One Friday morning when all the girls were getting ready, Pansy was whining and complaining to Daphne about her skin being uneven (and how was she ever going to attract Draco's attention like this?), and Hermione had an abrupt realization.
None of the girls here ever… used anything.
Hermione felt almost dirty at the thought. Though her mother had carefully taught her how to tame and style her hair for formal events, Hermione never bothered, as it felt too artificial and vain to focus on her looks that much. The same went for makeup – her mother had insisted that every young woman should know how to do her own makeup properly before heading off to boarding school, and Hermione had accepted the lessons (and even drawn diagrams and taken notes). She'd promptly shoved the makeup case her mother had given her to the back of her trunk to never think about again, but now… she was.
Pansy was the sort of girl that Hermione would expect to do her makeup every day, if she were in Muggle school. Girls back at Hermione's Muggle school that were her age had been carefully trying out concealer, eye liner, and mascara, often hidden in the bathrooms, and Pansy was just like those girls. Pansy was vain, Pansy was shallow, and Pansy was overly concerned with appearances. So… why didn't she wear makeup? Why didn't she curl her hair? Why didn't she do anything besides brush her hair and pin it around a bit?
The first answer, Hermione quickly figured out – there was no electricity here, so using a curling iron or hot curls was out, damning Pansy's hair to eternal thin limpness. Hermione idly wondered if there was a way to heat a curling iron with magic.
But the second… why didn't Pansy wear makeup? Did the wizards have something different?
With a muttered curse as she glanced at the clock, Hermione grabbed her bag and hurried after Tracey to breakfast.
But the thought plagued Hermione all day, driving her to distraction (though Professor Flitwick didn't seem to notice – her Lumos was still the brightest in the class). Did witches normally wear potions and creams that they brewed themselves – but potions like that were above the level of what first years could brew? Did they cast some sort of visual charm to hide flaws? What did they do?
Hermione felt disgusted with herself for obsessing over it. Why did she care? She'd never bothered with such frivolities. But yet, she wondered.
Finally, at lunch, Hermione turned to Millicent, and quietly asked.
"Why doesn't Pansy ever do anything about her skin if she's so upset about it?" she asked. Millicent looked confused.
"What, like a glamour?" she said, giving Hermione a strange look. "Those are incredibly difficult, and very draining to keep up all day. I've only known a few fully-grown witches to manage them, and even then, only for the duration of an evening party."
"A glamour?"
"A beauty spell. Something that say, makes your skin look smooth and fair, even if you've got spots." Millicent shrugged. "They're really hard to maintain, with precision, so most witches don't bother."
Hermione felt a slow suspicion in her mind.
"But… what about like, a potion or something?" she asked. "Something to help with her appearance?"
"What, like Sleekeazy's?" Millie asked. "There are a couple potions for hair, but not many – that's why Sleekeazy made such a fortune on his. There's mostly just shampoo, and a couple to help hair grow strong and not break."
"No, for her face," Hermione said, impatient. "Why doesn't she cover up her spots?"
Millie gave her a strange look. "With what?"
Having found her answer, a slow smile spread over Hermione's face.
"Never mind. Thank you!"
Millie gave Hermione a raised eyebrow, but she was used to Hermione's eccentricities, and she turned to Tracey to ask about the Potions assignment, leaving Hermione to stare at the slowly-shifting clouds on the ceiling as she began to plot.
Witches here didn't have makeup. Hermione wondered why. Maybe it didn't work on witches? But that didn't feel right either – Hermione's mother had been able to put makeup on Hermione, and there hadn't been any unexpected results or difficulties. Maybe it couldn't be made with normal potion ingredients, and no one had thought to use more mundane ingredients? Or maybe it was ignored or unknown because it was Muggle?
Desperate for answers, Hermione went to the library on their free period to find a book on magical beauty standards to read during History of Magic.
She read the book later that day as Professor Binns droned on and on. The book she had found was mostly about fashion – about the cut of your robes, what jewelry to wear, how to pin-curl your hair overnight so it would have curls, what colors complimented your eyes, etc. There was a brief mention in the book of learning and holding a glamour, but only in passing, and there was nothing in it – nothing – about doing your makeup.
Hermione bit her lip.
After class, Hermione took off in search of answers. She found a Hufflepuff, Ernie MacMillan, who directed her to find the 5th year Hufflepuff prefect, Rebecca McCullough, who was laughing with a few friends outside under a tree.
"Rebecca?"
The prefect looked over, surprised.
"You're one of Jade's, aren't you?" she said.
"I am," Hermione admitted. "I need help with something that Jade can't exactly help with. Do you mind if I borrow a few minutes of your time?"
Amicably, Rebecca said something to her friends and got to her feet. She was very skinny, and very, very tall, Hermione noticed. She wondered how she found women's robes that fit.
Rebecca led Hermione over to a set of stairs by a side door that they sat down on, and Hermione was grateful she wouldn't have to get a crick in her neck trying to talk to the prefect.
"So what's going on, little snake?" Rebecca said, but her smile was genuine. Hermione offered her a small smile back.
"I had a question," Hermione said. She paused. "You're Muggleborn, right?"
Rebecca looked at her carefully. "I am."
"My parents are Muggles, too," Hermione said promptly. She ignored Rebecca's look of surprise, continuing, "I wanted to know – why don't witches wear makeup?"
Rebecca blinked. "Makeup?"
"You know – foundation, powder, mascara, eye liner… the products you put on your face to make you prettier," Hermione said impatiently. "I haven't seen a witch yet that uses them."
Rebecca blinked. "Huh."
The prefect looked at the wall blankly for a long moment, before looking up and shrugging.
"Truth be told, I don't know why not," she admitted. "I guess I don't because I've never been home long enough anymore to learn how? And no one else does, so there's no pressure to, either. Plus I was 11 when I entered Hogwarts – that's a little young to be playing around with that kind of thing, don't you think?"
Hermione privately agreed, but she'd been a year ahead of her age group in school, and she knew that too young or not, that girls did play around with makeup at this age.
"It doesn't hurt witches or anything, does it?" Hermione asked, and Rebecca laughed.
"No, it doesn't hurt us," she said, amused. Her eyes sparkled. "I wore a little makeup to go to Hogsmeade with a boy, once. He was blown away, but he couldn't quite tell how I looked so pretty." She grinned. "It was fun. But it's a lot of effort to do every day, and when other witches don't bother, why should I?"
"I completely agree," Hermione said, standing up. "Thank you so much for answering my questions. I was very confused, and no one in Slytherin knew what I was talking about or was able to be any help."
"I don't doubt it," the prefect said, getting to her feet. "Let me know if there's anything else I can help with, okay?"
"I will! Thank you!"
That evening, in her room, Hermione laid on her bed, a muggle notebook and fountain pen open beside her, and she stared out into the lake, thinking deeply.
This was an opportunity, she knew. It might have far-reaching effects, but it could help her at least get some seed money for her to grow her much-needed House-founding fortune on. And if nothing else, it would make things a bit more interesting at Hogwarts.
And Hermione was ready to shake things up.