Say 'Merlin Help Me' to the Dress

The Store

Blaise spoke in rapid, sycophantic French whilst engaging in a series of cheek kisses with Madame Claudine, a rail-thin, scarily chic woman Hermione judged to be between the age of 40 and 90, made almost entirely of right angles.

"So handsome Monsieur Zabini! Is the bride you have brought to me finally your own?"

"Alas, Madame, I remain single. I'm afraid I'm cursed with the inevitable reality that no woman will ever measure up to you."

The older woman giggled as she declared Blaise to be "très coquin" whilst Hermione rolled her eyes and marveled that anyone would ever actually speak like that.

Blaise smiled and motioned towards her. "This is Hermione Granger, my best friend, Draco Malfoy's bride-to-be."

Madame Claudine turned her attention to Hermione, looking her up and down with a frozen smile on her face. "I thought Monsieur Malfoy had already married. His bride was that charming girl with the lovely, long neck."

"Sadly, she passed many years ago, madame."

Madame Claudine clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Oh, mon dieu! Please relay my sympathies to Monsieur Malfoy."

"Of course," Blaise said, though Hermione doubted he had any intention of doing so.

Madame Claudine continued her visual inspection of Hermione. "Have you recently given birth?"

"I...yes. How did you know?"

"You have child-bearing hips. It was a good guess." She pursed her lips at Albus. "And what is this?"

"Je suis enchanté de vous rencontrer Madame Claudine. My name is Albus Potter," he said, bending to bestow a kiss on Madame Claudine's bony hand. "I'll be assisting the lovely Mademoiselle Granger today in finding a dress. My best friend is her future stepson, so you can understand how this is a big day for me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Technically it has nothing whatsoever to do with you—"

"But of course, Monsieur Potter," Madame Claudine said. "Please be assured that I will do everything in my power to transform Monsieur Malfoy's new fiancée into the woman he deserves." She narrowed her eyes, scanning Hermione's person to detect flaws. "You are a very muscular woman, aren't you, Mademoiselle Granger?"

"Well...you know, I work out."

"Muscular women are difficult to fit. Your shoulders are broad, but you have a very narrow waist. This will make many of my gowns quite impossible for you to wear."

Okay, seriously, fuck this. She busted her arse at the gym after Mirum was born, and she was quite happy with her body, fuck you very much. And Draco certainly never seemed to complain. How dare this old cow criticize her? What sort of world was this where women picked apart other women and made them feel—

"But, you have the most lovely hair, my dear. We must find you a style that suits you with your hair down."

Madame Claudine was obviously an abundantly charming woman who was merely trying to ensure that each and every bride-to-be who walked through her doors, selected a style that accentuated their finest assets. What a wonderful, wonderful person. "Thank you so much, Madame Claudine."

The older woman clapped her hands and a tray of champagne appeared in mid-air.

Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as she feared.

*

"Well? What do you think?"

Blaise, Albus, and Madame Claudine allowed her to pick the first dress herself. Her eyes were drawn to a long-sleeved number on a nearby rack.