"Still thinking of firing Granger?" Andromeda asked a few weeks later, pushing food around her dinner plate.

Narcissa paused cutting her grilled swordfish. "What? Why do you ask?"

"You haven't been complaining as much."

Narcissa frowned and admitted, "Well, I do seem to have less to complain about."

Andromeda tilted her head. "Oh? She's learning?"

"Somewhat. I had the sudden, brilliant insight that letting her learn as she wishes could make her more useful to me."

"Ah, yes. Letting her learn was a fine insight of your own, not something I would have suggested in the very first week."

Narcissa waved her fork. "What can I say, in this industry one must be constantly alert for opportunities. Case in point, tomorrow we'll be attending another function together. Her presence on my arm has done wonders for our numbers."

"Are you sure that will be good in the long run? How will you end it without anyone being villainized by the media? Or what if someone develops feelings?"

"Surely we can find an amicable explanation for our parting. And don't be absurd, there's no possibility of feelings. She barely tolerates me," Narcissa scoffed, slipping some food under the table to Dragon. She'd given up trying to keep the goat outside, since it somehow kept getting in.

Andromeda caught the motion. "Feeding her at the table will only encourage her."

"Nothing seems to discourage it. I might as well."

"She's grown on you. And don't think I didn't notice her new purple collar. You're doting."

"Just a little something from Yves Saint Catchpole to replace that horrendous beige one. I am not doting."

In her office, Narcissa passed an enchanted hanger to Hermione. "I picked out a fine emerald green dress for you to wear this evening."

"You picked this for me?" Hermione asked, looking over the dress hovering for her inspection.

"That is what I said."

Hermione peered at her. "You want to see me wearing it?"

"I―" Narcissa was briefly distracted by how direct that gaze was. Again she wondered how best to describe the right shade of Hermione's eyes, which were subtly darker on such an overcast day, more like antique brown than rosewood. "No," Narcissa snapped when she regained focus. "It's... preferable to the alternatives."

"It's nice. Very nice." Her assistant seemed back to normal as she added, "Though also very Slytherin."

"A coincidence that this color suits you. We're not at Hogwarts."

"I don't get a say in what dresses I wear?"

Narcissa laughed and waved Hermione back to the assistant's desk. "Whatever awful selection you make would reflect badly on both me and yourself. This dress is gorgeous. Accept the favor. One of the company carriages will pick you up tonight at six. I'll meet you inside the ballroom, at the bottom of the grand staircase to ensure everyone will see you joining me."

"Why not have everyone see us arrive together and then go down together?"

Narcissa shook her head. "When I descend the stair, all eyes are on me, and me alone. No one steals my spotlight."

Narcissa had her spotlight, but the moment her assistant appeared at the top of the steps, all of the guests turned to watch her. Narcissa didn't truly plan to stare, but it seemed as if everyone was doing so, and she too found herself riveted to the sight. Hermione came down slowly, resplendent, skin glowing, eyes wide to take everything in. When Hermione's eyes landed on her, Narcissa felt something flare, as if their spells were colliding in a duel. Narcissa forgot to breathe, forgot to even look at the dress, forgot to think of anything.

Then, as Hermione reached the last few steps, Narcissa suddenly noticed the younger witch's legs; they were―Merlin save her―unshaven. Bare from the knee down and unshaven, in front of everyone. Aghast, Narcissa glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Perhaps she could quickly do a hair-removal charm―no, it would be too obvious.

Instead, she waited patiently until she could take Hermione's hand and pull her away from the staircase and the crowd. Narcissa expected she would have to drag her while enduring a million questions, but Hermione followed so closely they were almost tripping over each others' shoes. They entered a hallway and slipped into the closest powder room. Narcissa locked the door with a flick of her wand.

Hermione leaned against the door and reached out to take Narcissa's other hand, pulling her closer. She was still radiant, filling the enclosed space with energy. Narcissa forgot everything again, forgot why she'd brought the other witch in here.

"Narcissa?" Hermione asked. Her eyes were wide. Her chest heaved from breathing too quickly.

Narcissa had gone and frightened the young woman again. "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to fire you," she quickly assured her. "Let me see your legs. One at a time, now."

Hermione lifted her knee to hip level, eyes less wide but more uncertain.

Narcissa grasped it, expecting an unpleasant sensation. Instead, she felt soft, textured but decidedly feminine skin against her palm. Of course, she did not entertain any untoward thoughts that may or may not have arisen then. She aimed her wand. "If you can't be bothered to shave your own legs, I'll do it myself."

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked, yanking her leg away. Her shoe clacked loudly on the floor with the force of it.

"What did you think I brought you in here for?" Narcissa scoffed. "Don't expect me to believe you've finally decided to simply do as I say."

"No, I... I don't know what... I th-thought you..." Hermione stammered.

"Pull yourself together," she interrupted. "Did your muggle mother never teach you how to keep your legs smooth and ladylike with whatever barbaric methods you use in the absence of a shaving charm?"

"She taught me how," Hermione retorted. "I stopped shaving when I was on the run from Death Eaters who wanted to kill me and my friends, and then chose not to start again. You can't just drag me in here and make me do it!"

"You choose not to? I don't think so," Narcissa growled. "When you accompany me to an event, you follow my standards. Draco or I select your clothes, our makeup artist does your face and hair, and personal hygiene is your responsibility."

"It's not unhygienic! There's literally no reason for people to shave their legs except someone decided we ought to! Some women prefer the smoothness, but I like having hair on my legs. In fact, when my parents take me camping, I can feel bugs before they get past my ankles."

"Your trollish leg hair helps you feel bugs?! Sweet Salazar, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Face full of fury, Hermione unlocked the door and yanked it open, storming into the hall.

Narcissa counted to thirteen to cool her temper before following. One of these days she would fire that insolent woman after all. For now, she could only hope no one else would notice and publicly embarrass her.

In the main room, Hermione was nowhere to be found. Narcissa pretended not to notice for nine minutes, milling about the room, mingling while Pansy whispered names. She tried to ignore the absence even longer, but a strange, unpleasant feeling kept nudging her. A memory arose of her previous assistant running off after Narcissa gifted her with some very valid and constructive feedback. If a manticore hadn't sent her to the hospital, the girl probably would have been fired soon anyway. But Hermione wasn't idiotic enough to get into such trouble. Surely. She was simply using the lady's room somewhere else. For ten minutes.

Narcissa slipped away, hoping to find that miscreant and bring her back safely. Unexplained absences or mishaps could lead to lower stock prices, she reasoned.

She returned to where she'd last seen Hermione and cast a tracking charm. Glowing footsteps appeared, leading down the hallway and around a corner before vanishing. "She abandoned me entirely? Where in Salazar's name has she apparated to?" Narcissa growled, shoving down yet another strange feeling. "All right. Fine. If I were an irritating bookworm, where would I go? The library is closed at this hour. Home, then."

In Diagon Alley, Narcissa cautiously approached the apartment block where Hermione lived. From bits and pieces of conversations she hadn't really been paying attention to, she knew this was the right area. She opened a small gate and walked the winding path to the entrance, pausing at the list of names and door buzzers. She hoped the apartment was rented under "Granger" or "Weasley" rather than one of their other flatmates' unknown names.

In fact, she needn't have worried. Familiar voices drifted over from a small courtyard. Narcissa approached another gate and peered through the darkness to see Hermione and Ginny huddled on a bench swing by an outdoor grill.

"She said I have troll legs," Hermione complained.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. Did she really need to whine about it? Those weren't her exact words, and it sounded worse than it really was.

"She said what now?" Ginny asked. "What a bitch! Did you slap her?"

"Slap my boss? Of course not!"

"You should quit. Or sue her. She has no right to talk to you like that."

"Maybe she's right," Hermione said, sobbing now. "I've never felt more unattractive in my life."

Narcissa's blood ran cold. She'd made Hermione feel unattractive. Hermione, whom she had been admiring up to and including the moment her hand held that not-unpleasant leg. She touched the latch of the metal gate, overcome by some urge to demonstrate how wrong Hermione was. Before Narcissa could get a grip on herself, the gate creaked.

Hermione's startled, tear-filled eyes met hers, and Narcissa felt some kind of medical affliction in her stomach. Anger, she could handle, but tears... It had never really occurred to Narcissa that her words would have an emotional effect like that; Hermione seemed invulnerable, so stubborn and certain she was right.

"Hey, you!" Ginny yelled.

"Ginny, don't!"

There was a flash of light, and suddenly Narcissa felt a swarm of something bursting from her nose. Bats. Fuzzy, slimy bats. She screamed and slapped them away as more and more bogeys turned into bats.

"I can't believe you just hexed my boss! She's going to kill me!"

"Fuck her. Let's get out of here, Hermione," Ginny replied.

The bat-bogey hex lasted far too long. Narcissa staggered away and composed herself, casting a few charms to fix her appearance. She had to force her fingers to relax and not risk snapping her wand. The disrespect, the outrage of Narcissa Black, pureblood aristocrat, being hexed, and by a Weasley no less! There would be severe consequences. But first, she had to keep up appearances.

Narcissa apparated back to the event and slipped back inside, trying to mingle quietly for the rest of the evening.

Then someone asked, "Where did Hermione go?"

"She isn't feeling well," Narcissa lied smoothly. "I made sure she went home to rest."

"Oh, of course she should rest in that case," they responded. It seemed few people had noticed anything at all, and they were easily placated. Narcissa smiled to herself, then froze with their next comment. "Word has spread, and now a lot of reporters are looking for her. I don't know if you're aware..."

One of these reporters found Narcissa and half-bowed obsequiously with quill and parchment in hand. "Lady Black, did you realize your assistant was walking around with such hairy legs?"

They had seen. They had noticed. Only years of conditioning allowed Narcissa to keep her expression calm and superior. Inside, she was scrambling for a response. To buy time, she feigned ignorance. "Was she? I don't pay inappropriate attention to my employees' skin," Narcissa informed him. "What Érmioni chooses to do with her body is her own business."

"It's horribly unfashionable. I'm surprised Blacklist employees are even allowed to look like that."

Narcissa's hackles rose. She was editor in chief. How dare anyone question her control of the magazine and everyone involved in its production. Her anger over the hexing twisted around to seize a new target. "At Blacklist, we don't follow fashion trends. We create them." And because she couldn't banish a certain tearful face from her memory, she added, "I personally believe that witches' legs are sexy whether smooth or natural."

There. No more of that sour feeling―which was not guilt―in her gut, and the reporter looked suitably admonished. Narcissa smiled in triumph.

Narcissa rubbed her temples in defeat. The next workday had started well enough. The Daily Prophet article that came out overnight ("New Craze: Fashion Maven Okays Going Unshaven") quoted her directly and favorably, and she made sure a copy ended up on Hermione's desk. However, Hermione didn't show up at the office all morning. It only took a moment to guess why.

After going out for lunch, Narcissa had her carriage stop by Hermione's apartment building and found a buzzer that read "Weasley."

"Hello?" Hermione's voice answered her buzz.

"You're not fired. Come down at once so we can get back to work."

"Narcissa?" Hermione asked, sounding shocked. "Wait―I'm not? What? I―okay, um, um... I just need to get dressed. Two minutes tops."

Narcissa went back to the carriage to wait. Hermione hopped in only ninety seconds later, looking windblown but properly dressed. Narcissa handed the newspaper to Hermione and believed nothing else needed to be said. She tapped on the window to alert the driver, then watched the proud thestrals pulling at their harnesses to start the carriage rolling.

Hermione read the article and scoffed when she reached Narcissa's quote. "Hypocrite."

Narcissa's jaw tightened. She couldn't win with this one, and it frustrated her to no end. "I meant what I said to the reporter. In the powder room, I... may have been overly concerned." It was as close to an apology as she would ever give, so Hermione should be grateful.

Hermione stayed quiet for a moment, then asked, "Why did you come find me after I ran off?"

Narcissa considered how to respond. She could blame it on wanting to keep up appearances, or try the truth in hopes that it would be to her advantage. "I wouldn't want you to get gutted by a manticore like my previous assistant. Do not run off again."

"You don't want me to get gutted by a manticore," Hermione repeated, meeting her eyes with disbelief.

Narcissa nodded. "It would bother me. Truly."

"Bother you?" Hermione exclaimed. "Merlin, how can you be so unaffected by everything?"

A tight feeling constricted Narcissa's chest. If this was the reaction she got from expressing her feelings, she would keep them to herself from now on. "Forget I said anything."