The Makeover - COMPLETED

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 12 ~ Support From Unexpected Places

“Oh my gods…what’s happening to me? Ew,” Hermione breathed as she headed for the Great Hall double-time.

Professor Snape’s proximity had caused quite a reaction in her. It was as if for an instant she wanted the snarky wizard to press his body against hers. When she shoved her hand against his chest, the wizard felt as if he were made of stone, chiseled stone. She could feel the relief of his chest beneath her palm. And the way he told her to run…it was as if he were warning her off.

Hermione considered this for a moment. No. No it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t as if he were warning her off. It was more as if the dark wizard were playing some kind of game and giving her a head start before he tracked her down and caught her.

Hermione shuddered.

She didn’t want to think about what the end of a game played with the Professor would be like.

The out-of-sorts witch turned down the corridor that led to the Great Hall’s staff entrance and entered.

Immediately, everyone looked at her, teachers and students alike. Hermione flushed slightly and walked to her seat, sitting down and doing her best to order breakfast as if nothing were wrong.

The female staff members were whispering among themselves and looking at her, as were the students. Albus, seated at the far end of the table looked upon the witch with kindly eyes. Rita Skeeter was certainly a dislikable person.

Hermione ordered a soft-boiled egg, toast and a slice of lean ham for breakfast, along with a glass of milk. She began to eat, aware of people watching her. But no one said anything yet about the article.

Marcus Delaluci looked down the table at her. That article ought to take her down a peg, maybe make her more accessible. She didn’t want people thinking she was stuck up now, did she? Count on Marcus to try to milk the situation for all it was worth.

Hermione had just bitten into her toast when she heard a small, female voice.

“Um, Spells Mistress?” the voice said.

Hermione looked up to see a young Gryffindor witch in her fifth year looking shyly up at her from the main floor. She had black-hair, blue eyes and an acne-splattered face.

“Yes?” she replied to the witch, who shuffled her feet a bit.

“My name is Melissa Oddlocks. I just want to say that I think you look really pretty and because of you, I’m not worried that I won’t be pretty too anymore, and think that there’s nothing wrong with getting help to look my best if I need it. I just wanted you to know, so you don’t feel bad about what’s in the Prophet. There’s a lot of girls that have hope now because of you. A lot of ugly ducklings that think maybe later they can become swans like you did,” the girl said, giving Hermione a small smile.

Hermione’s eyes glistened, as did Minerva’s and a couple of the other female staff members who heard the young girl.

Hermione smiled at the witch warmly. Her heart felt as if it would burst out of her chest.

“Thank you for telling me that, Melissa,” Hermione said, her voice quavering with emotion.

“You’re very welcome, Spells Mistress,” the girl replied, returning to her seat to be surrounded by others, who smiled up at Hermione gratefully.

Hermione returned to her meal with almost an ache in her heart. She had no idea she inspired others by getting her makeover. It made her feel good to know that an act that was decidedly selfish in nature was serving a greater purpose.

The female staff members were all silent now. They had forgotten what it was like for young, insecure witches dealing with the changes their bodies and looks went through during adolescence. How devastating a zit could be or how hard it was when boys ignored them because they weren’t “pretty” enough. How alone a young witch could feel because of their hair or teeth or even a unibrow. They all looked at Hermione rather guiltily. She had gone through that for years, and they hadn’t made it any easier for her. They had never offered to help her either, choosing instead to ridicule the Spells Mistress.

They couldn’t blame it all on Sybil. True, the Divination teacher had been the ringleader but they didn’t have to follow her. The truth was, they were all insecure and older witches…it was rare they could target a younger one and feel they were more attractive. Hermione had been a kind of punching bag for them, and since she never took them to task they felt free to continue their treatment of her.

Each witch knew that Hermione couldn’t truly be blamed for not associating with them. They were so mean and catty toward the witch, for her to do so would be hurtful, and who wanted to set herself up for hurt?

Professor Sinistra looked over at Hermione, who was smiling down into her food.

“I feel so ashamed of myself,” she said quietly to no one in particular.

Professor Sprout nodded.

“We’ve been a bunch of bitches, not witches,” the Herbology teacher said, blinking rapidly as she looked at the table of pimply-faced, imperfect young witches smiling and talking animatedly among themselves.

Madam Hooch was frowning.

“Well, she made herself an easy target. She did nothing to improve herself for years. It made no sense for a young woman to let herself go like that,” Hooch sniffed.

Everyone turned on her.

“But we made no effort to help her, did we? Any of us could have helped her with her hair and her eyebrows…convinced her to get her teeth done much earlier than she did. We were perfectly horrible,” Minerva said, feeling like a stone was in her belly. “Instead of snickering behind her back we should have been doing all we could to make her feel like one of us.”

Madam Hooch looked a bit subdued at Minerva’s statement.

Pomona looked at the witch.

“Well, I’m going to be supportive from here on out,” the chubby witch said, “I just hope it isn’t too little, too late. I wouldn’t blame Hermione if she never talked to any of us.”

“We’ll just have to find a way to make it up to her,” Minerva said determinedly.

The Transfiguration teacher looked down at the Daily Prophet, and her eyes narrowed.

“I think I may just know a way,” she said darkly.

She looked at Professor Sinistra.

“Aurora, do you think you could cover my classes this morning? I need to take a trip to Diagon Alley,” Minerva said to the Astronomy teacher.

“Certainly,” the teacher replied, “But really, Minerva, you must tell us what you’re up to.”

Minerva shook her head.

“No, not until I get all the details hashed out, but I want all of you to keep your evening free and your traveling cloaks close. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do,” Minerva said, rising imperiously and walking quickly away.

She slowed down behind Hermione as if to speak, but seemed to think better of it. Actions would speak louder than words in this instance. If what Minerva had planned worked out, then the Spells Mistress would have no doubt her fellow staff members supported her whole-heartedly.

From the end of the table, Albus watched his witch exit the Great Hall, his eyes twinkling.

“It’s about time you came to your senses, Minerva McGonagall,” he said to himself, smiling after her.

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Hermione apparated to the Ministry about ten o’clock. All around her people were gawking.

“Isn’t that the Hogwarts’ Spells Mistress?” they whispered to each other.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going down to that Love Bites Beauty shop as soon as I can make an appointment. If that vampire can make a sad case like she was look that good, he can make me into Miss Wizarding World,” a blonde witch with a briefcase said to her companion as Hermione walked by her and into the building.

The witch walked up to the information desk. The clerk, a heavy-set brunette woman with hazel eyes looked up at her and did a double take.

“How can I help you, Miss Granger?” she asked Hermione, smiling.

Hermione started to ask the witch how she knew her name, then realized it was because of the Prophet.

“I’d like to see the Auror, Justice Forall please,” she said.

“Certainly,” the clerk said, still smiling. She pulled what looked like an old fashioned brass hearing aid out from under her desk. It was shaped like a horn.

“Mr. Justice Forall, please come to the reception area. Mr. Justice Forall, the reception area please,” the witch said, speaking into the wide end, her voice echoing throughout the Ministry. She put the horn back and looked at Hermione.

“He should be here in a moment,” the witch said.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied.

“You’re very welcome,” the witch said…then she hesitated.

“You really look wonderful you know,” the receptionist said, leaning forward and speaking in a low voice. “I made an appointment with Mr. Sweetmeats this morning for a makeover. I hope I come out half as good as you did. Nothing wrong with self-improvement. Rita Skeeter is a real bitch to put you out there like that…but most of the witches I’ve talked to about it are all for you. Including me.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said.

Wow. It seemed Rita’s article wasn’t doing the damage she thought it would…at least not among witches. Wizards might feel differently. Well, she’d find out. Justice was striding up the hall. He was looking very sober.

He stopped in front of her.

“Well, good morning, Miss Granger. I didn’t get a chance to say good night last night,” he said evenly.

“I’m so sorry about that Mr. Forall…it’s just that…” Hermione began, then she noticed the receptionist leaning forward and listening to every word.

“Can we…um…walk down the hall a bit?” she asked Justice, her amber eyes shifting toward the receptionist.

Justice nodded and together they walked out of earshot of the witch, who looked slightly disappointed.

The wizard folded his arms and looked at her.

“I’m sorry I left so suddenly, Mr. Forall. I was embarrassed and upset, and I just…just couldn’t handle it. I suppose you saw the article in the Prophet, and the pictures…” she said to the Auror.

Justice nodded.

“I did,” he said shortly.

“I suppose that you don’t want to go out anymore,” Hermione said, “Knowing what I used to look like.”

Justice studied her for a moment.

“Miss Granger…I have three sisters, all older than me. And every one of them looks almost as frightful as you did in that photo until they hit the bathroom and put their faces on. They scared me to death some mornings. My mum too. At least you aren’t loaded down with makeup. Whatever that vampire did to you was minimal. This is who you were all the time. This is who you are now,” the Auror said frowning slightly. “Do you think me so shallow that I would want to stop seeing you because of what you used to look like? Let me show you something.”

Justice reached in his robes pocket and pulled out a small wallet. He opened it and flicked through some photos then showed her one. It was of a teenaged boy, skinny as a twig with big hands and feet, pimples all over his face and with wild, uncombed hair. He was smiling and holding a quaffle.

“That’s me in Hufflepuff my sixth year,” he said, wincing at the picture a little. “I keep it with me to keep me humble,” he grinned at her.

Hermione could hardly believe the handsome wizard she was looking at now was once that gangly boy.

“You weren’t the only ugly duckling, Miss Granger. There were a lot of us,” the wizard said. “I think Rita Skeeter’s mean-spiritedness backfired on her in this case. I heard a lot of people saying how lovely you looked. Some even accused Rita of being jealous. So you shouldn’t let the article bother you or that dumpster-diving reporter.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have left you like that,” she said softly.

“That’s all right…now you owe me two dates to make up for it,” the Auror said, smiling at her. “Are you busy tonight? We could have our meal at Charlie’s. The shrimp cocktail is superb and the crab legs the sweetest you’ve ever tasted.”

Hermione smiled at him.

“All right, Mr. Forall,” she said a bit shyly.

“Please, call me Justice,” the Auror said in a low voice.

“Justice,” she repeated.

He smiled at her.

“And you can call me, Hermione,” she said, feeling warm all over at his smile.

“Hermione. Such a lovely name for a lovely witch,” Justice said sincerely, kissing her hand gently. “So I will pick you up at seven?”

“Seven will be fine, Mr…I mean Justice,” Hermione answered him.

Justice walked Hermione outside the Ministry building.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

“Tonight,” Hermione agreed, disapparating.

Justice took a deep breath, shook his head and walked back into the Ministry. It would take a lot more than a “before” photo to back him up from Miss Hermione Granger.

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At seven that night, Rita Skeeter left the offices of the Daily Prophet, satisfied with her daily column.

“I bet the little chit’s locked in her rooms at Hogwarts crying her eyes out that she’s been exposed,” the reporter said to herself gleefully. “That’ll teach her to fuck with Rita Skeeter. It took some time, but I got her back. Yes, I did.”

Rita made a little skip of joy as she exited through the double doors and walked behind the building, taking a shortcut to the nearest tavern. She always had a little drink after work…for medicinal purposes.

Suddenly, the reporter was grabbed around both arms, her wand plucked from her robes pocket, and a sack drawn over her head. She struggled fruitlessly.

“Unhand me!” she cried. She could hear shuffling feet. There was more than one person.

“I’m sorry honey, but we can’t do that. You’ve got a pressing appointment for a makeunder,” an effeminate male voice said, tittering. Other titters joined him.

Rita fell silent. She knew this had to do with Hermione Granger. Shit.

A makeunder? This didn’t sound good.

Not good at all.

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A/N: :::wearing a very evil smirk::: A makeunder eh? Lol. Now, who do we suppose abducted poor Rita? Hmm. Seems the witches are coming around. A little guilt goes a long way, doesn’t it? And Justice was an absolute sweetheart. Now, what is Severus up to? Maybe we’ll find out next chapter. Please review.