Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
"I'm wearing deep, emerald green for my ball, so you can't get a green dress," Pansy whined as I fingered the most extraordinary green gown that I've ever seen. I pouted and turning from the gown entirely began looking at the pink ones.
"What about this?" I held up one, keeping my face straight. It was cotton candy pink, swathed in layers upon layers of tool, with little chiffon roses around the neckline, and big sleeves poofing out from the shoulders. The skirt was bigger than the whole store...
Okay, so not really, but the skirt was huge.
She barked a short laugh before snipping, "Get real—that dress is ugly."
I pretended to be offended, "But it's my dream dress, Pansy. Friends don't hate on their friends dream dresses."
She rolled her eyes, "Then get it," She looked as if she was considering something of importance, for then she added, "Well, maybe you should get that dress. Maybe then the entire male population would stop drooling over you long enough for me to get a date." I frowned, what was that smell? I scrunched my nose up uncomfortably, trying to figure out where it was coming from...Was that...?
"This dress smells like cat dung!" I shoved it back on the shelf, satisfied by the way that the hangers scraped the rack, filling the store with a sharp metallic sound. I looked around, trying to find a rack of dresses that looked promising, with a groan, I continued, "The fashion sucks here. France is so much better for shopping...why, Et 'es better for everyzing!" I tried imitating french the best I could, but alas, I failed...
It wasn't that bad...but it was far from believable.
Oh, well.
"Oh stop complaining and pick one already." I gazed at her in astonishment.
"This is a delicate, complicated process." I huffed, shoving my hair behind my ears, and with a "Hmph," began looking at some gowns on the far wall—all the way across from the cat-dung-smelling-cotton-candy-puke-nightmare.
"Miss Parkinson," the tall, stick thin witch who owned the shop popped out from a back door, holding a long, sleek black bag, "Here's your dress, dear. Why don't you go put this on, and then we'll make sure the alterations are right." She gave pansy a nice smile, who grabbed the bag impatiently and skipped (literally, okay, not really) to the dressing room.
White, Yellow, gold, blue, green, orange...all the dresses were the wrong color. I was a pureblood for merlins sakes! Not some kind of Dumbledore worshiping harlot.
And then...crimson...
But not in the Gryffindor way...
Crimson as in the color of blood...I fingered the décolleté bodice, sighing as I took in the splendor—the classic lines, the fitted waist, the lines in the boning, the delicate cups, the mermaid style skirt and flaring train.
It was love at first sight.
"So, Hayley!" I turned to see Pansy spinning on a pedestal, "What do you think?"
The black gown was elaborate—the waist cinched tightly, with a skirt swathed in iridescent chiffon. Silver beads glittered down the bodice and scattered like broken glass over the skirt.
It was an American teenager's prom dream dress.
"Very cute, but you shouldn't wear a necklace—just a pair of drop earrings and then maybe a bracelet. But a slim bracelet. It's the kind of dress that's easy to overdo."
"Do you think Draco would like it?" She hinted, swinging her arms out and letting the skirt fly in the air as if she were a child. Of course, she would directly ask me if I thought that Draco would like it. Glumly, I wondered...Is that the only reason she asked me to come here? So I could help her get with Draco?
There was some sort of thing that was happening between them. Something that I did not have a name for to describe. Maybe he did love her. I could not be upset with him for living his life in my absence...
I lived my life without him...Why was I being so pathetic about this? I wanted to slap the idiotic out of me, but I could not—it would raise question that I would have to answer somehow.
"Well?" She asked, panic edging her voice, and I felt sorry for her. Her happiness depended on if a boy—this boy liked her dress enough. She looked down at the dress with hesitance.
"Of course he will," I replied, forcing the smile onto my lips, "Why wouldn't he?"
* * *
"Aphrodite Morgana Hayley Bennett!" Yes, Aphrodite as in the greek god of beauty, and Morgana as in the arthurian legend, Morgana Le Fay—Or sometimes just Morgan Le Fay.
I didn't think I was much of a Morgana, and not that I'm not beautiful—but going by Aphrodite was a bit arrogant.
Want to hear something even funnier? I had two older sisters, Hera Amrita Emma Bennett, Amrita as in an ancient kind of life prolonging elixir. And then, the middle child—Athena Minerva (A bit contradictory if you ask me—Athena being the greek goddess of wisdom and war, and Minerva being the roman goddess of the exact same thing) Blair Bennett.
They gave us all one normal sounding name. And I bet you can guess which name of the four we all use...
"What, Mother?" I kept throwing shoes; I know I had a pair of candy red wedges that would be the perfect complement to my black dress—hiding somewhere on the giant shelf of shoes. It was a more casual dress, fitted bodice, a sweet heart neckline, free flowing skirt, stopping just before the knee, with inch thick straps.
"If you don't leave now, you are going to be late and that is most unbecoming." I growled. I had heard this lecture before...
"Well, I think it's just as unbecoming to show up somewhere ill-ly dressed. Imagine if my sense of style was naught more than average..." I shuddered, and closed my hand around the shoes. "Eureka!" I squealed, clasping the red Zac Posen shoes in between my fingers.
I slipped them on, then hurried out the door, to where our chauffeur was waiting. I hoped into the black Muggle contraption. We only used them for social calls, to observe polite etiquette—when those social calls brought me into the realm of the Muggle world. I was to arrive at Bella's and Rodolphus' at precisely three o'clock. It was usually a good thirty minute drive, and as the lights illuminated the dash (in the rather queer time telling device, that it was two-forty two.
The driver of course, crawled at a sluggish pace. He was a squib of course, squibs live their lives trying to be exactly what they aren't, so they're overly careful. I debated for a moment, confunding him so I could make him drive faster.
I'd try persuasion first.
"Excuse me, Driver?" I inquired, putting on my best, the little innocent miss face.
"Yes, Miss Bennett?"
"Well, seeing as the hour is only growing later, might you show some haste?" he did as he was told, and at Three-oh-two, I hobbled out of the car on four and a half inch heels and a perfect smile on my face. I pushed a curl from my eye—and as the perfect woman does, walked gracefully to the door of the Lestrange Manor with my head held high, and my shoulders squared.
Posture was something so important, that persons often overlooked. Posture showed onlookers your entire life style. Poor people slouched. Muggles and Mudbloods slouched.
Purebloods had impeccable posture.
"Hayley, Darling! Prompt—as usual." I laughed lightly—Oh, what they did not know!
That's another trait of Purebloods. Promptness. Okay, so my mother was right. Showing up late is unbecoming. Especially as a young woman of my stature. Why, I was practically Princess of the Purebloods.
"Of course," I smiled sweetly at Bellatrix then observed that Rodolphus was absent, I frowned, and then inquired to his absence.
"It's funny—see, Wednesday's are the days that I meet with tea with my girlfriends. Moreover, Rodolphus is out doing the Dark Lord's deeds. We totally forgot about our previous obligations. So, you'll be joining myself, Narcissa—of course you know, Kristin Flint and Elle Zabini." She smiled sweetly, as I walked with her down the hallway and into the sunroom. The three other women were assembled, all gazed at me expectantly. Except Narcissa. She looked at me with a cold, blank expression as if I displeased her somehow.
I was puzzled at this notion, but pushed it out of my mind for the present.
"Hayley," Narcissa nodded, greeting me rather informally.
"Oh, It's little Hayley Bennett!" Elle Zabini remarked her lips pushing upward to reveal two very prominent dimples.
"Only, she's not so little!" Kristen Flint teased, she too took on an earsplitting grin.
Oh, this was going to be a long night...