Author: idonrlycarenemore PM
“What? You’d rather die than spend an eternity with me? You’d better hope I change you, otherwise I may just have to suck all your delectably fragrant blood right out.” Draco Malfoy is a vampire...and he'll do anything to get her. Hptwilight crossoverDMHGRated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Romance - Draco M. & Hermione G. - Words: 5,510 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 9 - Published: 09-29-07 - id: 3810522
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Page breaks signify flashbacks, -- -- signifies new part in same time.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Twilight, Harrod's, All I Want For Christmas Is You, O Tannebaum, Carol of the Bells, etc. I do, however, own Sainsbury's. I hope.
September 15, 1998
Dear Hermione Granger,
You are cordially invited to the eternal bonding of Draco Arctarus Malfoy and Ginevra Molly Weasley.
Hermione's fingers gripped the edges of the heavy cream paper tightly. The Malfoy line was going to die out with Draco, Hermione sniffed disparagingly. Draco was the only vampire who'd decided to change before adopting a wife and producing an heir. Hermione violently tossed the parchment away from her as she realised that headstrong, full-lipped, red-haired Ginny Weasley was going to me married—no, Hermione scoffed—eternally bonded, to Draco Malfoy, whose family line could be faintly traced to the Volturi. Draco Malfoy Hermione had hated; Draco Malfoy Hermione had loved.
They'd all attended Sainsbury's, a private school for those exceptionally gifted in the Arts. Hermione had honed her talent for fourteen years of her life to gain entrance to the school. Draco had managed a good seventy-five. They'd met by the Sainsbury lake, known for its romantic ambience and musical inspiration.
Hermione crossed her legs in front of the lake, and pulled the headphones over her mass of brown curls. After fumbling with the technology for a bit, Hermione lost herself in the pieces—violin pieces, no accompaniments, and tried to mime her movements with her fingers. She started to hum, even though the notes were iffy and her voice was terrible.
A few minutes into her piece, and she felt the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, and she looked over her shoulder to catch the most beautiful boy she'd ever seen staring at her contemplatively.
"Yes?" Hermione asked, caught off guard.
"You are outside." He said, smirking a bit, Hermione presumed at her voice.
"Brilliant deduction. Have you anymore to say?" She muttered.
"It's cold." The boy replied, his eyebrows rising as he gestured to Hermione's layers of wool and fleece.
"Yeah, but it's got a lovely view out here."
"You ought to go inside." The boy said seriously, his eyebrows lowering and furrowing instead. Hermione tilted her chin and stood up angrily to face him.
"Who are you?" She asked, but it sounded breathless rather than indignant. His skin was so pale and smooth. She looked up at the sky, and in typical British fashion, clouds had formed.
"It'll snow." The boy said faintly.
"Yes, all right, you still are?" Hermione asked impatiently, pulling her earphones over her head.
He smiled and snickered a little before taking a step towards her.
"You don't know?" He asked mischievously, his eyes dancing as Hermione blushed.
"No. That's why I asked," She replied wittily, aiming to toss her hair but finding it sticking damply to the back of her neck.
"I'm Hermione." She said, stalking off without a backwards glance. She entered the great room, a large hall in which a beautiful, white grand piano was placed. Hermione flung her coat off and held it in her hands, risking a look over her shoulder.
Draco was a few feet behind her outside, his whole body gone rigid and still. She bit her bottom lip as he opened his eyes. They were black—and seemed hungry, feral. He looked at her with a bestial scowl, and took a stiff step closer. Hermione's eyes widened as she scurried off, feeling his eyes burning holes into her back.
Ginny had the most fantastic a cappella voice. Her tones were lustrous and husky. The higher notes were serenades, the lower ones love songs. Every step Ginny took was sensual, her full breast and hips superior to Hermione's own waif-like figure. Ginny was curvy and petite. Hermione was skinny and lanky. Even Ginny's hair—fiery, red—was the epitome of body and shine, Hermione's hair and teeth had always been her greatest weakness. Even Salons and Braces couldn't quite solve Hermione's torment. How she wished she was Ginny, often enough, certainly. Ginny, her rival, her idol, her best friend. The two were inseparable and disagreed on one thing only, at least -- Draco Malfoy.
"Absolutely buggered," Ginny commented.
"What?" Hermione asked, momentarily stunned by Ginny's coarse profanity.
"Draco Malfoy has Paisley Ashton ab-so-lute-ly buggered," Gonny repeated as she extended a thin white finger in the couple's direction.
"He doesn't like her," Hermione added quickly.
"You're right. He doesn't like anyone. That doesn't exactly stop Paisley from hoping he'll change for her. Trollop," Ginny laughed unkindly, and gathered her hair up in her arms before letting it fall back neatly into thick straight strands. Hermione tried not to be jealous.
"Paisley's a nice girl," She said.
"You'd never catch me rubbing up on Draco Malfoy. Boy's got an ego the size of Wales." Ginny snorted, unladylike. A bubble of laughter escaped from Hermione, and the two returned to their studies. "Okay now, what's the solfa?"…
They had, however, invited Hermione to Ginny's pre-change party. A sort of slap to the face. You could've had it Hermione. All you had to do was admit, Draco was saying. Hermione waved the mental-annoyance off. He was a waste of perfectly good brain cells.
Hermione paced around the room anxiously. Didn't Ginny want a college experience? A human life? Anything? Hermione had been given a full ride to Julliard, and she intended to go. The idea of Ginny giving up on those experiences was depressing.
Hermione ran a hand over her hair (it really would snag horribly if she tried to run it through, and the care of her nails did affect her. Occasionally.) and fell onto her bed. She wouldn't hope, she couldn't hope…Tap Tap
Hermione rushed over to unlock her windows, taking in the look of Draco, his arms gloriously Ginny-free.
"Dr-Malfoy! What the hell are you doing in my room? Hermione asked huffily, surveying his beautiful smirk and curiously grey eyes.
"Relax, Granger. I'm here to deliver a message." Draco said, jumping smoothly onto her bed from the outside tree.
"Well, this sure feels different." He said, closing her eyes for a brief moment.
"Come here," he said serenely. Hermione edged towards her bed, and gasped as Draco pulled her down to rest against hi, her back pressued into his sculpted, inhumanly hard chest.
"Where's Ginny?" Was the only thing Hermione could think to say. She felt him stiffen and roll away. Immediately, she regretted having spoken. Draco sighed and twirled a curl around his fingers, watching it spring back from the safe distance of a foot away.
"She's at her parents' house. With Ron." Draco sneered. Hermione giggled at the familiarity. Draco would probably never like, or even respect Ron, Ginny's brother, or Harry, Ron's best friend.
"Are you okay with me changing her?" Draco asked, suddenly pulling himself towards her and burying his face in her neck.
"It's her decision," Hermione said, not quite sounding as irritable as she would've liked, the scent on his breath extremely intoxicating.
"Yes, but it's yours too." He replied, pulling her face to meet his.
"Why?" She asked breathlessly.
"Because," he evaded, pulling her closer so that their lips were brushing lightly together.
"Why?" She asked, more firmly this time.
"Because I love you," He whispered against her mouth. And, hesitantly at first, he kissed her. She clutched at him, desperate for this last moment of him and her, of them. Her fingers pulled his fine, white blond hair, her tongue furiously forcing his lips open. Draco opened his eyes, and pulled back the tiniest bit, staring at her.
"You could still say yes, Hermione. You could, please, please, let me stay with you tonight?" He knew he'd done wrong, even before Hermione's face hardened. She shoved him away before standing up on unsteady, drunken legs.
"Get out." She warbled. Draco sighed; his accident had trapped him, and nodded.
"I've got to give you your message," he tried lamely.
"Send it to me later." Hermione said glacially, managing to remain upright before he effortlessly leaped out of her room. As he left, she sank to the floor, tears picking hotly at her eyes. What have I done? Oh what have I done?
"Very good! Tomorrow, two o'clock sharp we will have another practice. Ginny, prepare O Tannenbaum. Hermione, I have your sheet music—" Professor Hedgewick squeaked, clapping his gnarled hands together.
"Great set, 'Mione," Ginny trilled, lightly punching Hermione's shoulder. She flexed her fingers experimentally before sighing.
"I need to work more on my exercises. My fingers feel like piano keys," She complained.
"If you come to the spot later, I'll tell you something seee-cret," Ginny;s eyebrows waggled mischievously. Hermione bit her lip before staring once more at her hands.
"I can spare it," She decided.
"If you couldn't, I'd have to ram a stick up your previously dismembered arse." Ginny said lightly.
"You can't dismember arses. They're not limbs," Hermione smirked.
"Silly Herm," Ginny smacked the other girl. Hermione bit her lip. Draco was set to come tonight.
"You left me," Draco accused, turning childishly away from her.
"It was Ginny. She wanted to talk," Hermione said softly.
Draco abruptly whirled around, sliding his nose into her face.
"Could you have got out? Did you want to?" Draco asked, his eyes boring into hers.
"Couldn't've." Hermione looked away.
"You're lying," Draco sneered and stepped back.
"N-no," she stumbled.
"I can always tell. Always." Draco closed his eyes, and one might have thought him asleep. Vampires couldn't sleep, Hermione knew.
"She wanted to talk about you. She's cracked you know." Hermione tried to arrogantly toss her hair.
"Cracked?" Draco was momentarily distracted from his funk.
"She's changed her mind. She likes you now." Hermione said, eager to have his attention.
"What do you think?" Draco asked suddenly, torment brewing in his singularly grey eyes. His talent enabled the piercing eyes, those eyes that searched her soul, and usually found it wanting.
"Me? I find you insufferable."
"Exceedingly handsome and charming, then."
"Good." Draco curled a strand of her hair around his finger.
"It's so human. So alive," He leaned in close and sniffed. Hermione held her breath as he moved his mouth towards her pulse.
"So fragile," Draco's tongue lightly pressed against Hermione's neck, as she remained frozen.
Hermione sprang away suddenly as she felt the power behind his teeth.
"No," Hermione fell, and crawled over to the wall, wedging herself against the safety of it, "Please…"
"Don't you love me Hermione?" Draco taunted.
"Y-yes, b-but not that. Anythingb-but that. I'd rather—"
"What? You'd rather die than spend an eternity with me? You'd better hope I change you, otherwise I may just have to suck all your delectably fragrant blood right out." He hissed, and was dangerous, tall and erect over Hermione's hunched form.
"I would," she managed to spit. "I'd rather do it myself than have you turn me into…a monster! Into one of you!" Hermione gasped as she realised her mistake, and buried her face in her arms. When she looked up again, he was gone. The moonlight dappled the floor of her room. She was tired, and felt her chest tighten within her. It was a frightening feeling.
"Um, I think so."
"But Ginny's wedding,"
"I'll still be able to attend. I'll just miss the pre-change," Hermione said. She still cringed in using these everyday vampirisms.
"All right," Harry said resignedly, turning away.
"I think the world's going to end," Hermione said quickly, the words tripping and falling over one another.
"What?" Harry asked, surprised.
"The millennium, it's so—final," Hermione said wistfully.
"You sound happy—" Harry said dryly.
"Do you think they'd survive? Vampires, I mean."
"If the world ended then no, I don't think they can survive without reserves of food. It'd kill them."
"Really?" Hermione asked, not really caring about his answer. She'd got what she wanted.
"Why all the morbid thoughts, Hermione?" Asked Harry, concerned. Hermione just smiled and shook her head, playing anxiously with the curls at the nape of her neck. She hadn't wanted to be early, but she'd been in the neighbourhood (well, stalking the place for hours, actually) and couldn't pass up the opportunity.
She and Harry had been the first to arrive, and no wonder. It was half an hour before the schedule was stated to begin. It turned out that Draco's message did invite Hermione as bridesmaid—Matron of honour, in fact. Hermione blushed as she remembered her own ungenerous thoughts.
She was wearing jeans and a Sainsbury top—Ginny had instructed that they "dress casual". The actual wedding was not to be for a month, regardless of the Rehearsal Wedding they were doing now. It gave Hermione just enough time to lose herself in Myanmar, away from Ginny, Harry, Ronald, and Draco. She looked up and noticed that another figure stood in front of her. Luna Lovegood.
Hermione's history with Luna was—shaky—at best. Luna was a flighty social whore, and often made snide remarks about Hermione's apparent love of Draco Malfoy.
"Hi Luna," Hermione whispered. Luna gave a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, tossing dirty blonde hair over a pale, freckle-less shoulder.
"Hermione," Luna replied, looking dismissively over Hermione's modest attire. "Nice jeans…Harrod's?" She asked, naming the department store infamous for expensive couture.
"No. The Gap," Hermione said, running her fingers along the worn denim. Luna's own pants were tight grey silk, and she wore an off-the-shoulder lavender blouse. Half of her hair pooled over her shoulder, shimmering down to her back, the other half falling over her breast. Her eyes were grey—a dark grey, and her skin was nearly as pale as Draco's. She was pretty, and sharp, but nothing was conveyed in her eyes. They were always sharp, unfocused.
"Harry!" Luna squealed, enveloping him into a breathless hug. When she jumped against him, her crotch moved up and down his. To Harry's credit, he extricated himself quickly, without the faintest hint of arousal, lightly kissing Luna's smooth, pale cheek.
"Ms. Lovegood," he said,
"Don't be silly, Harry, call me Luna." Hermione rolled her eyes. Luna had always had a crush on indifferent, handsome wealthy (an important factor in Luna-love), Harry Potter.
It seemed that Luna had set the bar for arrival. One by one Sainsbury students trickled in, Mandy Brocklehurst—a tall, friendly brunette, Pansy Parkinson—icy, aloof. She'd been invited by Draco, Hermione thought, Pansy wasn't very palatable, and Ginny hadn't liked her at all. Hermione crossed her legs and shut her eyes, opening them to find the surrounding rows filled with people.
"Hey!" Hermione jumped before discerning where the voice had come from. Blaise Zabini grinned roguishly at her.
"Blaise!" She grinned happily. She's always liked Blaise, flirtatious and bubbly. The trombonist gave her a melancholy grin.
"The lovely Granger. Appropriately dressed and clean, as usual." Blaise smiled, and his pretty features became even more handsome.
"Flatterer. Who're you here with?" Hermione asked, gesturing vaguely to the students now occupying the seats.
"Huh? Oh um…Carrie. Yeah, Carrie. She's the—blonde, is it? Yeah the blonde wearing the lacy bra."
"I can't see her bra," Hermione said, amused.
"Oh, right. God, she's wearing the button down and skirt." Blaise said, smiling goofily.
"Well Carrie'll probably want your attention, won't she Blaise?" Hermione touched her hand lightly to Blaise's back.
"Wha—oh sure. Right. Carrie? Hey!" Blaised smiled apologetically at Hermione, who shrugged as the person seated to her left poked her in the leg.
"Where's the happy couple?" Daphne Greengrass asked, her plunging top strained over he full, plump breasts.
"Who?" Hermione asked, mind going blank.
"Draco and Ginny. Who else?" Daphne asked. Sweeping her dark blonde hair out of her eyes.
"Oh. Ginny and D-raco."
"Yeah. They may have four more rehearsal dinners left, but you'd think they'd show up to the first one." She smirked. Another distasteful creature, courtesy of Malfoy. Hermione sneered. You really shouldn't want all these guests at a rehearsal. As she though this uncharitably, another horde of people flooded into the room, and as they took their seats, the lights went out completely. Many people gasped softly, but then small beams of light shot towards the stage at the middle of the room, from the walls, the ceiling, even the floor.
Hermione bit her lip as Draco walked from the shadows into the light, his button-down and khakis surprisingly informal for the event. He smiled and extended his hand. The ring on his left hand disappeared, as if by magic, but Hermione knew that one of Draco's family members had pulled it off his hand—to fast for mere mortals to see.
Draco was now ring less, and he extended his arm. The lights flew upwards, and focused on the roof. Hermione's jaw dropped as Ginny fell from the eaves of the hall. She landed easily in Draco's arms and he smiled. Hermione felt her heart break as Ginny's head rose to meet his…
"I don't." She denied.
"Lie. I like it that way. Helps me know not to be too forward." Draco grinned suddenly, exposing his strong, white teeth.
"Too forward," Hermione mumbled, disbelieving. Draco never edited his thoughts about her, his feelings. Every anger, every lust, every affection was poured into each and every kiss.
"Good thing, then. You can obviously tell I don't want to kiss you. Might as well leave—only here for the kissing anyway." Hermione grumbled incoherently, twisting her plait self-consciously.
"I hate that thing." He remarked.
"That braid. Your hair is so much better off without it." He moved to undo it as Hermione slapped his hands away.
"Not everyone can be the next Brigitte Bardot." Hermione grumbled.
"Brigitte had her moments. She was a tiger in bed," Draco commented, nonchalantly, taking in Hermione's shock.
"I was joking, beautiful. You think I'd have a chance with her? Again, I'm joking. Don't get your knickers in a twist." Draco successfully pulled out her hair.
"My knickers aren't any of your bloody business. And I'm sure you'd have more chance than Hugh Grant, actually." Hermione said irritably, too tired to re-braid her hair. She yawned surreptitiously, but he caught it.
"You're tired…" he commented flatly, pushing her in a sleeping position none too gently.
"No, not, not, really,"
"You never get tired of not sleeping," he said, "It grows on you."
"Lie." She said lightly, yawning a bit more. "I can always tell."
"Go to sleep, Hermione. Damned if I don't make you," He said softly. Hermione smiled slowly.
"You're pretty much damned anyway."
"Go to sleep," Draco reprimanded, running one hand smoothly over her lips, stopping at her neck. "Sleep," he whispered, but she had drifted off to sleep.
"Blaise? Yeah," Hermione smiled, waving to him as she came over.
"'Mione!" he enveloped her into a hug, lifting her a bit off the ground.
"Blaise! You're crushing me!" She giggled as he set her down.
"You weigh as much as a sumo-wrestler, Mi. Eat many éclairs lately?" Blaise pretended to have strained his back in lifting her up, theatrically exaggerating the movements.
"Ha-ha, Blaise. Super funny. Not, you great prat." Hermione noticed Ginny then, and saw the intensity of her blush.
"Blaise? Hello Mr. Zabini! Let me introduce you to Gin. Ginny, this is Blaise-y. Don't be fooled by the smile. Definitely cro-magnon." She cuffed him affectionately as he howled in mock pain.
"Blaise. Don't –mind, the broken limb, all things heal with time," he moped.
"It was very dramatic. Sort of Phantom of the Opera in my opinion." Hermione said, being rather generous. She'd loved the play. Draco, however, was definitely no Erik. And Ginny sure as heck wasn't Christine.
"Yeah. It's post-change, though, and I'm wondering if we shouldn't postpone it." Ginny said with a sigh.
"The wedding, or your change?"
"Both. We rushed into this I think, and I can't help but wonder—every time I see Blaise—that can't be a good way to start our relationship." Ginny sighed.
"I'm sure he loves you very much. You both are getting married, aren't you? Some consensual agreement must have been reached," Hermione tried to be lighthearted, her voice breaking at her last word.
"Yeah. Ha. Consensual. I didn't like him at first, remember?" Ginny paused and took up a hairbrush, pulling it haphazardly through the bright ginger locks.
"I do, actually. You thought he was Satan's spawn, didn't you? You threw fits when you discovered he was a vampire." Hermione remembered it fondly as the moment when Ginny had regained her earlier senses and threw any good feelings to the wind. Unfortunately, they'd rushed back soon enough.
"Well, I went to a normal, well normal for an excellent, British Secondary School. I wasn't expecting to meet a real life, fully fledged mythical creature in the flesh, now was I?" Ginny wrapped one of her locks around the curling iron, holding it there for a second before letting it go. It bounced back eagerly around her face, perfectly tight and springy. Hermione winced. Her hair only looked like that after extreme therapy, and forced spa-days.
"What about Blaise?" She remembered suddenly.
"You said something about him—earlier on," Hermione insisted.
"Oh." Ginny blushed visibly, the colour stark against her pale skin. "I just, I don't know. I still like him, I guess. Blaise always was great, he always liked you," Ginny said pointedly.
"Hmm? Oh, sure, I suppose. He always was very friendly. Often rather playfully violent." Hermione sighed and attempted to run a brush through her own wet hair. "Blast," she muttered as a few of the bristles broke off in her hair.
"Don't be silly Hermione, you've got to blow-dry it first," Ginny said with a callous giggled, moving to remove the pieces of plastic from Hermione's matted mess. She easily plugged the hair-dryer into the other socket, the unfamiliar roaring noise uncomfortable in Hermione's ears.
"Just relax, dear. I'll take twenty minutes, absolute maximum. Just think—a year ago we'd be having summer hols, and now I'm getting married, and you're off to Julliard!" Ginny grinned as Hermione shut her eyes tightly.
"Hurry up, or I won't be responsible for any bashing and banging of the tools of your trade," Hermione warned.
"Wouldn't expect anything less," Ginny said with a smile.
Hermione counted slowly back from twelve hundred until Ginny turned off the awful sound of the dryer.
"Now?" She asked.
"No. You look horrible. Never let anyone convince you that you can pull off the Straight Look. You can't. Wait a bit," And Hermione closed her eyes once more. Approximately five hundred and thirty seconds later, Ginny had stopped pressing the tool (curling iron? Straightening iron? Scissors?) to her hair and clapped her on the shoulder.
"Open your eyes, Sleeping Ugly," she grinned as Hermione looked to the mirror. She raised her eyebrows as she took in her appearance.
"What did you do?" She asked incredulously. Her hair was a mass of soft curls, pretty curls, not that horrid bird's nest she usually kept on top of her cranium.
"That's my secret isn't it? If I tell you, you'll just do it at home, and shan't come over here anymore, hmm?" Ginny smiled prettily and kissed the top of Hermione's head. "And you've got to come over more often. Have I told you what Harry's been saying? I think he likes you," Ginny's face grew serious. Hermione didn't conceal her grimace. Harry was difficult. He would be head-over-heels and she wouldn't notice at all. But still, he had sounded very concerned…
"Are you quite finished, Hermione?" He asked, his smile broadening when shook her head.
"Damn you Draco, it's because of you why I feel like this at all," She snapped suddenly, falling into a great heap in the centre of the room.
"Like what, dear?" He asked, face still registering no immediate worry as to her state. She was in mental anguish, she reasoned. He ought to deduce something of her pain.
"Like I've just been buggered with a stick," She cursed violently, clapping her hands over her mouth as she let go the foul language. "Oh!" She said through her fingers.
"I think you've enough good fortune to allow a little cursing, Hermione," Draco said, matter-of-fact as per usual. She rather liked how he never nicknamed her. "Hermione is such a mouthful," She was often told. They'd call her Mione, and Blaise even called her Mi, and she felt that if they'd cared about her just that much more, they'd take the time to call her by her real name. It was those who cared about her most who shortened it though, and Hermione often wondered if they even really did.
"Shtildntlykmmph," She said, hands still clutching at her mouth.
"Goodness, are you okay?"
"Icntstanit! Imgonbesmphick! SMPHICK! I'M GOING TO BE SICK!" She screamed, wrenching her hands away from her mouth, coughing and wheezing violently.
"Hermione! God, are you—Hermione! Hermione! HERMIONE!" Draco screamed, and she was screaming, and screaming, and couldn't stop, and she didn't, no she didn't like this feeling, and Ginny hadn't talked to her today, and Draco wasn't smiling, and she didn't like this…She stopped her fits as her voice gave out, and she bent over, still, silent, as Draco tried to rub her back and calm her down.
"Hermione? Speak to me, oh Hermione, please," his voice was so pleading that Hermione began to smile, and then great, deep sobs wracked from inside her, and they tore her body apart…still.
"Draco?" She sounded, her mouth moving, no sound coming out of her frozen lips. "Draco Malfoy?"
"You will," Stubbornly.
"What?" Hermione asked, whirling around the room to find the voice.
"No goddamned idiot dies because her fucking boyfriend left her. You weren't even married to him, stupid." Snort.
"Don't talk to me like that! You can't, can't possibly…who are you, anyway?" Hermione asked, breaths beginning to pile up as she imagined what forces at hand could be tormenting her like that.
"Me? Bollocks if I know. You're the stupid shit who dreamed me up," The voice commented dryly.
"Draco…he is marrying her, isn't he? I can't stand it, he can't—"
"You can't be this helpless, wench. He's just a vampire. You're just a girl. In a hundred years, you'll be dust, and he'll be with Weasley. Take it how it comes, idiot. You can't change the world," The voice was smirking, at least, she thought.
"You're horribly rude, and you aren't making me feel better."
"You don't need some pansy-arse to make you feel better. You need me. So suck it up and forget about him. He is about as worth it as caterpillar dung. You aren't meant to be together. You don't want him to change you. He won't if you won't let him. What's the fuss, hmm?"
"You can't possibly understand," She repeated.
"I can. I'm you, really." The voice said reasonably.
"Go away." Hermione snapped, looking anxiously over to her window as the curtains flapped around in the breeze.
"Leave me, or I shall make you," Hermione said, standing on her shaking limbs.
"No you mayn't! You'll stay there, won't you." The voice commanded.
"Good-bye," Hermione whispered, and she was alone again. Even more so than ever before.
Ginny rushed over to Hermione, cheeks aflame with embarrassment and good health. "Was I quite all right, Hermione? Did I hit the last note in the second stave? I thought I might've missed it, what with it being so heavily drowned out by the music—"
"You couldn't miss a single thing, Ginevra Molly. You were excellent," Hermione enveloped her friend into a rare hug. Ginny returned it enthusiastically, jumping up and down as soon as she was let go.
"You're such an excellent friend, Hermione. Promise me you'll be always," Ginny said with a beseeching smile.
"Naturally," Hermione said, grinning widely. "I will."
I think Harrod's sells expensive couture…not sure since I haven't been there before, however. They did employ a Cobra to guard over a 60000 pound pair of shoes, however, so I guess they can pass.