Secrets and Masks

29. Queen, or New Order

7th May;

"Please Miss, let Romy help."

"It's alright, I can do this. I want to do this."

"But Master Zabini said that Miss ought not to be using spells that could put a strain on herself-"

"Oh hush you. I would hardly call a few glamours and hair spells strenuous."

Hermione paused on the other side of the hallway. She was still out of view, hand still raised and knuckles about to touch the open door, ready to knock.

"Perhaps you should not do both spells this morning, Miss," she heard Romy say from inside the room. "Perhaps she should just do the glamour's on her face? Or just her hair? But not both Miss, Miss does not need to do both."

Astoria didn't answer, but there was a shuffling sound, like pieces of wood sliding against each other. Hermione assumed that it was drawers opening and closing.

"Perhaps Mrs Zabini should not go out at all today. Perhaps she should just get back in bed and ..." From the way Romy's voice trailed off quietly, he must have realised that Astoria wasn't listening to him.

After a brief pause, Hermione peaked her head around the doorframe and stared into Blaise and Astoria's bedroom.

Astoria was sat at her vanity table, staring at herself in the mirror. There was a sadness in her eyes, and a frown pulling at her delicate features, like she hated what she saw staring back at her.

Although she was fully clothed, already wearing an expensive tea-length dress and impossibly high heels, she looked anything but radiant. Her eyes were sunken back in her head, face gaunt and skin lifeless. She had thick dark brown roots poking out at the top of her head, and the blonde underneath was frizzy and dry. She looked nothing like the immaculately put-together woman she usually was. Even the skin around her bare shoulders and collar bones looked thin and grey. It was the first time that Hermione had ever thought Astoria looked truly ill.

She kept staring at herself in the mirror, even as she drew a deep breath and picked up her wand. It shook terribly between her fingers, but when Romy offered his aid, she held up her other hand to refuse him. Three twists of her wand were all it took for Astoria to resemble herself again. And three twists of her wand were all it took to leave her breathless.

Although all external traces of her illness had vanished, although her skin was warm and glowing again and her hair its usual golden blonde, the simple spells had knocked the wind from Astoria's lungs. Anyone would have thought she'd been punched in the stomach, from the way she leaned over the table and gasped. She was panting, choking for breath.

Such simple magic wouldn't have made even a 3rd year at Hogwarts break out in a sweat, and yet, it crippled Astoria. Her beauty came at a cost, a high one. The toll it took on her body was exasperating, and the price would only get larger as the claws of her illness sunk deeper.

It took her several moments to get her breathing under control. And when she finally did, she sat up straight - the posture of a true lady - and stared at herself in the mirror again.

Astoria leaned in and touched the side of her face, lightly caressing the perfectly polished skin. She smiled softly when her fingers brushed into her new blonde roots. There was almost a haunting quality about Astoria's beauty, something unsettling but familiar at the same time, and Hermione couldn't quite figure out what it was. She smiled at the tiny elf's reflection in the mirror. "How do I look?"

"Perfect," Romy grinned back. "Just like her, Miss."

And then it fell into place, and Hermione's chest tightened. Because there was only one person that they could have been talking about, and Romy was right, Astoria did look just like her sister.