Silhouette

This Chapter is for DracoHasAHotAss, even though your name kinda scares me. I realize it’s not much, but at least I’m still writing. Thank you for that review. It was lovely, just what I needed. I’ll update again soon, and it’s all your fault.

Also, I’d like to thank Azurelle at DeviantArt for unwittingly setting an entire fan fiction story into motion with a single stunning masterpiece. Even though you will never read this, you inspire me.

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“Everyone’s waiting to see you in the parlor,” Draco said when at last he regained his Malfoy composure. She told herself that this mask that was now her face, this elaborate scheme that was her voice and skin and hair and hands, this was the Malfoy ideal. She was Pansy Parkinson after all. Only prettier, Hermione thought maliciously.
“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Weasley looked concerned. She had tucked her wand back into her robes and was fussing with Hermione’s hair. “You really do look very pretty, Hermione, dear.”
“Well, what can you compare it to, really…?” Hermione shot Draco a dark look. She was used to his jibes, but this was not the time to goad Mrs. Weasley. She seemed restless, nervous. Hermione thought that the plump red-haired woman before her had surprised herself with how fast she had changed her mind about the plan. One moment she was raving to anyone who would listen, causing quite a scene, and the next she was a giggling schoolgirl practicing glamour charms on her friend. This time, however, the girlish glamours didn’t wear off, her face and body had been molded and siphoned and tugged to the extreme, into permanency.
Hermione took Mrs. Weasley’s hand and squeezed it kindly, noticing her markedly longer nails and graceful, thin-knuckled fingers. “It’s great, really. You did a wonderful job.” Mrs. Weasley looked as though she felt much better. Hermione glanced over her shoulder expecting to see Tonks, but she, apparently, had left the room.
“Tonks’ll be ‘round in a minute, now come on,” and Mrs. Weasley started toward the door.
Hermione let go of her hand and stayed where she was. “Is there a mirror, a full-length one, anywhere in the house? I’d like to see myself.”
“There’s one in the parlor. Hagrid moved it there from an upstairs bedroom,” said Draco obligingly. “Now come on, ‘Mione. Pretend like we’re members of a highly secret, very busy society of concerned citizens and hurry the bloody hell up.” He turned on his heel and strode through the door. She could hear his footsteps down the hallway and the soft murmur of many voices coming from the open door at its end.
Mrs. Weasley jumped a little, then took out her wand again. “Sit down, dear, if you’re not going to go just yet. You’re making me nervous standing there like that.”
Hermione thought that was an odd thing to say, then realize she was swaying dangerously. She looked down. Her feet were smaller than they had been, and her body more curvaceous. Was she really so ugly before? She sat, feeling dizzy and a little nauseous. No, she told herself, she wasn’t ugly. But she wasn’t turning heads, either. Then a tiny voice whispered from somewhere dark and far away: There’s only one head you want to turn, and you know it.
While Hermione argued with herself, Mrs. Weasley had prepared tea and pasties. “I’ll just take these in. You come when you’re ready, Hermione,” and then as she passed Hermione towards the door, her hands full with a tray, she added, “Those Death Eaters won’t know what hit them.” She smiled warmly and was gone.
Hermione emerged into the once-drab parlor a moment later to gaping mouths and wide eyes. The mirror was certainly there, right in front of her between Ron and Snape. Gazing at herself, she felt suddenly naked, like a child who’s lost her mother in the grocery store, alone.
But she wasn’t alone. Tonks stepped forward into the room to stand beside her. “Whatchoo think? Family resemblance?” Hermione turned to Tonks in the mirror and gasped in shock. She was used to Tonks changing her hair or playing games with her nose, (though she did not do this so much anymore) but this was so different that it took Hermione completely by surprise.
Hermione realized that Tonks was her spitting image, or perhaps Hermione was the replica of Tonks, since the metamorphmagus seemed to have aged herself a bit for the part. Hermione supposed Tonks was posing as her mother, and it wasn’t hard believe. They had the same sleek black hair, only Tonks’ was up in a knot. They shared identical noses and cheekbones. Their body type matched perfectly, and their eyes had the same flicker, like blue-hot fire. Tonks had fashioned herself to be in her late 30’s or early 40’s, but she was still gorgeous. Her new persona didn’t seem like it belong in Tonks’ clothes, or even in this plain room.
Hermione realized that she did not look quite right in the brightly-lit, homey yet homely parlor either. She turned to Lupin, who looked absolutely decrepit compared to…Compared to what?
Her and her “mother,” Hermione thought.
She put the idea from her head, as a thousand questions leapt to the foreground of her mind. “Lupin, what is our story? Obviously, we’re mother and daughter, but-”
“But people will be suspicious of two completely newcomers, right?” Hermione nodded. “Well, Snape had made a recent visit to America for the Death Eaters, and our story is that he met Tonks and yourself while there. You two showed an interest in an introduction to British pureblood society, and so here you are, staying with Severus at his home. You are in town for just a few weeks, specifically for the ball, then you will be returning to America. Those are the basics. Be sure that we’ll drill you on all the specifics later,” Lupin finished.
“Are our bloodlines-”
“Secured, all the way back to the 1200’s. You are of Romanian decent.”
“It was surprisingly easy to fabricate a lineage like yours. It is completely fail-safe,” Snape added, calming all of Hermione’s doubts. If Snape thought it was believable, then she did; he was the biggest cynic she knew.
“What about our accents?” Hermione asked.
“Hermione, you don’t have an English accent anymore, I got rid of it when I changed your voice. Don’t worry, that particular charm isn’t permanent. I wouldn’t force an American accent on my worst enemy. And I can get rid of mine if I want.” She swallowed hard. “There, see?” She sounded American to Hermione.
“Names?”
“I did tha’ research meself,” said Hagrid, clearing his throat. Hermione supposed she knew why Hagrid had volunteered to go to Romania: The world’s biggest dragon reserve was located there. Hagrid fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and squinted at it. He fumbled for a second and went red in the face, but Tonks saved him.
“I went with him,” she said. “I’m Nicoleta Roxana Pavlovna Ciucur, and you‘re Bianca Luminita Ivanovna Ciucur. That sound alright?”
“Nice to meet you, Nicoleta,” said Hermione, beaming her unfamiliar smile and extending her hand. Tonks took it and shook it once and firmly, giggling. That was reassuring somehow, that Tonks hadn’t lost herself in her disguise, but then she changed her appearance all the time. Hermione felt foreign and false.
“Right,” said Lupin, “well, I think the two of you should start studying your lineage and personal history. Draco and Mrs. Weasley are at your disposal-”
“-Thanks boss,” interrupted Draco impassively, but Mrs. Weasley only nodded.
“-Should you need them to run over information with you. Draco can be especially helpful with pureblood snobbery, which you’ll have to master as well as the dances and decorum. Ron, you will be covering for Hermione on her watch today. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Lupin stood, gave a short bow to everyone, then left the room.
Ron followed Lupin out in a huff, his red hair clashing brilliantly with his angry, flushed face.
“This should be fun,” said Draco smugly as he watched Ron leave.
“The only way this could possibly be fun, Malfoy, is if you were absent,” hissed Hermione. Draco mimed being shot in the side with a particularly nasty spell and stumbled backward.
This might work after all.