Why Me?
Chapter 3.
Hermione stared, aghast in the mirror at her reflection. Thank Merlin it's not a speaking one, she thought, I don't want to know what it would say. It was the sixth dress she'd tried and they seemed - if possible - to be getting more hideous.
This one resembled a cream puff, yards and yards of yellowy cream stiff satin stuck out from her hips, supported by at least seventeen layers of scratchy netting. The waist had a large sash, which fastened at the back in a huge, ornamental bow, whose ties hung down and onto the long and elaborately laced train. The top of the dress wasn't any better, a large panel of mouldy looking lace covered the front, and two huge puffed cap sleeves finished the ensemble. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek hard, to stop herself screaming.
"Come on then dear, out you come." Came Madam Rose's singsong voice through the heavy curtain. Hermione gritted her teeth and tugged it back.
"Oh." Ginny said, her mouth falling open again in what was poorly disguised horror.
"It's very... lacy," Luna commented, her protuberant eyes travelling over the endless swirls of patterned lace. Lavender didn't comment, her face said it all.
Hermione felt like crying with exasperation, but Madam Rose had already chivvied her up onto the platform and was examining her critically from every angle.
"I like this one dear, how do you feel?" she asked, Hermione hesitated, knowing her tongue would run away with her at the slightest opportunity.
"...I still don't think its right." She said finally, sighing and sinking down to sit on the edge of the platform. Madam Rose didn't look deterred, but she patted Hermione's shoulder sympathetically. Hermione jumped to her feet.
"This is hopeless. I can't do it. I'm sorry Lizzie, you've been lovely - but these dresses - they just aren't me." Hermione exclaimed, rushing into the changing room and shedding the dress. She scrambled back into her clothes and without looking at the others fled from the shop.
She didn't get two steps out of the door before she halted abruptly.
"Miss Granger - will Feather's be the choice of store for your wedding dress?"
"Are you aware - renowned designer Madam Malkin has offered to produce the gown?"
"Does Mr Potter have any preferences for the dress?"
"Is it of a conventional style or are you likely to take a more modern design?"
"Miss Granger - smile for The Snitch please,"
Hermione groaned inwardly, there was fresh throng of journalists pawing at her. A multitude of bulbs flashed at her accompanied by the barrage of questions. Hermione didn't answer; instead she jumped back into the shop and slammed the door. Turning, she saw Ginny, Luna, Lavender and Madam Rose all staring avidly at her. Sighing dramatically, Hermione whipped out her wand and apparated.
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Minutes later she was in the quiet living room of her house. She blew out a relieved sigh, and went to collapse on the sofa when the answer machine's blinking light caught her attention again, on her way to the sofa she hit the button, flopping into the cushions.
Hey beautiful,
Harry. The simple greeting eased the tense knot in her stomach a little,
How are things? I miss you. I'm training hard, and I've got a photo shoot this evening followed by a press call in the morning. What are you up to? How is the planning going? I hope Gin's helping out, don't do all the work yourself. Give me a ring when you can, I'm at the Grand Hotel - I left you the phone number, room one hundred and six. Wish you were here. I love you. Bye.
The machine beeped loudly signalling the end of the message. Instantly Hermione got up to return the call, the receiver was in her hand, the number half dialled when she glanced at the clock. Half six. Harry's photo shoot wouldn't be over for a long while yet. She might as well have a relaxing bath for a few hours. She entered the spacious bathroom and a small grin passed over her face as she neared the gigantic bathtub, Harry had insisted on the ludicrous size as it supposedly helped to relieve the muscle pains Quidditch gave him. Hermione turned on the taps, testing the jet off water with her fingers till she was satisfied with the temperature, she picked up her usual bath oil then hesitated. She set down the bottle and picked up another, pouring a waterfall of dark green liquid into the water which blossomed into mounds of thick, white bubbles.
Harry's smell hit her nostrils, piney and fresh, utterly masculine and completely Harry. Smiling she unzipped the restricting sundress and sank into his scent.
It wasn't near having him there, but it was something. Idly she realised he never smelt exactly like this. Her Harry usually had this faintly, cut through with a tang of something else: sweat after Quidditch or after lovemaking, sometimes the scent of bacon and fried eggs lingered after he'd cooked breakfast, and even after washing the bubble bath was contaminated by the slightest trace of peppermint from his toothpaste. Hermione sighed and leant back in the hot water.
After a ridiculously long soak, she pulled herself from the bath, and examined her pruned fingertips. Wrapped in an oversized white towelling robe she padded back into the kitchen for a drink. Pouring an orange juice she picked up the phone and took it with her to the sofa. Her fingers flitted over the digits, punching the number that Harry had left. It began ringing, and after about three peals, a sugary sweet, monotonous female voice answered;
"Good Evening, The Grand Hotel, how may I help?"
"Room one - o - six please." Hermione asked politely,
"Please hold,"
There was a series of clicks a few bars of mechanical Mozart and then,
"Hello?"
Harry. Hermione felt her tension from the nightmarish day practically dissipate at his voice, smiling into the receiver she replied.
"It's me,"
"Hermione. How are you?" She could just imagine him, falling back onto the firm mattress of his hotel bed, phone cradled in his hand.
"Good - well alright," she amended, "I miss you."
"I miss you too. How are things going with the planning?" He asked, Hermione groaned,
"Don't want to panic you but, terrible." She said forlornly, Harry chuckled.
"I won't panic, if worse comes to worse, we'll have a ceremony me and you. Or we'll apparate to Vegas."
"Harry," Hermione whined, trying to cover her laughter at his suggestion, "You didn't see the dresses I was forced into, it was horrible." She shuddered,
"I don't care what you look like," he replied mildly,
"I care," Hermione retorted indignantly, Harry chuckled again.
"I'm sure you'll find one, Lavender won't allow you out there looking anything but the height of fashion. What about a venue? Viewed anywhere yet?" He enquired innocently, Hermione squirmed,
"Umm... no... not viewed," she hedged,
"Whatcha mean?" Harry asked lightly,
"Ehh... well, we've found somewhere - Ginny and I, its perfect. You love it there."
"I do? Where?" He asked eagerly, sounding intrigued.
"Malfoy Manor," Hermione mumbled waiting for the explosion. It didn't come. "Harry?"
"Mmm?"
"What do you think?"
"I... I suppose it is a great place. And I do like it there, but if Draco brags or causes any trouble..." he trailed off menacingly, making Hermione snigger.
"I'll be sure to warn him." She said in mock seriousness.
"You do that." Harry replied echoing her tone, they both laughed. Then Hermione stifled a yawn,
"What time is your press call?" she asked, Harry groaned.
"Nine sharp."
"Ack, early for you then." She said snickering.
"Shuttit," Harry growled, "I'm not looking forward to being woken by the alarm clock here - I prefer you,"
"I bet you do," Hermione laughed, "Well, I better go, Ginny's probably going mad trying to get through to me, I kind of scampered on her." Hermione said sheepishly,
"Okay. I'll ring again tomorrow."
"Yes. Night,"
"Sweet dreams. I love you."
"I love you."
The line clicked off. Hermione sighed and went to replace it when it jangled loudly with a ring in her palm. She dropped it in surprise. Then stooped to pick it up,
"Hello? Oh - Gin."
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