In the following weeks at work, Narcissa watched and waited for signs of resentment. Hermione seemed to be over the whole razorgate scandal. She worked hard with her usual thorough―albeit occasionally impertinent―approach.

Narcissa rattled off a few orders. "Make sure we buy longer bolts of acromantula silk. And tell the designers to replace the ball gowns' firework charms with quieter ones. I wanted something flashy, not cacophonous."

"Longer bolts, quieter fireworks," Hermione mumbled, jotting it down. She looked up expectantly. "Anything else?"

Narcissa narrowed her eyes, compulsively suspicious of such a helpful attitude from someone who had felt slighted. She couldn't help but push a little. "And you'll be accompanying me to the upcoming show in Edinburgh, correct? There will be a lot of fashion critics there. You'll need to look your very best."

"Of course I'll accompany you; we made a deal," Hermione confirmed. "I'm sure you or Draco will find something nice for me to wear."

Once Narcissa was alone in her office, she rubbed her temples. Was Hermione really such a goody two-shoes that she couldn't hold a proper grudge? It seemed preposterous to a Slytherin, but the paranoia was getting too distracting. Narcissa decided to put it out of mind and took a few deep breaths. It was almost time to release a new issue, and there were still so many decisions to be made. After only a moment to herself, a mid-level manager came in with a question. Narcissa straightened up and got back to work.

The Hogwarts Express let out a whistle and a cloud of steam. Narcissa teared up a bit and dabbed at her eyes before anyone could see. Her strongest memories of Platform 9 3/4 were from Draco's school days. Every time she boarded the train for a fashion show up north, she couldn't help but remember those increasingly tense farewells as her precious son got drawn further into a world at war. It was a great comfort to have Draco by her side now, and she linked their arms as they stepped into a well-appointed train car.

Both of her assistants stepped into the next coach, followed by a few workers carrying trunks packed carefully with the bespoke clothing made for the handful of employees attending. Narcissa hoped it would all go smoothly.

Before the trip, she had overheard Hermione asking Pansy, "Why aren't we just apparating, or going by floo?"

"How daft are you?" Pansy had replied. "Don't you know Narcissa would have our heads if one of our dresses got splinched, or speckled with soot?" Just so.

The train chugged along for hours through the scenic countryside and passed by the station at Hogwarts, though Narcissa barely got to enjoy the view with her head buried in plans for the trip. She only looked up as the train approached Edinburgh and descended into a tunnel, until her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. The wizarding community here had gone literally underground centuries ago, building an entire town in caves under the city. They'd applied so many Confundus charms that the muggles living above them were convinced it was just an abandoned ruin of the old Edinburgh. Oblivious even to an entire fashion extravaganza happening beneath their feet.

And an extravaganza it was. Hundreds of witches and wizards gradually arrived, by train or carriage or even a few modern oddballs who used smelly muggle automobiles. Narcissa changed into her dress and let the company stylist do his magic before disembarking.

The tremendous crowd awaited her, mostly heading toward the show, but some turning to watch and point cameras. Narcissa didn't bat an eye, proceeding forward and glancing back only to make sure she could see her assistants' heads trailing somewhere behind.

Then she heard Hermione's voice rise up shrilly. "But this is the mudblood dress! Was it a mistake or is someone playing some kind of trick?"

Pansy laughed. "Does it matter? You're dressed for the occasion, now come on! We have to keep up. Draco, look! It's the mudblood dress you told me about."

Narcissa waited for them to get closer, feeling glee rise within her as she saw Hermione struggling to contain whatever emotion she had about that dress. "Ah, you look quite nice tonight, Érmioni. All things considered."

"All things considered," Hermione repeated, gritting her teeth. Draco and Pansy tittered together.

Narcissa did a quick appraisal, making sure the dress mix-up hadn't led to any mismatched accessories, but Hermione wasn't wearing any. Her neck was bare, not a hint of jewelry to get in the way if anyone should choose to touch her, with the backs of their fingers perhaps. In theory. It was the first time Narcissa had seen her assistant with that atrociously unkempt hair pulled back, thus only natural to notice all of the newly exposed tender skin. "The contour of your neck is lovely," she complimented.

Hermione smiled awkwardly.

It occurred to Narcissa too late that it was a strange thing to mention. Especially considering the way her thoughts had drifted to how Hermione might react to her touch. To cover her embarrassment, she leaned in and gave a casual air kiss to each cheek. The paparazzi would surely eat it up.

Hermione slipped away after that, probably to the ladies room, because Narcissa could think of no other justifiable reason for a date to abandon her like that. Narcissa scanned the room, hoping the night wouldn't end again in Hermione crying. Purely because she didn't want to suffer from another bat-bogey hex.

She belatedly noticed Pansy rambling names and introductions quietly beside her, as she was being paid to do. "And that's his wife, who you've met before―"

"Pansy, do you think she's upset about the dress?"

"Who, Hermione? Why are you―"

"Questioning me? That's not like you, Pansy."

"Right, not at all, ma'am. Well, I don't think she's upset. I was getting more of a furious vibe from her. Brilliant prank."

"Mm," Narcissa answered absently, still searching for that curly head of hair. With no sign of her, Narcissa settled in to watch the fashion show, Draco by her side.

The cavernous space was fabulously lit, and the staging was en pointe, but her opinion of this year's designers was unimpressed.

"Can you identify the problem with that model's clothes?" Narcissa asked Draco.

He peered closer. "Too... stretchy? Or something. I don't see any seams on him."

"Good eye," Narcissa confirmed. "They've used magic to make the fit skintight rather than making precise adjustments. You might as well wear clothing made of elastic. It's clumsy, tasteless, and doesn't belong in this collection."

"I see what you mean," he agreed, grimacing. "Out of place, shouldn't be printed with the rest."

She smiled. "I'm proud of how much you're learning. If you ever want to start a magazine of your own, perhaps for gay men, you know I'd support you all the way, darling, even though we'd all miss you here."

Draco frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe, but..."

"By the way, that prank making Hermione wear the mudblood dress was very sly. I approve."

"What? I assumed you arranged that."

"What?" Narcissa asked, but the editor for the Daily Prophet's fashion section came along with Hermione in tow and interrupted their conversation.

"Can you confirm for me the color of this dress?" the mustachioed wizard asked, frowning a little. Hermione flashed an anguished look.

With a wicked grin, Narcissa told him, "It's called mudblood."

His eyebrows shot up. "I have to say, I didn't believe Miss Granger here when she told me what it's called, but I understand why you love it so much! It's gorgeous! Understated yet luxurious. Bozo, I need pictures!"

A bumbling photographer hurried over, bumping into everyone as he backed up. Before Narcissa knew what was happening, he'd snapped several photographs.

"Wonderful, wonderful," the editor said, walking away with the photographer. "Have a wonderful evening, Miss Black. Aha! The perfect headline." He spread his hands in the air as if framing his words. "Mudblood is the New Black."

"Mudblood is the―" Narcissa echoed in disbelief. She hissed at Hermione, "What did you tell him?"

"The truth," Hermione replied with a contrived expression of innocence. "I found your initial notes on that collection of dresses. 'The rich undertones really elevate the material.'"

She clenched her fists. "You're supposed to file those notes, not spend your work hours reading them."

"Be honest, you liked the mudblood one best until you decided to use it against me. You thought I'd just let you walk all over me? I'm reclaiming the slur. I've been meeting reporters all night. Everyone will be talking about how great mudblood is now."

Narcissa felt like the red carpet had been pulled out from under her. "The dress mixup... was planned? You planned this?"

Hermione crossed her arms and nodded triumphantly.

Narcissa's heart pounded and a wave of heat rolled over her. She looked at Hermione with involuntary respect. "You may have gotten the upper hand this time, but..." She pressed a hand to her sternum, then to her warm face. Was she blushing? Couldn't be. "I'll dismember you."

"Threats of bodily harm?" Hermione asked. "We'll add it to the list for my harassment lawsuit if you fire me."

"It's unfortunate you can't use the settlement money to buy a sense of style," Narcissa said, raising her hands and flexing her fingers. It would feel so satisfying to grab Hermione's arms and pull her―no, push her―against that pillar, or a wall―Salazar, it didn't matter, she just wanted to get her hands on her somehow.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on, you wouldn't tear my limbs off. You'd have someone avada kedavra me when I least expect it and keep your hands clean."

"On the contrary," Narcissa purred. "I don't mind getting my hands dirty if it means I get the pleasure of doing it to you myself."

Hermione's face darkened with a blush, eyes wide.

Too late, Narcissa realized how that sounded. The double entendre implying that she would enjoy touching Hermione... well, she couldn't let it seem unintentional. That would look weak. She had no choice but to double down on her statement by stepping closer than strictly necessary to embrace her date for farewell air kisses, feeling Hermione's knees buckle ever so slightly in surprise, a satisfying reaction. Narcissa walked away with an extra swish of her hips. She glanced back to see Hermione watching her with her mouth hanging open. Finally, no irritating remarks or comebacks. Narcissa had won.

Narcissa had miscalculated. An incredibly rare occurrence, but it happened. "Find the photographs from yesterday. Owl Adrian with a final answer. Pansy is busy tonight, so you will wait for the Scroll and deliver it."

"Of course," Hermione said as if in a daze, refusing to look at her.

Narcissa tried testing her with an unreasonable order. "And organize the new season's fabric swatches by Pantone code."

"Yes, Narcissa. Anything else?"

"My water has been sitting here gathering dust for over ten minutes. Bring me a fresh glass."

Their fingers brushed as Narcissa passed the glass, and Hermione swallowed hard before nodding and leaving without even an eye roll. Where was that fiery spirit?

Narcissa hunched over her desk and rubbed her temples. She must have gone too far that evening. She had thought Hermione could take whatever she threw at her. Threats of harm were laughable to a witch who had gone through a war before she was even fully grown. However, sexual harassment was another story, if she had overstepped their dating agreement. She should have backtracked and made it clear that her intention was homicidal, not homosexual.

Hermione returned with fresh water. "Here you are, Narcissa." Their eyes met, and Hermione bit her lip, staring. She fumbled the glass and narrowly stopped it from tipping over, then knocked down a stack of magazines in the process. "Dammit! I'm sorry, give me a second, I'll pick them up."

Narcissa tapped her fingers on the desk, pondering how to handle her own misstep. Perhaps she could outright declare her lack of attraction? She watched her assistant crouch down beside her to gather the fallen magazines. Hermione's slacks were too baggy to show the shape of her rear when standing, but currently it was quite visible. One of the DK handkerchief skirts would complement her quite nicely, tight near the top and flaring out into wide, uneven folds that would dance around Hermione's legs when she walked. A declaration was too heavy-handed, she decided. A mere return to her usual disinterest would suffice.

"Sorry," Hermione said again, replacing the stack of magazines and heading toward the door.

Narcissa couldn't resist adding, "One more thing. Remove those hideous, baggy trousers and take one of the Donna Karkaroff skirts from the Wardrobe." After a moment's consideration, she added, "The navy one would look best on you."

Instead of scowling at the insult to her trousers, Hermione blushed. "Do you think so? Maybe I will."

Narcissa's brow furrowed. "That's all."