19 year old Hermione Granger irritably flicked a strand of flyaway hair from her face. The air in Hair 101 was too high, the music too loud and she was beginning to get antsy. Sven's technique of dying her hair was indisputably perfect, but insisting on coloring one fine hair at a time could take all day. Literally. She reached out a slim arm to grab her iPhone, with every intention of wading through the mess that was her inbox. However as she picked up the glittery gadget, she stopped and her heart dropped into the depths of her toned stomach. The multiple plasma TVs, primarily placed for every aimless woman in the salon to patiently watch, were blaring the last thing she wanted to hear today.

His Band. His song. And his undeniable, complete perfection.

"Ooh he's rather gorgeous"

"The things I would do to him!"

"Have you seen him in those pictures on the beach?! Wait I'll get them up"

Cue the giggling, shuffling around in Fendi purses and endless scrolling to find the topless picture of the It boy of the moment.

Draco Malfoy.

Hermione blushed a light pink and busied herself in the salon chair, bowing her head and waiting for the 4-minute song to end so her heartbeat could return to normal. His effect on her state was a usual occurrence but she remained resolute that she would give these women nothing to talk about. Their 'relationship', if you could even call it that now, was conducted in almost complete secrecy due to the paparazzi mobbing them when in public together. The fact his music was playing simply reminded her that they hadn't spoken for 4 days since their last argument, neither wanting to cave first. A sudden jolt and she was lifted out of her reverie to hear Sven berating a young salon girl for being so clumsy with her cleaning to disturb "The Hermione Granger herself." The embarrassed girl stuttered an almost incoherent apology, and slowly backed away clearly completely mortified. Hermione caught her eye in the mirror and winked to show her that no damage was done and the stricken looking teenager managed a weak smile as she all but ran away.

"Sven you absolute monster! She didn't mean any harm!" Hermione swiveled in her chair to mischievously chastise her long time friend and trusted hair stylist.

"Oh darhling, these young ones have to be trained hard. I was and look how perfectly I turned out; a little fear never hurt anyone. Now sit still and I'll finish up so you won't be late for the Malkin shoot. I'm not having your bloody assistant call me one more time about how meticulously timed you schedule is!"

Hermione's toffee colored eyes crinkled as she laughed at his normal dramatics and obediently turned whilst her waist length hair fanned around her face to complete his masterpiece. She had met Sven three years ago, when he, just like her, was starting out in the cruel, cut throat world of fashion. Simply a hairdresser's assistant then, he had taken Hermione under his wing and provided many a shoulder to cry on as her young confidence was knocked by designer after designer.

"You need to lose 5 pounds by Wednesday"

"For gods sake, stand up straight! Shoulders back, stomach IN! You're not in school anymore love"

"Is it puppy fat... Or?"

Sixteen years old, 5'10 and weighing no more than 105 pounds at all times, her thin skin toughened quickly. As Sven transformed her with beautiful creation after beautiful creation, both their stars rose quickly, Hermione acting as a walking advertisement for his unquestionable talent. Now, as she sat in his chic salon in Wizarding West London, surrounded by women paying thousands for his work, she couldn't help but feel incredibly proud of all they had accomplished. Three years ago she would have never dreamed of walking in both the Paris and London fashion weeks, let alone gracing the cover of 'WitchVogue' not once but twice. As her look matured she progressed from a skinny young duckling to the willowy swan she was now. Her long legs, lean, curvaceous body and inert grace meant that photographers and designers everywhere were clamoring to work with her. Hermione had undoubtedly transformed from a girl on the cusp, into a phenomenal beauty. Her heart shaped face, almond eyes, lush pouted rose lips, slim nose and olive skin tone translated both into girl next door andhigh fashion: a feat not easily achieved.

She wiggled her long, leather covered legs and received a sharp tap on the head as a reminder to stay still. Playing with the fringe of her distressed white t-shirt, her mind wandered onto the issue of Draco.

And his stubbornness.

And his ability to frustrate her to all hell.

And the way he held her.

Hermione quickly stopped her fidgeting and her flawless face grew annoyed under the coif of highlighted, lowlighted, tousled, teased blonde blowout Sven was perfecting.

"O-o-ookay! You are ready to go my lover."

Two final brushes and Sven stepped back to admire his work under the 'oh-so-now' diamond spotlights trained on Hermione's head.

The newly beautified Hermione sat up, her tri-toned golden hair framing her face perfectly restored with the healthy swing she loved, something always missing when a visit to Sven was overdue. She smiled and her previously downcast face lit up as she rose to hug the wonderful stylist.

"Yes, yes okay my duckling, now hurry.. hurry! And remember stand up STRAIGHT!"

"You are just the best, Thank you! Wire Jenna the bill and she'll settle up, I'm so late!"

Hermione blew kisses to the other stylists in the salon as she hurried across the marble floor, her trademark skyscraper Louboutin black boots clicking loudly, She paused briefly at the frosted glass door, donned a large tan colored Givenchy handbag and oversized winged tortoise shell Prada sunglasses, draping a black leather jacket over her thin shoulders. The young girl, so embarrassed earlier, quickly appeared and stood by the door waiting for Hermione's go ahead. Throwing one last kiss over her shoulder to Sven, and a fleeting reassuring squeeze on the salon help's arm, the blonde beauty moved towards the door and emerged into the street where photographers immediately swarmed her.

*FLASH*

*SNAP*

*CLICK*

"Hermione, where's Draco?"

"Are you still together?"

"Over here gorgeous!"

*FLASH*

*SNAP*

*CLICK*

She kept her head bowed and moved with purpose towards the matte black Mercedes G-Wagon, a gift to herself after a year of rigorous, well paid work. Finding her keys she slipped into the vehicle, grateful to be hidden behind the tinted windows. Throwing her bag into the white leather passenger seat she fished out her phone and checked the home screen.

Still no text.

Still no call.

Frustrated she plugged in her silver IPod and selected the latest song Ginny had insisted she download. As the infectious synths kicked in, her mood began to improve. Turning the key and glancing swiftly to the right, Hermione pulled into the busy midday traffic of central London.

Across the city, 18-year-old Ginny Weasley fell out of a difficult spin, falling gracelessly onto the wooden floor. A dancer from a young age she had been pushing her body into more and more complex moves, growing frustrated when not immediately mastering them. Her black spandex leotard stretched tightly over her lithe body as the tiny elasticated shorts were trained into higher kicks and longer twists.

She stomped over to the speakers, restarted the music and returned to the middle of the studio, determined to perform the routine once without mistake. Her slim legs straightened as she waited for the first beat. Moving effortlessly with the music, her toned body became so fluid it was hard to believe she was a mere mortal. Twisting, turning and vaulting into a series of moves, it was clear to see why she was hailed as one of the best. Her perfectly proportioned features remained smooth and unyielding to the intensity of her physical exertion. Ginny's pale pouted lips, large doe like brown eyes and smattering of freckles caused many a man to be in awe of her complete beauty. Breathing heavily she spun out of a high vault and landed lightly, her face breaking into a huge smile upon finally completing the routine. A vibrating buzzing sound alerted her to her wand, placed haphazardly amongst her discarded sweats on the floor. This interruption meant that not only was she incredibly late, but that she needed to get across muggle London is less than 20 minutes.

Shit.

Frantically grabbing her wand and haphazardly waving it around the spacious studio it was transformed into a makeshift dressing room. Wiggling out of her dance attire she donned a deep red silk dressing gown, tying the large sash tightly around her waist. Looking in the mirror at her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, the youngest Weasley was impressed with how she had changed over the past year, blossoming from a gangly youth into an undeniably stunning young woman. Shaking her head of the self-indulgent thoughts she roughly pulled the scrunchie from her high bun and let her silky chocolate brown hair cascade over her shoulders and back. One simple swish and the kinky mess was a shimmering straight curtain, parted neatly in the middle to display her slim oval face. Applying just two coats of Chanel mascara, smudged lightly with glittering metallic black eye shadow her brown eyes popped. A light application of both Dior Skin Forever foundation and 'Gold Sands' bronzer, her transformation was complete. Swiping a pale pink lipstick across her luscious lips the young beauty pouted, surveying her face from every angle possible to be caught on camera.

No tide lines.

No glaring eyeliner mishaps.

It would do.

Bending over her small Celine bag, she summoned a mid length black dress out of its depths. The tight scuba material would require multiple shimmies and wiggles but once the final strap was in place it hugged her flawless body. Simple and elegant, Ginny's best features were highlighted. Ample breasts with a small waist, which flared at her hips before tapering into long, slim legs, she was the epitome of every male's wet dream. The halter neck grazed her collarbones, displaying her thin arms and dainty wrists, almost weighed down under the gold Rolex her on-again off-again boyfriend had presented to her after another of their infamous blowouts. Waving her wand once more to tidy the now unrecognisable dance space, her discarded clothes leapt off the floor and into her handbag, accommodating everything with a clever storage charm. She slipped her pedicured feet into a pair of pointed black six-inch suede heels and sashayed confidently over to the door. A final pose in the mirror and a swift tug to reveal a tantalising amount of cleavage, she turned, flicked her hair and turned out the lights emerging onto the bustling streets a vision amidst a rather dreary day.

Striding quickly out to the curb she extended her svelte arm and craned her neck trying desperately to catch the welcome sight of a vacant black cab. However, a brief tap on her shoulder and she spun quickly, tightening the grip on her bag, nervously looking for the offender. A smartly dressed man greeted her with his unfailing impeccable courteousness.

"Miss Weasley, Master Blaise had a premonition you might be a little... er… behind schedule, should we say. He has insisted you take his town car in order to make it to the venue in time."

Blaise Zabini's personal driver, Lionel Haffenforth, stood before Ginny, hands clasped behind his back, preparing for the onslaught of usual wrath at his masters display of wealth. Whilst Blaise was famed worldwide for his progressive rap collaborations and albums, his girlfriend Ginny preferred to try remain inconspicuous wherever possible. She had even successfully evaded the trained bodyguard he had assigned to her. A large black SUV, tinted windows and personal license plate (BZ1) the vehicle was immediately recognisable. This thankfully, was not her usual mode of transport, preferring the eternally too hot, crowded London tube system. However, today she could not argue.

"Thank you Lionel, I think for sanity's sake it would be wise to accept the offer. But make sure Blaise knew I put up at least a semblance of a fight."

Winking at her old friend, she climbed into the automobile; doing her best to avoid the stares of those she had previously shared the pavement with. Crossing her shapely legs, the brunette beauty sat back and relaxed in the plush seats, preparing her tired brain for what was to come.

Pansy tapped her heel impatiently on the pavement, caring not for scuffing the Manolo Blahnik shoes. She would just buy a new pair. What she cared about now was the lunch date her boyfriend had all but stood her up for. Feeling her infamous temper rising she breathed deeply, trying to remember the technique Luna had made her practice on their last visit.

In for 5seconds.

Out for 5 seconds.

In for 5 seconds.

"Where the fuck was he!"

God she missed that girl. 2 more weeks until the ethereal goddess would finally be done with Yuri's promotional tour and the foursome of girlfriends could be back together again. She sighed loudly and looked around the all but empty parking lot waiting for the bloody boy. 60 seconds ticked by and she gave up, entering the restaurant, dressed impeccably in a blue mini sun dress, her dark hair simply falling down her back in a wave of deep chocolate. She greeted his parents warmly, embracing each, both commenting how well she looked. As they sat down there was a burst of commotion at the door, and whispering as 'The Oliver Wood', famed keeper for the London Lions entered the intimate Spanish restaurant. Cameras flashed as his presence was known but he only had eyes for the half Brazilian, half English beauty that was Pansy. Grazing her cheek softly, Oliver whispered Scottish apologies in her ear, sending butterflies racing around her body. He was slightly flushed from racing to appease his stunning girlfriend and the effect was one Pansy welcomed. After a firm handshake from his father and copious heartfelt hugs from his doting mum, the foursome were finally seated at their albeit now slightly later lunch. Once the drinks order had been taken, Pansy launched into a deep conversation with Patrick and Jane about their new house, wanting to hear every minute detail. This transpired into both women going into raptures; keen to share the joy with whom Oliver's mother hoped would be their future daughter in law.

Watching the two most important women in his life conferring, his mind wandered back to the first day he had met Pansy. Gringotts had laid of a charity Quidditch match to race awareness for Healers Without Borders, a non for profit that send aid workers to areas where magic had left a less than rosy glow. The match had been heavily attended, including a who's who of the magical celebrity world. Each team had performed a novelty fly by where they displayed trick after trick, flying higher, faster and more recklessly than ever before to amuse the crowd. Oliver had shot by the VIP stand once, clocking the stunning model laughing hysterically with the girls, her head thrown back, her face a picture of happiness. Flying by again for another look at the beauty, he had slowed down, pulling up in front of her, calling out over the cheer of the crowd.

"You, lassie. If I win, you have to be my prize, Aye?"

Pansy had smirked at the outrageous ego of the handsome golden boy, hovering in front of her. She had flicked her dark hair over her shoulder and stared back at Oliver, the words rolling off of her Spanish tongue.

"I'm nobody's prize, Captain. But seeing as it's for charity, you have a deal."

Oliver had grinned and taken off flying around the pitch once more, spurred on by the testosterone coursing through his muscular body. Naturally his team had won and Oliver had held up his promise and taken Pansy out to Chez Margot, a night neither would forget. Probably due to the fact they left dinner after the appetizer to ravish each other at his flat, unable to hold in their desire over another petty two courses. Two years later and she had remained his goddess, sustaining him both emotionally and physically. His family had fallen in love with her no-nonsense, practical outlook on life, bored of the flighty fancies he had paraded in front of them before. She fit him like a glove and he loved her so much, he was sure his tough Scottish heart would break.

He Snapped back to consciousness as talk turned to when the two lovebirds would be married and start making mixed race, Quidditch-god babies for them to dote over and spoil. Exiting the restaurant an hour later the cameras still flashed as power couple Oliver and Pansy made a rather conspicuous exit, Oliver slapping her ass as she walked out of the door.

"Come on lass, I need to get you home. I have to make up for my timekeeping skills."

Pansy's squeal was heard throughout the street as Oliver lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his perfectly muscular torso.

Rising from the lotus position, Luna Lovegood inhaled deeply, the clear Californian air revitalising her senses. The breeze whipped her tousled hair, the ends flicking her tanned cheeks. The natural surroundings of infinite sea and impossibly blue skies, had recharged her batteries and cleared her abstract mind.

She was ready to return to London with the crazy life she had left behind when following Yuri on his tour.

"The struggles of being the girlfriend," she thought wryly.

Throwing her arms to the air she spun, the white sundress catching the wind, a vision to all who beheld her. She skipped into their beach house, calling throughout the rooms for her love to come and whisk them back to their real lives with their old friends and new dramas.