SALTY MOUTH / EP. 1 of 2 /CH. XVII
.
she had salt running in her veins
but I loved her far too much
not to let her bleed
over my open wounds
.
It is the essence of the entire world to be diverse. To be both the beauty and the beast, bound together as one—just like nature. Though fierce and livid, she still hides a tremendous amount of love within—unseen by eyes but found in silence, in those rare moments of lucidity when the mind stills and sees for the first time.
It grows with the first morning dew before each dawn and rests in every sleepy flower closed by smoky dusk. So present, and yet overlooked.
The forgotten magic of love—all kinds, waiting in the loveliest corners of a human soul. No matter how odd, how different, or unusual. It is still love—plain as that; the real reason kids understand it so seamlessly. They don't analyse, they just feel—and that right there was the whole issue with Hermione Granger.
She had to understand before letting herself accept any sort of emotions. It was her way of surviving, her safe zone which ran as smoothly as a Swiss watch and had been lasting for about sixteen years before the massive revolution took over: Her feelings, blatantly refusing to follow the rules she had once set, and leaving her with nothing but chaos in her head.
The chaos by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Up until meeting that woman, Hermione had no trouble managing her reactions whatsoever. She knew how to hold back tears, knew how to handle her frustration or anger, but that once strong composure was long since gone.
She became a whining little child anytime the witch was around, crying on every occasion she sent her a nasty look or spat some venom; and it was all just because of those irrational feelings she held toward her. Feelings so irrational Hermione refused to believe in the natural occurrence of them.
She hadn't thought of Bellatrix that way before the Occlumency lessons, had she? Of course, she hadn't! That wicked woman must have got inside her head and messed with her thoughts, planted those feelings inside her just for the sake of her own sadistic idea of fun and then silently laughed behind her back as she watched her struggle.
The woman was so twisted it would be no surprise if that was exactly what was going on—and it must have been, because if Hermione did fancy the fairer sex, she'd have known about it by then, right? There'd never been a single case she could say her eyes rested on a girl just because she'd find her beautiful—at least not in a romantic way.
She admired women, yes. She had platonic crushes but that didn't mean anything. It was pure appreciation of their wit and intelligence. Hell, she was allowed to feel that!
It was the exact same scenario with Bellatrix at first as well. The young girl thought she was smart and talented, hence the affection, and the witch, probably sensing her growing interest, had taken the chance and made something vile and twisted out of it, just to make Hermione more miserable.
The young girl couldn't believe how stupid she was for not thinking about this option earlier. She could have been spared from so much self-hatred and instead pour her energy into something a lot more productive, like those damned dreams of hers.
It was slowly becoming unbearable and not only because of Ronald Weasley's affectionate glances. It was also his best friend, Harry Potter, fighting this dark wizard, someone called Lord Voldemort, who was apparently planning on taking over the world.
She remembered it was precisely three years ago when his name popped in her dreams for the first time and had been a part of ever since. It began with Ronald's little sister Ginny crying over the magical diary she confined in, and went on the very next night with Harry and a replicated dialogue he led with the headmaster. He claimed that the old man had told him the diary was an item of a very dark nature and a possession of Voldemort's, but unfortunately refused to say any more about the subject.
Hermione had been tempted numerous times to approach the real-life Albus Dumbledore to ask for his help, because she knew he was a man of an immense intelligence and skill, but she never had done so just out of pure fear he'd think she'd gone completely mental.
Recalling the conversation she had with Professor McGonagall in her third year over the time-turner, she could still clearly hear her voice stressing the importance of being careful—not to get seen, let alone interfere in the past events, for people would think she'd gone mad.
The young witch saw both situations in a similar light, so she had dismissed the option involving Dumbledore and rather focused on her own abilities. Maybe it wasn't the quickest way but it sure as hell was safer.
She would spend hours in the Hogwarts library, many times ditching Draco, just for the sake of trying to figure something out, but to no avail. She had been clueless ever since that whole madness started, knowing as much about it now, at sixteen, as she had in her third year, but still tried to hold to the hope, no matter how small, that maybe one day it would all start making sense.
Surely, Bellatrix did drop her some bread crumbs, but Hermione was no longer that naive to believe everything the witch and her sister would say to be true. Particularly when it could be of any help—yet, she still couldn't stop herself from planning on ordering plenty of books centred around esotericism once back home, and she certainly would have if only she had the time...
The Sleeping Draught had always been Jean's speciality. As soon as the spring approached, bringing the sweet scent of blossoms to her windows, the witch would spend her evenings out in the fields, harvesting essential plants for the formula. Her modern kitchen would turn into a proper Wiccan shed, consisting of nothing but a strong scent of lavender sprigs lying everywhere around the room. She would pour all her heart into brewing the potion, even take a few days off from work to get some extra hours for crushing the remarkable amount of herbs that devoured her kitchen.
According to her, there could never be enough of the sleeping potion, and she would wave off anyone saying that the supply, which was breaking the shelves in the pantry, would be too much even for a hundred ghouls.
"What if something bad happens and we run out of it," she'd retort, sweating over the steamy surface, "it's a cure for everything!"
Got a headache? Sleep it off. Stomachache? Sleep it off. Any issue? Just sleep it off!
Hermione had given up bringing up the point about overdosing years ago. She had consumed so much of the liquid she should have been ten years deep in a coma by now, and yet there she was, finally back home and luckily awake after another dose of the concoction.
She was sitting on her old bed, feet tucked under her knees, pulling a puzzled face at her mother. The surprise she had been promised before being sent to sleep everything off was finally out, but it didn't spark any sort of excitement she'd initially hoped for.
"Greece?" Hermione managed to repeat while yawning, trying to steal some time to think, "just the two of us?"
"Yes—well," Jean shrugged her shoulder. "I was supposed to go with your dad but he was denied even a day off, so—it was just me," she stated bitterly.
"What?! But he's working overtime! We barely see him anymore and they won't even let him spend some time with us?! That's so unfair!"
"Yes, it is, yet he won't say a word about it to the management," Jean let out, startling the girl. "I've told him countless times to stand up for himself; I've told him the job's too challenging, too harsh on the whole family, but he's so very stubborn! I cannot understand why he'd still insist on—!" she paused, probably realising this unexpected outburst might have been a bit over the top.
She let out a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few seconds. "I mean." She glanced at her perplexed daughter, smiling faintly. "I know he— I get that he's just— I always—" Hermione waited but no explanation made it to her ears.
"Look, Mione." Jean stopped trying and went back to the previous subject. "There are two plane tickets and since you're back from Draco's, it would really mean a lot if you went with me."
"Mama," the young girl put her blanket aside, crawling closer to her. She wasn't fooled by her sudden perky tone, lacking any kind of sincerity. "Is everything all right?"
"Of course, silly, why shouldn't it be?" Jean forced out a laugh. "I just had a rough day and I'm taking it out on your dad." She winked, putting her arm over Hermione and tugging her close. "I guess I just miss having him around... and I miss having you around!" She squeezed her shoulder.
The girl slightly pulled away, her eyes still lingering over her mother's. She wasn't satisfied with the explanation she'd received and couldn't help thinking something was going on.
The woman was rarely crossed, let alone with her husband, and if so, she had never dragged her daughter into it.
Hermione opened her mouth, going for another question, but Jean, clearly having no desire to explore her feelings any further, quickly attacked her first.
"Tell me you're coming!" She squeezed her hand, determined to maintain the subject. It was Hermione's turn to get cornered.
Had it been any other time, she wouldn't be so reluctant to accept the offer. She loved to travel. She loved learning about different cultures, reading under the trees, accompanied by a salty breeze and mild splashing waves, but not this time. After her experience in Malfoy Manor, she would much rather stay home and just be happy about it.
"Uhm, I probably shouldn't. I need to get back on track. The school starts in a month and I haven't had a chance to—"
"Hermione, dear," Jean pursed her lips together. "If there's any kid prepared enough for school, even without preparation, it's you, so don't give me this nonsense. You are one of the brightest girls—the brightest if you ask me, and I'm not saying that just because I'm a little biased." She nodded, raising her eyebrows, making Hermione chuckle. "I've got proof and it's right here!" She pulled a yellow parchment out of her pockets, handing it to Hermione.
"That's my O.W.L. results," the girl pointed, taken aback as she unfolded the letter, "don't tell me you've been carrying it everywhere with you ever since I sent it to you!"
"You want me to say no, don't you?"
Hermione let out a laugh, shaking her head. Why was she even surprised?
"Okay, let's leave the O.W.L.s out of it." Jean quickly grabbed the letter out of Hermione's hands, folded it, and put back into her pocket. "My point is, you work too hard and you deserve a little break. Besides, I'd like to spend as much time with you as I can before I'm forced to let you go for another year." Jean's eyes suddenly reminisced a wounded puppy and Hermione didn't have the heart to say no anymore.
Wasn't this emotional blackmailing supposed to work solely the other way around, the young girl thought desperately as she voiced her reluctant consent.
Jean gave her a huge smile. "Brilliant! I'm sure you'll love it there! Those beautiful beaches, the monuments...!" She gestured vehemently as she stood up from Hermione's bed, making a few springs cry. "Oh, and guess what! We'll be staying at Blair's—you do remember Blair, don't you? She owns the villa near the.."
Hell, of course, she remembered.
It was impossible to forget about someone like Blair Alderidge, the very definition of ne plus ultra. Not because she'd be this gorgeous creature of them all, the kindest, most humble person to ever walk this Earth. No—she was the perfection itself in the most unusual sense.
She was intelligent, straightforward, and audacious, sometimes a little too audacious, but still unbelievably charming with that dry sense of humour that would leave everyone laughing for days.
Hermione could still remember the way she used to look at the woman—as if her every move was turning the air into a plethora of silver stars, raining down on her like a hailstorm. The way she carried herself, talked, even laughed—it all seemed like an art to Hermione. She'd admired her with every inch of her soul, wishing to grow into at least half the woman she was: the rare combination of glamour and sass, the true wonder of the girl's, back then, tiny little world.
Goodness, it had been years—years since she saw her—and reflecting on the whole thing now from her teen's perspective was, quite frankly, bitterly amusing: how smitten she had been, how small and silly, always following her like a little puppy.
She wondered how different her view was now, how different she was—whether she'd changed or managed to stay the same. She wondered many many things but didn't ask: she wanted to see for herself.
And she did.
It had been a couple of days since arriving on one of the gorgeous Greek islands and finally seeing Blair after all those years.
Hermione had been on pins and needles the whole flight, earning a few chuckles from her mother. The reunion wasn't as exciting for her as it was for the girl. Jean and Blair were best friends ever since their university years and even though one lived in Britain and the other in the US, they still managed to see each other from time to time.
Jean used to say it was a friendship meant to be. 'How else could you explain a meeting of a witch and an American gal at the British university?!'
She would always laugh about the first time she saw Blair, though she'd refuse to tell Hermione anything about it. It was only a matter of time till she found out the reason why.
The girl had overheard them talking over drinks one evening when Blair came for a visit. The woman and her parents were sitting outside, while she peered from behind the door, curious what they were laughing about.
"I still cannot forget what you did back then! What was it again, the thing he said to you?" Her mom was in tears.
"Well," Blair elegantly flipped her dark blonde hair and started in her old hollywood accent. "The idiot came to me, put his hand on my ass and went—Baby," she changed her voice to make it sound a bit deeper, "how about some action, you and me. See that right there? That's my room—or we can stay and do it right here, I don't mind."
Jean turned to her husband, laughing even harder. "And you know what she did?! She just said 'okay,', pulled down his pants and mind you, there was everybody to witness this, she pulled down his pants, took a good look and turned to us, saying 'Oh wow, judging by that size, I can tell you all, this will be my first time with a girl'."
"You did not!" John choked, joining his wife, laughing her arse off.
"She did." Jean managed to say through the tears. "The boy was mortified! He's never come near her ever since."
"Unreal."
Hermione had been too small to find the situation funny—she couldn't believe her Blair would do such a thing to somebody. Though it was true the man didn't have any right to harass her like that, her action still seemed too vicious in her young eyes.
She learnt very soon that Blair was quite an unpredictable woman who always managed to surprise no matter how well one knew her—but she had grown to love this quality of hers and as she got older and less of a prude, she'd find the adventures—which her mom would write about in the letters they shared—she and Blair had together amusing. Hell, sometimes she wished to be able to join them, but being at Hogwarts didn't give her the possibility, and when it finally came to a holiday, Blair would always be too busy acting in theatre.
There were quite a few attempts at getting together, and despite her mom's magical abilities and Blair's money, the two most potent tools in the world, it had unfortunately never happened. Therefore one couldn't blame Hermione when she started jumping from ground to ceiling upon hearing who it was waiting for them in Greece.
Long time or not, she almost knocked the woman over as she squeezed her in a bone-crushing embrace the second she approached them with that familiar wide grin, showing a lot of perfectly white straight teeth.
"I cannot believe it! God, you've grown into a beautiful young woman! " She opened her mouth in disbelief, holding Hermione in front of her as soon as she pulled away.
"And you haven't changed a bit! You're as stunning as I remember!" Hermione replied, smiling so hard her cheeks were burning.
"Please, can I keep her?" The woman turned to Jean, giving her a fake kiss on the left cheek. "Hey, darling."
Hermione was delighted to see Blair seemed every bit of herself as she remembered her to be and she specifically got assured of that one particular afternoon. She was just coming back from the town's bookshop with a bag full of psychotropic literature when she overheard the two women talking.
"... well, I found the maid cleaning in my own bed, under my own husband."
"Oh God! What did that bastard, Bill, do?"
"Before or after I made sure his lousy dick wouldn't produce any more children?" Blair asked in that posh, amused voice before taking a sip from her glass.
Hermione couldn't help but felt the same old feeling of awe washing over her, marvelling at the fact that Blair could be talking about worms and germs and still manage to sound and look that classy.
Hell, even without magical abilities, she had the charm worth hundreds of wizards.
Hermione had always considered it ironic how every good thing in her life vanished or turned into something vile and disturbing sooner or later.
Quite like this lovely vacation.
She wanted to believe, she really did, that someplace away would do her good, that she'd be finally able to get a fresh new perspective, but unfortunately none of that happened; instead, she got even more confused and anxious over her chaos of feelings, forcing her to reconsider her accusations toward Draco's aunt.
Because suddenly it wasn't just the dark witch causing her stomach to flip anytime she looked her way. There was someone else, and that person right there was the final nudge Hermione needed to finally stop lying to herself and look at things with a pair of sober eyes.
Those eyes that somehow thought Blair looked more beautiful with every passing day; the same eyes that made a habit of resting on her smiling lips and her exposed skin more than they should.
It scared the hell out of her when she realised she'd been staring at her unbelievably long legs, quite intrigued, thinking how amazing they looked in that mini dress she was wearing—and this time she could say with certainty it wasn't a simple feeling of admiration.
Her eyes went wide as soon as she realised what'd been travelling through that sick head of hers. She quickly sat up, almost falling from her beach lounger chair, right next to Blair's, accidentally dropping her book to the sand. She recklessly picked it up, burying her nose in its depths.
"Out with it." Blair's voice found Hermione.
"What?"
"Who'd you kill?"
"What?"
"I'd like to ask more, but I'm afraid I'm running out of questions you could answer with what."
Hermione smiled against her will.
"You seem distracted."
"Not at all."
"You're reading that book upside down."
"Well, I wondered why the letters didn't make any sense." The girl let out a very forced chuckle, closing the debate.
Later that evening, when Hermione ran to the beach to distance herself from the woman and think about everything in the tranquillity of the white sand, she realised it was impossible to ignore the obvious any longer.
Maybe it had been in her all along and she was just too young, too immature and blind to understand it fully. She had forced herself to believe her feelings were just a matter of appreciation and respect, but paying closer attention to her body and the way it reacted while looking upon Bellatrix or Blair, she could say it was clearly not at all that innocent.
She wondered, though, how come she had figured that out just now? Why hadn't she had this sort of feelings in Hogwarts toward her female classmates as well?
Both, Bellatrix and Blair were significantly older than her, probably in their mid-thirties. Did she have a thing for just more mature women? And if so, what caused it? She couldn't have mommy issues, her mother had always been very loving! Was it some defect during her pregnancy then? Had she been anxious a lot? Hermione had read about a study stating that the prenatal stress increases the chances of homosexuality or bisexuality substantially.
The young girl buried her face in her palms as a flood of questions started popping in her head. "This is absurd," she muttered.
What about Victor then? That famous quidditch seeker, who was quite smitten with her, according to Padma Patil. She liked him too, right? Oh, she didn't know anymore.
Yes, Hermione thought he was sweet and funny, but when it came down to physical stuff, she had backed off like a scared cat.
So she didn't like men at all?
Her eyes focused on a group of shirtless boys—particularly one of them—running after the ball, which had fallen way out of his reach. She could honestly say he was handsome, but that was about it. Her stomach didn't flip when he made eye contact and sent her a blinding smile. She didn't feel anything—but still, that was no proof.
Maybe he just wasn't the right one.
Hermione suppressed a laugh. 'Yeah, right, keep bullshitting yourself, Mione.'
She was aimlessly roaming across the beach, wondering what she had done to deserve such punishment, because it certainly wasn't any gift from above. Maybe she had been a killer in her previous life or another kind of a horrible person, and the universe was just trying to even it out; or maybe and more likely it was just some teenage phase she had to go through. Surely, she wouldn't be the first one.
Oh, how she wished she had a girl friend—someone to share this burden with. She'd ask her if she, too, had ever felt attracted to someone of the same gender, if she too had sometimes inappropriate thoughts and if it was okay to feel that way.
But she didn't have a friend like that and she certainly wasn't going to ask Draco, that one was clear. What would she tell him anyway?
'Hey, I think I might have a crush on your aunt, do you think it's normal?'
She stopped dead in her track.
Wow.
That was the first time Hermione addressed her feelings in their true nature, without playing around with words. She did acknowledge she had a crush on Bellatrix and there was no going back from that. Bellatrix and now Blair, too.
She let out another laugh, full of desperation, attracting a few curious looks.
"Sorry," she apologised to the family who'd raised eyebrows at her unexpected outburst. She moved, slowly making her way back to Blair's.
What seemed funny to her was the fact that she finally might have feelings for someone but they happened to be the two people who would never look at her the same way she looked at them. Ever.
But that was okay! Because even if she felt about them a certain way, she'd never act on it. Period.
"Where have you been, Mione?! I was so worried!" Jean leapt from her chair as soon as her daughter appeared at the patio of the luxurious villa, unfashionably late.
"Let the girl live! She was probably downtown, charming the local fellows with that innocent look." Blair smirked, flipping a page of some magazine lying in front of her. "Are you hungry, darling?"
"No, thank you." Hermione forced a smile, avoiding Blair's eyes at all cost. "I was just walking around and forgot about the time, I'm sorry, mom," she apologised lowly, using the same puppy eyes Jean had when she asked her to come with her to Greece.
"Okay," she sighed, softening, "but don't do that again, please... anything could happen."
"Jean! Stop scaring the poor girl, she's not twelve anymore! Besides, the worst thing that ever happened on this island was most certainly Maaria's new haircut."
Hermione chuckled. Maaria was Blair's housemaid, a Greek woman almost in her seventies, quite plump and tiny, always smiling from ear to ear. The two women shared a very special kind of bond, sealed from the very first day by a totally drunk Blair who had had the woman swear she would never try to seduce any of her potential husbands.
Maaria told Hermione so when she invited her to the kitchen for a slice of a karythopita.
"She was a mess, my poor baby! It was a few days after she left 'the bastarde'. She was crying all night— well, crying and singing, the chorus of that song—what's it called? 'I can't help myself', but changed the lyrics from 'Sugar pie honey bunch, you know that I love you' to 'Bill you twat, lousy slag, you know that I loathe you'."
"Hey, come over here, I want to show you something," Blair addressed the girl, whose stomach immediately made a soft somersault. The very first one.
'Oh great! Now what?! I'm gonna feel nervous about Blair too? That Blair I've known my entire life?!'
She folded her arms as some form of an invisible protection and reluctantly went to the woman, stopping a good few feet away, leaving quite a distance between them. Blair turned her head to her and smiled, slightly leaning from her chair to take Hermione's wrist and pull her closer.
Her hand was so soft and warm and the young witch suddenly felt like melting, standing so close behind her, all hazy from that intoxicating perfume clouding her brain. She could almost feel the heat radiating from her body and as much as she tried to fight the urge, she couldn't help but bend down even closer, casually resting her chin against Blair's shoulder and leaning her head against hers to see better.
'Merlin, help me!'
"Mione?" The voice came to her as if from behind a closed door, making her jump, because in those few magical seconds she had managed to forget all about her mom standing just a few feet away.
"Uhm?" She straightened her back and moved away from Blair as quickly as she could, feeling redness spreading all over her guilty face.
"Listen, honey, I've got an owl from work half an hour ago," Jean started, drawing invisible patterns over the top rail of her chair. "Something unexpected has happened and I'm supposed to be there tomorrow morning. They've sent me the portkey."
Hermione's face faltered. "We're leaving?"
"I am—you don't have to go with me. I've already talked to aunty Blair." She smiled at her friend, who clucked her tongue and winked. "She doesn't mind. I'll be back in four days, anyway."
"Oh," Hermione's stomach jumped upon the realisation what that possibility really meant. She would be alone with the woman for four days straight. Was that a good idea? Probably not, but it would be really rude to say she wanted to go home—even though she didn't, just should.
She bit her inner cheek, looking at Blair.
"Come on, can't you see my presence has only done you good? I haven't seen you touch a book for ten minutes straight!" She smiled, earning a playful scowl from the girl. It was as if she heard Draco, who was nudging her about her passion anytime he was given a chance.
"What do you say?" Jean nodded in her direction.
"Well," Hermione started, trying to suppress the waves of butterflies forming in her belly, "I guess I'll stay then and wait for you."
If only she didn't.
Because her feelings grew stronger and stronger anytime Blair's warm skin brushed against hers, giving her a fever which had nothing to do with the burning sun high above them; anytime she made one of her jokes, leaving Hermione laughing until her stomach hurt.
The girl couldn't remember the last time she was so happy-confused.
She would often find herself looking at the woman from behind her book, not even paying attention to the content because there was finally something much more interesting than 'The History of Magic'.
"What would you say if we went out tonight? You've reached sixteen recently—that's a good reason to get drunk," Blair called from her white beach lounger chair.
Hermione cleared her throat, tearing her eyes from Blair's flat stomach and flipped the page she didn't even start reading. "Drunk?" She hoped the woman was joking.
"Yeah, you'll be an adult in a year, won't you? I mean, according to that magical law of yours. It's about time to start living—sixteen's the best." She lifted her head, giving Hermione one of her charming smiles.
"I don't think I should."
"Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't attach yourself to anyone's leg, begging them to sing with you Frank and Nancy Sinatra's 'Something Stupid'."
Hermione raised her eyebrows but Blair only waved her hand. "Don't even ask, it's been a long time ago and I don't remember any details."
And however much Hermione wanted to protest, she couldn't say anything when Blair knocked on her door at eight p.m., wearing the tightest dress she probably could.
"You won't need this," she took The Astral Dictionary out of Hermione's hand as she approached her, holding the book in front of her eyes. "Oh my, what is this deep spiritual crap?"
"Nothing," Hermione said, leaning for her book, but Blair jumped aside, putting it way out of her reach, onto the vanity on the other side of the room.
"Where are your dresses?"
"I didn't bring any. I don't really like dresses." Hermione shrugged, trying her best to avoid looking at Blair's legs.
"If this was California, I'd have you arrested for that statement."
"I mean, I don't like wearing them, you—you look gorgeous," she said smiling, so bloody proud of herself for complimenting her without blushing.
"Too late for flattery, darling, the only apology I'm willing to accept is you going with me and letting me choose something fabulous for you to wear."
Hell, did she have a choice?
It was thirty minutes later and she stood in Blair's room, garbed in one of her expensive dresses.
Hermione felt so uncomfortable undressing in front of the woman. She wasn't as slender as her, not as tall—what if she'd think her body was weird-looking? That her breasts were too small or her thighs too thick?
As quickly as she could, she pulled the dress over her head.
Great. It got stuck.
"Wait, let me help you." Blair chuckled and Hermione felt a pair of hands pulling at the fabric. "There." Her wide grin appeared in front of the girl and despite the embarrassment, she simply had to smile herself.
"Thanks."
"Sure, now turn around, I got to tie the dress."
So she turned around and simply stood there feeling vulnerable, letting Blair be a torture with such a proximity. She had to suppress a gasp tearing up her throat upon feeling long nails brush against her back. Unfortunately, what she couldn't control was shudder which washed over her like electricity—and there was no way Blair would miss that.
The girl quickly jumped away from her. "You've scratched me," she let out the first lie that popped into her mind.
"Sorry... My, my, look at you!" the woman announced, looking her up and down with her eyes frowned and an oh so very attractive smirk.
Hermione felt a wave of heat rush into her cheeks.
"Now, sit over there, I'm gonna do your make-up."
"Is it really that necessary?" The girl wasn't sure whether she was prepared to survive the woman being so close again. She wouldn't be doing anything else but keeping swallowing the excess saliva of her watering mouth.
"Not that you'd need it, but a little enhancement here and there won't do you any harm." Blair smiled, nodding to the chair in front of the huge mirror. "Don't worry, it won't be anything drastic. We'll go soft and..." it was suddenly so very hard to sit still, "sleek."
Hermione tugged her hair behind her ears, and then sat on her hands, swaying a little.
"Quite nervous, aren't you?" The woman came to the view, looking at her with an amused expression. "All right, we can do just a bit of lipstick, okay?" she said, misinterpreting Hermione's fidgeting.
"Oka-okay." She cleared her throat and gave her a very nervous smile.
"Here." The woman put a red lip gloss into her hand. Hermione looked at it and gulped. She was trying very hard not to think about the fact how many times this little thing had touched Blair's lips.
She softly smeared the colour across her mouth, pressing her lips together, inhaling the mild, but very pleasant scent.
"All right, let's hit the streets!"
It was Hermione's fourth glass of wine and the warmth spreading through her entire body was just the most pleasant thing ever. She was smiling from ear to ear, unable to tear her eyes from Blair, who was sitting across her and asking questions, but Hermione didn't mind answering any of them.
She was so smitten and she didn't even care. Why has she been repressing these feelings for so long when it felt so damn good to just let them flow freely—even if they hurt.
Who would have known pain could be so beautiful?
Certainly not her.
"To Bellatrix bloody Lestrange," she announced, pressing the glass to her swollen lips, giggling. "You know, Blairie, Blair— she might be a little bit— oh, who am I fooling, she seriously is a huuuuge grade A bitch, but she's taught me a lot— oh, you've got such a pretty smile, do you know that?—well, she really has, you know!"
"All right, you've probably had enough," Blair stated, trying not to laugh, "what if we went back home and got some rest?"
"Whatever you say— Oh, God!"
"Is everything all right?"
Of course, it wasn't, because Blair's right arm had just embraced her and even though she could walk perfectly fine on her own, she still leaned into her, resting her head against her shoulder, feeling a burning sensation inside her whole body.
"It hurts. It really hurts."
"What hurts?"
Hermione closed her eyes for a while, letting out a deep breath.
"You."
She didn't say anything anymore, only kept thinking that if Bellatrix was the knife cutting her skin, Blair was the salt falling upon her open wounds.