The Lost Horcrux

What Friends Are For

Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion and scenes of a sexual nature, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

***

Enola tried hard not to skip. Or bounce. But it was quite the impossible thing. For pure elation had been in short supply just lately around the palace. And, now that she had some, she was allowing herself to revel in it. So, here she was, moving through her walk-in wardrobe, humming happily to herself and thoroughly determined to do the best job that she could.

After all, it wasn't every day that a girl was asked to be a Maid of Honour.

And she was honoured. But she felt slightly guilty at the same time. For she was now firmly convinced that Hermione had become her best friend. Enola had felt it creeping in surreptitiously for ages, but this conversation had simply confirmed it. Hermione had replaced Cassie, who Enola had known for much longer, in that coveted spot in her heart. Enola had let her go with crushing sadness, but she was powerless to prevent it.

For there was just something magnetic about Hermione Granger. She had a way of drawing people to her, in much the same way that Harry did. It was just natural that they were drawn to each other. And the happiness that Hermione inspired in Harry ... well, it melted Enola's heart. For if anyone deserved happiness in Enola's eyes, it was Harry. And Hermione, who had suffered so dreadfully in her own way, was equally as deserving of the unbridled joy that their union promised to bring.

And Enola was just fitfully excited over the whole thing.

But which outfit to pick? Hermione had tasked Enola with this, placed her faith in her. And not just in terms of bridal fashions, but in asking her to be part of the biggest day of her life in this most intimate of ways. She had spoken so warmly of her, of how much she valued her friendship, of how important she'd come to consider her in such a short space of time.

Enola had been humbled, robbed of any kind of notion about how to respond, of any words that would have done justice to how she felt about any of that.

So she'd just given Hermione a deep hug, skipped into her wardrobe, had a little cry, and then got to work.

She drummed her fingers against her chin as she thought. She noticed a bit of unsightly hair growth there and yelped at the touch. Her wand was out casting hair-removal spells so fast that it would have looked like a blur to anyone who had seen. Had anyone seen? Enola hoped not ... she didn't like to think of anyone seeing her with a mini-beard. She shuddered bashfully at the thought.

This decision was a tricky one. This wasn't going to be a usual wedding, so converting one of her dresses into a standard wedding gown probably wasn't the way to go. And she wasn't sure of Hermione's style, either. Sally had provided her with a wardrobe of outfits and Hermione had simply chosen garments from that, but it wasn't as if she'd gone to a shop and bought a whole set of items to reflect her own tastes. She tended to plump for delicate cotton sundresses, but the warm weather dictated such choices, really.

Then there was the fact that this would be a ritual, too. That had to be factored in. Enola knew next to nothing about the alchemical process, so how was she expected to dress a White Queen for her alchemical wedding? Well, that was a start. She had to be in white, obviously. Enola flicked her wand and all her white dresses were suddenly floating in front of her. She didn't have many ... she was currently going through a phase of liking pastels for her own figure. She felt they created a cute contrast to her milky complexion. The low number of white garments made this easier, narrowing it down to a choice of just seven.