|Hannah Abbott promises she won't panic. (hannalea) wrote in eighth_rpg,|
@ 2011-01-07 10:43:00
|Entry tags:||hannah abbott|
Who: Hannah Abbott, Mirabelle Prewett and Rusa Poliakoff [NPCs]
What: Wedding dress shopping...and the theft of one journal.
Where: Every bridal shop in Paris, France
When: Friday morning with a flashback to Thursday morning
Hannah sighed, though she was careful not to let the smile fade from her face. They had been in this particular bridal shop since it opened at eleven, a Muggle shop that even Anton's pureblood-snob mother had to admit was quite lovely. It was like stepping into some white-whipped princess fantasy with dresses that had price tags that would make most everyone gag. But not Hannah's grandmother and future mother-in-law, who kept finding more and more dresses for Hannah to try.
The sales associate was lacing Hannah into the fourth dress of the day, and Hannah tried to stay perfectly still as the ribbons of the corset were tugged and tightened. "Eez very preety, yees?" the girl twittered.
"Very," Hannah said in the same happy tone that she had used since yesterday around lunchtime, when her grandmother had caught her writing in her journal. Ginny had replied, Megan had replied...she had to write them back!
But Mirabelle yanked the journal from Hannah's hands, swinging her wand at Hannah's hands and pricking them with a mild stinging jinx. "Hannah Ruth Abbott, what would your mother say if she saw you being so rude. Madame Poliakoff came all the way from Romania just to help you find the most perfect dress, and all you can do is mope and stare at this blasted book!"
Hannah rubbed at her hands, her eyes tearing over. What would her parents say? That Hannah shouldn't be the one forced to give up her whole life, that's what they'd say. Unlike her grandmother, they wouldn't have set the wedding so soon. They wouldn't have agreed that Hannah should move to Romania as soon as possible, for her safety.
They wouldn't have put a ring on her finger in a public place where she had no way to voice her concerns, mere hours after an argument where she was told that she was too delicate to be a fighter and that she was to quit Dumbledore's Army because no wife of mine will be in danger. You did your part. Let the others handle it now. We'll be married and we'll have a child to raise within a year. It's their fight now, not yours.
What if Hannah wanted it to be her fight? Her parents had died for this, her brother had died for this--but even if they hadn't, wasn't this all worth fighting for?
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hannah," her grandmother snapped, tossing a handkerchief at the girl. "You brought it on yourself. You're so much like your bloody mother--do you want to end up like her? Hmm? Before you even have a chance to be a mother, you'll rob me of a chance to see our great family go on!" The older woman glanced around; they were alone in this particular salon, Mrs. Poliakoff having stepped out for a cigarette. "What is your problem, hmm?"
Hannah sighed, her hair falling in front of her face. "I--"
"I..." She tried to clear her throat. How come she could be so brave sometimes, but not now. Never when she was alone. "I just...everything is moving really really really fast. Maybe, we could have the wedding for next year? Or even in the wintertime, just to give me some time to--"
Her grandmother's wand jutted right under Hannah's chin, forcing Hannah's head to raise; she winced at the feel of the wood jammed into her throat. "Time to go flit around with your little Army and get yourself ripped to pieces? Your little adventures are over, Hannah, and don't fancy yourself so special that you're irreplaceable. Harry Potter will find some Gryffindor with a head full of steam to fill your place in about ten seconds. Grow up. You have an opportunity to join one of the most celebrated wizarding families in Europe, and after losing so much, our family deserves this."
Mirabelle whipped her wand away from Hannah, pointing it at the journal and commanding it to go into the depths of her bag. "This journal is going in my purse until we get home, and you are going to act like a happy bride, Hannah Abbott, or I'll hex you so hard your teeth will break! So dry your face and smile!"
So Hannah smiled. And a day later, was still smiling. You're not that special. You're replaceable, a voice chanted in her head as the girl finished lacing up the dress. This was who she was now: not a fighter, but a bride. She stared ahead at her reflection in the mirror, but she could barely see herself, lost in the whorl of white and sparkles. Sweet, delicate Hannah.
She came out of the dressing room, and her grandmother and her mother-in-law and even the other saleswomen exploded in excitement. "She looks like a princess!" Mrs. Poliakoff said happily, clapping her hands together.
"She looks like a dream!" her grandmother said, a wide approving smile on her face.
"She look like a leetle china doll," a saleswoman said, and the others nodded.
Hannah turned into the mirror. Yes: that was perfect. She was a little china doll. Once upon a time, Anton Poliakoff had been the sloppy, neglected Durmstrang champion, but Hannah had helped him clean up and find his confidence. And then the next two times they had seen each other, Anton was the strong one and Hannah was broken. Anton had taken care of her because she couldn't take care of himself. Every time she had been brave and capable--a prefect, a fighter, a hero--had been where he couldn't see. To him, she was a little china doll, so easily broken, and because he loved her, he wanted to put her on a shelf.
I am a doll. She hadn't talked to anyone at home for a full day, and she felt a million miles away--and utterly out of hope.
Hannah stared blankly at herself. "It's perfect," she smiled. And smiled and smiled.