Author's Note: Wow. I'm stunned. Last chapter was the most reviews I've gotten on any chapter of this story. Thank you so much. Reviews still have a special place in my heart—I reread them again and again, and then write some more. I'm pretty pleased with how this chapter has turned out, and I'm so looking forward to all the things I've got planned in upcoming chapters. I'm also working on NaNoWriMo right now (is anyone else doing it?). This weekend, I wrote 7000 words of my novel, and 4000 words of this chapter. It was a great weekend. Anyway, thank you so much for all of your reviews—it really spurred me on to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last one.

February: Lessons

After eating with Harry, they went home. The light was fading. It was time to go. Draco and Hermione Apparated back to her flat. It was more or less as it had been when they'd left this morning, though there was an extra dish in the sink, and the blankets that had been folded on the couch had been moved to the floor. Little signs that Ginny had been home at some point, though she didn't appear to be at the moment. One not so little sign was the dirty Quidditch uniform that had been left in a pile on the bathroom floor. Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up the bundle of clothes, tossing them on Ginny's floor.

Hermione came back out to the living room and saw Draco had cracked open his Transfiguration book, but was staring at it disinterestedly.

"Draco? Can I help?"

He sighed. "Frankly, I've got absolutely no desire to look at this book tonight. I spent all day attempting to scratch runes into a piece of glass. Transfiguration is the last thing I want to deal with."

"Well, you can always do what Muggles do when they want to turn their brains off," she offered.

"And what's that? Drink?"

She shook her head and approached the television set, glancing at her collection of movies neatly arranged on the shelves to one side. "No, watch TV. You get to lose yourself in someone else's story for a bit and forget about everything you have going on."

"It sounds like a brilliant plan."

She looked through her collection, wondering what might appeal to him. "Guys in space with glowing swords fighting evil, or a con man seeking revenge in style?"

"I'm too tired to fight evil."

"The Sting it is then," she said, taking out a rather old cassette and popping it in the player. She joined him on the couch as they watched the drama unfold. It was a bit quirky—after all, the film was from the 1970s—but you really just didn't get story lines like this anymore. Hermione kept up a stream of commentary as needed, explaining the 1930s Muggle technology and American gangster dialogue as needed. Even if some of the specifics were a little lost in translation, it was still a brilliant story—the con to end all cons.

When the evening cooled and she found herself a little chilly, she picked up the quilt and spread it across her legs. She offered half to Draco and he took it. She saw the surprise on his face as the man who'd been shot got up.

"I thought you said—" he started.

"I did, just watch," she said, effectively shushing him as all the men on the screen began talking to one another.

He laughed right along with her when the closing lines to the film were delivered.

"You not going to stick around for your share?"

"Nah. I'd only blow it."

As the credits started to roll, he got up, stretching. "Not bad."

"No, not bad for something made almost thirty years ago. They really don't make stories like that anymore. These days, they'll spend a fortune on the special effects, but can't seem to find decent writers for any amount of money," she griped.

He looked at her. "I bet you could write one."

"As if I had the time. Or as if I knew anyone who could get a movie made. I've never even considered the idea."

There was a short silence and then Draco asked, "Do you want to go out for ice cream? Fortescues should still be open. I want something sweet and I can't stand the thought of those crunchy cookies."

"You've survived eating them before," she pointed out. All the same, she peeled back the blanket and got up. "Just give me a minute to change, I got paint on this earlier." She disappeared into her room and changed into jeans and a t-shirt, pulling out a warm jacket to wear with it. Back in the living room, she'd found that Draco had changed into slightly nicer robes than the ones he'd deemed acceptable for working at the werewolf house all day. He'd groomed his hair again and was waiting for her.

They Flooed to the Leakey Cauldron and went out to the alley. Draco tapped his wand on the bricks in sequence and the way to Diagon Alley opened up before them. They strolled down the street together companionably. There were still people out and about, but a number of the shops were closed. They peeked in at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and Hermione waved at Fred and George, who seemed to be doing a roaring Saturday night trade. There was a small crowd at Fortescues—even if it was hardly above freezing out—and they got their ice cream and sat inside to eat it.

Hermione glanced at Draco and the strawberry sundae he was digging into. She much preferred chocolate, but to each his or her own. "Do you enjoy runes? Or have you just never been able to forget them?" she asked, still wondering at his work today at the werewolf house.

He raised an eyebrow, rightly thinking the question had come rather out of thin air. "It's not exactly something I enjoy or don't enjoy. They're just a part of my knowledge base." He paused and then let the corner of his mouth twitch in what was almost a smile. "Besides, it's not often I get the chance to outsmart you. You didn't think of it."

"I didn't try," she countered.

"If you had thought of it, you would have done it. You didn't have an idea about the plants, so you took the labor job." There was a smirk on his face, but it wasn't particularly malicious.

She settled for rolling her eyes and changing the subject. As they left the ice cream parlor, they didn't hold hands, but they walked near each other, both of them with their hands stuffed in their pockets to keep them warm. Hermione noticed the majority of the shops on the street hadn't changed since she first came here, though there were a handful of new shops, like Weasley Wizard Wheezes. She pointed it out to Draco.

"Most of these shops are family owned and passed down from one generation to the next. Some of them for centuries—like Ollivanders. The trade itself is built on family secrets, and they're not trusted outside the family, which makes it hard for competitors to spring up."

She nodded.

"The Apothecary Theo works at? Ellard Shantle's family has owned it for more than 300 years. It's said to be only place to reliably be able to get acrumantula venom, and boomslang skin."

"If it's as secretive as all that, how did Theo manage to become an apprentice there?"

"He's his great-nephew. One of several, though they aren't all working there. There's no clear way of knowing who is going to inherit it—the old man hasn't decided—but he has several relatives working for him, who all stand a good chance."

"It seems a shame that the business will go to someone based on blood-relation rather than skill," she said.

Draco shrugged. "The skill is important too—that's why he has several of them working their arses of for him. Which reminds me, Theo is getting married in a couple of weeks. We ought to go."

She stopped and stared at him. "A couple of weeks?"

"The 17th. I got the invitation last week."

"I didn't know he was seeing anyone."

"Well, he is, and they decided to get married now before the deadline gets any closer. We'll need to get you another dress."

She shook her head. "I'm not going dress shopping again with your mother."

He frowned. "She has good taste. You could do worse. Go with Ginny if you'd prefer, but you don't want to show up in any of the dresses you own."

She glared at him. "You haven't seen all the dresses I own."

"I've seen enough of them."

"Let's go home then. I'm positive I have something suitable," she said stubbornly. This time she took him by the arm and turned them both in a circle, Apparating them back to the flat. They were standing in the living room, and, still holding his hand, Hermione pulled Draco into her bedroom and to the closet. She opened the closet door and began methodically looking through her clothes.

Work robes, work robes, work robes, casual robes, work robes. She pulled out the dark blue dress she wore on her "date" with Theo. "This is a lovely dress."

Draco eyed it critically. "That dress is rubbish. Wearing it will not give you the same feeling as you had when you saw yourself in the mirror last night."

"That's not true."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "When was the last time you wore it?'

"It wasn't that long ago." She frowned, the arm that was holding the dress dropping a bit until the hem dragged on the floor. "Some time before Lavender's wedding, Theo and I doubled with Blaise and Ginny."

He was mildly surprised. Had Granger and Theo dated? He vaguely recalled that the day of Finnegan and Brown's wedding, she'd mentioned something about expecting Theo. He took the dress out of her slack hand and held it up in front of her face. "Did you feel beautiful in this dress?"

"I looked nice enough. I even wore heels."

"But did you feel beautiful?" he insisted.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember the feeling of wearing the dress. It had felt like a chore. "No," she admitted quietly.

He nodded and set the dress down on the bed. "Find another one," he challenged.

She rummaged through the closet. There was the dress she'd worn to Lavender's wedding—she hoped to never wear it again. She'd felt bare on top, and self-conscious and just not pleased with it. Almost the only time she'd forgotten the feeling was when she'd been distracted by Draco. And when Ron made an ass of himself. That dress joined the other one on the bed as she continued to look for something, anything that might prove her point. There was a burgundy dress, which had been her attempt at daring when she was dating Ron, but there was nothing terribly fun about it—it just wasn't navy or black. It joined the pile. A very few other dresses, similar to the first one, were heaped on the bed. There was a pencil skirt she rather hated, and a circle skirt she felt awkward in. Various blouses that she rarely bothered with. She took out the dress from the night before and hung it on the back of the door—it didn't belong in the heap.

Hermione sat down on the bed, next to the pile of clothes that she owned, that she had worn, but that had only usually served to make her feel worse about herself.

Draco approached the closet and began rummaging around. "What about the green dresses?"

"Green dresses?"

He frowned. "You wore one the night of the party, in December. And another one when we had dinner with my mother. It was a good color on you. I don't see them."

"Oh, those," she said dismissively. "They were Ginny's. She doesn't exactly think I have the best taste in clothing."

"How did you feel in them?"

"Somewhat awkward."

He rolled his eyes. "If something off the rack doesn't make you feel beautiful, then you need something that will. Take Ginny with you and find something."

"I don't intend to waste my time shopping when I own perfectly acceptable clothes. If you haven't noticed there's a lot we're trying to accomplish in a very short amount of time. Do you have any idea how many people we still need to see before the hearing in March? Never mind trying to figure out how to convince them all," she snapped.

He glared at her and crossed the short distance to where she was sitting. "I'm trying to help you, Granger. Don't you imagine that most of the people who tormented you in school will be at that wedding? And don't you want to prove them all wrong about anything they ever said about you?"

"I've moved beyond all that," she said, stiffly.

"Don't you want to prove them all wrong?"

She paused, and when she answered, the words were heavy, but true. "Yes. But…"

"But what?" he asked, exasperated.

"What if they're not wrong? I know it's stupid, but…"

He rubbed his temples. What was wrong with this girl? "You can save the world, get rid of the most evil wizard in a century, and score perfectly on every exam we've ever taken, but you're worried you might not impress a handful of idiots?"

She sat silently stubborn, angry that he was belittling what she felt.

"Tomorrow, we're going out. We'll find something for you to wear." He thought sourly, his mother was right. He hated it when his mother was right. Even Granger needed to know she was special and gorgeous and all that other stuff.

"It doesn't matter if you somehow make me look like a model—which you can't—it wouldn't stop them from saying snide things about me."

Draco sighed and sat down beside her on the bed, making a half-hearted attempt to push the pile of rejected garments aside. "Granger, Hermione, do you trust me? At all?"

She thought about it. She supposed she did. She couldn't be working this closely with him if she didn't. That was a surprise. She smiled wryly. "I suppose so."

"Have I done anything in the past month to give you a reason not to trust me?" he asked. He'd given her plenty of reasons in the past not to trust him, but nothing recently. Right?

"No," she said, slowly.

"Then trust me on this. We're going to make them eat any words they ever said to you. I know I've already eaten mine."

She chuckled, not quite daring to look at him, trying to make light of what was beginning to feel like a serious conversation. "And how did they taste?"

He didn't look at her either. He found his gaze trailing to the dress hanging from the closet door. She hadn't looked amazing in it because it showed off too much—it didn't. She'd looked amazing because she felt amazing and she glowed with it. "Well," he said, as though talking about the weather. "Normally eating one's own words tends to disagree with a person. In this case, I'm glad I was wrong." He swallowed hard, and tried not to pause, to keep his voice casual. "You're a brilliant witch, and a better person than I deserve to be spending time with. And beautiful. I told you that yesterday."

"You did say that," she said softly.

"I meant it. I intend to do my damnedest to make you realize it. Let me take you out tomorrow." His voice has lost it's casualness. It was intent. He still wasn't looking at her.

For her part, Hermione was looking down at the pile of dresses she hadn't worn in a long time. She knew she'd lived more than a lifetime's worth of life in her twenty years on the planet. She wasn't the same girl she was at eleven, or fourteen, or even seventeen. She nodded, and then realized he wasn't looking at her. "Fine. One dress for the wedding, and that's it. I hate clothes shopping. It's annoying and time consuming and always makes me feel worse about things."

"Deal." He attempted a smirk and only about half managed it. "I always get my way eventually."

She snorted softly. "You sound like your mother."

He looked at her then, wounded. "That's a low blow."

She rolled her eyes, and whatever awkwardness had accumulated was broken. "If you're insisting on taking me out to pointlessly look at clothes tomorrow, then we're spending the rest of the night working on transfiguration."

With a fair bit of grumbling, he agreed. She insisted he help her hang up all of the clothes she'd had to take out of the closet, and then they went to the living room. His argument that they ought to just toss all those clothes out in the rubbish bin now hadn't held much water. Despite the hour, she put the coffeemaker on, and they sat at the table. He opened the transfiguration book to the section he'd been reading.

"Human transfiguration is difficult," Hermione conceded.

"Tonks doesn't seem to think so," he said sourly.

She looked at him. "She's a metamorphamagi, of course she doesn't think it's difficult. For her, it isn't. But our bodies are complex—they're kind of resistant to change. It's very easy to mess up a human transformation. I remember hearing that Viktor tried to transfigure himself into a shark during the Tri-Wizard tournament. I wasn't in much of a position to see his success or technique, but from what I heard, all he managed was to transform his head, and his teeth were all in the wrong places. I suppose it got the job done, but he could have been horribly mangled for the rest of his life. Now see here…" She proceeded to explain to him the incantation that would give him a monkey's paw.

"Have you ever bungled a transfiguration of yourself?" he groused, starting down at his only half transformed arm.

She frowned, ignoring the question. After a moment's concentration, she managed to change him back. "Again."

For an hour he practiced, until he could change his arm perfectly each time. Hermione was satisfied with his progress. He thought he ought to be moving more quickly. All the same, they agreed to call it a night.

Draco had just come out of the bathroom changed into his pajamas and was settling himself on the couch when Hermione appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. "I did botch a human transfiguration rather badly once."

"Oh?"

She crossed her arms, sighing. "Second year. I brewed a Polyjuice Potion. I brewed it correctly, but the hair I thought belonged to the person I wanted to transform into belonged to a cat."

"That potion isn't meant for animal transformations," he commented.

She snorted. "I know. It took ages to sort myself out. I spent a while in the hospital wing as well, once I'd finally come up with something to tell Madam Pomfrey. I couldn't very well tell her that I'd taken a book from the restricted section to brew an illegal potion, could I?"

He chuckled, trying to picture it. "Who were you trying to turn into?"

She shook her head. "It's a long story. Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Hermione."

By the time Draco woke up the next morning, Hermione was already making breakfast and nearly done with it. He helped himself to a cup of coffee. "Good morning."

"Morning." He sipped his coffee, blinking until he succeeded in waking up.

"Did you sleep okay?"

He shrugged. "Well enough." His back was stiff from sleeping on the couch. It wasn't long enough. He'd be glad to get back to his bed tonight.

"I was thinking we could work on your transfiguration again. Maybe a full transformation this time."

He took the plate she offered him, and shook his head, heading out to to the table. "Nice try, but you know what's on the agenda today, and that's not it."

She smiled wryly, taking her own plate and following him. "It was worth a try. We do have some things to figure out though."

"Such as?"

"Well, your mother expects us to be engaged sooner rather than later. Do you want to tell her we got engaged this weekend?"

He was thoughtful for a moment, chewing his salmon slowly. "No."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to use the big romantic weekend to your advantage?"

Draco considered for a while. He was certain his mother would expect them to be engaged by the time he came home. That was all the more reason not to be. There was no reason to let her have her way all the time. "No. But not next weekend either—it's Valentines Day and that would just be too trite."

"I agree with that—next weekend would just seem ridiculous. That's why I suggested this weekend."

He looked at her and tilted his head. "What sort of proposal have you pictured for yourself?"

"Well, I did always picture it being with someone I was actually dating."

He nodded. "Fair enough. Did the Weas—did Weasley ever propose to you?"

"No. We did move in together, but…" She shook her head and wrapped her fingers around her coffee mug to warm them. "It just didn't work out. We're too different. We got on each other's nerves all the time. There's only so many times you can kiss and make up before deciding that making up doesn't mean anything when you keep fighting about the same things over and over again." She looked at him. "Have you ever planned a proposal?"

He shrugged. "I was never serious enough about anyone to get quite that far. I imagine some girls want their proposals to be very public—kneeling down in the snow in the middle of Diagon Alley, that sort of thing."

"It seems like that would appeal to you. You do have a knack for showmanship."

"But I'm guessing it wouldn't appeal to you?" He studied her face. "You'd rather it was private, done where no one else in the world has to observe it."

She nodded. "It's one thing for someone to make grand gestures and statements when you're dressed to the nines and caught up in the moment in some romantic setting. It's something else entirely when you're dressed in grungy sweats, and your hair hasn't been brushed yet that day, and someone looks at you and says to himself, 'You know what, I want to spend the rest of my life with her.' I don't know if that makes any sense," she said, looking a trifle embarrassed. "We can tell your mother whatever you think she'd find most believable. She knows you, and knows you like to show off. My guess would be something cliche; a fancy restaurant, the ring in a glass of champagne, that sort of thing."

He looked contemplatively at his mostly empty breakfast plate. "Well, we'll think about it. In the meantime, we need to get an appropriate wardrobe for you."

"An appropriate wardrobe? I agreed to one dress," she reminded him.

"We'll see." He finished what was left on his plate and took it to the sink before heading to the bathroom to shower.

Hermione's mouth twitched in a smile. He was certainly well-trained. The first time he'd come over and eaten dinner before they'd worked on their Wizengamot lists, he'd left his plates anywhere he pleased and expected her to pick them up. Now, he knew that leaving his plates around was going to result in a reminder that she was neither his mother nor his house-elf and she expected him to clean up after himself.

He'd taken the lecture reasonably well, though it took some time for the habit to stick. Hermione was sitting on the table, finishing the last of her coffee when Ginny arrived home.

"Morning, Hermione," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning, Ginny."

The redhead caught sight of Draco's bag by the couch. "He's still here?"

"He is."

"And you haven't destroyed the place yet? Good, good." She went to her room and started rummaging around for whatever it was she'd come looking for her.

Hermione saw Draco's bag by the couch and realized he'd probably forgotten to bring clothes in with him again. She moved his bag over by the bathroom door and began folding the blankets on the couch. Ginny came out of her room in her Quidditch gear and started helping her fold the blankets.

"So, you're surviving your 48 hours of house arrest with Malfoy?"

"It hasn't been as bad as all that. He's considerate when he wants to be."

"Is he getting ready to leave now?" She glanced at the bathroom door and was just in time to see it open. Draco had a towel wrapped around him and nearly tripped over his bag. Having thus located it with his feet, he pulled it into the bathroom with him and shut the door. The redhead did her best not to chuckle.

"No," Hermione said. "And actually I should be getting dressed too."

Ginny followed her into her room. "Where are you going?"

Hermione gave her an exasperated look and found some loose jeans and a sweater to put on. "We have to attend a wedding on the seventeenth. We're going shopping for some wedding clothes." Hermione had expected her friend's response to be, "Why?" or perhaps "You don't need anything." She was disappointed.

"That sounds like a good idea."

"Are you mad? I own plenty of clothes."

Ginny shrugged, sitting on her friend's bed. "Well, you do. But unless there's more than one wedding on the seventeenth, I'm assuming you're going to Theo's wedding, right? Well, you'll need to look absolutely smashing if you're going to be standing around with Pansy and that lot all night."

Hermione groaned and ran a hairbrush through her hair. "You're as bad as he is. That was his logic too."

"The only dress you've got right now that would really work is that one hanging on the back of the door, but you've just worn it this ."

"Ginny, your Quidditch gear smells, get off my bed," Hermione interrupted. "You have practice today?"

"Of course I do. We've got our game on Tuesday. Aren't you coming?" Another thing to add to the list, she thought. "I'll be there. I'd just forgotten the date." She bent over and tugged boots onto her feet.

"You're going to tell me all about your weekend, yeah?"

"If you're ever home."

"I'm home now."

"But I'm going out, under great protest," Hermione said. She slung her beaded bag over her shoulder.

Ginny followed her out of the room. "Well, I'll see you after Quidditch practice then." She Disapparated with a crack of air.

Once Draco was out of the bathroom, Hermione went in to brush her teeth. They were ready to go.

"Has the W—Ginny left already?" he asked.

"Yes, and she sided with you on this stupid dress business, so let's get going," she grumbled.

Draco couldn't help the smug grin that appeared on his lips just then. "It's nice to know I've got an ally."

"Well, your ally has invited us to her Quidditch game on Tuesday."

He sighed. "We're never going to get any work done at this rate."

"We could skip shopping today and work on our strategy for dealing with Eglantine and Almyra," she suggested hopefully.

He shook his head, and the grin in one corner of his mouth deepened. "Oh no, you've agreed to this and you're going. C'mon," he said, taking her hand and turning.

They found themselves in an extremely posh clothing shop. There were everything from dress robes, to dresses, to lingerie.

Draco headed purposefully towards the lingerie department.

Hermione put her foot down. "I'm not picking out unmentionables with you," she said.

Draco look at her. "The entire purpose of finding you a new dress is to find something that's going to make you feel beautiful. That starts with the first thing you put on."

"Malfoy, I am not letting you pick out my underthings," she hissed.

He turned heel and walked away from her. He tossed a comment back over his shoulder. "Fine, we'll compromise."

Hermione gnashed her teeth at the compromise, but could not find enough of a fault with it to argue with the sales woman after Draco had explained to her what they were looking for. As a sort of small revenge, she made Draco sit and hold her purse while the sales woman walked her through the lingerie section and helped her pick out undergarments "that would make her feel like a tiger". Hermione was embarrassed at the assortment of lacy things, and pink things, that the woman brought her. The sales woman seemed most insistent that she should have matching sets of things. Realistically, she doubted she'd ever put enough effort in to see to it that she was wearing matching pieces when she got dressed in the morning. Who bothered with that sort of effort?

She stared at herself in the mirror reluctantly. Her hands were nearly as pale as her midriff—she really didn't spend enough time outdoors. She had to admit, the bra fit well, probably better than the one she'd worn when leaving the house. She hated bra-shopping enough that it had been a long time since she'd bought anything new. Everything was lifted where it should be. She supposed there was something to be said about wearing a bright new color as well, rather than faded whites and nudes.

At the sales woman's urging, Hermione ended up with several pairs of panties and matching bras. Oh well. She was due for new underthings anyway. She bagged them up without letting Malfoy see them.

Rather than obediently sit and hold his purse while she was trying things on, Malfoy had walked around and gathered a number of dresses and robes he thought suitable for her. Her purse hung on his shoulder and she stifled a laugh.

She looked at the dresses in his hand. "Are you planning on wearing those?"

"I thought you might try them on—with the new undergarments."

The sales woman nodded in agreement. "You really ought to, sweetie, it will make a difference to how it all fits."

Hermione glared daggers at them both and took the dresses and her bag of underthings into the changing room. The first dress she put on felt far too short. The top was modest enough, but the bottom half hugged her hips and she was sure she couldn't sit down in it. The sales woman tried to coax her out.

"I'd rather not."

"Granger, if you don't come out, I'm coming in," Malfoy warned.

She slid back the curtain of the changing room and glared at him. "I'm not wearing anything like this."

He looked at her, and shook his head, agreeing with her. She clearly wasn't comfortable in it. There was no pride in her appearance, only a girl trying to hide behind a curtain. "Fine. Next."

She tried on dress after dress. There was a yellow halter dress which she hated—she felt as though she'd be adjusting herself all night. Some dresses were too short, others too low cut. She found one that made her smile when she put it on. She didn't even wait for the others to try to coax her out.

Her dress was purple, with little cap sleeves on it. There was a gentle v-neck to the neckline. It was fitted, without being constraining. The skirt had a little movement to it. She actually felt…pretty.

Draco observed her coming out and nodded in approval, getting out of his chair and offering a hand to her. He twirled her, and the skirt moved with her. "I believe we've found a winner."

"Good, that's settled then," she said. "We can leave."

He shook his head. "Not yet. There are other dresses to try on. We might as well do this today, you know. There's going to be all sorts of events coming up that you'll want to dress up for."

She gave him a murderous look, and he simply looked back at her, slightly amused. He then shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "We could always come back, you know," he said.

"Let's get this over with."

"You haven't tried on any of the robes yet. Give those a try, while I look at more dresses," Draco told her.

She glared at him and didn't respond.

"Or, you can wander the store looking at dresses," he offered.

She went back into the cubicle and did her best to slam the curtain (it wasn't very effective). She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, looking at the dress. She did feel pretty. She took it off and tried on one of the sets of robes he'd brought with the dresses. The arms were still loose enough to allow easy movement, though the torso was more tailored than she normally wore. Most of her robes were rather shapeless and merely belted at the waist so she would have a place to put her wand. The robes weren't unattractive, but they clearly weren't meant to be dressy enough to wear to the upcoming wedding.

"Draco, what are these for?" she asked, loudly enough that he would hopefully hear her wherever he was.

Draco was busy. He explained to the sales witch exactly what he was looking for for Hermione in great detail.

"Oh, she'll look ravishing," the witch said, nodding in agreement.

He nodded, his lips twitching in a smile. "She will. When will it be ready by?"

"Oh, a special order like that could take a week easily."

He raised an eyebrow. "And if I were in a rush?"

"Then, I might be able to manage something in three days, if I could be convinced to work through the night."

They settled the fee for the rush charge and Draco went back to looking at the store's wares. The trick was to make Granger aware of herself in a positive way. He found a dress with a low back, but an elegantly long skirt. The fabric appeared to be bluish-black at first, but the material glinted as if with stars. There was a white dress with spring flowers on it, the very essence of a sun dress. He added it to stack of clothing that was following him around the store on its own. There were elaborate dresses, covered in ruffles and frills and bows that he knew she'd hate. He found a Slytherin-green dress with an asymmetrical hemline and charmed it to join the line.

He returned to the changing area to find that Hermione had just finished trying on all of the work robes he'd picked out for her. She was still wearing the last one.

"What exactly is this supposed to be for?"

"For work," he said simply. "Try these on as well."

"Haven't I had enough of this business?" she asked.

"No," he said simply, giving her a charming smile.

She smiled back. "I will have my revenge."

"Oh, I'm sure of it," he said affably. "Now, get dressed." He sent the levitating clothes into the stall with her. He'd already told the sales woman to charge anything he and Granger could agree on to the Malfoy account.

He sat in the chair and realized he still had Granger's purse. He rolled his eyes. "What's in this thing anyway?"

"Draco Malfoy, never open a woman's purse."

He opened it anyway and heard a scream. He closed it.

Hermione came out of the stall, pressing her forearm against her dress to hold it up since she hadn't closed it yet and snatched the purse from his hand.

"What was that?" he asked, a little dazed.

"That was an anti-theft charm. Never open a woman's purse." She turned and stalked back to the changing room, the open back of the dress flapping, revealing her bare back to him.

He chuckled soundlessly. Granger was a piece of work. He waited for a few minutes, listening to the sound of her struggling. "Do you want a hand?"

"No help from you," she retorted. After another few moments she called for the witch to help her with her with the tiny buttons on the back of her dress.

By the end of of things, Draco had approved of a number of dresses, and a week's worth of work robes. Hermione could feel good about herself, it just took her stepping slightly out of her comfort zone. She'd constructed all these walls around herself—pretending she didn't give a damn about how she looked, hiding under bulky clothes. He was in her debt in this situation enough—if he could pay her back even a little by helping her realize she could feel good about herself, he would. Besides, it'd be good to see the shocked look on Pansy, and Vince, and Greg's faces.

He told the sales witch to send all of the clothes (except for the sun dress), back to Hermione's flat. There was no sense in carrying them was a little put out. "Where did everything I tried on go?"

"I sent it all home."

"I haven't paid for it yet."

"It's taken care of."

"Draco, you didn't have to do that. I can afford my own clothes."

He waved dismissively. "Call it a gift. And wear this out," he said, gesturing to the sun dress.

She looked at him like he was crazy. "It's February. I'll freeze to death."

"That's what a jacket and a good warming charm is for."

In the end, the dress went into Hermione's beaded bag and they left the store to grab a quick lunch. She quizzed him about transfiguration during the meal (it was a bit of an appetite killer) and announced at the end of it, when she insisted on putting paying for lunch, that she was going to find him some casual Muggle clothes.

He resigned himself to the experience.

It was with a certain amount of glee that Hermione exposed him to travel in the underground, and watched Draco's knuckles turn white as he held the railing. It probably didn't help that he was receiving odd looks for wearing his robes.

She announced their stop when they arrived at it and grabbed his wrist, pushing her way through the crowd to exit. He looked a little green. They climbed the stairs and regained the sunlight and fresh air.

"I'm never riding one of those again," he decreed.

"You'll live," she said, enjoying herself. She dragged him into an alley and transfigured his robes into a sweatshirt and sweatpants. It was one thing to let him feel uncomfortable on the train; it was another matter to walk into a shop with him and try to explain wizarding robes. She brought him into the shop.

"Isn't this a step backwards? Having you pick out my clothes? We just spent hours undoing your own wardrobe choices," he pointed out.

She ignored that comment and led him into the shop. Let him feel like the one on display this time. She chose a number of things she thought suitable for him and bundled him off into the dressing room. She rather thought he would look good in a black turtleneck. She also chose khakis and jeans, as well as several lighter colored shirts. She thought light blue would look good on him, and burgundy. And gray. She frowned and wondered if there was a color he couldn't wear. Some people had all the luck.

She waited for him to come out.

Draco slipped the white cotton t-shirt over his head and felt that it was a little tighter than he was expecting, and tugged the jeans on that Hermione had brought him. The material was so stiff. He wrinkled his nose. He peeked out through the curtain to where Hermione was waiting. From the expression on her face, he could tell she was hoping he wouldn't enjoy this experience. He smirked and pulled the curtain back, strutting out as if he'd been wearing these clothes all his life. He even placed one hand partially in his pocket, adding to the effect. He preened a bit, walking up and down in front of her a couple of times. "Well?"

She tried not to let her face fall. He was reveling in the attention. She should have known. "Turn around." He turned slowly once and she inspected the fit of everything. "Good. Try on the next outfit."

Hermione's intention of getting back at him was rather spoiled by his seeming to enjoy prancing up and down the corridor for her, but his smirk was infectious, and she found herself chuckling at his ridiculous antics.

Draco was a little put out when, after making their purchases, Hermione insisted he carry his bags, rather than just banishing them home and hoping no one noticed.

After another nauseating train ride, they were home. So was Ginny. Hermione went to the kitchen to order a pizza and Draco jerked his head to one side to get Ginny's attention.

She arched an eyebrow, recognizing the sly look on his face. "You're looking absolutely devious," she said, quietly enough that Hermione wouldn't overhear.

"Oh, well, I might need an assistant to pull off this plot."

"What do you have in mind?" Draco told her, and Ginny grinned in approval. "Done deal."

He smirked, and went to go bother Hermione and make sure she ordered the Muggle drink he'd become fond of. She saw him enter the kitchen and mouthed, "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask."

She covered the receiver of the phone with her hand. "I'm not contributing to your tooth decay, so don't bother asking." He stayed in the kitchen, trying to talk over her to put in requests on the pizza. Finally, she finished her order and gave him a look of exasperation. "If you want to be so fussy about the pizza next time, order it yourself. The number is on the fridge, and I can give you a lesson on dialing in in about 30 seconds."

"Where's the fun in that? How long until the pizza gets here?" he asked.

"Long enough that we'll have a good while to work on your transfiguration practice. I think you need a little more work on your human to animal transfigurations, and then we can give human to human transfiguration a try."

They went back to the living room and found Ginny there. "I just put your shopping bags from earlier in your room, Hermione."

"Thank you, Ginny. I'll hang everything up before I sleep tonight. I wouldn't want it to wrinkle."

Draco gave a half smirk. "You do know there's a spell for that, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's not the point."

Hermione didn't get around to hanging up any of her clothes that night. She and Draco spent hours working on his transfiguration practice, only breaking long enough to ingest a few slices of melty, cheesy goodness. They were both yawning by the time she was satisfied with today's progress.

When he stood to stretch and leave, she offered, "You're welcome to stay. I wouldn't want you to splinch yourself on the way home."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I need to sleep in a real bed tonight."

She nodded. "Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Hermione. Good night, Ginny," he called.

"Good night, Malfoy. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shut her own door and went to bed. She'd have to catch up with Ginny tomorrow.

Author's Note: Was the whole shopping thing too corny? The next chapter is going up on Monday! Stay tuned.