Lost Image | dramione

7 | the wedding

Hermione took a small, gasping breath. "Can we... maybe... loosen it a little?" she wheezed, and to her relief one of the seamstresses let out a whole half an inch to the ties of the corset.

She had not been expecting this particular dress when, as a child, she pictured her wedding day. The dress was hanging up, and it was deceptively simple. It had an open robed layer which fell off the shoulder and trailed behind, and the dress underneath was simple and elegant. It had a neckline that was high enough to cover her collar bone, and she was grateful for that. The last thing she wanted was to feel exposed... the dress exuded an air of confidence, elegance, and control, three things she did not feel she represented well herself at the moment.

Once the dress was officially on her, she appreciated the cinched waste. Somehow the conservative dress made her look lovelier than she expected, her figure cut sharply in thick white satin. She could almost define herself as sexy, if that didn't imply that she wanted to look sexy for the groom. Which she did not.

Her hair, however, was another story.

"Oh good, you're dressed!" Narcissa Malfoy exclaimed, coming in to check on her son's bride. She had done that frequently over the past hour, as if afraid Hermione might bolt and jump out the window at the first opportunity. "We still have a half-hour for your hair- plenty of time!"

Hermione tried to look encouraging, but she didn't think a half-hour would cut it. Three make-up and hair designers descended upon her, splattering her locks with various smelly goo's and painting on her eyes. They gave her constant commands, and she tried her best to follow along.

"Close your eyes."

"Tilt your head to the right. My right, not your right."

"Open your mouth and look up."

"Lean forward."

"Do this," the make-up witch said, pressing her lips together and making a kissy face. Hermione complied, rubbing the lipstick on. She wasn't inept at being a girl- she could do her own make-up. She would much rather have just dealt with things on her own than getting prodded and poked by the three women, but Narcissa Malfoy didn't leave her much of a choice.

The make-up covered up the worst of her sleepless raccoon eyes, at least, and she found herself looking at a refreshed, though still guardedly unhappy, face in the mirror. Her hair was still uncooperative- in the end all three witched were working tirelessly, at first smoothly blending in Sivan's Smooth-You Serum, and then finally resorting to wands. Straightening that much hair took time- Hermione remembered the Yule ball, and the hours she took preparing herself for what turned out to be a slightly disappointing night.

By some miracle, the witches were able to tame her hair into a lovely braided up-do, every stray hair tucked neatly into place for the first time in her life.

She turned her head this way and that, enjoying the feel of her hair off her shoulders. She rarely wore it up, and when she did it was just in a messy bun. She scrutinized her image... there didn't seem to be anything in particular people could pick at, but she had a feeling there would be plenty of people at this party who would try. This was not her wedding. This was Draco Malfoy's wedding. She was just invited.

She sighed, standing as Narcissa ushered her forward with frantic hand gestures. It seemed that being late was the bane of the woman's existence, and Hermione would usually have agreed.

Following the prim blond woman down expansive halls, Hermione suddenly felt very small. How could she ever hope to navigate this labyrinth herself? She was supposed to live here? The house felt more like a museum to gaudy taste than an actual home.