Chapter 12
Malfoy and Hermione jerked away from each other suddenly, shoving their sleeves back down to cover their wounds, Hermione's mind still reeling. Had Theo lied to her? The Dark Mark had clearly been there, and he had said, rather specifically, that Malfoy had never been marked.
Hermione could feel a headache coming on, and it was certainly not helped by Parkinson's high-pitched whine. The image of Malfoy's Dark Mark was vivid and firmly embedded in her mind, and she couldn't help wincing.
The crisscross scars through the mark hadn't escaped her notice, either. She could picture it now, Malfoy bent over his arm, furiously trying to remove it by force and gritting his teeth as each cut welled with blood.
Blood that was red, and certainly no more muddy than her own.
"Earth to Granger?" Malfoy snapped his fingers in front of her face, and she started.
"Sorry," Hermione shook her head. "It's…" Hermione searched for the right excuse. "It's been a long day," she settled for.
"I was supposed to meet you at the Ministero, and here you are," Parkinson complained from the foot of the stairs. "We're late. We have an appointment for custom fittings with L'ganza. Blaise is already there," she shouted.
"Why didn't Blaise come to get us at the library?" Hermione asked Parkinson as she walked towards her.
"Like he'd want to suffer in your presence any longer than absolutely necessary," Parkinson sniped. Hermione sighed. It was as if they were still roaming the halls of Hogwarts in their objectionably awful house colors. Parkinson held out what looked to be a beautifully cut, but exceedingly large, Swarovski crystal. "Come on, now, Granger," Parkinson said impatiently. "It will activate in a minute."
Slytherins, Hermione rolled her eyes internally. So adorably insecure that they had to flaunt their wealth at every opportunity. Could they be more predictable?
Hermione placed her thumb and forefinger on the excessively extravagant portkey, and Malfoy mimicked her actions. Soon enough, there was the familiar tugging at her navel, transporting them to the front of the L'ganza fashion house. Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the sheer enormity of the building - its tall arches towering over her and declaring "L'ganza" in black and gold lettering. She didn't get much time to take in the full grandiosity of Milan before she was shoved roughly by Parkinson, who glared at her.
"We're already late, for fuck's sakes, Granger," Parkinson hissed.
Hermione hurriedly followed the two Slytherins through the large double glass doors.
Blaise greeted them in the lobby. "Pansy, dearest," he kissed her firmly, but she quickly broke it off.
"Where are we expected? Are we too late?" Parkinson asked frantically.
"No. This elf will escort you to your dressing rooms where Daria L'ganza will greet you after you've selected your dresses. She has been a little overtime with another customer, so you merely reduced your waiting time," said Blaise.
Parkinson breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Show me to my room," she commanded the elf, who frowned. "Blaise and Draco, be a dear and pick a few out for me, would you? Daring ones, please. And no yellow - it is horrid for my complexion," she called over her shoulder as the elf led her from the lobby into one of the many dressing halls.
"I believe this elf will help you, Hermione," Blaise motioned to another elf. It had perhaps the haughtiest expression she had ever seen, and she lived with Malfoy, Parkinson, and Blaise!
"Follow me," the elf said simply as he directed her down the same hall that Parkinson had just walked towards. The elf showed her into a small but luxurious fitting room, complete with a plush bench, numerous bars to hang outfits, and a small platform centered in an alcove of mirrors.
Hermione placed her purse down next to the bench. Straightening up and turning to ask the elf where to search for dresses, she was shocked to find that the elf was nowhere to be seen. Hermione frowned, sitting down on the bench awkwardly. She waited a couple of minutes, silently evaluating the room with nothing else to do. She looked towards the door, unsure if she was supposed to find dresses herself, or wait for an attendant. It seemed like the type of store where an attendant would first ask her questions, then select a representative group of dresses to try, and go from there. But it also seemed as if the only employees of the store besides the designer were elves, who didn't appear interested at all in their customers. Frustrated, she gave into the temptation of poking her head out of the room, looking up and down the empty aisle.
Silence.
Her lips twisted in contemplation. Deciding to risk the social blunder, she left her compartment, ambling down the hallway towards what she assumed would be the center of the store with various dresses to peruse. When she reached the end of the hallway, however, she could hardly breathe. The room was simply enormous.
The room itself had likely been enlarged with an extending charm, to the point where Hermione couldn't see where the walls ended. Each dress had its own box shelf, the lights around it illuminating every hand-sewn Swarovski crystal in just the right angle to maximize its sparkle. It would be impossible to shop for a dress in the normal manner… there were just too many.
Chewing on her lower lip, Hermione was just about to make her way back into her room when she spotted an incredibly thick binder, placed on a pure white quartz countertop. She made her way towards the binder, smiling as she recognized an accio catalogue. It was about the width of two and a half volumes of Hogwarts: A History. Hermione grinned.
A catalogue that small? And really only pictures?
Piece of cake.
Approximately half an hour of summoning dresses later, the little peace Hermione had been able to enjoy was abruptly shattered by Parkinson's shrill screech.
"GRANGER!"
Hermione, startled, nearly dropped the light pink evening dress she had just summoned from the catalogue. She fumbled with the hanger, placing it amongst her other picks, before exiting her compartment. "Parkinson?" she asked, looking down the hallway before being presented with a furious and frazzled woman.
"Get over here, now," Parkinson snapped.
"Godric give me patience," Hermione grumbled under her breath. "Why?"
"For Salazar's sake!" Parkinson threw up her hands in the air before violently grabbing Hermione's wrist and tugging her into Parkinson's dressing room. "So we don't buy the same dress. Brightest witch of our age, my arse," Parkinson snapped.
Hermione rolled her eyes before taking in the multitudes of dresses that Parkinson had selected. Blaise and Malfoy were seated on some of the chairs, reclined with the arrogant grace she had come to associate with all purebloods.
"Take a seat. I'm selecting, and unless you really want one, it's mine. I'm claiming it first," Parkinson said smugly. She paused. "On second thought, don't say anything. It's mine regardless. At least you will understand what trends are currently in, even if your taste is likely to be horrendous."
Hermione wasn't sure what to do but sit down in the only remaining chair, between Blaise and Malfoy. She held her tongue, refusing to give into voicing the biting remarks that were crowding to the forefront of her mind.
"I've never been a fan of shopping," Hermione muttered under her breath to Blaise, whose eyes widened comically.
"Oh my dear, dear, Hermione…" he trailed off snickering. Even Malfoy had an undeniable smirk on his face.
"You have no idea what you're getting into," Blaise finally answered, containing his unnecessary laughter. Hermione sunk a little farther into the plush comfort of her armchair, feeling completely out of her depth.
And completely out of her depth, Hermione was indeed.
After probably three hours of lace, far too much sheer, exceedingly low necklines, even lower backlines, feathers, tulle, ballgowns, and so many sparkles, Hermione was ready to vomit. Or keel over, because never in her life did she ever think she would have ever needed to see that much of Pansy-sodding-Parkinson.
Thankfully, Parkinson had settled on seven dresses, though she sighed dramatically that she might have to visit another store should there be an eighth social function. For the hundreds of designer gowns she had tried on, these seven were just barely acceptable. Really, the only reason why L'ganza would be receiving any of her galleons was because of the unacceptable time limit of the first few galas.
Hermione wanted to slap Parkinson. The number of galleons spent on these robes would surely have been enough to feed a small army for at least half a year!
Naturally after deciding on seven dresses, Parkinson must retry those seven, for it's a pureblood woman's prerogative to change her mind, and after all, Parkinson was so changeable!
The first dress, Hermione had to admit, was bloody gorgeous.
That is, if you really liked blood red as a color and paired with black in such a way that screamed dangerous femme fatale.
The bodice was a delicate combination of black sheer material and lace, fitted tightly in a corset that ran its way up to the bust and through the right arm's sleeve, ending at a three-quarters length. Blood red floral appliques wrapped around Parkinson's waist (where the black lace joined with a full black ball gown skirt) and diagonally across the front of the bodice to border the beaded back. Across her shoulder blades, strings of rubies sparkled like droplets of blood, twinkling dangerously as they caught the light. The red appliques were smattered across her collarbone and around her neck to end at the left shoulder, leaving her left arm bare. Parkinson's jet-black hair contrasted beautifully with the citrine embellishments on the dress, and even Hermione had to admit that Parkinson could be, amazingly, considered attractive.
But that was where Parkinson's good taste ended.
The next dress could hardly be considered a dress, for the material was so sheer, the only thing covering Parkinson's bits were the thin twining black lace vines that crawled up her sides and met in clusters to cover the more scandalous areas of Parkinson's body. Hermione could see, however, that the silhouette of the mermaid dress was appealing, and that even the tulle "tail" of the dress could be considered "pretty," but Hermione felt uncomfortable, staring only at Parkinson's pug-face.
The third dress was better, for the black floral and crystal appliques certainly constructed an opaqueness to the, again, sheer black material, allowing for the overall effect to begin to resemble clothing.
By the fourth dress, Hermione was really sick of seeing black sheer. It really shouldn't have been considered a suitable material for any dress in anyone's right mind, but Parkinson had chosen yet another one, with a plunging neckline that lent itself perfectly to many and multiple wardrobe malfunctions, in addition to its center slit, opening the floor length skirt just shy of an embarrassingly short length.
Scratch that, Hermione shook her head internally. It was already embarrassingly short.
Plus, there were sequins.
Hermione personally thought Parkinson resembled a scandalous Snape that had been glitter bombed.
But of course, Hermione kept these opinions to herself.
And incredibly, when Malfoy or Blaise chose to speak up, it was merely to critique the detail of the appliques or the lace, rather than the amount of skin that couldn't possibly be accepted in such a traditional society. With how backwards and positively Victorian Wizarding society seemed to be, she was surprised that Malfoy and Blaise both appeared to completely dismiss the monstrosity of leaving practically nothing to the imagination.
Men, Hermione scoffed.
The fifth dress, while black lace and a tulle mermaid skirt yet again, at least was supported by a cream colored under skirt. In fact, the black ruffles sweeping across the back of the shoulders was rather endearing on Parkinson, and Hermione was woman enough to admit that.
The sixth dress was a Frankenstein attempt at the first dress, minus, (gasp) the lace and sheer! The blood red and black complimented Parkinson's pale complexion well, but the asymmetric ruffling and interchange of red and black fabrics made the full-skirted ballgown look more like Parkinson had been sectumsempra'd on her side and was bleeding out.
The last and final dress was an interesting take on nude and cherry red, with it's very, very low backline covered in a nude sheer with little red cherry buttons running up Parkinson's spine. The rest of the dress, was also nude colored, though, Hermione thanked Merlin, not see-through, with cherry red branches scattered across the fabric and pooling in floral details at the bust and bottom of the dress.
Hermione didn't think she had ever been more exhausted while sitting than now.
But then it was Hermione's turn, after Daria L'ganza had waved her wand, molding each of the seven dresses perfectly to Parkinson's figure.
Hermione and the three Slytherins made their way to her dressing room, where Parkinson instantly took to ripping apart the choices Hermione had made.
The first dress thrown on the floor was a pale pink ball gown with delicate floral beading.
"Honestly, Granger, are you an eleven year old princess?" Parkinson snorted after a quick glance.
Hermione gritted her teeth. What was so wrong with wanting to feel like a princess?
Blaise spotted a xanthic gown peeking out on the rack, and pulled it out. "Hermione, come here."
Hermione dutifully walked over, where Blaise draped some of the summer-yellow chiffon over her arm and chest.
"Mm, no, it's a gorgeous dress you've chosen, but it doesn't work with your skin tone," Blaise commented.
"Yellow hardly works on anyone," Parkinson muttered, before pulling out an indigo A-line satin number, complete with a sweetheart neckline. "Salazar's saggy sack, Granger, could you be any more boring?"
"I liked the color," Hermione said lamely.
"Draco, Blaise, go find her some acceptable dresses please," Parkinson said with disgust as she threw down a bright purple gown. "This is atrocious."
Hermione sighed, chewing her lip, watching tiredly as Parkinson threw down each and every single one of her dresses. So much for that.
"Ridiculous," Parkinson sneered. "Your taste is better suited for two year-old child, not a woman who has international power and influence."
"Please, Parkinson," Hermione bit out, annoyed now. "Feel free to pick out dresses for me, so that I don't have to listen to your whinging."
Parkinson flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Why, Granger, I thought you'd never ask."
Hermione clenched her fists, looking skyward and asking for any God, gods, or powerful beings up there to grant her patience.
Blaise, thankfully, had an excellent eye for cut and pops of color. He selected more than thirty dress robes that looked incredibly modern, with geometric shapes of various bright, blocky colors. But Hermione was less inclined to look like a modern art exhibit than what Blaise's taste lent towards, and asked if he had chosen anything more… classic.
Blaise smirked, holding a Slytherin green, floor length evening gown, complete with a layered bodice, semi-sweetheart neckline, black flower appliques running diagonally from the left waist to the bust, and a side slit that crept dangerously high up her left leg. Hermione gave him a dirty look.
"Hermione, I really think green could be a good color on you. Please try it on, at least," Blaise beseeched, shooting Parkinson a quelling glare when she giggled.
"All right," Hermione sighed, pulling the gown from Blaise's arms and dragging it with her into the little alcove to change. When she presented herself in front of the three Slytherins, Blaise looked smug, Parkinson looked viciously delighted, and Malfoy looked mildly amused.
"It's excellent on you, Hermione," Blaise complimented, and Hermione looked down at her hands, which were already twisting the expensive chiffon between her fingers.
"I can't disagree," Hermione said slowly, "but… this slit…"
Blaise opened his mouth to mention the fact that they did, after all, have Daria L'ganza to custom design any dress she so chose, but Malfoy spoke first, flicking his wand to float a slightly lighter forest green gown towards Hermione. She caught the dress, eyeing it critically before nodding. She quickly changed and stood in front of them again.
All three were oddly silent.
"Well?" Hermione asked nervously.
"Turn around for me," Blaise muttered, and Hermione followed his instruction.
"It's so bloody Granger," Parkinson snorted, finally. "Other than the Slytherin colors, the simplicity, the gathered draping of the acromantula silk, the light gauze, the little beading along the v-neck… I must say, I'm impressed with Daria's layering. She knows how to mimic an almost handkerchief hem, but it was simply genius to layer it on top of a normal sheath piece underneath it to create the perfect silhouette."
"Yes, then?" Hermione smiled. She really did like this dress. It was simple, classic, elegant, and beautiful.
"Yes," Blaise affirmed, Malfoy nodded once, and Parkinson shrugged.
"Little bookworm cleans up well," Parkinson sniped. "Not her usual frumpy outfits, if you could call them that. Rags, really. Our own little Cinderella."
Blaise had a couple of other classic choices. One was a kermes trumpet dress, which, despite having a small panel of sheer in between the bust and the skirt, was tastefully done and didn't give Hermione quite the same violent reaction to most of Parkinson's choices from earlier in the day. Blaise also picked out a dark navy blue, long-sleeved mermaid-A-line that fit Hermione perfectly without alterations. The only "interesting" part, Parkinson had lamented, was the incredibly thin almost-belly-button low slit that gave the illusion that Hermione was wearing a smartly fitted blazer than an actual dress robe. Even Malfoy commented, however, that Hermione would look quite formidable with a classic updo - perhaps a French twist. Hermione got that one, as well as the red one.
Parkinson's choice dresses, however, were simply ridiculous. Each dress became more and more sheer, and if not sheer, then lace, and if not lace, then plunging backlines and necklines that would surely require a hefty amount of sticking charms to last the evening without an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction. Sometimes, Hermione noted with horror, it was all three.
Embarrassingly enough, one of the sheer dresses actually caught her attention. The agean blue A-line dress was covered with intricate beadings, sparkling as if the dress had captured a thousand snowflakes mid-fall. Apart from the sheer skirt that completely bared her legs (besides the occasional beading), Hermione couldn't deny that the dress made her feel like an odd cross between a water nymph and an ice queen.
"Frigid." Parkinson scoffed. "But the sheer makes you a little more flexible than the prude you are, so it's acceptable."
Blaise waved Parkinson's comments off, smiling kindly at Hermione. "You look stunning in that. You should get it."
"Thank you, Blaise," Hermione said pointedly, ignoring Parkinson. Blaise smirked, while Parkinson huffed in annoyance.
Surprisingly, the remaining three dresses were all Malfoy picks. The first one was a one-shoulder golden number that was draped so that she shimmered not unlike a Greek goddess. The second one was a regal gown in silver silk, with the shoulders fringed with beading reminiscent of epaulettes.
The third one, however, was, as Parkinson coined it, "a classy fairy princess without the pre-pubescent hideousness." And Hermione loved it.
The top half of the gown was a sheer bateau panel with branches of cherry blossoms climbing from the waist up to her collarbone. Cinched with a small black ribbon, the skirt dropped into a beautiful lavender grey, layers of chiffon rippling in soft waves.
Even Malfoy was speechless.
Blaise smiled. "This is the one."
Malfoy made a slightly strangled noise, before Blaise rolled his eyes and dragged the ferret out of the room. "Pack the seven we chose, get Daria to fit them, and meet us out front."
It hadn't even been a minute after the two men had left that Daria L'ganza came bustling in, poised but ruthless. Her blonde hair had been twisted up in an elegant updo, and despite how efficiently she moved about the room, not a strand was out of place.
"Which ones?" she asked sharply.
"These seven-" Hermione began, but before she knew it, Daria flicked her wand towards the lavender dress, waved her wand to meld itself to Hermione's every curve, and moved onto the next six.
It was the fastest fitting Hermione had ever been through.
"Modifications?" Daria asked.
"No-" Hermione said.
"Good, Ms. Parkinson, I appreciate your business as always," Daria waved Hermione off. "As usual, the dresses you've selected are the one and only ones produced. You have my guarantee that no copies will be found, short of counterfeits."
"Excellent," Parkinson nodded. "I look forward to doing business with you again."
"Thank!-you?" Hermione trailed off as Daria L'ganza exited the dressing room as quickly as she had come in.
"Close your mouth, Granger. You'll catch nargles, or whatever that Looney girl used to pratter on about." Parkinson grabbed hold of Hermione's wrist, about to drag her out of the dressing room. "Cannot believe I had to waste hours on a peasant who can't even appreciate good fashion, filthy excuse of a mudblood."
Hermione wrenched her arm out of Parkinson's claws, fuming. The bitch. "At least when I'm dating someone, I know it's because that person is genuinely interested in me despite my tainted heritage. At least I'm not judged by how filthy I am on the mattress." Hermione instantly regretted her retort, but it was too late.
SLAP!
Hermione's eyes widened, her cheek throbbing from Parkinson's hand. She figured she probably deserved that one, but why did Parkinson have to be such a bitch?
"How d-dare you," Parkinson stuttered quietly, voice shaking with rage. Hermione had always seen malice in Parkinson's eyes, but this time her black eyes flashing with pure hatred and pure pain.
Hermione bit her lip, torn between apologizing and standing up for herself. It wasn't as if Parkinson hadn't infuriated her in the first place… but Hermione decided to be the bigger person. The agony in Parkinson's eyes made Hermione soften her next words. "I'm sorry, Parkinson, that went too far."
SLAP!
(AN: Trigger warning for sexual assault and suicide. Skip to the next AN)
Hermione winced as Parkinson landed another blow to her face, her left cheek stinging. She didn't give Parkinson the satisfaction of stepping back, however."Don't give m-me… false fucking apologies," Parkinson sneered. "You don't even know the half of it, you mudblood bitch!" Parkinson was trembling, her body nearly radiating with fury. "How dare you parade your self-proclaimed purity in front of me," Parkinson snarled, her wand now emitting sparks. "How dare you defile my relationship, my only anchor in this forsaken world, and debase the one person who will accept me for who I am? How dare you presume to know the status of my chastity, and in your ignorance ignore the blood rituals, torture, and sterilization measures all truly pure families take to ensure their daughters' only worthwhile property? How dare you insinuate that I am spoiled goods? That my gift," Parkinson spat, her tone poisonous, "has been given freely? That it hasn't been forcefully ripped from my petrified, defenceless, tortured, and drugged person by a man who could've been your father? That my gift hadn't been offered to murderers, taken, and caused me to be disinherited because I was a useless pair of unmarriageable legs that had been offered by her own parents on a fucking silver platter? That when my own younger sister, the only family I have left, overdosed on sleeping potions, I had to find out from Daphne fucking Greengrass last night because my own parents would rather be childless than associated with damaged property?
(AN: You're good from here on out! Thank you for being so strong.)
How fucking dare you?" Parkinson was crying now, her eyeliner and mascara streaking down her face.
Hermione was stunned, to say the least, her own tears running down her sore cheeks. She didn't know what to say. Her heart ached for this girl, who had been betrayed by the very people who should've protected her. This girl, still standing tall and proud, despite having her self-worth abused and dragged to Hell and back. This girl, who had just lost possibly the only person who loved her in the world unconditionally.
Words didn't seem like they could capture the raw emotions that tore through Hermione's heart, nerves, body.
Not knowing what else to do, Hermione flung herself towards Pansy in an embrace and held the girl tight. They both sank to the ground, surrounded by the finest, purest fabrics and crystals that money could buy.
And they cried.
AN: Apologies I haven't updated in… what, half a year? Maybe more? Yikes. Life's gotten crazy, and that's all I can really say. Anyone who's still following this story - thank you so much for sticking with me!
I'm not sure I'm quite pleased with how this dress shopping turned out. I've had massive writer's block for a good portion of this summer, and this felt a little mechanical, rather than my normal flow. The one thing I am pretty happy about is how much more Pansy development we have here, which is something I also didn't expect to happen but felt more organic, frankly, than the rest of this chapter. I think this whole chapter could probably be better executed, but I just felt like I needed to get it out and up on here before it'll get better. That said, I could just be really out of it, and it's possible it lived up to (or exceeded) your expectations. What do you think? Please review! Hopefully more chapters coming soon, but I won't promise anything since you know how life goes. Doing research full time, working on a nonprofit, teaching piano… yeah. It's a little nutty. Miss you all and can't wait to hear from you guys!