By the end of Granger's first week, Narcissa was near snapping, with no patience left for anyone except her faultless son.
"Didn't you all have days to prepare?" she wondered aloud.
Employees scrambled around to put together the run-through in her office while Draco directed them to prevent collisions. This was the moment for them to show her all of the potential designs for the next issue, but everyone was panicking and switching out racks of clothing at the last minute. She'd only moved up the meeting time by thirty minutes. Anyone truly prepared would've had no trouble meeting the new timeline.
She clucked her tongue. "Is this all you have?"
"We have another rack of cloaks that should be here!" one witch said, searching in vain. "They must still be in the Wardrobe. Sh-should I go get them?"
"No." They were all stressed out, and Narcissa's criticism did nothing but make them more frantic. It's not that she didn't notice, simply that she didn't care enough to rein it in. "Dobby?" she called.
Granger hurried in. "Yes, Narcissa?"
"Fetch the Yves cloaks from the Wardrobe."
While Granger left to complete her task, simple enough that even she couldn't possibly mess it up, Narcissa started examining the available clothing. Over the next five minutes, she discarded several garish dress robes unworthy of a place in the pages of her magazine.
"None of these designs have any flair, or imagination," she said as Granger returned with an armful of clothing. Narcissa waved for her to come closer, frowning when she got a good look at the fabric. "What are these?"
"The Yves cloaks you asked for," Granger said, as if it were obvious. As if Narcissa had forgotten.
"No," Narcissa drawled, "they are not." She took one of the cloaks and held it up. "Feel this fabric. Look at the way it drapes over the body. You think this is designer? You think this is worth two hundred galleons?"
Granger blanched at the price and shook her head. "No? I don't know. I mean, I wouldn't have guessed. You can buy a first edition of Spellman's Syllabary for less than that! Personally, I'd rather keep wearing my Hogwarts uniform."
Draco examined the cloaks with the same disdain as his mother. "Cheap, generic, already worn. How stupid are you? These are from the employee coat rack."
Granger shrugged. "I couldn't tell! All of this is just a bunch of cloth to me."
"Just... cloth?" Narcissa echoed, cool voice belying how livid she was.
Draco smirked. Everyone else in the room held their breath. One person took a step back. Granger looked around with evident dread as the gravity of her error sank in.
"I understand," Narcissa said with false sympathy. "You're a scholar, thinking much more important thoughts. The only clothing decision you need to make is selecting which bland, identical woolen school robes you'll throw on each day. Nevermind that there's a reason they're made of wool rather than, say, murtlap skin or woven knotgrass. Nevermind how Christo and Jeanne-Claude created a work of art by wrapping Paris's oldest bridge in fabric strong enough to span distances, yet wispy as an ethereal vision. Nevermind how Ann Hamilton, I believe it was, created an exhibit in Lyon with blood orange silk billowing above visitors' heads while peacocks roamed the room. Do you realize that silk represents something, evokes a particular feeling, moves a particular way? Nothing else would do. And it's the same with your woolen robes: inexpensive, comfortable in warm weather and wet winters―not to mention relatively fireproof to protect you from idiotic potion-brewing mishaps―and if you had ever bothered to lift your eyes from all of that arrogant navel-gazing over how smart and bookish you are, you wouldn't be so ungrateful that someone like me used extensive knowledge of textiles to weigh countless options and select the ideal fabric for you. From a bunch of cloth."
Granger's shoulders hunched more and more over the course of the impromptu speech as if she could retreat into her drab shirt like a turtle in its shell. Narcissa glared for a moment longer, trying to identify an unfamiliar feeling. There was something she didn't like about the way Granger's forehead crinkled in distress, or the shape of her lips with the corners turned down. She wanted it to stop. But that would require pandering to hurt feelings, which was not going to happen.
"Find Pansy for me," Narcissa commanded. She turned away and continued with the run-through while Granger backed out of the room as unobtrusively as possible.
A few minutes later, Pansy came in looking nervous. "Yes, Narcissa? What did she do this time? Whatever it is, it's not my fault, it's―"
"Your head is off the chopping block, Pansy," Narcissa said. "I know you did everything you could to train that hopeless case. Bring me the actual Yves cloaks from the Wardrobe. That's all."
Narcissa strode into the foyer of her sister's house. "She's a disaster, Andi. I never should have hired her," she vented, tossing her coat into the cloakroom where it magically hung itself up. She was inexpressibly grateful to Andromeda for welcoming her into her home after the divorce and forgiving her for those decades of ostracism and whatnot.
"You say that every day. It's only been a week," Andromeda replied, coming downstairs. "Give her time."
"I'm not certain how much more I can take," Narcissa said. "Someone who makes this many mistakes is worse than having no assistants at all. She mistook a generic cloak for a designer one. Anyone with functioning eyes can see how the fabric drapes differently. Do you have more of that pinot from yesterday?"
"I'll pour us some glasses. Sit down, you look exhausted," Andromeda said. "Hermione was a star student, wasn't she? Make her some flashcards so she can train herself to recognize the nuances of fabric draping."
"Do you think that would work?" Narcissa asked. "I'm not exhausted." She slipped off her high heels as she sat gracefully in an armchair, not collapsing with a sigh the way an exhausted person would.
"I was joking, Cissy. And you can't hide the signs of fatigue from me. How many hours have you put in this week?"
"As many as were necessary. Flashcards may be her only hope. I had half a mind to fire her after she failed to bring me the Hermìt scarves I asked for. She didn't know where to find, and I quote, 'the Hermìt store.' You can't simply go to a store and find a reclusive fashion genius behind the counter. How does she not know the designer lives deep in the woods, tending the thestral herd that models his collections?"
"Of course, everyone knows that," Andromeda agreed, though her tone sounded slightly sarcastic.
Narcissa narrowed her eyes but continued venting. "And I don't know what muggles teach their children, but she has no respect for my authority."
"She doesn't follow orders?"
"Worse. She talks back, she makes judgment calls without the proper authorization, she asks questions..."
"Oh, no. Not questions."
"She dares to question me."
"Cissy, have you ever considered that explaining your reasoning would help everything run more smoothly?"
"My reasoning is a trade secret," Narcissa objected. "If people understand it, they can replicate and replace me, just as we did to China by bringing tea plants to India in the 1800s. Do you want that to be my fate? Of course not."
Andromeda sighed. "Will you go get Teddy while I start dinner?"
"Gladly!" Narcissa stood up with more energy than she'd felt a moment ago and padded upstairs in stockinged feet.
She stepped into her great-nephew's bedroom and felt warmth spread from her heart as she watched him play with a little wooden badger. After a moment, Narcissa waved to catch his attention. Her hands formed E for Edward as she crossed her arms over her heart like the bear sign. "Hi, Teddy."
His eyes lit up the moment he saw her. He toddled over with his toy and grabbed her leg, looking up with big brown eyes.
"Want food?" she signed, raising her eyebrows.
He nodded so hard he almost fell over and signed, "Hungry."
"I swear," she replied with an emphatic slash of her hand,"you hungry always."
"Hungry," he repeated solemnly.
Narcissa chuckled and picked him up, carrying him on her hip downstairs. She muttered to herself while clumsily signing with her free hand, "You probably want meat, very raw, disgusting. You future sick E. coli."
He giggled as she tapped his fingers to help her spell E. coli, and he replied, "Meat!"
"What a surprise," Andromeda said aloud as they entered the kitchen. "He wants meat."
"Thank goodness a minor craving is the extent of his genetic inheritance," Narcissa said.
Andromeda turned away, stirring a sauce that didn't need to be stirred. "Would you love him less if he were a werewolf like his father?"
"Never!" Narcissa said. "I would love him regardless. Why do you always assume the worst about me? It's the stigma I worry about. He'd face so much prejudice."
"Well, forgive me for assuming because you spent most of your life spouting that kind of prejudice," Andromeda snapped.
Teddy started crying, looking back and forth at their angry faces through his tears.
"Shh, shh," Narcissa hushed automatically, rubbing the back of his head. "This isn't about him, is it?"
"Forget it. Bygones," Andromeda dismissed, faking a reassuring smile for Teddy. "Let's just enjoy dinner."
Narcissa put him in his high chair and sat down, feeling uncomfortable. So she hadn't been fully forgiven. It hardly seemed fair, considering all of the good things she'd done for her sister since reuniting. Paying the mortgage so Andromeda wouldn't have to sell the house, buying food, paying for everyone's British Sign Language classes, providing a carriage and driver... wasn't that enough?
On Monday, Narcissa strode toward her office half expecting the mudblood to be absent, or at least sulking. Instead, she was greeted with a cheerful smile.
"Good morning, Narcissa. There's hot tea waiting for you at your desk," Granger said, approaching and offering her hands. "May I take your cloak?"
Narcissa stared, certain this was some kind of trick. She highly doubted her assistant was inspired to make an effort from one speech―though it was eloquent and well delivered; Narcissa had to give herself some credit. Her eyes roved over Granger's face, seeing openness, earnestness, and... there! A flash of fire, a desire to prove something. Narcissa would need to keep an eye on her. She took off her cloak, then noticed something that made her hesitate to hand it over.
"Is that... animal hair?" Narcissa asked. With a look of disgust, she trailed the tip of her wand down her assistant's sleeve, siphoning off a strip of fur.
"It's from my cat. He sheds a lot," Granger replied. She gestured to the rest of her sweater and said impudently, "You missed a spot."
With an impatient flick of her wand, Narcissa banished the sweater.
"Hey!" Granger shrieked, looking down at her rumpled blouse, which should never have seen the light of day. "Where did it go?!"
Narcissa waved her hand. "Oh, I don't know. Wherever things go when they're willed out of existence."
"That was my favorite sweater!" Granger stuck out her jaw, face pinched with anger. Oh, yes, that fire still smoldered beneath the earnest effort, and all it took was a little prodding to make it blaze. Narcissa suppressed a wicked smile.
"If you ever bring cat hair into this building again," she threatened, "I will skin you and your cat alive."
Granger put her hands on her hips. "If you lay a finger on Crookshanks, I'll plan an even worse fate for you!"
"Ooh, you'll plan me to death. I'm quaking in my Jimmy Floos." Narcissa walked away, high heels clacking purposefully on the floor. She shouldn't tolerate such insubordination, but no one else had witnessed it and she felt forgiving. In fact, she felt downright giddy. She got more work done than usual over the course of the morning and made two designers cry in the afternoon. It was a good day.
It was a terrible evening. Narcissa had a dinner date scheduled with Suitor #12, who showed up thirteen minutes later than she did.
"I've heard this place is fantastic," he said, sitting down across from her. "I'll buy you their best dish. It's roasted nifflers in flobberworm sauce with―"
"I'm vegan," she lied, simply to throw him off. What kind of fool begins a date with statements she could've read in a restaurant review?
"Oh. I'll... buy you their best lettuce dish, then? I was really hoping to treat you tonight. Put my best foot forward, you know, let you get a feel for my sack of gold." He waggled his eyebrows.
Narcissa tossed her napkin on the table. "I've actually lost my appetite. Enjoy your flobberworms alone."
"But we just got here," Suitor #12 protested. "Do you know how much I paid to get a reservation on their opening week? You at least owe me a chance to win you over."
Narcissa gave him a tight smile full of venom and left without looking back.
She couldn't keep a scowl from her face as she walked into work the next day.
"Good morning, Narcissa," Granger said, still determined to be cheerful while Pansy kept her head down and worked diligently. "Adrian confirmed the photoshoot, and a letter arrived from Suitor #12. May I take your cloak?" She stepped closer and frowned a little. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Incinerate the letter and reject him," Narcissa said, ignoring the personal question. "Cancel any other dates this week."
She inspected her assistant for signs of cat hair. Satisfied that there was none, she loosened the ties of her cloak and blocked out the pleasant feeling of Granger's soft fingers curling around the collar to take it.
"Hang it carefully," Narcissa instructed. "Considering your previously demonstrated ignorance, you may be unaware that it's worth more than all of your clothing combined and requires a delicate touch."
Pansy gave Granger a superior smile, dressed in an edgy Vivienne Rookwood outfit from only one season ago.
"With all due respect, Editor-in-Chief," Granger snapped, somehow making the title sound rude, "most people can't afford name-brand clothes straight from the people who make them!" She tripped over nothing on the way to hang up the cloak, nearly falling. Fate's revenge for her rudeness, surely. Pansy stifled a cruel laugh.
"If you think that's the issue here, you're sorely mistaken," Narcissa snapped in reply. "One can appreciate something beautiful without needing to possess it."
Granger's expression softened back into a frown, with a searching look that made Narcissa feel strangely exposed even though she'd had the last word. Unacceptable.
"Good morning, Narcissa." That unrelenting smile again, every day of her entire second week.
Narcissa did not smile back and did not admit the routine was growing on her. She tilted her head to indicate Granger should follow her into the office.
"Close the door," Narcissa said. She crossed the room to stand by a locked chest. "Come over here."
Her assistant hesitated before closing the door and approached slowly, looking ready to fight or run.
"I don't particularly wish to entrust you with this," Narcissa said, "but there are too many arrangements to be made and not enough time to do it all myself. This matter is of the utmost importance and must be kept secret from everyone. Everyone, do you hear me?"
Granger grimaced nervously. "If it's that important, Pansy would be a better choice. I can barely keep up with all of the things to learn."
"Pansy is too close to Draco. She'd tell him immediately."
"Even Draco can't know about it?" Granger asked in surprise.
"What part of everyone don't you understand?" Narcissa snipped. "Do you swear on your life to keep this under wraps? Perhaps we should make an Unbreakable Vow―"
"No, no!" Granger said, holding up her hands. "That's okay, I'll just swear. Unless it's something illegal. I'm pretty good at keeping secrets, actually. I kept Harry and Ron hidden on the run, for a while at least, and kept the truth about the Sword of Gryffindor secret even when it nearly cost me―"
"It's a birthday surprise for Draco."
"―my life." Granger stopped talking and stared. "Oh. That's. Very important, yes. Doesn't he... already know he has a birthday coming up?"
"Yes, on June 5th. He also knows there will be a gala. But he doesn't know what the theme will be." With some excitement, Narcissa unlocked the chest, taking out a large silver goblet. "You see?"
"A goblet?"
Narcissa rolled her eyes and tapped her wand on it to made flames sprout from inside like the Goblet of Fire. Then she glanced at the door with a frown, hearing a telltale scuffling noise.
Granger's eyes widened. "Ohhh. Is it for a Tri―"
Narcissa stepped closer and held her fingers to Granger's lips, which trembled, perhaps in fright. "Trial in a courtroom, exactly," she bluffed loudly before leaning in to whisper, "Shh, don't be alarmed. Draco is at the door eavesdropping. Don't let him know we're aware."
"Hmm. He, um... shouldn't eavesdrop," Granger mumbled, eyes wide.
Narcissa frowned. "I don't know how to deter him. Noise-muffling charms won't make him give up on finding evidence. He does this every year, trying to hear news about his birthday party. Don't say a word." If her finger happened to trace the soft line of a lower lip as she drew back, it was definitely not deliberate. Not at all.
Granger swayed slightly, looking flushed and light-headed. She reached out to steady herself with Narcissa's arm.
"Keep your hands to yourself!" Narcissa growled. "Are you ill or something? It had better not be contagious."
A light knock rapped on the door, and a few seconds later it opened. Narcissa hid the goblet before Draco stepped in.
"Mother?" He stopped and looked at them with something close to horror. The two witches were still standing uncommonly close from their earlier whispering. It must have looked even more suspicious as Granger hastily stepped back, still blushing.
"We wanted privacy, Draco," Narcissa said. If he drew inappropriate conclusions, it was his own fault for being nosy. "What is it?"
Draco glanced between them, giving Granger a rude look. "I was walking by and heard you raise your voice, Mother. Is everything alright? Is your employee minding her manners?"
Narcissa wanted to scoff in disbelief. Just walking by, hmm? "Everything is fine, Pumpkin," she assured him, voice sweet. "No need to worry about me. I have the situation well in hand. Would you please go whip the art department into shape so they'll create a better cover design?"
Draco nodded and shut the door on his way out. Granger muttered something that sounded suspiciously like nepotism.
Narcissa looked down her nose at her. "I'll have you know that family members are the most trustworthy employees."
"That's not necessarily true. And even if my parents trust me, it doesn't mean I'd be good at filling in cavities."
Narcissa chose to ignore her. "Anyhow, there's a week remaining before the gala, and it will have a Triwizard Tournament theme. I'll need you to secretly make arrangements for decorating my sister's back yard with a dragon, a lake, and a hedge maze for a series of games that Draco will win against other partygoers to impress several handsome wizards I've invited for him."
Granger opened and shut her mouth repeatedly, with a cute wrinkle between her eyebrows. She clearly had questions, though she'd learned by now not to ask them.
Narcissa took pity on her and explained, "The dragon should be too small to pose a serious threat, but large enough to feel like a challenge, you understand."
"A real dragon," Granger said, sounding dazed. "In a week. Okay."
Narcissa captured her eyes with a steady gaze. "Do not disappoint me."