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Part 22 - Men Make Clothes For The Women They'd Like To Be With Or - In Most Cases - The Women They'd Like To Be
Clothes. Severus Snape had an appreciation for good clothes but, on the whole, was not particularly concerned with them. Three months in a female body hadn't done very much to change his attitude this respect. Hermione had a functional wardrobe which, whilst it suited her, didn't require much in the way of choices and musing to pull together a set of clothes for the day. Not as extremely functional as his own day-to-day wardrobe, but not particularly different to the small collection he had acquired over the years for holidays and escapes.
Escape.
The idea appealed enormously; he hadn't left the school since the start of term, one way and another. Trips to Hogsmeade had been curtailed in favour of the continued experimentation on Longbottom's Ego Exchanging Elixir; the experimentation was slow but the mandrakes, which would provide a more certain cure, were developing on schedule and Snape was reasonably certain that he and Hermione were now more than halfway through their rather bizarre exchange trip. Nonetheless, he was curious to know what it was that Longbottom had managed to achieve; it could perhaps be a useful potion to have in the arsenal.
How Longbottom had managed to produce anything useful was still bemusing; and coaching the boy through basic potions at least once a week in the Gryffindor common room had done nothing to change Snape's view of him. He was terrified in Potions lessons, of course, but Snape could find no sympathy for him; he would have to deal with worse once he had left school, better that he learnt now that people were not universally pleasant. All the same, Snape wondered just how Longbottom had failed to develop any kind of carapace against the injustices of life in the last seven years.
More interesting still was Hermione's reaction to the boy - he could detect no difference in her treatment of Longbottom compared to his own; that was, of course, the way it should be if they were to avoid Malfoy junior running home to his father with tales that they would rather were not told. All the same, he thought she seemed to enjoy bullying the class; he was almost used to receiving his own treatment now but he still found it fascinating.
He wished he could say the same for the rest of his classes. Things had settled down somewhat - the faculty no longer regarded him with quite the concern that they had tried to conceal in early October, when he was still trying to regain the skills he had ignored since NEWTs - and Hermione no longer winced when he practised Transfigurations in the potions classroom between experiments. Nonetheless, it was tedious and he whiled away the classes on autopilot, scribbling notes in Hermione's handwriting and letting his mind wander. Hermione's tendency to hand-waving and over-eagerness had muted itself over the years, so no-one seemed to notice that the Head Girl was not first to react with an answer at all times. He was free to escape the class in his mind and follow his thoughts.
Escape.
Hermione had taken his body and his clothes to London; it was absurb that she could escape and he could not. He chose to ignore her comment about the way he looked in Armani ... then again, maybe he shouldn't. A smile uncurled across his face and, had anyone been there to see, they might have remarked that the Head Girl had a fleeting air of mischievous glee about her. Most uncharacteristic - except that Snape was beginning to think that it wasn't at all uncharacteristic of Hermione. She had a talent for comments that shot and arced to their target with an accuracy that stung almost as much as it amused. There was definite potential there; all it needed was encouragement.
Meanwhile, back to the Armani. She thought he looked good in Armani ... well, that had possbilities for amusement, bringing him back to the open cupboard in front of him. The Yule Ball would begin in an hour, and the Head Girl needed to be present and correct; and that would mean some sort of dress.
Hermione had dresses; not many, but they were there. Snape thought they were probably left over from earlier years and earlier tastes, as they certainly didn't suit the woman he had come to know in scores of evenings of potions brewing, mutual coaching, quidditch panics and general discussion. He had no intention of wearing them this evening, certainly. He couldn't recall having had any particular desire to dress in women's clothing (wizarding robes generally allowed those with that particular interest to do so without anyone particularly noticing, anyway), and would frankly rather be in his own body with his own clothes but - in the absence of miracles - he decided he would make the best of what he had to deal with.
That meant the pink and satin needed to go. Fine for a child, but Hermione's body was not that of a child; not a thought he chose to dwell on, but he could hardly think otherwise given the responses he knew that body was perfectly and readily capable of. He really would miss those responses ...
But none of that would get him something he was prepared to wear for this evening. He looked critically at the clothes again, then suddenly ignored the dresses in favour of a cardigan and a pair of jeans. Laying them on the bed, he picked up his wand and concentrated. Time to find out whether the Transfiguration lessons from Hermione and McGonagall had had any practical effect.
The clothes had just been transfigured when a knock came at the door; if it was Harry or Ron, he was going to disembowel them. Or something similar, anyway. He had not been able to dissuade the boys from coming to escort him down to the Hall, but he was damned if he was going to suffer their presence any longer than he had to.
"Yes?" he snapped, opening the door. Lavender and Parvati stood outside, arms full of fabric, looking slightly startled at the abrupt greeting. He sighed inwardly, and opened the door a little wider.
"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I thought it was Harry and Ron."
Lavender and Parvati grinned at that. "Yeah, last thing you want is those two butting in."
Never a truer word spoken, Miss Brown, thought Snape. However, he simply smiled and nodded to them. "Can I ... help?" he asked, curious as to why they were standing outside his rooms. He would have thought them to be in full frenzy, preparing for the Ball - they had been eager enough to force him through pre-preparations a day ago. They had clearly been preparing - hair and cosmetics certainly seemed to have been applied in full party manner - but they were still in school robes. Given their last encounter, he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know what they had in mind.
"Yup," said Parvati as they pushed past him. "You can give us somewhere to hide while we finish getting dressed. The juniors keep bursting in to see how we're doing, and we're getting fed up with it."
"And we figured no-one would burst in on you," added Lavender.
Snape contented himself with raising an eyebrow at that; pointing out the irony in that statement, given that they had just "burst in on him", would probably take so much time that they would miss the Ball. Whilst he personally wouldn't be particularly concerned at that, he thought the energy would be more profitably used elsewhere. Including in making sure that they didn't use this as another opportunity to inflict pain.
A squeal behind him made him jump as he shut the door.
"Oooh, Hermione, it's gorgeous, where did you get it?" The Barbies were in residence. Snape sighed again, summoned a smile and dragged out a cliche.
"That old thing? I've had it for years," he murmured. It was all he could do not to laugh at the puzzled expressions on their faces; but they were obviously not in the mood to take much notice of puzzles as they dumped their own clothes on the bed and started to undress.
Snape suddenly got rather uncomfortable. He was familiar enough with Hermione's body - probably rather more familiar than she would be impressed by - but the idea of looking at those two undressing was not something he wanted to deal with. He scooped up his own clothes and headed for the bathroom; he reasoned that Hermione was modest enough not for his retreat not to spark much curiosity.
He didn't quite make it in time to avoid seeing Miss Brown's rather abundant charms on display, though. The sight left him curiously unmoved, and he gazed thoughtfully in the mirror at his reflection - not his own reflection - as he undressed and wondered at the difference. This was enough to send shivers of anticipation through him, as his mind took in the sight of Hermione's body. Enough to stir ideas that he damped down again rapidly. And yet ... and yet ... Lavender Brown had made no impression.
He whirled away from the mirror and dressed rapidly. Enough time to think about that later. Much later. In fact, never.
He could only loiter in the bathroom for so long, no matter how difficult he still found cosmetics - make-up was still something he personally considered to be almost Dark magic and viewed with almost as much suspicion as if it were Dark. The daily swipe of mascara and gloss he had mastered; yesterday's session had given him an unwilling education in the joys of cosmetic charms but knowing how to do something was not the same as knowing what to do with it.
He opened the door slowly, hoping the girls were at least vaguely clothed. They were; rather predictably dressed in standard cocktail dresses - at least they had enough sense not to wear the ungainly ball-dresses that appealed to so many. He looked down, and wondered just how they planned to dance in those spikes that they would undoubtedly call shoes.
"Aren't you doing anything to your hair?" asked Parvati, as she spotted Snape.
"Won't this do?" he asked. He had brushed it out, the conditioner lending it enough weight to hand reasonably straight and smooth. What else was he supposed to do with it? Snape viewed the girls' hair with some alarm - twisted and twirled, and not at all like anything he'd ever seen Hermione wear. Not that he could really remember her doing anything with her hair anyway. It wasn't something he had paid any attention to.
"Doesn't go with the clothes," said Lavender as she got up from the bed and walked over. Circling Snape she hmm'd softly under her breath, then nodded decisively. "Up. It's got to go up."
Snape's eyebrows certainly went up. "And what, exactly, do you mean by up?" he asked suspiciously.
"Relax, Hermione. Nothing outrageous, that wouldn't suit you at all - look, trust us. We didn't do the glitter thing with the makeup on you, did we?"
Thank Merlin for small mercies.
Some work with a brush and a few charms later, he looked in the mirror again. Grudgingly, he admitted that whatever they had done, it worked well with the clothes. Sleek and tidy, and ... well, he wasn't quite sure what they had done with it, but it worked.
"Pity you can't summon up some charms to avoid waxing as well," he said drily, making sure they saw a smile on his face. The girls laughed.
"Haven't found anything that works so far - at least, not that lasts as long. Standard shaving spells aren't a lot of use."
Snape nodded absently; he should have remembered that. The inefficacy of the spells was the main reason he used a cutthroat. Maybe a potion, though ... he was sure he'd read something in one of Hermione's Muggle magazines about a way of removing hair with something like a potion. On second thoughts, maybe not. He had quite enough orders for skincare as it was.
Going down in history as the man who invented a depilatory potion was not exactly what he had worked these many years for.
Then again, it was probably a better way to be remembered than any he had earned so far.
An hour later, Snape winced at the over-decoration in the Hall. The Headmaster somehow always managed to exceed the previous year's over-decoration. The simplicity of decorated trees that graced the space for the rest of the season was overwhelmed by the cascades of jewelled icicles and glittering baubles that spread across the Hall like iridescent foam. The tables were gone; tea had been served in the common rooms, and supper would be served much later. Most of the students were already present, clearly - the room was already full of the chattering and swooping of adolescent conversation.
He looked around, searching for a familiar tall, black-clad, figure. Surely she didn't think she was going avoid the Ball altogether? Dumbledore would never allow that - and even if he did, Snape had no intention of letting Hermione get out of it. No point in wasting dancing lessons, after all ...
As if the thought had conjured her, a low silky voice behind him murmured quietly, just audible in the melee around.
"Very nice. I wish I had your taste."
There was a subtle bite to the comment, and Snape wondered whether she was commenting on the clothes or whether she was playing to an audience. He looked over his shoulder. She was alone. Why the sarcasm, then? Perhaps she didn't like the clothes. He tested the theory.
"You said Armani suited me. I thought perhaps it might work in this incarnation as well as that," he replied, his voice equally quiet as he surveyed the room. The last thing he wanted was to be seen talking to Hermione - that would be decidedly out of character for both of them.
"It does."
He had transfigured the jeans and cardigan into something he had seen in one of her magazines; Armani, of course. A fitted hip-length black velvet jacket with a Nehru collar, and a pair of loose flowing trousers in silk that shimmered with a palatte of muted colours. The upswept hair and low-heeled thin-strapped sandals that Parvati had transfigured for him completed the look; heels were definitely not something he wanted to deal with. The effect, he realised suddenly, made him stand out rather more than he had intended among the standard robes, meringues and little black dresses that marked the stages of adolescence in female students. It marked him as an adult, not as a child; the restraint was, fortunately, characteristic of the Head Girl even if the elegance was more characteristic of the Potions Master - not that any of the students or many of the faculty were likely to recognise him as elegant.
"It does." Hermione had repeated the quiet comment, this time with a sigh. "Why the hell can't I pick clothes like that?"
Snape debated letting the comment pass but a sharp sense of needing to comfort her forced a reply.
"I'm sure you will, given time. I have twenty years more experience, remember."
"Yes, but you're a man," and her response was rather acid. Snape almost laughed at the indignation in every syllable; she was overlooking the obvious, though. "And so is Armani," he pointed out. "Please don't tell me you will refuse to wear clothes designed by a man - that would be a waste."
It was odd, really, how you could hear silence in a babble of high spirits. But silence was definitely what he heard from Hermione now. She seemed confused, and he supposed she was wondering whether he meant a waste of the clothes or a waste of her figure. He wasn't about to enlighten her; some things needed to remain unsaid, after all. Then he felt the atmosphere shift as she threw off the confusion and pulled herself back to the character she was supposed to be.
"Rather a waste of time submitting to the leg-waxing, wasn't it?" she murmured as she swept past, now heading for the other side of the room. The amusement in the comment stung almost as much as the waxing had. Still, he had probably deserved that.