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Today's prompt: 'How vain is your character? Do they find themselves attractive?' I'm warning you guys that I'm having some trouble with tomorrow's, so it might not get posted at exactly the same time. Hopw you enjoy!
"This is the worst idea I've ever had in my life."
Such was the attitude of one Hermione Granger on this particular December evening. The so-called 'brightest witch of the age,' who didn't feel particularly bright at the moment, was standing buck-naked in the middle of her dormitory - with the curtains drawn and protected by several NEWT-level privacy charms, naturally - staring at herself in a mirror. She was supposed to be getting into her fancy, gorgeous, expensive dress. She was supposed to be putting the finishing touches on her look for the Yule Ball. She was supposed to be meeting Viktor in a few minutes.
She was supposed to be thrilled.
She wasn't thrilled.
She was terrified.
The reason for her terror was simple: Hermione Granger was, simply put, not an attractive young lady.
Certainly not attractive enough to be on the arm of a world-class Quidditch star - even though he honestly wasn't much of a looker either. She knew the kinds of girls men like that normally went after, if Lavender and Parvati's magazines were any indication, and she didn't quite fit the mold; chesty, leggy, blonde, and slender were not characteristics that anyone in their right mind would apply to her, and she knew it.
Of course, if she was truly honest with herself, she wasn't really interested in impressing Viktor at all. Her target was different, the object of her silent affections for the past year, and the secret sex idol of the entire female population of Hogwarts - although Hermione could confirm with reasonable certainty that none of the girls had achieved that level of intimacy with him. She was, of course, out to impress Harry Potter.
Harry Potter, who saved her from a troll. Harry Potter, who risked his life to save a girl he barely knew. Harry Potter, who risked unravelling the fabric of the universe to set an innocent man free. Harry Potter who had stared down a dragon. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.
Harry wasn't exactly a famous Quidditch player, at least not outside of Hogwarts, but Hermione was equally aware that his fame and his purported wealth would attract a certain breed of woman; and this was to say nothing of his developing looks and his heroic personality!
Hermione sighed heavily, crossing her arms in a futile attempt to plump up her smallish breasts, simultaneously twisting her hips to survey her flat behind. Contrary to popular belief, the mysteries of love and sex weren't complete mysteries to her; she had read a lot, naturally, but she had also observed the older students, and her observations were pretty unanimous: boys liked girls with large chests, plump buttocks, lean legs, or all of the above. Hermione, unfortunately, was a none-of-the-above. Her chest, while larger than some of the girls her age, was nothing spectacular; her buttocks were barely present; her legs weren't distressingly large, but stockier than most.
Hermione sighed again. Maybe she just wouldn't go tonight; resign herself to a life of spinsterhood, living alone with three hundred cats, but never having to feel the pain of rejection. She nodded slightly, turning to pick up not her dress, but her plain robes. That sounded like a good plan.
"Come on in there, Hermione." Parvati's voice on the other side of the curtain made her pause. "You're going to be late, and we want to see you in your dress." The girl broke into a mess of giggles, joined with those of her best friend Lavender, and Hermione had to forcibly remind herself that they weren't laughing at her - they were just excited.
Of course, Parvati had good reason to be excited: she'd be going to the ball with Harry, Hogwarts' most eligible bachelor. Hermione ground her teeth as she remembered this unhappy fact; she'd held Viktor off for weeks, lied (well, half-lied) to Ron when he'd asked her like a total git, hoping that Harry would think to ask her. But he went and asked Parvati of all people.
But she couldn't be mad at Parvati for that, not when it was her own fault. Harry had heard the lie she told Ron, that she already had a date to the ball. The truth was that Viktor had asked her, quite persistently, in fact, but she had responded with a coy 'I have to think about it.' But Harry didn't know that, and it wasn't fair to Parvati for Hermione to sulk on such a happy day for the Indian girl.
"I'm not going tonight." She responded shortly, tightening the belt on her school skirt.
The giggling stopped abruptly. "What?" Lavender and Parvati asked at once. "Why not?"
Hermione gave the mirror a sad look, and responded: "He's not going to think I'm pretty enough."
There was silence for a moment, but Hermione could actually hear the eye-rolling in Lavender's voice when she responded: "Hermione, do you really think he cares about that? After all this time, I think it's pretty obvious he's not interested in your looks; he's interested in you."
This made Hermione stop. It was a good point; she had been so caught up in what Famous People usually did, that she had never stopped to consider what Harry would do. It was true that he wasn't exactly a typical Famous Person, and he had certainly never treated her less for her lac of beauty. A slight smile flickered across Hermione's face when she looked back in the mirror and saw her hair, for once in her life tamed into something normal-looking, and the smile gained strength when she saw the understated makeup that Ginny, Parvati, and Lavender had helped her apply - not nearly as much as they'd put on themselves, but enough to make her eyes shine like gold and make her feel like a queen, sitting in the dorm in her dressing gown.
"Fair point." She spoke half to herself, half to her dormmates, as she flung her uniform to the floor and picked up her dress. Harry may not be interested in looks, but tonight she was going to show him what she had