Diamonds - Part Five
Prompt: Would you consider writing a scene with Narcissa? I fell in love with her in Ready for the Storm.
for mystripedskirt
A/N: Narcissa isn't as likeable in this, it's just what came out :/ I have one more prompt for this AU, should have this up soon.
Hermione forced herself to look down at the white dress she had been asked to try and blew out a long breath through her clenched teeth. Stealing her resolve, she straightened her neck and regarded herself in the full-length mirror. She tried to smile. If she'd heard one thing more than any other during wedding preparations, it was that brides were supposed to look radiant when they got married and that their expressions were as joyful as they were natural. Hermione tried to look joyful; the concentration required made her look worried.
She fiddled with a rough piece of applique lace and tried to decide whether this dress, the tenth she had so far tried, was actually hideous or whether it just appeared that way because it was so unlike her it gave her the appearance of a child raiding her mothers dressing up box. All she was missing was the perfect circles of blush on her cheeks, and a long stretched out pearl necklace thrown about her shoulders.
Hermione tried to hold the bodice closer to her chest to see what it might have looked like if it remotely fit, but it was no use. She was sure she would be crocodile clipped into place as soon as she left the confines of the dressing room, but to her mind, this dress was beyond a dramatic alteration.
Simple, that was what she had asked for, simple. Was that so hard?
Hermione had seen a dress in one of the magazines Ginny had brought for her, it was a bit like a slip but made out of the most beautiful flowing silk in bright white. It was nothing like the frumpy mess she currently had on. She wanted a dress she could pull over her head without needing two or three people to 'strap her in'. A gown that she could move in and trail over grass as the day wore on. One that would be suited to Fleur braiding her hair, and Luna weaving flowers through. One that looked like her.
"Hermione."
Her soon to be mother in law's voice called from behind the thick velvet curtain of the dressing room, and Hermione knew better than to dally. She sucked in a breath, almost as violently large as the one she had exhaled previously, and walked down an over stylised corridor into a small, plush sitting room.
Hermione didn't make eye contact as she came in, bundled up ample skirts in hand. The immaculate, French-sounding witch that owned the establishment they had spent the better part of a morning in, gestured for her to stand on a stool and Hermione did so, trying her best not to trip up on the excessive skirts.
She looked at her toes poking through the peep-toe shoes she had been given - as if a couple of inches would solve all of her problems - and tried not to think of the ridiculousness of upholstering a stool meant for people to stand on in crushed velvet.
As the lady worked, Hermione's shoulders dropped. She imagined she looked like a petulant toddler, sulking because she had been denied something she wanted, but she had never been very good at hiding her emotions and today was proving to be rather trying.
Narcissa had opinions, many, many opinions. That at least Hermione could understand, even admire about her soon to be family, it was a trait she shared with the lady, but as the time wore on, Hermione was beginning to feel her skin pricking, and not just from the excess of pins that had been jutted at her from every direction.
Narcissa sighed, and Hermione grimaced. "Well, it is beautiful," she drawled dispassionately, "it would have been perfect if you weren't so short."
That was the problem with Narcissa's opinions that morning; they were never about the dresses. The enormous confections of silk, satin and taffeta remained utterly blameless while Hermione was judged to be lacking in all areas. Narcissa was picking them not to suit Hermione, but clothing the image of the girl she still held in her mind, the one that Draco should have been marrying.
So Hermione was relegated to being too short, or too tan; her hair was too exotic, and her hips were 'excessive'.
Narcissa tilted her head to the side and gave Hermione an appraising look. "Maybe something a little less fussy around the waist? It might be more flattering?"
Hermione said nothing, the question wasn't aimed at her, but the lady beavering away beside her.
Hermione cursed herself for ever agreeing to come along, but her parents weren't due to fly out from Australia until the following week and Narcissa had only been able to get an appointment for today. Hermione had known she was being manipulated from the start, but she had agreed because she had been pleased Narcissa was showing an interest. She had assumed her soon to be mother-in-law had also wanted a say so in the dress as she had never been that keen on Hermione's (lack of) style, but now it was clear she had another motive. To get Hermione on her own and to communicate, in the way only Narcissa could, that she still wasn't forgiven for having her only son fall in love with her.
Hermione remained motionless as the owner walked around the shop pulling dresses under Narcissa's direction before coming back and holding them up under Hermione's chin. Hermione spent her time wondering what she would have for lunch and if it was rude to try and flee after this was over without inviting Narcissa to join her. She hoped not; there was only so much she could take in one day.
Hermione's relationship with Narcissa could best be described fluctuating; she was sure the older witch planned it that way, so she never got too complacent. In the beginning, Narcissa was outwardly appalled by her existence in Draco's life and in many ways that initial reaction never truly went away, rather it got worse the longer they stayed together, and the more serious they become. There were glimmers of hope, moments when it felt like Hermione might have received something like approval, but they were few and far between and had been practically non-existent since Draco had brought her back to the manor and showed his mother the ring that he had brought.
Narcissa shook her head affectively nixing yet another frock without further explanation before pointing to something in the window. "Maybe we should try the soft pink silk charmeuse. The whites don't seem to be working."
"Yes, madam," the lady readily agreed before marching off back to the stock room to try and meet her new directions.
Hermione traipsed back to the little cubicle with little enthusiasm and waited until the owner bustled in, collecting one set of dresses and leaving behind another unbelievably large pile.
Hermione unzipped the back of the dress and let it pool around her feet before searching through the rack to find the one Narcissa wanted her to try next. It was hard to identify. To Hermione, most of them looked the same, and Narcissa often mentioned details like hems and fabrics as if Hermione would know immediately what that meant. She was debating shouting through the curtain for some assistance in separating the identical when suddenly the velvet barrier was wrenched back.
Hermione jumped to cover herself instinctively. She had been very specific about not wanting to have one of the girls from the shop come in and help her get dressed. While Narcissa had rolled her eyes, Hermione had been determined. She had known it was going to be a trying morning, and the little cubicle was likely to be her only sanctuary, even if she had to share it with twenty-five gowns that in another life could have lived a happy existence as medieval princess costumes.
Only, it wasn't a disapproving Narcissa, or an enthusiastic shop-girl standing in the now open expanse of corridor… it was Draco.
His eyes remained trained on her face as he walked into her little space and pulled the curtain back across. He was unhurried and unapologetic as if his presence needed no explanation. Hermione had never been bothered by his lack of concern more than she was right then, and she stepped back, reaching for the robe she had been left and glaring at Draco as she fumbled with the belt.
"What are you doing here?" she whisper yelled and Draco cast an eye over the overburdened rail at the side of the room.
"I wanted to check you were okay."
"In the changing room?" Hermione returned incredulously.
Draco was unembarrassed but his brow furrowed. "You've been gone for hours, and I know what she can be like. You wouldn't still be doing this if it was your choice."
"Maybe I wanted to try on lots of dresses," Hermione replied with a defensive shrug. "I'm allowed to be girly if I want!"
Draco rolled his eyes. "This was not an attack on your femininity, as well you know. Stop trying to pick a fight to distract me."
"Says the man who burst into a changing room uninvited." Draco folded his arms across his chest, and Hermione sagged. "It's been…. Well, you know how it's been."
Draco nodded and stepped closer, holding his hands away from his sides with his palms towards her. It was a half gesture for a hug, one that had come from an argument they'd had over meeting each other halfway that still made Hermione smile, even on the occasions when she was furious with him.
She walked forward and laid her head on his chest and let him play with the ends of her hair while she took a breath. It was ridiculous, him being there and holding her as she was standing in her underwear and borrowed heels as he was fully dressed, and yet it was perfect.
"You know, you could just confront her?" Draco offered, and Hermione scoffed.
"I could also try to evade a shark bite by offering it a glass of wine, but I think I'd still get eaten."
Hermione felt his half-laugh against her body though he made no noise. "You were never shy about telling me exactly what you thought, and here I am today. She'll respect you for it."
"Maybe," Hermione agreed, "but not today… I'm too tired."
"Whenever you want."
Hermione pushed her arms under Draco's jacket and gave herself a moment to breathe him in, borrowing his strength to get through the day. It was never going to be easy for them; they were never going to be met with universally smiling faces, and yet they were both still there and both still in it. It gave her confidence in a way; if they could stand against all the world and choose each other, she couldn't see that marriage could throw anything at them that they wouldn't be able to weather.
"Hermione," Draco murmured, and she replied with an inquiring noise. "Please tell me you aren't planning on wearing any of those dresses."
Hermione laughed, unfortunately, a little too loud.
"Draco Malfoy," Narcissa called, and Hermione groaned. "I believe you owe me an explanation as to why you are here."
Draco rolled his eyes, pulled up Hermione's jaw and pressed a hard yet fleeting kiss to her lips. "I promise I'll go, if my mother thinks I've seen your dress she won't be able to hold onto her anger long enough to twist it into disdain, she will simply throttle me."
"Okay," Hermione agreed, missing him already but not letting herself admit it.
"Dinner later?" he prompted, and she nodded.
"Yes, but remember Harry's coming over, with Daphne? We promised last week."
Draco sighed. "Lucky me."
"Draco," Narcissa shouted again. Her voice had risen an octave, and it made Draco's hand shoot to the curtain.
"Coming mother," he replied and gave Hermione a wink before walking out into the corridor.
Hermione listened to his feet as he retreated and took a long sweeping glance at the rack that was dominating her small space.
On the other side of the room was one dress, a single one she had managed to pick up before her soon to be mother in law took hold of proceedings. Hermione ran her fingers down the silk length of the bright white dress and then bent to reach into her handbag and pull out a hair tie. She twisted and tugged until all of her curls were piled up onto her head and then she slipped the dress off the hanger.
It was time to take back control.