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“ Oh, I had no idea it’d be this comfortable” Hermione said softly, watching herself in the mirror with a disbelieving but unabashedly confident smile. It made Narcissa glow with pride just to look at her expression. “I look good .”
While it pained Narcissa to hear that surprised tone, the words brought a smile to her face. “You always do,” she told Hermione, then placed her hands on her girlfriends’ shoulder and waist and added “but you look gorgeous tonight.”
In recent days, Hermione, age 34 with two children, had had a difficult time believing she was as beautiful as Narcissa claimed she was. Narcissa was never wrong , but she knew the struggle of confidence with a changing body all too well, so empathy had come easily.
There were likely better, long-term, solutions to Hermione’s problem, but Narcissa had never tried those herself and this is what she knew. Hermione, in a white corset with emeralds that had been passed down the Black family since the late 16th century.
It fit her perfectly — it had been enchanted long ago to fit any wearer like a glove — and contrasted beautifully with Hermione’s darker skin and how unaccustomed she was to such garments.
“I’m keeping it,” Hermione declared, a decisive grin on her face, and when she turned around to look Narcissa in the eye.
Narcissa chuckled, only glad for the decision. She didn’t think there’d ever been a sight more pleasing to her eyes than the one before her right now. “But of course,” she answered, leaning closer to Hermione with a teasing smile. “In exchange for a kiss as you wear it.”
Without a moment’s notice, Hermione’s lips were on hers, and Narcissa knew for sure she’d never made a better choice.