Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine.
A/N: Please enjoy! And yes...it is a little late, but still, better late than never!
Thanks all for the reviews! Please tell me what you think! Things are about to get messy!
"Mademoiselle! S'il vous plait!"
"Mon Dieu!"
"Mademoiselle Granger!"
Three French voices echoed each other's sentiments repeatedly, their agitated expressions darkening as each moment passed.
"For the love of…stand still this instant, Granger! You need to be –" The blond huffed angrily, grey orbs glaring menacingly as they met her eyes in the triple faceted mirror.
"I do not need –"
"Yes, you bloody well do. Now stand still or I'll have the tailors jab you a few more times with those sewing needles."
Hermione stilled quickly but her eyes still flashed dangerously.
"This is ridiculous Malfoy…my clothes are perfectly fine! I don't need any tailored robes or whatnot!"
The blond rolled his eyes at the magazine open on his lap, his eyes focused unseeingly at the beauty flashing her alluring winks from the page.
"Yes…they're perfectly fine for Hermione Granger. However, for Hermione Malfoy, they're downright appalling. So stand still and then we'll go have lunch."
Being in Paris, Hermione's most favoured city second only to London, she was severely tempted to simply slip from the fitting platform, rip off the ridiculous cloud of wafer thin silk and march away from the demanding man who either paid too little or too much attention to her. She fluctuated between wanting one or the other, so she supposed she couldn't really scold him for it…but really…did he have to bring her all the way across the English Channel for clothing?
Three theatrically French sighs interrupted her thoughts.
"Mademoiselle, these robes are the best available! This is most exclusive modiste in Europe!" This was said by the sole male among her little entourage of fashionistas.
Realising that she had spoken her queries out loud, Hermione blushed, a little abashed.
"I did not mean to imply otherwise, Monsieur. I am simply unaccustomed to…" Hermione waved vaguely towards the deep blue silk draped around her legs "…this. Really…I meant no offence."
"If I may just offer Mademoiselle some advice?" He tilted his head a fraction, his glance sceptical.
With an encouraging nod, he continued.
"You are to be Monsieur Malfoy's bride. I believe it is you're right to demand the best and neveranything less." All this was said with a righteous French lilt and was a sentiment seconded by Malfoy himself who made a noise of approval accompanied by a prideful smirk.
"See Granger? Everyone but you seems to know how to behave as a Malfoy."
"I'm not a Malfoy yet…" To herself she muttered: "Not ever, if I can help it."
"You will be." Draco said rather seriously, his tone making her squirm slightly on the raised platform causing another surge of irritated sighs from the French tailors. Muttering apologies to them, Hermione spent the rest of the fitting standing absolutely still and trying her best not to release the sighs of misery which seemed to be accumulating hard and fast in her throat.
When finally, the ordeal (in Hermione's opinion) was over, they both gratefully exited the modiste whose employees were all equally relieved to see the fidgeting miss off, they walked down the wide smooth terrace of wizarding Paris' most exclusive shopping district, her hand tightly clasped in Draco's grip.
