Hey! It's been a little while, but this was tough. I don't do a lot of creative writing as much now, so instead of feeling like a well-fitting glove, this was a pair of old jeans that didn't quite fit. But it happened, and here it is, and I feel pleased with the end-result. I hope you enjoy it too. Chapter 20 coming soon! As I always say, I will try not to leave it so long next time.

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I keep telling Draco that he doesn't need to thank me for what happened last week. I was more than happy to help him out, even in such horrible circumstances. We haven't spoken about the situation since then, but I'm certain that he's happier with things that way. He was never emotive during our school years, and I can't imagine that he's changed all that much. To be totally honest, he's not the person I thought he was, even back then.

For example, he won't tell me about this girl that he was photographed with. And yes, I have tried sneakily asking him the questions, but he avoids everything to do with potential girlfriends. It's extraordinarily frustrating.

Not that it matters either way. Because. Well, he's Draco, and I just can't date him.

Right?

It's just as I'm emailing my boss at the publishing house that I receive a notification from him. Obviously, trying to remain cool, I leave it a couple of minutes of distracting myself from replying immediately. It's such a silly game, and not one that I would normally be a part of. I just don't want him to think that I'm doing nothing with my days now that I'm not teaching.

Technically, I have been very busy. You know, watching Vampire Diaries, catching up on deleting old emails that have been in my account for the last six months. Plus signing up to additional work for the publishing house. Can't help it; I love to work, and I love to be busy. And I love reading, even if it is the inane crap-basket that newbie writers send in.

Once I send the email requesting more manuscripts, I open the message from Draco.

Draco: Hey, I have a thing for work I have to go to. I've asked all my other eligible female friends, so please don't say no. Come with me?

Wow. Asked all my other eligible female friends. How many of those does he have? Exactly how far down on this list am I? I mean, of course he has other friends, I know that. It's just strange to put in perspective, given how much time we spend messaging, and the time we've spent together recently. I don't know, it just sits funny on my chest. And what about that other girl? The one from the photograph?

Me: What about your girlfriend?

Draco: Who?

I sigh in contempt.

Me: The photo girl

He types for a minute or two. He must be rewording his answer, thinking it over. It's crazy. Why can't he just be honest with me about? I'm sure I'd be fine.

Draco: She's busy. Just a friend

Glad I waited for that response. Jeez. Evasive, as usual.

Draco: So, will you come?

Me: What's the event, anyway? Am I going to need a new dress?

Draco: It's a business merger event, two weeks from today. I must look like a pretty shiny thing to make them want to do business with us. I'll fund you for a new dress if you like

I roll my eyes.

Me: I'm sure I can afford a dress

Draco: It's pretty fancy

Me: Got any guidelines for what I should pick?

It takes him a little while to reply. In the meantime, I close up my emails and grab a packet of crisps to wile away some more time in front of the television. Yes, I have become a little bit of a couch potato. No shame in that (well, not much, anyway).

My laptop sounds out another notification. I laugh when I see it.

Draco: This is what I'm planning on wearing

And he's attached a photo of a big bird suit.

Me: I swear to God I'll do it so best say you're joking now

Draco: Do what?

I attach a photo of a Barney-the-dinosaur costume.

Draco: Fair play. No, it's classy. Use your judgement, Granger. I'm sure you'll find something great. You always do

Me: Thanks

We leave it there. Mainly because I cannot take a compliment from him. From anyone really, least of all him. And, also, because I can't understand why he would say something like that. Does he mean it in a… friendly way? Does he mean that I'm attractive? I can't put my finger on it. Which just makes me all the more curious to know exactly in what capacity he sees our friendship.

It's very likely that it really is just a friendship, and that I cannot for the life of me predict what people think of me at any time. God knows that Ron clearly thought I was a waste of space if not for a womb, and that totally passed me by until the day he said it aloud.

But I'm over that.

My publisher sends over a couple of extra manuscripts over the next few days, all of them fantasy ones. Normally, I specifically ask for things that are academically inclined, and only occasionally go into the realm of fiction, but this was what they had left over, apparently. That's fine though. I used to love reading all of this. Plus, I'm a fan of Lord of the Rings, and Marvel, of course.

I used to want to be a writer, and people keep talking to me about it as a career. Problem being, it's such a difficult field. You have to have the ideas, and do the work, and not just appreciate the craft that other people make – which is what I do as a reader. Then there are the issues of being with a publisher. Following their rules, which a lot of writers don't like. Plus, the commission fees and all of that. Mainly though, the act of getting to be with that publisher in the first place.

It's a lot of complicated that I don't need right now. Doesn't stop me thinking about it, though.

My mother calls, rather conveniently, on Friday night as I'm settling down to the second half of a submission I received in the post yesterday.

"Hermione? Can you hear me?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Mum. Everything alright?"

"How are you, dear?"

Who knew that this would be a frustrating conversation, huh?

"Good thanks, mum. Just reading for work now. What's up?"

She tuts on the other end of the line. "Well, I'm sorry to have disturbed your peace. I know you don't live at home, but you don't need to remind that you're so busy all the time."

Honest to God, I have no idea why she is being so crazy all of a sudden.

"You're not disturbing my peace," I tell her. Then I have a thought. "Listen, are you free this weekend at all?"

"Normally no," she muses, "but yes. I don't have any plans tomorrow. Why? What do you want from me?"

"I need to buy a dress for a party. Maybe we can make a day of it? Invite Ginny too, and head out for a girls' lunch. We haven't done that in a while."

I flip over the page of the manuscript, half paying attention to it. It's good enough to be both a distraction and to be distracted from.

"Sounds like a nice time. In the city?" my mother asks. "Are you going to pick me up? What time?"

"Yes, we will. I'll ask Ginny to confirm a time but be ready for noon and I'm sure that'll work out."

I message Ginny while I'm on the phone to my mother, as she talks about her week and her life, and not so much about what is happening in mine. Consequentially, I don't mention Draco, or that I was the last resort in his little list of people he might want to take. I also don't mention how I feel about all of it, though somehow I imagine Ginny will get that information out of me during the day out tomorrow.

Ginny says she's good to be at mine for half-eleven. I confirm this with Mum before hanging up the phone. She seems momentarily annoyed that I've been two-timing her with conversation, but pleased that everything has worked out.

After we hang up, Ginny messages me to ask whether my mother has driven me crazy yet.

It's great having a best friend that knows your life like that.

It's morning, and the sunlight is dim, making the sky pale grey as rain drops light against the window. Dammit. Rain means I'll have to wear jeans, because there's no way I'm risking going out in tights only to be soaked during the day. Jeans make life so much more complicated for trying on dresses, but that's the problem that will have to be it for today.

Ginny comes over to my house at eleven, a packaged sandwich in her purse and hot coffee in a thermos.

"You know we're going out for lunch, right?" I ask, laughing at her slightly frazzled state.

"I do," she answers, grinning. "I just know that I get twice as hungry as the both of you, so I bought extra lunch."

"Wow," I laugh. "Love it."

When I glance at the clock in the kitchen, she practically drags me out of the door, as I'm saying that I don't want to go; I just know that my mother is going to be a total nightmare today, without even checking my phone to see if she has reminded me of what time I said we would pick her up. Ginny tries making jokes with me, like the amazing best friend that she is, and I finally crack a smile. The thing is, with Ginny by my side, it doesn't matter how crazy my mother is.

"Hey Mum," I say, greeting my mother at the front door to her house.

"It's chilly out," she replies, frowning. "You'd think it would be warmer given that it is July. Have you got a coat, Hermione?"

"I've got a jacket in the car."

She then walks past me, kisses Ginny swiftly on the cheek, and hauls herself into the backseat of Ginny's car. I sigh and follow her. This is going to be fun.

Half an hour later, we're parked up, walking through Chapelfield, and talking about the event.

"So, what is this thing again?" Mum asks, leading the way towards Monsoon (God forbid that's where I find something attractive – but I will indulge her). I turn her away from there and steer in the direction of House of Fraser instead. Much more reliable, though still not the best. "Who are you going with?"

"Draco," I mutter, a little under my breath, half-hoping that no one hears and just assumes it's something better than the blond boy that tormented my youth.

Ginny stops in her tracks, just as we're about to enter the store. "Draco? Draco Malfoy?"

"Do you know other people called Draco?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, that's a fair comment. Why, though? How? What happened?"

"Can we talk about it later? I want to try on dresses."

I walk past them both and head for the section near the back of the shop.

Ginny hollers after me, "We can talk and shop at the same time. See." She picks up a blue strapless dress and passes it to me, saying, "So, Draco and you seem to be getting on pretty well lately. Anything you haven't told me?"

I scoff. "I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend."

"Why on earth are you going to a party with a man who is otherwise attached?" my mother asks, her hands on her hips in a trying-too-hard stance. I know that she's aiming for power, but it really doesn't get anywhere with me.

"Mum, he asked me."

"Doesn't mean that he should have done," she mutters.

I sigh in frustration and wander off deeper into the store. It's difficult with Draco because on one hand I feel like we talk loads, and we have a connection, and all of that. On the other hand, I also feel like I don't know him all that well. Maybe this is just a matter of perspective, though. Maybe this is just my addled brain trying to give me reasons for why it is either a great or a terrible idea to have a dumb crush on Draco Malfoy – because that is what I've resigned it to.

Wanting to get away for a moment, I say, "I'm going to try these on," and disappear into a changing room at the corner of the place. Ginny glares at me, wide-eyed, as if begging me to let her come with, so she can escape the strange questions of my mother. I grin sheepishly.

When I return, she looks as though she has been seriously grilled, and I was only gone for about ten minutes – none of the dresses looked right at all.

"Any luck?" Ginny asks.

"Not a bit. Can we try a different store? Like, I don't know, Topshop or New Look."

Mum scowls. "Aren't those places a bit young for you, Hermione?"

"I'm twenty-four. No."

We make our way across town, stopping to get coffee at Pret. My mother does this annoying thing where she hands me things and doesn't take into account the things that I might want to try. She dismisses everything. I just end up getting more and more riled as we pile through the dresses of the day, and I think Ginny can sense this. So she follows me into the dressing rooms, after Mum decides she's going to look in Hotter's because she needs something – never mind why I invited her here in the first place.

Ginny picks up a couple of skirts, and I grab one or two dresses that I don't really love and we wander around Jarrold for a while, staring at the glitter and the glam that they don't have all that much of.

"So, Draco invited you to this… What is it?" Ginny asks, leaning against the wall of the store, looking at me a little funny. "Charity gala? I don't know what fancy rich boys do."

I frown and try to be casual, picking up something velvet and awful and way too hot (though 70% off) for a summer event.

"It's a business merger thing, he said," I tell her. "He said it would fancy and that I'd need a dress."

"He say anything else?" she enquires, perking up.

"He said… He said that I always pick great things to wear." I put down the skirt I'm holding. "Ginny, what the Hell am I doing?"

"Right now, you're finding a dress."

I bump her shoulder. "You know what I mean."

This is the part where my best friend is supposed to say something wise and helpful that's going to make me feel better about everything; she'll tell me to stop being such an idiot – either for half-chasing a man who is otherwise engaged, or for not chasing him because he might not be attached, or for some other reason that somehow involves me and a man and the reason I want to buy a dress that ought to impress. Should I even be aiming to impress him?

"I don't know what to tell you, Hermione," she says, extremely unhelpfully. "If you want him, then you want him –"

I balk. "I never-"

"Oh, come on, I know you. It's all over your face," she chuckles. "You like him. You guys spend time together, and it's significant. I think you need to know what Draco thinks about all of this, truth be told. He's half of this, and you need to include him in the feelings part of stuff too, as awful as that may sound."

"You're right," I say, "it does sound awful."

Ginny laughs. "Just as long as you don't take as long as Harry and I did. That was torture for everyone."

I stop in my tracks, halfway to a different shirt. "Take too long with what?"

"I'm saying that you shouldn't wait years and years to find out if you're meant to be with him. I'm saying that you should find a killer dress that makes you happy, and also is great on the dragon's eyes, if you know what I mean." She means Draco's eyes. A moment of silence passes between us. Finally, Ginny breaks is with a frustrated cry: "Urgh, there is just nothing in here. Let's go somewhere better. I know somewhere on St. Giles that is going to be up your alley."

"Okay?" I say, laughing and leaving the clothes on an abandoned rail. I feel sorry for a second, then decide that today I really don't care that much and this place is much too stifling to worry about a lot.

Despite the cooler air outside, they don't seem to have accommodated and it's actually just hot in all of the stores; it's as though they have overcompensated for the drop in temperature, and they don't expect people to be wearing coats. They have anticipated for poor-dressers; they expect short-wearers, and confused summer-thinkers. Alas, here we are. I hope it's at least a little warmer for when Draco's party is on. On our way out of Jarrold, we find mum browsing the make-up downstairs, so we drag her with us and Ginny leads us up St. Giles street, laughing about something she saw Harry doing the other day. We're all grinning at each other, and it's just kind of spectacular for a moment there. It's as if the sun has opened a new day of gold, even though I still feel just as uncertain about what to do with my feelings for Draco.

I think there are two options really.

One. Address my feelings, make an ass of myself, and generally hope that I don't ruin everything.

Two. Squash everything until it is a little peat in the pit of my stomach and in my heart, crystallised.

For now, I'm going to stick with option two until it becomes painful. Then, I will see where we are at. It's just that one part of me is telling me that I shouldn't tell him, but another part of me is saying that it is exactly what I need.

"In here," Ginny says, pushing open the door to an adorably small boutique, a little off the beaten track. She holds the door open for us, waving us inside. She's smiling that secret smile that she has when she thinks she's hit gold but doesn't want to admit it yet.

Lo and behold, five minutes in, I see the perfect dress. My eyes go wide, but my vision dims; my brain knows it's the right one, before I can check the size or the price or really anything else about it. Draco would love it, I know that. Silk. Dark green, but not a dirty forest green – almost teal, or like the bright ocean. Cowl neck, sleek lines. It's perfect, just perfect.

I slip into the changing rooms before the others can notice and race through the changing process.

Then, when I finally draw back the curtain, they are both waiting, and I feel as if I have melted into this dress and we are somehow exactly matched for each other. Yes, I am in love with it, if one might call such an attachment love.

"Oh, my goodness, Hermione," my mother breathes. "That is gorgeous."

Ginny is smiling ear-to-ear. "That's the dress."

It's decided. I don't need to look any further.

After that, the rest of the day seems easy enough. Lunch is quickly-decided – a bagel place that Mum found a couple of weeks ago and she'd been dying to take us (apparently). I see a couple of my students in the city but don't make an effort to wish them well, too afraid that it's embarrassing for them. The three of us manage to pass the Bechdel test for a while, but eventually talk turns back to men. My mother is frustrated with my father, Ginny is loving married life, and they both want to know every detail of the party as soon as it happens. I promise them the details at a later date, which appears to satisfy them for now.

"Are you coming to Harry's birthday party next week?" Ginny asks me, having just dropped my mother home. "It's a small thing we're doing at our house."

I think for a second. "Who's coming?"

"The usual lot, you know," she replies. "You can bring Draco if you want."

"That's funny, Gin."

"Shut up, I know you like him."

I playfully push her shoulder in retort.

We say our goodbyes ("See you at the party," she says, though I'm not even sure that I'm going yet – I don't know that I really want to spend time with Ron right now), and I carry my dress into the comfort of my own home, already wishing for some time for yoga, crappy television, and take-out for dinner, though I know that's not a great idea if I want to continue to fit in and love this new purchase of mine.

Around an hour later, the neighbours bring over a massive parcel that the publishing house has left me. The look of some of these really do make me want to try writing something of my own, I'm just not sure if I have that kind of courage in me. I don't know where to even start.

As most perfectionists and writers do, I send an email.

Hey, Hilary,

I hope you are doing well and summer is treating you splendidly so far.

Bit of a longshot, but I'm interested in writing something, and I have absolutely no idea where to start. Can you give me some pointers? Or something to start me off? I remember you mentioned some sort of short-story practice that might help me out.

Thanks a million,

Hermione Granger

Sent. Good. Phew. Right. Star Wars?

Yes, Star Wars.

As I'm watching the movie, I start to feel it. Artists know it, writers know it. It's the strange and intangible thing that is the inspiration, that makes you want to get up and create something. The feeling comes in the very heart of you, deep, deep down, and I just know. So, I take my laptop out, having paused the movie, and I set it up. But then… I stare at the screen. I try to find words, images, something that is original – not the rebellion, or the movement of planets and great spaceships. I try to think of my own characters, but I come up totally blank, as if there was never anything there to think about in the first place.

I attempt something different; writing from a gloriously green landscape like the Shire.

Then it's New York City, amidst an alien attack.

I just cannot seem to escape the bodies of the characters that I already know.

Frustrated, I put the laptop away again and continue the movie, admitting to myself in the back of my mind that I will never be a fantasy writer, despite how much I adore the genre.

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Thanks for reading!