More Than Just a Pureblood

Chapter Thirteen |Year Three|

Chapter Thirteen |Year Three|

"So," Camille said crisply, gazing at the image in the mirror reflecting her and Amelie. Amelie's eyes were wide and bright, in awe at how she appeared. "What do you think? How'd I do?"

Amelie subconsciously put a hand on her sister's shoulder to steady herself. She felt awfully faint, in a good way. "Cami, I look stunning," she whispered. It was true, she did look ragingly beautiful. Her light brown locks had been straightened and they fell in curtains upon her shoulder, with temporary highlights streaked into her locks. She wore a chiffon princess-style Versace dress that was the color of milky pearls. Camille had done her makeup, and her eyes and mouth popped out with the extravagant amount of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick the older Santerre had used.

Camille giggled. Amelie was thankful that her sister was, once, again, back to her childish and carefree ways. She hated having Camille ignore her like she did at Hogwarts. "All the guests are going to go blind from all this beauty!" Camille exclaimed, and Amelie blushed with pleasure.

"I hope not - that would be awkward,"

Camille laughed again, then sighed. "Oh, I wish I could go. Why, Malfoy Manor! I may not like the Malfoys, but their home really does sound so lavish," she remarked dreamily with a hint of sorrow mixed into her voice. Amelie smiled ruefully, then brightened.

"I'm going to take you with me," she said suddenly, taking her sister by the crook of her elbow. The blonde gave a start of surprise. However, her façade of modesty was shallow, and was almost immediately seen through by the younger one.

Amelie smirked. "I know you're happy,"

"No, I - " Camille stopped and clapped her hands together jovially, as Amelie had thought she would. " - Well, okay, maybe I am excited! But, really! You shouldn't - "

Amelie feigned thinking. "Maybe I shouldn't..."

Camille reacted immediately. "No, no, I didn't mean you shouldn't, I meant. Um. I meant. You - should!"

Amelie smiled and laughed. "I will, don't worry. You have to hurry, though, the party's in, let's see," she told Camille, then checked the nearest clock, which was, conveniently, to the right of her head. "Four hours."

Camille gave her sister a careening gesture, flipping her hair. "Don't worry. It'll take less than an hour, I promise."

Turned out, she needed three-and-a-half hours, and that was after a long shower, multiple blow-drying sessions, and turning out her entire vanity and closet, fretting over what to wear, (clothing-wise) what makeup to apply, and what shoes she would parade in all night.

Finally, a decision was made. Ten minutes before they were set to leave, Camille stepped down the stairs in a black folded-hem dress that shimmered as she moved. The bodice had slits on the sides, revealing some of the skin endorning her hip. Light pink eyeshadow layered with magenta covered her eyelids, and her lips were slathered with sparkling lip gloss and lipstick. Her hair was also let down, hanging in wavy blonde waterfalls.

At first look, a person of the male variety might say that Camille looked prettier. If they hung around the two longer, however, they would probably favor Amelie more and say that her beauty was a more calmed, more simple version of Camille's. Amelie was a beautiful girl. She was just too self-conscious and deprecating to take note of it.

The two walked downstairs, to meet a puzzled table full of parents, also known as two. "You look gorgeous, honey cake," Mr. Santerre told Amelie. The girl smiled.