Chapter 24: Fashion Assistance
Tuesday, December 21, 1944
4:53 P.M.
"So, he's going with you tonight, huh?" Draco asked, a small, pleased smile on his face. He ambled up alongside Hermione and stopped, his thumbs hooked around the belt loop on his black trousers, innocently rocking back and forth on his heels.
Behind him, crimson reds, deep greens, and sparkling whites swirled by as every available prefect scurried back and forth, industriously, almost frantically putting the finishing touches on the Great Hall as the clock ticked down to seven o'clock.
Hermione did not want to talk about this right now. "Well, it seems you have the right sources", she said shortly. She took the end of a gigantic, twenty-meter loop of thick, rich forest green garland from Ron's outstretched hands, nearly buckling under its weight, and began to Wingardium Leviosa it around the frame of the main doors when she heard a mighty crash.
Started, Hermione leapt at the unexpected, thunderous clattering noise, muttering some colourful phrases under her breath and then flushing a deep scarlet when she realised she had. Simultaneously, she lost her concentration on the Levitation spell and, therefore, her hold on the garland.
"Watch it!" Ron exclaimed sharply, yanking Hermione from the path of the raining garland whip before it knocked her off her feet. Like a fallen star, the menacing garland crashed dangerously to the floor a half meter away, nicking Draco on the back of the head in the process. "Ow! Nef!" Draco exclaimed in annoyance, sidestepping the wreath of cranberries and pine needles. Smirking like a fiend, he cupped his hands around his mouth and hooted, "Nice one, Wilkes!"
"Thanks, Ron", Hermione faintly murmured to her rescuer as an enthusiastic round of applause broke out among the twenty or so prefects scattered around the Great Hall.
Jacobson Andrews stuck two fingers into his mouth and skilfully let out an ear-splitting whistle that sounded suspiciously like the one that deafened the bystanders at every Gryffindor Quiddich game when the opposing team was taking a foul shot. "Who knew decorating could be so hazardous to your health?"
"Do that one more time!" A sixth year Ravenclaw named Guy Davis chortled, balancing two potted, closed Moonlight Magnolias above his head. Immature boys, Hermione thought exhaustedly, rapidly approaching her four-hour night sleep and full day of Christmas Soiree preparation's functional limit.
Her heart thudding, her brain feeling about ready to explode, Hermione straightened her robe with as much dignity as she had left and glanced toward Slytherin side of the Great Hall and deer-in-the-headlights seventh year prefect Miranda Wilkes, who had been levitating one of the room-length tables along the wall to form up with the second food display. The table was now flipped over on its side, leaning up against the Hufflepuff table so that it jutted out into the air at an angle that strangely resembled the Titanic minutes before it sank beneath the waters of the Atlantic. Hermione was both shocked and relieved that the booming crack of the table hadn't actually broken anything. "MIRANDA! Swish and flick it from the bottom, not the top! That should do it!"
"Oh, Hermione, I can actually give her a hand with that", Ron said out of the blue. Miranda started, shaking her head out of her daze at being the reason why one of the house tables was currently so precariously askew. "Check on that one! Sorry about that, Nefertari!" the she yelled back, nodding at Ron as he jogged over usefully, wand in hand. "Thanks, West."
Hermione sighed heavily and turned back toward the giant double doors, sending the mile-long garland back into the air with a flip of her wand. Her mental assembly-line had backed up hours ago, and a thought that should have occurred to her minutes before struck her now. "And where is Shrimperdink, he was supposed to vanish the other house tables right after we set up the dance floor!"
"Is it irreversible yet?" Lavender asked casually, mirroring Hermione and lifting an army of giant red bows into the air with a flick of her wrist. Hermione's hands turned cold, knowing exactly what Lavender was referring to. "Is what irreversible yet?" Before Lavender could answer, Hermione caught sight of the slacking seventh year Shimperdink slinking back into the Great Hall. "SHIMPERDINK!" she bellowed, causing him to leap into a stand of Christmas trees and then glare at Hermione like she had gone mad. Ignoring it, Hermione jabbed a finger at the three remaining House tables. "Get at it!"
"The curse", Lavender said, stating the obvious as Hermione shook her head at Shimperdink and drew in a deep, stressed-out breath of pine tree scented air, carefully weaving the garland along the outline of the doors. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, both girls moved their wands expertly, Lavender following Hermione's lead with the poinsettia-red bows, securing them along evenly spaced-out lengths of garland. "You said that once he fell in love with you, it'd be irreversible. Our job here would be finished".
The virulently ill feeling in Hermione's stomach which had taken root when she had spoken to Tom the night before seized that exact moment to blossom with a vengeance. "No". She swallowed back the urge to be sick. "He hasn't gone into the energy-depleting stage, he's still in the pain stage. He seems on the verge, though..."
"Well, then, it's so perfect it's like a bloody novel!" Draco exclaimed, hopping back into the conversation that Hermione assumed he had tuned out when he had begun to double-check the time-release mist enchantments that Hermione had set earlier. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him skeptically. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, all you have to do is show up looking bloody amazing, and I, as a knowledgeable creature of the opposite sex, can tell you exactly what will happen when Riddle sees you", Draco continued with a boyishly excited grin. "Tonight is your night, Nef. Quick, Brown, get over here - We're going to make him fall into Irreversible with her tonight!"
Hermione's felt like someone had snuffed all the life from her body as Draco briskly turned to Lavender. "Can you do it?" "How much time do I have?" Lavender asked solemnly, tying off her last bow with a flourish and stepping back, surveying Hermione from the top of her frazzled, curly head to the bottom of her impatiently tapping feet.
"Please hold..." Draco made an abrupt about-face toward the main body of the Great Hall, shoved some long strands of loose, silky platinum hair out of his face, and peered at the shiny bronze hands of the clock on the far wall. "About two hours". Lavender frowned decisively. "It'll be close, but I think I can make it."
"Now, wait just a minute both of you...". Chuckling nervously, Hermione shook her head stubbornly, not liking where this was headed. "No, oh no you don't. No!" she exclaimed, her stomach doing all sorts of perilous aerobic feats she thought only capable of professional athletes. She protectively held out her wand as Lavender circled her. "Lav, I won't! I am perfectly capable of getting dressed myself, thank you, and I refuse to be used as... as visual bait—"
As Hermione backed away from Lavender like a cornered animal, an abnormally blistering blast of heat burst through her shirt. Emitting a sharp, surprised gasp, her defences momentarily fell as she glanced down the slight v-neck of her sweater... at a faintly shimmering Amulet of Eras. Her eyes widened, bowled over, and she squinted at the new, inexplicable sight, her worn-out mind spinning in complete confusion. The Amulet of Eras had always burned —well, not always, but enough that she had gotten used to it— but she had never once noticed it glowing... What in Merlin's name—
Out of nowhere, a wand prodded into Hermione's back like a hypodermic needle, and she instinctively stiffened like a board, her eyes tearing away from the Amulet as she frantically swung around for her unseen assailant... But before she could move more than a few inches in response, she distantly heard Draco's voice mutter, "Petrificus Totalus". And Hermione froze, a dirty glare at Draco du Lac semi-permanently set on her unmoving face.
Before her paralysed body could slam into the ground, though, Draco caught her in his arms and slid his head close to her ear, repeating, "Visual bait, Nef? People are counting on you to succeed tonight. Lest you think that you're the only one who has to worry about stopping Riddle, remember the five other people who also sacrificed their modern lives to come back in time and deal with this problem. Four months ago, this is a game that you, that we all agreed to play for the greater good".
Yes, a game where people die! Hermione thought frantically, wanting to scream in aggravation and give Draco the same punch she had just bestowed on his grandfather. You are so lucky I can't move!
Hermione had to be satisfied with simply shooting sharp mental arrows into Draco and Lavender with her furious eyes, nearly frustrated to the threshold of tears, as the pair Levitated her around one of the Christmas trees the Care of Magical Creatures professor had trundled into the Great Hall earlier that afternoon and out of the nearly-finished Great Hall of the Christmas Soiree Ballroom toward the Hufflepuff dorms.
Lavender smiled at Hermione brightly. "Oh, cheer up, Hermione! Trust us, we've got it all under control! When you're finished with my FA, Riddle is going to love you!" But I don't want him to love me, and I don't want your bloody Fashion Assistance! Seething, Hermione moved on to hurtling spears.
7:41 P.M.
"Hermione... Good Merlin... You look fabulous!"
"Nefertari, the Great Hall has never looked this bloody good... Neither have you, actually... What did you do?"
"Merlin's beard, Hermione, if only Viktor could see you now!"
"Oh, shut up, Harry", Hermione grumbled irritably. It felt Friday Night Dance all over again as she stalked away from the massive instrumental platform at the foot of the Great Hall dance floor, a forced grin on her face as she nodded to all her well-wishers, although she had stuck out her tongue at the passing Harry's last impish comment.
Sulkily, she muttered in a remarkably accurate, higher pitched Lavender Brown voice, "'Trust us, Hermione! We've got it all under control, Hermione!' Right, those prats!"
Although Hermione's physical presence was without question, her mind was miles away as she unenthusiastically trudged along the edge of the Great Hall, dodging a group of giggling fifth years, two of whom were twirling and twirling in wild circles just to see how far their dress robes could billow out before they exhaustedly collapsed in chairs at their small, crowded table.
Hermione couldn't help but be briefly jealous of them, these happy-go-lucky teenager girls without a trouble in the world—or, at least, none of them had self-imploded and travelled back in time fifty years to halt the rise of a Dark Lord. And that was without the complications.
Sighing tiredly and with nothing better to do, Hermione figured she might as well double check on the moonlight magnolias dotted around the Great Hall doors to ensure that the flowers had actually begun to open, as opposed to wilting and dying after two over-excited sixth year prefects had nearly drowned them in fertilised water earlier that evening.
As far as she could tell, the first three-quarters of the night had been a resounding success. Everything about the Christmas Soiree had run smoothly — perfectly, even. It had taken her twenty minutes to place numerous specialty charms on her man-less orchestra —complete with violins, trumpets, French horns, flutes, clarinets, trombones, drums, a guitar, and a piano— to play a five-hour compilation of both instrumentals and vocals. The soothing rhythm of a graceful waltz flowed from the instruments now.
Nearly Headless Nick hovered nearby, a disgruntled scowl on his face, which he willingly fixed on any student who dared to point and laugh. After Hermione had cornered him near Gryffindor Tower earlier that week and threatened to send out mass poster release of the fact that four hundred and fifty years of his Haunted Hunt applications had been rejected, the ghost had grudgingly agreed to be vocally charmed to keep the latest hits of Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and Bing Crosby rolling all night long.
Multitudes of students bedecked in dazzling dress robes of all shapes, sizes, and colours whirled and glided across the mist-enveloped dance floor, some more skilled than others, some with other ideas than dancing on their mind. The time-mist enchantments in themselves had resulted in dramatically supernatural effects, as the hovering fog obscured any view of the leg from the calf down, causing a striking, spirit-like, floating effect as half of those in attendance cut across the floor.
The other half, many being male, had immediately bee-lined for the bench Miranda Wilkes had had so much trouble with earlier that afternoon. It had since been transformed into a magnificently ornate, room-length, multi-layered buffet table.
With the help of innumerous, eager house elves —much to Hermione's chagrin— it now sagged under the weight of elaborate platters of every kind of hors d'oeuvre, drink, and dessert imaginable, and the delectable smells of a hundred different foods mingled together into one mouth-watering aroma that temptingly wafted around the Great Hall Ballroom.
Sprigs of mistletoe gleefully lurked overhead, catching unsuspecting —and oftentimes dismayed— unlikely couples. A large commotion had already broken out when Draco and Ginny fell victim to one minutes after the dance began.
While Ginny had been all for getting the kiss over with, Draco had decided it might be more interesting to see who could wait it out longer, him or the mistletoe. Fifteen minutes into the competition, one prettily pouting Colombia Salvi, and one claw-mark from Ginny later, both Harry and Ron had nearly hexed a smirking Draco into oblivion before he finally relented and kissed her to unlock the charm.
Meanwhile, the sharp, brilliant starlight of a crisp, northern midwinter night twinkled down past the Christmas Soiree's muted, shimmering white, purple, pink, green, red, and blue tiny, floating illuminations and on to the students and professors themselves from above, and fake snowflakes fell in gentle, sporadic waves to the ground, so small they was barely noticeable, but just enough for the winter effect to be complete.
Everything had run smoothly... except her personal life. Lavender had generously sacrificed her own Christmas Soiree preparation time to style Hermione, and, after her solemn declaration to Draco that she would do everything in her naturally-born-fashion-talented power to make Hermione 'truly worthy of love at first sight,' she had needed every minute of two hours fuss over Hermione as if the Head Girl was no more capable of trendiness than a four year old.
Nearly at the moonlight magnolias, Hermione absently passed one of many shimmering, silver-plated decorative wall coverings, and, her eyesight suddenly snapping back to her right, her feet stopped of their own accord. Nearly an hour later, and Hermione was still unable to recognise the person staring back at her.
This person, this elegant, sophisticated, breathtaking woman, gazed at Hermione with very much identical eyes, but the woman's eyelids were outlined, smudged, and smoky, with just the ideal amount of warm pink rouge accenting her tanned cheekbones. Glittering, cherry gloss painted her lips; her curly, dark chocolate tresses were twisted into an elegant up-do, with defined wisps softly raining around her face and down her neck, a small, pastel pink rose tucked alongside the knot of the twist, attractively contrasting with her hair's darker shade.
Hermione's gaze moved downward, landing on The Dress Robes. They weren't hers. Merlin forbid she ever buy anything even remotely like them. Rather, Lavender had dug them out from somewhere in her trunk, but from the way they fit Hermione, they could have been designed specifically in her honour.
Although Hermione was absolutely drained and felt about ready to transfigure the next person who told her that she looked exceptionally pretty into a bed and collapse into it, the colour of the robes alone gave her exposed, "Egyptian" tanned skin —and there was a lot of it— a glowing, rosy aura that gleamed in warm russet-brown hues in what dim light reflected from the moon, stars, and artificial overhead illumination.
As far as anyone else knew, she may have slept twelve hours every night, with catnaps thrown in throughout the day for good measure.
Lavender had to Immobilus a harassed Hermione to get her into the soft, pastel pink. Modest in the front, the material draped in a couple loose half-moons around her neck, high enough that the gigantic Amulet of Eras was partially obscured; the silken, partially translucent pink sleeves loosely fanned out like a knit poncho at her shoulders and flowed down her arms past her elbows, giving her movements something of a free, airy feeling. Yes; that, Hermione could handle.
It was the back of the robes that had left Hermione wanting to sprint, kicking and screaming, for the Hufflepuff portrait hole. Continuing on from the voluminous sleeves, the sheer robes clung to Hermione's slender hourglass form, and the soft material dipped like a U, leaving her smooth skin bare all the way down past her shoulders... Down, down it went... past her waist... Finally, it gathered in a few elegant crescent moons at the last possible inch before Dippet would have had Hermione thrown out of Hogwarts for indecency, and then sleekly fell to the floor with the rest of the silky, flowing material.
She had never worn anything so revealing in her entire life, and, after the downright appalling amount of unwanted attention she had been receiving from boys of all ages since she had stuck one high-heeled foot into the Great Hall Ballroom —most of whom she didn't even know— Hermione swore that she never would wear anything like it again.
So why had this woman, this mature, unfamiliar reflection staring back at her... Why had she even stood for all this? How had she stood for it for so long, rather than immediately going back to her Head bedroom before the Soiree had started and changing into something less... form-fitting?