Even Hermione was giggling. "Fancy a bone, there, Professor?"
"I think it's cool," Cass said defensively. "I had to catch a squirrel in my mouth and release it unharmed to join, but I've done weirder things at parties."
"So the Forest is closed off to Death Eaters?" Snape inquired, reluctantly dissolving the frown on his stern face to replace with a look of abject relief. "Well, it was still ridiculously dangerous, but if no harm came of it, I suppose it's alright."
"So good of you to approve, Severus," Dumbledore remarked calmly, blue eyes twinkling. "Exactly what did the initiation entail, Cassandra?"
"Well, I caught my squirrel and let it go, in wolf form of course," she explained. "Then I went human and Ronan's foal, Bern, put the marks on me." She gestured to the long streak of berry juice down her nose. "This one means I'm a girl hound, and the two lines on my cheek are my color when I'm a wolf, and the stripe down my chin means I'm mated and not a puppy. The crowny thing is just a kind of hat the centaurs wear when they have dancing."
"You witnessed the centaurs' dance?" Lupin asked, amazed.
"Witnessed? Hermione and I did it."
"It's sort of pathetic with only two legs, but very aerobically effective." Hermione rubbed a sore calf muscle. "I'd teach you their choreography sometime, but it's one of those secret centaur things."
"Somewhere between the Time Warp and a square dance, really," Cass explained. "I'm exhausted."
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Hermione knew it wouldn't do at all for the Slytherins to see her sneak into their Professor's private rooms. The solution of borrowing Harry's cloak only worked if she brought back clandestine treats from the kitchens afterward, and with her own room as Head Girl, it was kind of hard to return it before morning. Cass had had a brilliant idea, actually, flagrantly against the rules and decidedly clever; which was bribing a house-elf to activate a Floo connection between she and Severus' rooms every night they planned to meet.
But Hermione knew better than anyone that house-elves' loyalties could be strange, so she had solved the problem in a typically Marauder-esque way. She had connected the fireplaces herself, permanently. It took her almost a month and more trips to a hardware-type store in Hogsmeade than were worth mentioning, but finally she managed it.
She was looking forward to the look on Severus' face all day as she shopped with Ginny, Blaise, Lavender and Parvati. The Yule Ball was to be exceptionally opulent this year, as a kind of 'up yours!' gesture to the Dark, and their dress robes, consequently, had to be equally off-the-charts. Hermione's parents had sent her an extremely generous amount of money 'to have fun with,' and since American Muggle money had a much better exchange rate to Galleons and such than pounds, it was far more generous than even they had intended. Ginny, however, had been getting a little frowny about the nose when she checked price tags.
"Hermione," she whispered suddenly. "Can I borrow your robes from last year? I'll transfigure them back when I'm done with them."
"Ladies!" the voice of the shopkeeper there cried. Lavender and Parvati went totally ashen and nearly dropped the robes they had been going to try on. Blaise simply put her hands in the air.
"I did not do it!" The saleslady didn't seem to hear.
"I'm sorry I didn't ask your names earlier…but are you five the ones on this list?"
Blaise looked at the paper the lady was holding out.
'Lavender Brown, plenty of lace
Hermione Granger, something blue
Parvati and Padma Patil, different sets of robes for once
Virginia 'Ginny' Weasley, the most expensive you have for redheads
Blaise Zabini, nothing in black.'
"Yes, we are. Who is it-?"
"This is highly unusual," the saleslady explained, a mischievous grin breaking across her face, "but your ensembles for the Ball are already paid for. Choose anything you like."
"By whom?" Lavender looked exceedingly pleased. "A secret admirer?"
"More likely a wealthy gentleman whose mistress is one of your friends," the saleslady observed wryly. "Or perhaps someone with bets on what the five of you will wear."
Hermione glanced at the list.
"No black for Blaise?" She gave her friends a wry smile. "This positively reeks of Cass."
"I think she looks good in black," the professor observed, stepping out of a dressing room. She had on a somewhat scandalously-cut gown in emerald green satin, with silver and gold serpent embroidery. It clashed wildly with the orange-and-pink scrunchie on her ponytail. "Too much?"
There was a hacking sound as Parvati swallowed her chewing gum. The scruffy American had gone from an absent-minded looking pedagogue slash rock and roll junkie to a drop-dead knockout. It was ever so slightly offensive to the fashionistas of Gryffindor, just like Hermione's brush with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.
"Professor!"
"Where did you find it?"
"Who did your makeup?"
"What the fuck?" Cass backed away as the girls came at her, neatly tripping and knocking over a mannequin, which smoothed the dress it wore and stood back up with a vague 'humph' sound. From the floor, Cass managed to gasp out a question: "Idn't this how I always look?"
"Professor Cass, you've pulled a Cinderella on us," Blaise informed her. "You look like a refugee from 'Witch Weekly's fashion spread."
"You mean it fits okay?"
"Sweetheart, the word we use here for a dress like this on a body like yours is 'damn,'" a fruity-seeming salesman announced. "And you were hiding that figure in coveralls –I'm shocked. Really."
"But I like coveralls," Cass murmured.
"Honey, what you need are some diamonds to go with this. There's an emerald-and-diamond set at J. Boutonnière's that'll be just the thing. And for gods' sakes, get that obscene scrunchie out of your hair." The salesman pulled the scrunchie loose, releasing the tangled burgundy mess that was Cass's hair, and shot it across the room. "Like putting rubies into a paper sack. Honey-child, when last did you brush this hair?"
"Uhhh…Tuesday?"
"Get that dress off. You're going to the salon right now if I have to use the Imperius. Now, now, now! Step to!" Cass obediently (and frightenedly,) scurried back into the dressing room and the salesman began to fan himself with a very large, very lilac handkerchief. "Honestly, that girl and her coveralls. I feel like I'm grooming a collie here." Blaise and Hermione stifled snorts, but clearly not quite well enough, because he turned on them next. "You must be Hermione," he observed, taking her gracefully by the hand. "And Blaise, dahling, I'd know you anywhere, even wearing that. Sweet girl, who died and took all your clothes?"
The garment in question was a 'Screw Umbridge With a Broom' t-shirt, courtesy of a screen-printing kit Cass had mistakenly let Blaise use.
"Do you like it?" the Slytherin inquired, turning around like a modle on the runway. The reverse side read, quite simply, 'Brush End First.'
"Oh, honey, now I do!" The salesman looked indeed to be very pleased. "Did you hear about her little crusade for wizards' morality? She shut down the Sticky Lick for two whole weeks on some bullshit sanitation charge!"
"No!" Blaise's ears went absolutely white, the sign that she was infuriated to the point of insanity. "That…that cow!"
Hermione made a tiny sound and Blaise immediately reverted to hostess mode. "Oh, Hermione, this is Johnny Mulrosey. He's a fashion columnist for half the magazines in Europe."
"The other half being under Toadwoman's thumb," Johnny remarked grouchily.
"So what brings you to Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked.
"Personal fashion consultant bit. You would not believe what some posh goddess is paying to get your Professor there looking less like a Weird Sister or a Muggle mechanic."
"Posh goddess?" Hermione asked.
"The same lady who's picking up the tab for Yule Ball getups for all of you," Johnny explained with a secretive gesture. "Her orders were that Cass Tyler and her handmaidens be fabulous for the Ball."
"And you're the fairy godmother?" Blaise snorted.
"Well, when you want the best," Johnny explained. "Merlin's dildoes, what's taking that girl so long? Cassie!"
The flamboyant fashion-man went to go check on Cass and Hermione bent close to Blaise.
"Exactly what is the Sticky Lick?" Blaise looked as if her friend had gone mad.
"Best gay bar in wizarding London, why?" Hermione's eyes went momentarily wide and Blaise smiled. "Come on, Granger, you didn't think I was stric'ly-dickly, did you? Half of Slytherin swings both ways."
"And the …other half?" Hermione managed to gasp.
"Either in the closet, flaming fairy or occasionally straight." Blaise sighed. "Draco and Professor Snape are the only straight guys in there, y'know. Crabbe an' Goyle could make y'sick."
At that moment, Cass reemerged, looking her scruffy self in the gray coveralls she kept for working on Dingo's engine. Johnny seemed on the verge of collapse merely from the sight of their t-shirts and jeans, so Blaise, Hermione and Ginny found themselves along for the ride to every womens' haunt in Hogsmeade. One hairdresser at the salon worked a small miracle on Hermione's mane while another turned Blaise's nearly black minibraids into a stylish and shockingly adult updo. Ginny's red hair moved one hairdresser to tears of ecstasy when he saw how well maintained and naturally highlighted it was, while a small SWAT team worked, clouds of products and steam surrounding them, on the disheveled disaster that was Cass. Several French manicures, disturbingly relaxing facials, and nearly an hour under magical hairdryers later, the four femmes fatale emerged. On a whim, Hermione let one of the 'beauty technicians' there pierce her ears, something she hadn't had the nerve to do in the Muggle world. It didn't even tingle.
Next came the clothing stores. Cass's coveralls narrowly escaped a rubbish can or Johnny's actually burning them, but Blaise finally succeeded in getting an oath not to wear the things in public hammered out. While Cass, Blaise and Ginny were being intensely fascinated by toe socks, a Muggle invention quite new to wizardkind, Hermione managed to get Johnny alone.
"What would you suggest for –erm…underwear?"
"Lingerie, dear. Underwear is for senior citizens." Johnny looked Hermione up and down. "With your figure, there's not much you can't do. What look are you going for?" A blank, slightly blushing look was all she could quite manage. "Okay, do you want tastefully sultry, nervously virginal, leather let's-scare-the-man, or smoldering temptress?"
"Ummm…"
"Your kind of guy wouldn't fancy the slutty type, and leather might show through with your figure, not to mention it itches. I'd say tastefully sultry." Hermione managed a nod despite her scarlet face and ears. "Don't worry, dear. You're in my capable hands."
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A/N: Lemon unfortunately delayed due to shopping trip. Sorry.