The Butterfly Loop

Chapter Sixteen – The Butterfly Loop

"The Butterfly (Lineman's) Loop - An excellent easy to tie loop for applications needing a loop in another place than the rope-end, but somewhere in the middle. It has an excellent lead, and is secure even if the forces on both ends are stronger than the load in the loop." from Real Knots

"Come in," Hermione said in response to the tentative knock on her door as she flipped through a few sheaves of parchment and straightened the books on her desk.

She had finally gotten the room settled the way she liked it. It had taken a few days, but it felt like the right space for what she wanted to achieve. When McGonagall had told her during their first meeting for her independent Transfiguration studies that she was to be given her own office and sitting room, Hermione had thought the stern professor playing some sort of bizarre joke on her. After all, being Head Girl was privilege enough, wasn't it, not to require further compensation? But McGonagall had insisted that Hermione was to have her own sitting room and office – as per instructions from Dumbledore – that connected, by means of a discreet door at the back, to her Head of House's office and study. 'For your counseling sessions,' the stern witch had said. Her disdain for the idea was clear, but she seemed determined to keep her best student's new task legitimate. 'If the sessions are to be effective, you can hardly expect grieving, confused students to sit at the foot of your bed in Gryffindor Tower.' So she had made the little office as cozy as possible, nicely situating two squashy armchairs in front of the fireplace, flanked by a tea table and a small settee. She had scattered the room with soothing paintings of calm ocean scenes and dappled autumn forest depictions. With a nod, she crossed the room from her desk – which was a lovely red-stained walnut secretary tastefully tucked into the far corner – and met the student lurking in her doorway. She smiled.

"Come in," she said again as Neville peeked around the door jamb. "Make yourself comfortable."

Neville nodded wordlessly and moved to one of the armchairs, depositing his knapsack on the floor beside the settee. Hermione noticed that his hands scrabbled in his lap and his cheeks were quite pink.

"Relax, Neville," she said as she crossed the room, putting her brightest smile on her face. "It's just me. We've known each other since we met on the train coming here." Neville just nodded. She could see he was going to need a bit of prompting. "Don't think of this as a counselor-patient sort of thing; let's just talk."

"Okay," he said quietly, but still remained fidgety and taciturn.

Hermione cleared her throat. If this was the way her sessions started, things might not go as well as Dumbledore had hoped. "How was the end of your summer?" Hermione asked. She knew it was a weak start, but she had to begin somewhere and he certainly wasn't volunteering anything.

"Good," he said, easing a bit but still somewhat tense around the eyes. "Gran and I went on holiday to Greece."

"Oh, that must have been lovely!" Hermione answered, with genuine enthusiasm. "The climate must have agreed with you, you look smashing."

Hermione warmed as Neville pinkened in pleasure at her praise. He even patted his stomach beneath the plain robes. "Yeah, climbing around all the historical sites lost me a few pounds," he said, a chuckle in his voice. "And I figured I'd better shape up, you know. If I'm going to have to keep a lady's interest soon ...." His eyes tightened with the stress he was trying to hide and Hermione tried to ease the transition of subjects.

"You'll have no trouble then," she said warmly. Neville blushed. "So no one else has been foisted on you since you lost me to Snape, eh?" She tried to sound flippant, knowing that this was a stressor for both of them. She was not sure she succeeded, really, but Neville smiled anyway.

"No," he said, only a tiny hitch in his voice. "But I was thinking of dueling Snape over you."

She laughed at the unusually roguish humor from Neville, and felt him relax as he laughed with her. "Don't waste your effort," she said, "you'd only embarrass him."

For a moment, there was a bit of silence where Neville fingered the wand she could see stashed in his sleeve. "Hermione, do you..." he started, and then trailed off. "Do you really think that I could, you know, attract someone?"

Hermione felt his insecurity and sadness squeeze her heart. He was trying so desperately not to betray his feelings on his face, but she could see them there as plain as if he had scrawled them there in glowing red ink: Neville was in love with someone and wanted to ask her to marry him, but he didn't think himself good enough.

"Neville," she started carefully, "what do you think of me?"

He bit his lip. "What do you mean?"

"What sort of girl do you think I am?"

He smiled shyly. "Brave. Kind. Loyal. Clever as the day is long. A touch bossy," he said with a smirk, giggling a bit when she pursed her lips, "but patient and helpful, even to poor saps like me. And one of the best people I've ever met."

Hermione allowed herself a moment to blush and smile under Neville's glowing praise. Her bashful housemate surprised her often with how clearly he could cut through a situation when he wanted to do so. "And I accepted you, didn't I?"

"Well, yes," he admitted, "but you sort of had to, didn't you?"

"No," she said flatly, but not unkindly. "I could have accepted Charlie or Lupin or any number of the others they suggested. I accepted you. Why do you think so?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea," Neville said, not even bothering to force a smile.

"Because you're sweet," he blushed immediately, "and kind and decent and noble," he nearly put his hand in front of his face here, "and I think you're just an absolutely lovely person. And I would never accept someone for a lifetime commitment that I didn't think would make a kind, loving, and strong..." here, Neville looked astonished, "...life partner."

"You accepted Snape, though," he said, clearly confused.

"Yes," she said, slowly. "Yes, I accepted Professor Snape. And while he isn't the kindest or most approachable man," at this, she received a 'ha!' of indignance, "he is intelligent and powerful. And however poorly he shows it on a daily basis, he is noble." Neville sat silently, gaping at her. Truth be told, Hermione surprised herself. To cover it, she said even more strongly, "I wouldn't accept someone I didn't have faith in."

Neville nodded, still silent.

"Now you tell me, Neville," Hermione said, hoping her prompt would not scare him away, "do you believe that those qualities I listed about you would attract someone?"

"I dunno," he floundered. "I ... well, she ..."

"You obviously have someone in mind. Tell me what about her makes you afraid you can't attract her," she probed gently.

Neville resumed running his hand along his wand, looking dreadfully relieved that Hermione had not asked him to reveal her identity. "Well, you see, she's quite smart and she's very good at what she does. She's powerful and witty and strong and she's so funny and ... and I'm none of those things. I'm just afraid that there's nothing she'd see in me."

Hermione started to respond, but Neville charged on.

"And she's hurting," he bit his lip a moment and Hermione had the feeling he chose his words quite carefully, "because of the deaths this summer. She's cried with me so many times and said that she feels like one of them particularly is her fault. It's not," Neville said fiercely, "but she feels responsible. And I've told her time and time over, it's not her fault and that it's just survivors' guilt..."

"But she can't help it," Hermione nodded. "It's a very common symptom of survivors' guilt. I've read lots about it in the last few days." Hermione reached out and laid her palm across the back of Neville's fidgeting hands. "Depression and anxiety and feelings of helplessness are very common. But it sounds like you're doing the best thing for her, Neville. Sympathy and commiseration won't work; she has to come to it herself. And it sounds like you've been supportive but strong, and that's what will help her. She's quite lucky she has you to listen."

"I'm afraid." Neville's voice was small; terribly, terribly small.

"Of what?"

"That if I don't tell her how I feel, someone else will snatch her up and I'll miss my chance. But if I do tell her how I feel," Neville's eyes started to tear up, "and she can't handle it, how could I ever live with making her sadder?"

Hermione was quiet a long moment. She knew that she should be gentle and detached, just like all of the books said. Caring and open but uninvolved. But this was one of her best friends sitting in the chair across from her, trying not to weep over the possibility of either losing or hurting his first love. Hermione reached out a hand and drew Neville to his feet. When he stood, she laced her arms around his waist and drew him into a loose hug. A tad awkward, as he'd never really touched Hermione before other than the perfunctory classmate sort of stuff, it took a moment before Neville wound his arms around her and allowed himself to drop his head and cry into her shoulder.

"Love from you would never make any woman sad, Neville," Hermione said as she ran her hand gently across his back. She knew that it was a tad unfair, that if the girl he spoke of did react badly to the news of his feelings that it might shatter his confidence, but Hermione couldn't stand to see him weep. He had always been such a kind, loving, willing friend, so grateful for affection that she couldn't stand to see him deny that affection to himself or someone else. She stroked his dark hair for a moment before she drew him back and looked into his eyes.

"You should tell her," she said firmly. "Understand if she doesn't leap in joy, as she's clearly going through a lot right now, but you should definitely tell her. Your love," he blushed, "will likely be a great strength to her."

"Thank you," he said brokenly. "I think I will tell her after all."

After another quick clasp around her shoulders, Neville swiped at his eyes and settled back into the chair in front of the fire. Hermione joined him. "She's lovely, Hermione," Neville said. His smile lit up his entire face, making the tear trails glitter in a strangely pleasant way. "She's really quite something. As soon as I talk to her, you'll be the first to know how it goes."

"I'm glad," Hermione said. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about today?"

Neville smiled. "I think that can wait until our session next week."

Hermione smiled back. A repeat customer. The session had gone better than anticipated.

*****

Her second counseling session, however, did not. Lavender Brown had come into her little study looking as if Hermione might supply her with all the answers to her emotional questions, and the weight of what her classmate placed on her shoulders settled heavily. Hermione tried to coax Lavender, offering her little pulls here and there to get her to speak about what was bothering her, but all that the girl wanted to know was how to "get better." Hermione had tried to explain that it wasn't as simple as all that, that she should try talking about what was bothering her first, about how the situations were affecting her, but Lavender snapped shut like a bear trap each time. It seemed that the girl wanted to bury all her troubles under a thick layer of dirt and simply pave a road over top. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose as she sat at her desk, scowling down at the progress report she was writing for Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. Lavender had said she would come back, but Hermione wasn't sure how much she could do for the girl until she consented to talk about the past, the deaths, and how they were affecting her. Hermione made herself a little note on her homework planner to research Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in more depth and search for ways to probe the girl more productively without sending her even further inside her defenses. She couldn't decide whether the girl was suffering from a bout of PTSD, plain old depression or just some heavy survivors' guilt, but whichever was the case...

Hermione's head rocketed up from her folded hands. "Survivors' guilt?" she nearly shrieked. Her mind raced through the information that she had gleaned from Lavender and then thought hard about her session the previous day with Neville. Survivors' guilt, crying and blame, being snatched away by someone else? It all fit! It was Lavender that Neville was sweet on! "No accounting for taste," Hermione said, then scolded herself for the nastiness. Apparently, Neville saw something in the girl that she had not. "Well, I just hope he can help her out of this rut she's in..."

Completely out of the blue, though, Hermione thought as she sat with her hands resting on her report. Neville had never seemed to favor any girl at school except perhaps for herself when she helped him in all those classes. Scouring her mind to try and come up with any memories of Neville spending time with Lavender or, for that matter, any other girl, she could only recall him spending time with Ginny, Luna and Hermione as far as girls went, and a few instances of seeing him chatting with Tonks after Order meetings. She remained completely puzzled, but figured that once Neville talked to Lavender about his feelings, she'd hear the details of how the unlikely match had happened.

A heavy sigh escaped Hermione for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. Massaging the back of her shoulders, she glanced at the carriage clock on the mantel and smiled. It was nearly time for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the thought livened her. Tonks could make any day better. She hefted her knapsack and muttered a few locking and warding spells as she exited her office. Hermione smiled as she navigated the crowded, bustling hallways between her office on the seventh floor and the fourth floor classroom. The first day of Defense against the Dark Arts with Tonks had been quite interesting, to say the least. She and Harry had both slipped and forgotten to call her Professor, though she hadn't seemed to mind it at all. In fact, she had seemed to be more amiable to that than being given the appropriate title. The entire class of NEWT level students had been completely thrilled at the idea of having an Auror for a professor, especially when she had stated baldly at the beginning of the class that she intended for the curriculum this year to focus on combat skills and strong defensive magic.

"A war is on us," she had said dramatically from the front podium, "and I won't sugar-coat it for you just because you are students. There is danger out there," she thrust her arm towards the window and the dramatic sweeping effect was only slightly marred by the two piles of books sent soaring to the ground from her arm, "and you need to know how to be prepared for it! I'm going to teach you to think quick, look sharp, and when it's necessary, hide right out in plain sight."

The entire class had been breathless on her words, Hermione included. Though she knew Tonks to be an Auror and that Aurory required a high level of skill, she couldn't help but think of the fuchsia-haired witch as the well-meaning but slightly bumbling jokester that had made animal noses for her and Ginny over dinner so many evenings at Grimmauld Place. Seeing her in the deep purple robes, standing at the front of the classroom demonstrating her Metamorphosing, had put the witch in a totally different light for Hermione. It was with great pleasure that Hermione dropped into her seat, pulling out her textbook and smiling at Harry as Tonks bustled in the back door of the classroom.

"Quiet now, quiet everyone. Wotcher Harry, Hermione, Neville," she said with a smile on her face as she swept to the front of the room. "Don't worry about the textbooks for now. The next few weeks, we're going to be concentration on some basics of combat." The entire class leaned forward in their seats as a single entity, hungry for every morsel of information. "I understand that there was once a dueling club here, correct?" Everyone nodded.

"Well, as I have heard who the instructor was," Tonks smirked, "I'd imagine that it was simply basics. But as basics are the best way to start, that's not necessarily bad. The thing you want to keep in mind, though, is that what you've been taught is a formal duel. Rarely, if ever, will an enemy – especially if it's a Death Eater – preserve the niceties. Your enemy won't wait for a nice bow and salute before serving you a Cruciatus Curse. So you need to learn to watch your opponent and think quickly."

Tonks blushed just a tiny bit as she noticed how the entire class hung on her every word. Hermione smiled encouragingly and winked when the older witch caught her eye. "Right," Tonks said. "So in a real fight, you have to be on guard at all times. Who wants to help me with a demonstration?"

Before she had even finished her sentence, nearly every hand in the classroom had shot into the air. To her slight annoyance, Hermione realized that some people had even beaten her well-trained response. Tonks laughed heartily and scanned the room. Her gaze rested for a moment on Harry and she pursed her lips thoughtfully before continuing her search. The friendly, heart-shaped face hardened when she realized that only four hands in the entire classroom were not raised, and they all belonged to Slytherins.

"Mr. Malfoy," Tonks said, her voice just a bit barbed. "Perhaps you'd be so good as to help me?"

He smirked deeply and made a great show of smoothing his robes and plucking his wand from his desk before standing and moving to the front of the classroom. "Of course, Professor," he said. There was just enough disdain and insolence in his voice to make her lips set into a thin, hard line.

"Thank you," she said tightly. Clearing her throat and smoothing her features, she turned towards him. "Mr. Malfoy and I will be demonstrating the necessity of quick reflexes. Wand at the ready, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco raised his wand slowly, a thick smirk on his face. When he had taken a ready stance, Tonks turned back to the classroom.

"I cannot stress to you enough how important it is to be alert at all times. Never underestimate your opponent; any moment of inattention could turn into a split-second advantage, making you an open target for injury or – Merlin forbid – death. An enemy will rarely give you the opportunity to assess and consider his weaknesses or plan your best method of attack. So even if you believe you know your enemy, never assume you can anticipate their intentions or moves...Levicorpus!"

She had whirled around and trained her wand on the insolent blonde so quickly that nearly everyone in the classroom jumped when he was upended and hoisted into the air. Draco clearly had thought himself safe as she spoke because his wand had gone slack at his side and clattered to the floor as he struggled in mid-air. A roar of laughter rumbled through the classroom as he wriggled against the invisible cuff holding him aloft by the ankle. Tonks, though, turned back to the class at Draco dangled.

"Never," she said firmly, using her offhand to emphasize her words. "Never underestimate your enemy. If Mr. Malfoy had been watching carefully, he would have noticed my eyes darting to and from his wand hand, waiting for an opportunity for him to get bored and sloppy. All I had to do was distract him long enough to sideline his attention for an instant, and there you have it." She gestured to where her student now had started to mutter vulgarity. "Liberacorpus," she said easily, then, "Wingardium Leviosa. " Using the levitation charm, she guided him to a gentle, upright landing and smiled just a tiny bit as he replaced his robes, swearing under his breath.

"Excellent job of demonstrating my point, Mr. Malfoy," she said and smiled winningly as he glared at her. "Ten points to Slytherin."

Most of the other students in the room scowled at her giving points to Slytherin merely for being inattentive and humiliated – Draco included – but Hermione was among the few who smiled.

"Clever, that," Harry whispered to Hermione, "giving him points. Made it look like she hadn't enjoyed hoisting that little prat up by his ankles."

Hermione giggled behind her hand and nodded.

"You had the privilege of working with my mentor, Mad-Eye Moody," Tonks said, before mumbling under her breath, "more or less." Hermione and Harry smiled at her. "Professor Moody always taught 'constant vigilance.' Not a bad idea." Many of the students looked at her skeptically. "While I'm not saying that you have to drink out of a hip flask and look around every corner with a Foe Glass, being aware of your surroundings is an essential part of combat. For example, I'm going to give you an exercise: I want you all to clear everything off your desks." Everyone rushed to obey. Tonks waved her wand and out from behind her desk soared no less than twenty random objects, from a pair of boots and a sugar quill to a small pumpkin, a ball of old twine and a crystal goblet. With a flick of her hand, the objects deposited themselves, one per student, on each bench. "You will study your object for approximately three seconds. Go!"

Everyone seemed at a loss as to what to do, so there ended up being quite a bit of looking around in confusion. After three seconds, Tonks flicked her wand again and the items flew into mid-air, jumbled themselves up and then landed on another person's desk with no discernable order or reason. "Again, study your object. Go!" Tonks caused the objects to rearrange themselves numerous times until everyone had seen each item once for no more than three seconds. After the last pass, she cried, "Evanesco! " and the items instantly vanished.

"Take out a piece of parchment," Tonks said, grinning widely at the students now. Hermione had her quill poised over a length of parchment before any one else had even reached their bags. "Now, write down, in order, each object you saw and three identifying characteristics of that object. You have five minutes. Go!"

The entire class gaped at her as she leaned back against her desk, arms folded across her chest, a smug look on her face. "Time is wasting!" she said, tapping her wristwatch.

Hermione smiled, then chewed the corner of her lip in concentration and set to work. The task proved much more difficult than she had imagined. She had managed to write down the first five or six items with a list of a few characteristics each, but after that her mind got fuzzy. Each item seemed to blend together and she couldn't make sense of what order they had gone in. Giving up on the characteristics temporarily, she tried to settle for simply getting down a list of all items, only to realize that she could only remember the first eight or nine and the last two or three. She scowled at her paper, as if it had Confunded the information out of her head.

"Time's up!" Tonks said brightly, answered by a great chorus of groans. "Who got all seventeen with three characteristics?" Silence. Everyone stared at Hermione, who proceeded to blush and stare at her parchment. After her previously blemish-free academic record, this failure seemed gargantuan. "Okay, did anyone get all seventeen, even without identifiers?"

Not a single student raised their hand. Strangely, Tonks smiled. "Who got fourteen or more?" Only Harry raised his hand. Hermione scowled even deeper. "Okay, eleven or more?" Hermione's hand shot into the air, accompanied by Hannah Abbott and Draco Malfoy. "More than seven?" Most of the rest of the class raised their hands. "Less than seven?" Crabbe and Goyle laughed thickly and raised their hands.

"Okay," Tonks said, nodding. "Only one person got 75% of the objects. One." Most of the class fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. "And quite frankly," Tonks said, casting Harry an appraising look, "I'd have expected that from him. But he's not the only one from whom I would have expected that performance. So what does that tell us?"

After a few moments of silence, Hermione raised her hand uncertainly. "That we need to be more observant?"

Tonks nodded and made a so-so gesture with her hand. "Yes, but not only," she said. "It's not just about seeing what's around you. It's about taking everything in as quickly as you can and branding it into your memory. Processing the information. Using your advantages. Knowing your surroundings. More than one fight has been won just by paying attention and using what's available." The students nodded and looked around the classroom, as if committing it to memory in case a battle was to happen upon them at any moment. "Okay, parchment out; I'm going to give you some notes before we finish up until next week."

A rustle of paper and quills filled the classroom as Tonks lectured about different methods of combat. As the bell rang, she assigned a ten-inch essay on combat styles and then smiled. "And anyone who can come up with a list of exercises to help focus your awareness will get bonus points on the next exam!"

Hermione scrawled the extra credit in her homework planner and hurriedly moved to pack up. She wanted to get to dinner as soon as possible so she could begin researching mental exercises in the library. She had nearly packed everything away when a conversation at the front of the room caught her attention. Lavender Brown and Hannah Abbott chatted happily with Tonks when Neville shuffled out of his seat and up to them, his cheeks a little bit pink and clearing his throat. It took all of her self-discipline not to rocket up from her bag and squeal in joy when she heard Neville's voice say, "Could I speak to you after class?"

She giggled to herself, knowing what a treat the girl would be in for when Neville got to say his piece. Trying not to cause him anxiety by gawking, Hermione studiously turned her head away from the knot of people at the front of the room and headed to dinner with Harry. Hoping fervently that Lavender would respond well to Neville's attentions, Hermione practically skipped from her desk.

"What are you so happy about?" Harry asked quizzically as they left the classroom and made their way down to the Great Hall.

"Oh, I just have a feeling it's going to be a good evening, that's all," she said and looped her arm through Harry's.

*****

"Hermione, you are truly the cleverest person Gryffindor has ever housed! The cleverest person ever!" Neville's voice was nearly shouting as he pelted through the portrait hole and into the Common Room. A squeal tore from her throat as Neville yanked her to her feet, threw his arms round her middle and swung her in a wide, dizzying circle, causing her to kick a few first years and knock several books off the table before he consented to put her down. She couldn't help but laugh at the elated face of her housemate as he tried (and failed) not to bounce up and down in his happiness. "Well, then?" Hermione said, trying not to give away her knowledge. "What's this all about?"

"I've told her!" Neville said in a rush. "I've told her everything we talked about! That I've been really glad to spend time with her and that I think she's lovely and smart and funny and strong, and that I want her to be happy. And I told her how much I lo..." At this, Neville's words screeched to a halt. He blushed furiously and looked around the room at everyone who was trying not to stare at them.

Hermione took both of his hands in hers. "Go on," she said and grinned.

"I told her that I really care for her," he said, lowering his voice distinctly. "And that I think that ... well, that I ... that I love her."

Hermione's face lit up. "And?"

Neville threw his arms around Hermione and hugged her until she started to wheeze. "And she said she loves me, too! Can you imagine?! We're going to get married!"

"Oh, Neville, that's fantastic!" Hermione felt tears prick her eyes at the complete and utter joy on his face. A tiny prick of sadness poked at her heart in envy, but she slapped it away. "I'm so happy for you. I'm sure you two will be absolutely blissful together."

Neville smiled his shy little grin and nodded. "Well, we're sort of an unlikely pair," Hermione chuckled, "and it will be a bit difficult, we both agreed, having another teacher-student marriage..."

"Teacher?" Hermione asked, a little more loudly than she'd intended to do. "What do you mean, teacher?"

Neville grinned. "Yeah, it's her. I talked to her after Defense Against the Dark Arts. She told me to call her Dora." He blushed furiously.

"After Defense Against the ... Dor...do you mean Tonks?! Tonks is the one you're marrying? I thought it was...but it's Tonks?"

Neville looked a little surprised at Hermione's sudden astonishment and volume, but he nodded and regained his smile. "Yeah, it's Tonks. Dora," his grin tripled and Hermione couldn't help grinning along with him. He was clearly smitten within an inch of his life. "So you won't be the only one dealing with being married to a teacher, eh?"

Hermione nodded absently, and then something clicked into place. Her face sobered. "Tell her it's not her fault about Ron," she said seriously. "There's nothing she could have done, that day in London. They got the drop on us and she couldn't have saved him. It's not her fault, Neville."

Neville's friendly, open face pinched a bit. "I know, but she blames herself. For not being quicker, for not Apparating or Flooing in.... Maybe if you said something to her?"

"I'll do that," Hermione said, smiling. "When I offer her my congratulations, I'll do that."

*****

Hermione scowled at the binder open on the table in front of her. She'd planned the whole thing from start to finish now, so there was no avoiding it. No sense in trying and, if she were honest with herself, the impulse to do so had faded considerably. Marrying Snape was inevitable, and getting out of it at this point was impossible, so she had resigned herself to it. She wasn't happy, but she was resigned. She took a deep breath and scrubbed her hands over her face. A second opinion was needed on the ceremony, on what she'd written, but who would she ask? Certainly not him. No doubt he'd just say something snarky or something hurtful, they'd quarrel, she'd cry, and then they'd be no better off than before and she'd want to slap him even more than she did right now. Yes, she was resigned, but it wasn't a pleasant place to be. So whom to ask? Harry? No, that was no good. Not only would he slam shut and grouse about the marriage itself, he would likely cast away any attempt she had at making it a pretty or enjoyable wedding. And she couldn't afford to paint his perception of it any blacker, what with the favor she needed to ask of him. That had her nearly sobbing. One of the invitations she'd sent out – what a laugh that was! Only three that weren't here at the school: one to her parents, one to Remus Lupin, one to the Burrow for the Weasley family – had come back unopened. Not just unopened, but covered with her father's easily recognizable scrawl, stating that the post should return to sender. A half hour later, a single sheet of paper folded in on itself had been delivered by a barn owl at the common room window. The handwriting on it was clearly her mother's and she'd opened the note with shaking fingers and no little amount of anxiety clenching her chest.

Darling, (Hermione had stopped to scoff at that)

I don't have much time to write, as your father will be quite upset if he catches me, but I just couldn't let his scribble on the invitation be the only response you got. He's still furious, of course. You have to understand, Hermione, that this is hard for us. You flit off to what seems like a different universe every school year, learning things we don't understand and can't be a part of. And then you come back one night and tell us that everything we've been told is a lie and now, to save yourself, you have to marry a man Daddy's age. And not only that, it's a man whom, based on what you've told us in the past, if you had to start a fire by rubbing together the good words you've said about him you'd freeze to death. It's all a bit much. And as for your wedding ... I'm afraid we just can't, dear. I can't go against your father. We are a team and if he says that he cannot condone it, I have to stand by him.

Take care of yourself,

Mother

She'd wanted to laugh at first, at how ridiculous her mother's logic toward the end of the note, but the tears had come later. And resurged now as she thought about it. Her parents weren't coming. They'd cut her off because they couldn't find the energy to try to understand necessity and sacrifice. And protection. They'd refused to understand her and the choices she'd made. 'A team,' her mother had said. Wasn't their family a team? Not anymore, it appeared. She'd committed a foul and been thrown off the field. They weren't coming. And if her parents weren't coming, she'd have to ask the favor of Harry. She just had no idea how he'd take it.

"What's the matter?" she heard a familiar voice say.

"Oh, the same old thing," Hermione said, trying to muster up a smile for Harry when he sat down at the table next to her. She knew her voice gave her away, but what else was there to do?

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, his face serious, "do you think that after everything, I don't know when you're chalking up a story? What's wrong?"

Hermione made a motion to Harry to keep his voice down. Even two hours later, Neville was still beaming and jabbering happily to Ginny about his plans with 'Dora'; she didn't want to spoil his lovely triumph with her sad news. So instead of responding to Harry, she just passed over the envelope she'd received just after she spoke to Neville. She nodded grimly as Harry's face hardened when he read the neat words her father had printed.

"So not only are they not coming," she said as lightly as she could, "he's pretending I don't even exist. Isn't that lovely?"

Harry didn't speak, but it didn't really matter. What could he say to her that would possibly make it better?

"So I need to ask you a very large favor," Hermione said quietly. She had to draw every ounce of courage she had to ask this one thing of Harry because she was sure it would not go well. Laying a gentle hand on top of his, Hermione looked Harry straight in his sad, lovely green eyes. "I need to ask you if you'll give me away."

Harry started and gaped at her. "What? You want me to ...? You can't be serious."

With all the times she'd sighed in the last few weeks, she was beginning to doubt her ability to finish a conversation without one. "I'm completely serious. If my father's not coming to my wedding, who else is there to do it?"

Harry started shaking his head before she could even finish. "I can't, Hermione. I can't do that. It shouldn't be me. Don't ask me, please."

He tried to push away from her, away from the table, but she tightened her hand on his. "I want someone to give me away, Harry. I know it's not an ideal wedding," Harry scoffed loudly and started to retort, but she clamped down on his hand, "but I want at least the ceremony to be of my choosing. And I want to be given away. You have to, Harry, please. You're the person I'd most want to give me away. Please?"

The smooth features of his face twisting in suppressed rage and agony, Harry finally pushed away from the table. Away from her. He looked as if he might vomit. "I can't, Hermione. The only person I could possibly have handed you away to isn't here to take you. I can just barely stand letting you go to him," she noticed they'd both stopped referring to her fiancé by name, "so please don't ask me to give you to him. I can't do it. I won't. Ask someone else."

Harry made to stride away but Hermione wrenched herself up from her chair and clutched at his upper arm. "Harry, please..."

"No!" he snapped, yanking his arm from her grip.

When tears began to flood his eyes, he turned from her and fled the room, taking the dormitory steps three at a time in his haste to get away from her. Hermione sat for another five or ten minutes in silence collecting her thoughts once he'd gone. She'd known he'd have trouble with the idea but she had never imagined that he would flat out refuse. He was Harry, and Harry was always there for her. Always. Only here she was, alone. It took her another few minutes to think of who else could do it. Who in their right mind would willingly hand Hermione over to Snape? Who would knowingly consent to putting Gryffindor's pride and Hogwarts Head Girl on the arm of Slytherin's Head of House and treacherous spy? Only someone who was exceptionally, if not foolishly, trusting.

And then it came to her. It was a good idea. The picture they would make walking down the aisle would be comical to the point of absurdity, but he would do it and she knew he'd be thrilled just to be asked. It was a good idea. Never one to waste time, Hermione strode up to her dormitory, grabbed her cloak and purposefully marched out of the portrait hole and away from Gryffindor Tower.

*****

"Hermione! Been wonderin' when yeh'd come visit! How's yer first week been?"

The smile that broke over Hermione's face was completely stress-free and easy as she stood on Hagrid's doorstep. She breathed a little easier, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her chest just in the presence of his effortless good nature. "It's been just awful, Hagrid," she answered, but she was still smiling. "May I come in?"

" 'Course you can," Hagrid said and stepped aside to allow her in. As soon as the door shut behind him, his face sobered. "I dinn't know if I should contact yeh, after what happened to Ron ..."

Hagrid's words trailed into nothing as he broke into tears. He dropped into one of the chairs at his kitchen table and began to sob. Hermione moved to pat his wild tangle of hair and when he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, she felt her eyes water too, but not entirely in sadness.

"It's all right, Hagrid," she said quietly. Gently, she extricated herself from his squeezing grip. "I mean, it's not all right, it's bloody awful. But I'm going to be okay."

"I wish I coulda made the funeral," he said, sniffling and releasing her. "Dumbledore asked me to take care of some Order business and I was outteh the country until just a week ago. Meant to offer yeh my condolences, but I just dinn't know how."

"It's all right," she said again, patting his cheek. "Really it is. Just promise me you'll take good care of his grave for me."

"O'course I will!" Hagrid cried, looking grateful to be given something to be responsible for in recompense for his absence. When he stopped sniffling, Hermione finally sat next to him and grasped one of his trash-lid sized hands in both of her own. He gently patted her fingers and gave her a watery smile.

"Actually, Hagrid," she said slowly, looking into his warm black eyes. "There's something else I'd like to ask you to do for me."

"Anythin'," he said quickly, "you know that."

She nodded. She'd have to back up and explain a bit first. "Well, you must have known why Ron was killed..." Hagrid nodded gravely, "which means you must know that I had to accept someone else's petition."

Hagrid growled and, not for the first time, Hermione trembled a bit at the tiny show of force from the usually kitten-gentle half-giant. "Ruddy law!" he spat. "Whatter they thinkin', bloody Ministry...sorry fer the language, but it's just daft of them, passin' that sort of thing!"

"I know," she said, and her face hardened. "But what choice do I have? I have to get married, and I had to choose someone who could help keep me safe. And by extension, keep Harry safe."

Hagrid nodded and again, patted her hand, waiting patiently for her to finish. Something about the kind look in his eyes, the childlike trust in his face as he awaited her explanation, shook her and she couldn't bear to see his expression. So she got up and started pacing his hut.

"Well, you see ... the choice I made didn't make many people very happy. In fact," she said ruefully, "it didn't even make the man I chose happy. Or me. But it's the best choice." Her voice trailed away. She had to keep believing that was the truth.

After a long beat of silence, Hagrid asked, "What lucky wizard did yeh choose?"

Instead of answering, Hermione scoffed. "Lucky? Ha! It's nothing but a bundle of trouble and snooty know-it-all book learning he's getting." She hadn't meant to sound so bitter; Hagrid immediately bristled in defense.

"What he's gettin' is a beautiful girl who's the smartest witch of her age, who wants to make everybody better an' has the finest heart I've seen since Lily Potter was alive! And if he won't see that, I'll pound it in ter him!" Hagrid roared.

Hermione startled and stared at him. After a moment, tears leaked from her eyes and she'd known that whatever had motivated her to ask what she was about to ask, he was most assuredly the right person for the job. "Hagrid," Hermione whispered, touched.

He cleared his throat loudly, but smiled sheepishly. "So who'm I gonna have ter pound?" he said, his smile growing to a smirk.

"You've got your work cut out for you, Hagrid... it's Professor Snape."

"Prof...no," Hagrid said. He looked as stunned as if Hermione had just squatted down, roared, then hatched a dragon from beneath her school robes. Hermione just nodded. And then, surprisingly, Hagrid's face lit with comprehension. "So that's why you and he were strollin' back from Hogsmeade as if you two were..."

"Yes," she said, not sure if she wanted to hear to what or whom Hagrid was about to compare the two of them. "And as you can imagine, that choice of husband isn't very popular." He nodded, but stayed silent. "My parents have disowned me."

"No!"

"Oh, yes. They were scandalized, and I suppose I can sympathize with that, but they didn't even try to understand. They just shut the door." And that's where Hermione couldn't hold in the sadness any longer. The tears rained down her cheeks and she didn't try to stop them, but neither did she stop saying what she had to say. "They're not coming to the wedding. They sent back the invitation without even opening it."

Hagrid had started to cry with her and this time, as she sat down again, it was she who patted his hand.

"Well, every little girl dreams of her father walking her down the aisle for her wedding, you know. And I know I'm not the usual kind of girl, but I still have those dreams. And if my father's not going to, who will? I couldn't ask Mr. Weasley. After what happened to Ron, it just wouldn't be right." Hermione made a snap decision not to tell Hagrid about Harry's anger or his answer. Harry might face anger from Hagrid that would only aggravate the situation. "So I knew of only one other person who I'd ask for a favor that big." Hermione laughed when she looked into Hagrid's teary face. It was open and just a bit sad. He had no idea what she was trying to say. "Hagrid, would you give me away?"

The curly black beard shuddered when Hagrid's mouth dropped open. "Hermione!" he said, in quiet awe. "Yeh don't really mean yeh want me to stand up with yeh?"

"I'd be honored if you would, Hagrid," she answered, smiling. "If you'd like to."

Tears started to run from his eyes afresh, streaking down into his beard and puddling and darkening the shoulders of his thick leather vest. "Oh, Hermione," he whispered. Hagrid brought one enormous hand off the table, away from hers. Extending the long, thick fingers, the pad of his thumb caressed her face, stroking nearly her entire cheek, more gently, she believed, than she had ever seen him touch anyone or anything before. His big hand wrapped around her whole neck, but the cradle of his palm around her head was whisper light. His chest hitched as he hiccupped down a sob.

"I'd be happy to walk yeh," he said. And then, barely audible, "Anybody would be proud to walk with such a beautiful lady."

And those soft words, uttered by such a soft heart, undid her completely and she sobbed – both happy and sad – as Hagrid swept her into another crushing hug against his enormous chest, stroking her back as gently as he could manage.

*****

A crack like a whip broke the easy chatter she'd been conducting with Hagrid for the last few minutes. Shortly after the sudden sharp noise, a tiny knock sounded on Hagrid's door. "Sit," Hagrid said when Hermione made to get up. "Relax and finish yer tea."

Hermione smiled and sipped as Hagrid opened the door. A squeaky voice soon met her ears.

"Excuse me, Hagrid sir, but is Miss Hermione here? There's a visitor up at the castle waiting to see her."

Hermione set down her tea cup and moved towards the stoop where she saw Winky standing holding a tiny blanket around her shoulders against the breeze that had kicked up.

"A visitor?" Hermione asked, surprised. "Someone is waiting for me at the castle?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione," the little elf said, bobbing a shortly curtsy. "A young lady who said that you is waiting on her. She broughts you a package."

"Package?" Hermione mused, unable to account for the idea. "Excuse me, Hagrid. I'm afraid I have to go. Sorry to cut things short."

Hagrid waved away her apology and nodded. "You go on ahead and see who's waitin' fer yeh." As she swung her cloak around her shoulder and made to leave, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and a beaming smile. "Yeh just send me a note with whatcha need me ter do fer the ceremony ..."

She smiled and nodded as she left the little cottage and turned to thank Winky, who disappeared with a snap. Hermione chuckled wryly. Three years later, and the little elf hadn't seemed to forgive her for the S.P.E.W. fiasco. Well, she'd just have to think of another way to make it up to her. But as Hermione made her way across the sloping lawn back to the castle, it was the curious mystery of the visitor that held her mind. Expecting someone? She wasn't expecting anyone .... Very curious. Climbing the stairs hurriedly, Hermione found herself unable to decide whether she was excited or apprehensive at the idea of a visitor with a package for her. The decision was decidedly easier, though, as she came into the entrance hall and set eyes on the dark curls and exquisite velvet cloak of the young girl staring in wonder around the space she occupied.

"Amelie!" Hermione called, grinning in response to the girl's gape-mouthed awe. "It's good to see you; I'd almost forgotten you were bringing the rest of the robes today."

Amelie Moreaux nodded and, smiling, drew a thick, brown-wrapped package from underneath her cloak. She took only a minute to smile back at Hermione before returning to her astonished examination of the foyer of Hogwarts. With a guilty grin flashed to Hermione, she peered into the slight gap of the large doors leading into the Great Hall, but then shook herself and extended a pale hand to Hermione, who took it and shook it gently.

"Excusez moi, Mademoiselle," Amelie said, her face coloring prettily. "I seem to 'ave forgotten myself. Eet is just zat ... zis castle eez so grand!"

"Please call me Hermione," she reminded the girl gently. "And it's fine. I can understand completely; I stared even worse than you the first time I was here."

Amelie laughed a bit and gazed around one last time before directing her attention back to Hermione.

"But aren't you in school?" Hermione asked. She'd been curious about this on their first meeting, but hesitant to bring it up with someone she barely knew. But as the subject had presented itself, she didn't feel it was out of line to ask now. "Don't you attend a wizarding school?"

Amelie nodded and smiled. "I 'ave attended Beauxbatons. Maman, Fabienne and I 'ave only moved to Eeengland zis past summer, so we deed not attend 'Ogwarts. Our school does not begin until next week and Maman shall take us zere. Zis weel be my fourth year." She looked around again. "Make no mistake, Beauxbatons eez beautiful, but zis ... zis castle eez just so ... so ... grand. More zan I 'ave ever seen."

Hermione laughed. "From what I'd heard from Fleur, you'd think Beauxbatons was the grandest place on the planet."

Amelie's face hardened for a moment and she scoffed. "Such a primped up leetle princess, zat one. She was a sixth year when I started and so certain zat she was ze best thing Beauxbatons 'ad ever seen. Parfois, je voudrais la gifler, le gosse de riches!" Again, she shook herself, as if she'd just realized what she'd been doing. "Excusez moi. My tongue and eyes 'ave run away wiz me much zis evening."

Another hearty chuckle on her lips, Hermione waved away the apology. "No need. I just wasn't aware that anyone from Beauxbatons felt that way about her. She seemed to be the Queen Bee, so to speak."

Amelie shrugged, but this time, ventured nothing but a guilty smile. She then extended a hand and pointed to the package Hermione had taken from her. "Would you like to 'ave me asseest you in trying on ze robes to make sure zat zey are to your satisfaction?"

This time it was Hermione that started and blushed. "Of course! Forgive me, I should have invited you up rather than letting you stand here in the entryway. Would you like to come up to my House dormitory with me? I'll try on the robes and you can meet some of my friends."

The girl's porcelain doll-like face flushed with pleasure. "Oh, Mad-I mean, 'Ermione, that would be most wonderful of you! I would be quite 'appy to make ze acquaintance of your friends at 'Ogwarts."

"And you'll get to see more of the castle," Hermione said, grinning at the girl's eager smile. She waved a hand to Amelie and began to lead her up the long, curving marble staircase towards Gryffindor Tower.

*****

It took the two of them nearly a half hour to make it up to Gryffindor Tower, so enraptured was Amelie by all the sites of the castle, the portraits and tapestries and moving staircases, but Hermione considered it time well spent. Though the girl was three and a half years her junior, Hermione found that not only was Amelie as sweet and eager as she had been on their first meeting, but showed a tendency towards Hermione's own love of books and history. The conversation they'd shared had been a pleasant one and Amelie had devoured every dusty fact – straight out of the much maligned Hogwarts, A History that the boys had never appreciated – that Hermione had ventured about the school. A tiny pang of regret hit Hermione that the bright, engaging girl could not be swiftly gathered into her own House. With a shrug and a smile, Hermione met the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the Fat Lady said jovially. "And you have a guest! Welcome to Hogwarts and Gryffindor Tower!"

A bit nonplussed, Amelie smiled and dropped a curtsy. "Enchanté," she said.

"Whimsy," Hermione said, and the Fat Lady swung open to admit them.

The usual bustle of activity was taking place in the Gryffindor Common Room, though perhaps more muted since the loss of so many students. But Gryffindor House seemed to have begun to understand that it could not stand still to mourn the loss. As such, many of the chairs in front of the fire were full and every seat at each table contained a student with homework out, though whether they were accomplishing anything depended on the person in the chair. Only a few people looked up when Hermione entered with Amelie hiding in her shadow, but one of the people who did was the person that Hermione was most eager for her new friend to meet.

As if this emotion was sensed just in Hermione's greeting smile, the plucky redhead waved enthusiastically from her seat between Neville and Harry at the furthest table and then rose to greet them. "Just made curfew then, didn't you?" Ginny asked, smirking and looking at her watch. "Though I suppose the Head Girl isn't burdened with curfew like us lowly peons ... "

Hermione chuckled and cuffed the girl gently on the arm. "Hush, you," she said. "I'm subject to curfew, unfortunately. McGonagall wouldn't give me any more quarter than anyone else if I was caught out late and you know it."

Ginny smiled then looked past Hermione to where the other girl stood behind her shoulder, trying desperately to look like she wasn't gawking. "What have we here?"

Hermione stepped away and put a hand at Amelie's shoulder. "Ginny, this is Amelie Moreaux. She's the daughter of the seamstress Professor Snape took me to the other day. Amelie, this is Ginny Weasley, my best girlfriend."

Amelie shook the hand that Ginny held out and Hermione could tell that the younger girl was resisting the urge to drop a curtsy.

"Ginny's a year younger than me," Hermione finished. "And quite a loudmouth, if I do say so myself."

Which earned her an answering cuff on the arm from Ginny. "Nice to meet you," Ginny said.

"Enchanté," Amelie said and smiled shyly.

"Are Harry and Neville busy?" Hermione directed back to Ginny. "I'd like to introduce Amelie to the finest that Gryffindor has to offer."

Ginny scoffed but turned back to the table she'd come from. "Oi!" Ginny called loudly, making Hermione wince. "You two! Put down that rubbish and come meet Hermione's new mate. They're just looking at today's Daily Prophetfor Quidditch results," Ginny added when Amelie opened her mouth to apologize for the interruption.

Harry and Neville both walked over to where the girls stood, drawing the attention of many of the other people in the room. Hermione noticed that in the previous months, Harry had garnered even more attention than usual. It seemed to be common knowledge that he was on the list of eligible Muggleborns and half-bloods for the Marriage Law, but everyone seemed almost frightened of the idea of petitioning him. Hermione couldn't decide whether it was fear of him or the fact that most people didn't bank on the idea of him making it through the end of the war. Either idea was enough to make her scowl. But she brushed it away as he and Neville approached.

"New blood for Gryffindor?" Harry asked hopefully, earning laughter from the rest of the party.

"Hardly, as the sorting was a week ago," Ginny answered.

"This is Amelie Moreaux," Hermione said. "I met her last week in Hogsmeade. Her mother is a seamstress there." Her throat closed up a bit, realizing she'd purposely left out the tie to Snape when introducing Amelie to Harry and Neville. Somehow, she was certain that this would color Harry's relationship to her. "Amelie, this is Neville Longbottom..." Neville extended his hand, shook Amelie's and favored her with a soft smile which the girl returned. "...and Harry Potter."

When Harry smiled and offered his hand to Amelie, she started so violently that the cloak she had looped over her arm tumbled to the floor and Amelie bumped sharply into the stone wall next to her. In a flurry of nervousness, she stooped to retrieve the cloak and knocked head-first into Harry, who had bent to help her. When the two straightened, Harry rubbing at his forehead, Amelie blushed spectacularly and mumbled for a moment in French before she realized what she was saying.

" Excusez-moi, " she said breathlessly. "I didn't mean to ... I'm sorry," she motioned towards Harry's head, "I just ... I 'ad no idea zat Mad...'Ermione was acquainted wiz.... Mon dieu, you are ze real 'Arry Potter? "

"No, just a body double," Harry said and laughed, but from Amelie's astonished expression, the joke was clearly lost on her. "Yes, I'm the real Harry Potter."

" Sacre bleu!" she responded. "I am sorry, I just didn't expect ..." then, with a shake of her head, she extended her hand, which Harry took, grinning. "Enchanté."

"You bet," Harry answered.

He was still smiling, but from the way Amelie was gaping at him, the smile would probably become forced soon. Hermione decided to gracefully extricate the poor girl before things got embarrassing. Any more than they already had, at any rate.

"Ginny, Amelie has brought the rest of the robes that...were ordered the other day," she pointedly ignored Harry and Neville's confused looks. "Maybe you want to come up to my room and give me your opinions? "

"Sure," Ginny answered and motioned for Hermione to lead the way.

"Eet was a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," Amelie said to Neville and Harry, a blush still on her face as she followed Ginny and Hermione up the stairs towards the girls' dormitory.

*****

Well. Hermione had certainly understated things when she had said that Madame Moreaux 'knew what she was doing.' The woman was, quite clearly, a genius at her craft. As Hermione tried on set after set of robes, she realized that Snape was indeed correct: the humiliation of the fitting was well worth the quality of the end product. The first three sets of robes she had tried on were the 'day dresses', as Amelie had called them, that were for more casual wear. Though, in all manners they were fancier than most everything Hermione had ever worn, with the possible exception of her fourth year dress robes for the Yule Ball. The day robes looked rather in the Regency style – high, empire waist that nipped in just under the bust and draped away from the body – and were made of soft cottons in a lovely dusty pink, a soft, buttery yellow and a mossy green with a lighter green flowered pattern in it. All of them made her skin warm and lively, picked up the golden highlights in her hair and eyes and displayed her slender forearms and slim neck.

Even had the sets of robes not been packed to group them in order of usage, Hermione could have easily ascertained which ones were for the more formal evening usage. These robes were in much bolder colors, a saturated sapphire blue and plum purple, had longer, wider sleeves, and featured what Ginny called "tasteful décolletage." Hermione called it "more breast than anyone has seen on me my entire life," but was forced to admit that this was not a result of the cut of the dress but her own modesty and insecurity regarding her usual lack of cleavage. These robes also featured either a bolder pattern or embellishment, to set them apart as more formal. Hermione adored the blue dress with its bodice covered in black velvet burnout patterns of scrolling antique flowers, a band of black satin across her lower bicep, which allowed more of the burnout-covered material to flutter out around her elbows, and sapphire satin detailing a sash that strung across her ribcage and down the back of the dress, draping over a full black brocade skirt that extended to a small train behind her. The plum dress had a lower, square neckline and a bodice that "V"ed at the waist, bordered with ivory lace and gold filigree that clipped in close to her figure and supported a watteau across the back of her shoulders, giving her the feeling that she wore a cape like a queen. In spite of herself, Hermione did a little twirl, flushed with pleasure, as she gazed at herself in the mirror. She hardly recognized the Hermione Granger reflected back at her; the one she saw was far more a woman than a girl ... and, come to that, far more a woman than she had expected to see. She blushed harder.

Something of her insecurity must have shown in her face because Amelie sat up straight and pursed her lips. "You are unhappy with zese robes?"

"Oh, no!" Hermione said in a rush. "No, they're lovely. I was just thinking..." Hermione cast around for something she could have been thinking, other than what she had actually been thinking. Her eye caught on her old dress robes, hanging in her wardrobe. "...wasn't there supposed to be a set of dress robes?"

It was Amelie's turn to blush. "Yes, Mad...'Ermione. But Maman could not procure ze seelk she 'ad decided upon for your dress robes in time for zis weekend. I believe zat ees part of why she sent me; she was ashamed zat she could not finish in time."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. Obviously she had noted, as Hermione had, that Amelie didn't quite meet her eye contact at that last statement. There was more to the reason Madame Moreaux had not shown up herself, but given the way Amelie seemed to balk at stating it, Hermione decided it best not to press the issue.

"She has nothing to be ashamed of," she said. "These robes are absolutely lovely and the time frame was ridiculously short for someone who is such an artist with fabric. Besides, I have a set of dress robes that will work just fine, should the situation get dire enough to need them."

Ginny giggled, but Amelie just looked puzzled. Hermione waved a dismissive hand at her confusion. That certainly wasn't worth going into with someone who clearly thought Snape hung the moon. With a purse of her lips and thoughtful expression, Hermione turned back to the mirror to assess her appearance.

"What do you think?" she asked both of the girls who stood up behind her. Amelie smiled and Ginny wrapped an arm around her waist. "Do you think I'll be good enough for His Royal Highness, Snape senior?"

Amelie's smile dropped at once. "You're meeting with His Grace's father?" She suddenly seemed terrified.

"Yes," Hermione said slowly.

"Mon dieu," the girl whispered back. "Eet eez a good thing you came to Maman for ze robes. 'e is a strict man. Bonne chance, 'Ermione. You will need all ze luck you can get!"

Ginny's arm at her waist became a bracing hug as Hermione scowled. The weekend wasn't even here yet and she already wished for Monday.

A/N – "Sacre bleu!" – Translation: technically it means, "Holy blue!" but is the basic equivalent of the American slang, "Holy crap!"

"Bonne chance." – Translation: "Good luck."

"Parfois je voudrais la gifler, le gosse de riches!" – Translation: "Sometimes I would like to slap her, that spoiled rich brat!"