Beauty From Pain

Chapter Fifteen

Hermione threw her hundredth outfit into the floor and sighed. Nothing was working.

She kept telling herself it was just dinner, it was just Draco, but her thumping heartbeat and frantic thoughts were not getting the message. Every outfit looked worse than the last. Too frumpy, too casual, too fancy. What was she even supposed to wear to a casual dinner with a friend?

Was that what they were?

Hermione buried her face in her hands with a groan. Now was hardly the time to try and figure out the messy territory between Draco and herself. She was comfortable no longer calling him an enemy, but any other labels were too heavy with implications she wasn't ready to admit to. It 

was a friendly dinner, she decided finally. That was safe.

But she still didn't have an outfit.

Calling Ginny was out of the question. The nosy witch would ask far too many questions for Hermione's liking and would most likely try and learn the location of their friendly dinner. The absolute last thing she needed was Ginny Weasley stalking her not-a-date dinner with Draco. Luna wouldn't be very helpful either. While she was excellent with advice, Luna's taste in fashion was questionable at best, and there was nothing keeping Luna from immediately telling Ginny.

She was beginning to wonder if she should cancel the dinner entirely when she heard the formal voice of her floo echo through the flat.

"A Pansy Parkinson is requesting permission to connect to your floo system."

Hermione's eyebrows rose so high they nearly touched her hairline. Why the hell was Pansy Parkinson of all people asking to connect to her floo?

She hesitated for barely a heartbeat before calling out, "Permission granted."

The fireplace roared to life with green flames, and Pansy Parkinson stepped into the flat.

"Hermione, darling, are you home?" Pansy examined her surroundings while looking for Hermione. The flat looked exactly as she had expected.

A large chair sat beside the fireplace surrounded by stacks of books. The walls were lined with bookshelves that looked fit to burst, and made the modest flat seem even smaller than it was. Rather than Gryffindor reds and golds, soft shades of greens and blues created an inviting environment that was surprisingly reminiscent of the Hogwarts library.

Pansy was about to investigate the kitchen and ask a house elf for tea when Hermione entered the room.

"Pansy," she said politely. She frowned in confusion and pulled her fluffy white robe tighter around herself. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I heard you had dinner plans and thought you could use my clothing expertise." Pansy walked past Hermione and into the bedroom where she perched herself on the edge of the bed facing the closet. Gesturing towards Hermione who stood hesitantly in the doorway, Pansy said, "Show me your best options."

Hermione only stood uncomfortably in the center of the room, weight shifting from foot to foot and eyes looking anywhere but at Pansy.

Huffing a sigh of frustration, Pansy stood from the bed and began digging through the pile of discarded clothing on Hermione's floor. Finding nothing of interest, she moved on to the closet. Pansy rifled through the dresses, muttering comments about uptight bookworms and their lack of fashion sense under her breath, and finally threw her hands up in exasperation. "You have nothing," she declared. "Stay put."

Hermione stared dumbfounded as Pansy disappeared back into the living room and through the fireplace.

She must have looked like an idiot, standing in the doorway of her bedroom and staring open-mouthed at her empty fireplace, but the last ten minutes felt like a fever dream. Was Pansy Parkinson actually trying to help her get dressed for dinner with Draco Malfoy?