So I took a bit longer than I suggested last time I updated, didn't I? In all honesty, I wrote this chapter and the next as one long one then cut it into two, so it took much longer than expected, BUT that means the next will come sooner than usual.
I think this is a pretty fun chapter. Some flirting, fancy clothing, and f...sleuthing. I tried, but alliterations are not my strong point.
As always, let me know what you think!
Love,
Cherry
Hermione stared at the garments that lay on the bed before her, biting her lip. Was it really all right to wear Narcissa Malfoy's clothes? The shoes alone looked like they cost more than Hermione made in a month, and she was going to wear them? What if she scuffed them? She could never repay the bill.
She scrunched her nose and opened the door just enough to stick her head out. "Draco?" She called, and from the other side of the door, Draco appeared.
"Yes?" He asked, and Hermione took note of his robes. They were nicer than usual. Tailored perfectly, with a starchy white shirt hidden beneath the so-smooth-they-were-almost-shiny black robes. Well now she had to wear the fancy suit, didn't she?
"At the risk of sounding poor, I don't think I could afford to replace any of what you've given me if I ruin it. Maybe the belt, but even that is probably outside of my price range." He peeked his head around the corner to see the garments strewn across the bed.
"Granger, I've never seen my mother wear any of what Mimmy gave you, which means they're either old or brand new. Either way, it's all right if they get ruined. But they won't. Because we're not planning on duelling anyone, we're just a wealthy couple looking to make a sordid purchase." Draco watched Hermione as she hesitated. There was something more, wasn't there? "They won't be missed." He tried to reassure her. After Draco had sent Mimmy to pick something expensive for Hermione to wear from his mother's closet, he called her to his room and advised the house-elf to pick something unfamiliar. Something he wouldn't associate with his mother. And Mimmy had listened, plucking items Draco had never seen before. Admittedly, Draco was rather pleased at the idea of Hermione wearing the robes Mimmy had chosen, and the smirk tugging at Mimmy's thin lips said she'd chosen them for that reason.
"If you're certain." Hermione said, and slowly closed the door when Draco nodded. "It might take me a few minutes!" She called through the door and groaned, untying the laces of her trainers. She stepped into the grey, wool skirt, zipping it up. Using her wand, she lengthened the skirt just a little, and shortened the cream, silk blouse as she buttoned it up, then tucked it into the skirt. Narcissa clearly had a longer torso than Hermione, Hermione learned as she shortened the blazer that matched the skirt, sucking it in to button the blazer over her bust. The black, patent belt that buckled at her natural waist over the blazer fit, which Hermione was appreciative of, since she hated altering clothes not her own.
Hermione walked over to the mirror and grimaced at what she saw. The outfit was perfectly fine. Well, more than fine, really. The skirt and blazer were tailored tight to her body, though the blazer had the tiniest peplum at her waist, making her waist look smaller than it really was while making her hips look more womanly than they'd ever been. Her legs were bare, currently, which wouldn't work in the nighttime weather of Edinburgh, but she wasn't looking forward to what had been prepared for her to keep her warm. If warmth was what the sheer, black stockings and matching suspender belt were even meant for.
With no shame, Hermione picked up the scraps of fabric and opened the door again, this time to face an impatient Draco, whose eyebrows rose and ears reddened when he saw what was in her hand.
"This is sexism." Hermione hissed, shaking her fist filled with lace and nylon. "The fact that women are expected to wear knickers like this because they're of a certain status is pure, blatant sexism."
"Now is not the time to be redefining the role of the Sacred Twenty-Eight woman." Draco sputtered, his mind wandering to places it shouldn't be. "You're just playing the part, aren't you? And put those down." He pushed the hand holding the undergarments down so they weren't eye level. Maybe that would keep his impure thoughts away. No. No, it did not, Draco realised as he watched Hermione unfold the suspender belt and hold it up.
"Do you know how itchy this is going to be?" She lectured. "All for the purpose of letting a man enjoy the appearance of the female form?"
"Put on the bloody stockings, Granger, or so help me, I will find someone to do it for you." Draco spoke darkly through his teeth, unable to tolerate much more of Hermione flippantly waving the suspender belt all over. Hermione's eyes widened at Draco's tone (and his words, if she were being honest, who else was here to put her in stockings beside Draco?) and like a schoolgirl who had been scolded by the headmaster, she nodded silently and retreated into the room, closing the door behind her. Draco snapped once for Mimmy, who appeared in front of him.
"Does Miss Hermione have troubles with her robes?" She asked innocently, though Mimmy had known Draco long enough to recognise the embarrassment that flushed across his neck.
"Did you have to give her stockings?" Draco asked, pleading with the house-elf. "Was there not a pair of trousers available? Or even just full length stockings that don't have the bit that holds them up?" He motioned pathetically to simulate someone clasping a suspender belt clip on a stocking, ruffling his hair in frustration.
"Master Narcissa didn't wear trousers. Or nylons." Mimmy clarified. "Mimmy only picked something she thought would suit Miss Hermione. Does it not?"
"Of course it does!" Draco whispered aggressively. He took a step away and inhaled deeply, centering his thoughts. He turned to look at Mimmy and pointed to the door. "You go in there and help her." Draco commanded. "She doesn't like what you've chosen for her, and she needs to play a part tonight. If she doesn't feel comfortable, it's going to show."
"Yes, Master Draco." Mimmy agreed. She approached the door to knock when Draco stopped her.
"And make sure no one would know she's Hermione Granger."
Mimmy knocked on the door and announced herself, giving Draco a pointed look when Hermione called for Mimmy to come in. With a sigh, Draco turned and stalked down the hallway, returning to his own room to find more pomade to fix his hair back into place.
With Draco gone, Mimmy entered the room and saw Hermione was readjusting her skirt, legs now covered in sheer black stockings.
"Do I look ridiculous?" Hermione asked as she tugged the skirt down. "I feel like I look ridiculous."
"Miss Hermione could never look ridiculous." Mimmy shook her head violently, her ears flapping with the motion. "But Miss Hermione does look like Miss Hermione." Mimmy gestured to her head. "Perhaps it's the hair, but Mimmy would know who Miss Hermione was from across the room."
"That is an issue, isn't it?" Hermione turned and looked at herself in the mirror, tugging at a brown curl. It settled into place against her shoulder. "I tried fixing it but it wouldn't stay back. I had hoped the clothes were enough, but I just look like I've stolen some posh woman's wardrobe."
"Never." Mimmy admonished, and led Hermione to the ottoman at the foot of the bed. "Miss Hermione looks perfect. Like she was meant to wear these clothes." Mimmy squinted and looked closely at Hermione, jumping up onto the bed behind her. "Mimmy might be able to change Miss Hermione's hair. Just for the evening, of course. Nothing permanent."
"I don't know, Mimmy." Hermione said, finding herself sitting straight up due to the construction of the blazer. "My hair has never reacted well to magic."
"What about house-elf magic?" Mimmy asked, and Hermione shrugged.
"I've never tried house-elf magic. Okay, go ahead, Mimmy." Hermione agreed, figuring this would be easier if she didn't look like herself. There would be less questions that way, and Hermione didn't like questions. She also didn't want her friends to find her shopping with Draco Malfoy. She'd grown quite fond of him in the last month and a half, but she still didn't want to face her friends and colleagues and publicly declare her friendship with Draco. She felt shame, because she knew Draco didn't deserve her hiding him like a secret, and she sometimes wished for something to force her to tell everyone so she no longer had to hide it.
But what was it anyway? If Hermione was being honest with herself, the two didn't only share friendship. After all, Hermione didn't dream about her friends. She didn't feel a heaviness weigh over her when she went more than a week without seeing them. And she certainly didn't go around almost kissing her friends. So what was Draco to her? Certainly not someone she could fall in love with. Not when she couldn't even tell her friends about him.
"Oh no." Mimmy quietly exclaimed, and Hermione snapped out of her reverie.
"What's wrong?" She asked Mimmy.
"Nothing! Just changing the colour now." Mimmy hoped Hermione couldn't see her reflection as her hair had poufed up into a round shape. Mimmy changed the colour of Hermione's hair successfully, and with a grateful exhale, she was able to return the locks to a limp shape, and tied the upper half back in an intricate knot. She pulled a chair up in front of Hermione, applying a layer of lipstick with a steady hand.
"Mistress always wore lipstick." Mimmy commented. "Said it was the sign of a true lady."
Hermione laughed and Mimmy put her bony hands on her hips, irritated that Hermione had nearly ruined the makeup.
"Sorry." Hermione apologised. "I just never wear lipstick, so I must not be a true lady."
"Mimmy is open to new interpretations." She said, wiping a bit of stray lipstick from the corner of Hermione's mouth. "Should Miss Hermione decide to become a true lady." Hermione pursed her lips when Mimmy finished, not particularly wanting to delve into her statement.
"Well let's see if you've made me into a true lady, Mimmy." Hermione stood and walked to the mirror, her stomach flipping a little when she saw that Mimmy really had turned her into the traditional sense of a lady. Her hair was now black and (fairly) straight, tied back in front to hide some of the magic that hadn't quite stuck to the curls by Hermione's face. The lipstick Mimmy had chosen was a rich red, which looked quite perfect, but wouldn't stay perfect if Hermione had even one drink. Still, it was an image, and when Mimmy brought over the tall, black pumps Hermione had to wear, something queer thumped in her chest as she accepted the help of a house-elf. Anyone looking at her now would have never known she wasn't a pure-blooded woman, raised into the elite world of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was strange to look at, and even stranger that a small part of Hermione didn't mind.
"Miss Hermione will get cold like that." Mimmy commented, fussing with the hem of the skirt. "Miss Hermione needs more robes."
"Oh, I'm fine, Mimmy, I promise." Hermione argued weakly, knowing Mimmy wouldn't take no for an answer. She didn't, obviously, and it was with a second wave of discomfort and pleasure that Hermione draped the black, wool cape over her shoulders and around her neck like a scarf, and slid on a pair of black, dragon leather gloves.
There was a heavy knock at the door and a muffled voice spoke from the other side.
"We're never going to make it on time if you don't hurry up." Draco spoke, and Mimmy ushed Hermione to the door.
"Miss Hermione is ready!" Mimmy called, even though Hermione tried to retreat into the room, not wanting Draco to see her like this. What if he didn't like how she looked? What if he did like how she looked?
"Thank Merlin." Draco sighed, rolling his eyes, though the motion was cut short when Hermione opened the door and stepped out. Draco didn't say anything, and it made Hermione feel self conscious.
"This is weird." She finally spoke, sliding her wand up her left sleeve for easy access. "I look weird, don't I?"
"No." Draco quickly responded, clearing his throat. "No, you look beautiful." He could see the unease on her face so he backpedaled. "Like you should be hanging on the arm of Theodore Nott." He suggested, trying to distance himself from the situation. "The hair's a little weird, I'll give you that." He commented, and realised he was blathering on, so he closed his mouth to reassess what he wanted to say next.
"Says the man with more gel in his hair than he used when he was twelve." Hermione retorted, looking at Draco's hairline, which blended into his forehead.
"It's pomade." He muttered quietly, not enjoying the way Hermione giggled at his embarrassment. "Shall we go?" He suggested. "It's getting late."
"Yes." Hermione agreed, finding herself a little saddened to think Draco thought she looked like she belonged with another pure-blood. She hoped it didn't show too much as they walked to the drawing room, where they used the Floo to travel to the Crow Comestibles, the restaurant that was the main hub for travel on Cantlebar Road. Hermione's heart pounded as she watched Draco go first, his eyes on her's as he disappeared in the green flames. She followed quickly, knowing the nerves she felt were for the situation. She was in disguise, and hoping to get answers about an illegal product. It hardly looked good, and after the stony reception she got from Mr. Borgin, she hoped this disguise would help Draco find the answers he so desperately needed. The ones she was beginning to need, too.
When Hermione arrived on the other side of the Floo in the main entry of the Crow Comestibles, she blinked the ash out of her eyes and looked around, though no one seemed to care about her arrival, not that there were many present to care. It was still a bit early for dinner, which meant the restaurant was nearly empty, only older witches and wizards enjoying their early meal.
Draco cleared his throat to the left, and Hermione turned her head, seeing his arm held out, much like he'd done the day they made Ron jealous at Flourish and Blott's, only this time, there wasn't anyone to make jealous. Hermione gingerly took his arm, sliding her fingers into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead the way out of the restaurant. She was grateful for his support, she soon found, when she stepped in the knot of a wooden floorboard, almost falling from the heels she wore, which were much taller than anything she owned. Draco helped her recover smoothly and together, they walked out of the Crow Comestibles and down the street. It was fairly busy on the main road, which was to be expected of a Saturday evening, and when the pair turned off onto the questionable path of Cantlebar Road that led them to Utopian Woodworking, both were pleased to see it looked relatively empty.
"After you, my dear." Draco commented dryly as he held the door open for Hermione, who narrowed her eyes at him while walking through. He smirked in response and followed her, offering her his arm again. She took it, and together they walked through the main space of the showroom, which housed all sorts of woodworking projects, from tables to bookcases, to mantles.
Hermione nudged Draco, who lazily shifted his vision from an oak desk to the row of mantles across the room.
"Darling, look." Hermione pointed across the room, noticing another couple shopping for a coffee table. She felt her innards tighten at her use of pet name, but wanted to make sure their façade was believable. "Do any of those look like your parent's fireplace? You know how I love the one in your father's study."
"Let's look at them." Draco narrated, clearly restless from Hermione's statement. The pair walked over to the raw wood mantles, which (aside from the fact that they didn't have an ebony stain on them) looked very similar to the ones in Malfoy Manor. They perused the stock, subtly pointing out details that reminded them of the mantles in Draco's home.
"May I help you find something?" A gruff voice spoke, and Draco and Hermione turned to see a man of (quite) short stature behind them. Hermione thought it might be uncouth of her to say, but the man did look like he'd speak Scottish Dwarvish. Standing a full head and shoulders shorter than Hermione, with a wide torso, tanned skin, and a bushy, grey beard was a man wearing a leather apron and a stern expression.
"Yes." Draco spoke, Hermione pinching the inside of his arm to remind him to not seem so eager. He got the message. "Well, perhaps you can." His voice dropped back into a lazy affect like it had when they entered the building. Was that what wealthy men sounded like, Hermione wondered. The drawl did remind her of Draco as a child, which seemed like the type of personality he was going for at the moment.
"We're remodeling our marital home." He continued, pushing his shoulders back proudly. "From top to bottom, and we're in dire need of new fireplace mantles."
"Then you've come to the right place." The man continued, his accent thick. "My name is Iomhar Turnbull, I'm the carpenter behind these designs."
"They're absolutely lovely." Hermione spoke in that funny accent she'd used at Borgin and Burkes. She hoped it wasn't too bad, but she couldn't tell if Draco had coughed or laughed into his sleeve. "You have quite an eye for designs."
"Thank you." He responded to Hermione, unphased by her accent. "What are you looking for?"
"Something unique, ideally." Hermione gushed, placing her free hand on Draco's chest. She tried to ignore the fact that she enjoyed it. "My fiancé sees clients from across the world."
"You're exaggerating, love." Draco corrected while casually pulling her hand from his chest and clasping it in his own. He wouldn't be able to think straight if all he could focus on was her hand on him. "They're mostly from Europe."
"But they're very powerful." Hermione continued, playing the vapid housewife. She leaned in toward the man like she was sharing a secret, which she supposed she was, given the customers across the room. "And they don't appreciate that the Ministry is tracking their every move. It's such an invasion of privacy." She tutted and resumed her normal stance at Draco's side. "But you, you're such a visionary with these designs, maybe you could help us." Hermione tried to slip in the name they'd seen on the advertisement, hoping it worked better than it had with Borgin. Iomhar nodded understandingly and gestured to a door in the back of the room.
"I have other customers to attend to, but my assistant is the real visionary anyway. He can help you with your request."
Draco thanked the man and together, he and Hermione walked toward the door. Draco knocked once and they heard some scuffling on the other side. The door opened to reveal another man, this one looking much more like a wizard, with his average height and reasonable length facial hair.
He caught Hermione's eye first and smiled politely, though his expression turned to shock when he saw Draco. It dissolved quickly into a normal smile, but both caught the way his eyes had widened when he looked at Draco.
"Can I help you?" He asked in a soft voice, looking between the two.
"We're in the process of renovating our home." Hermione spoke when Draco didn't. She glanced over at him to see what he was doing, and she could tell he was trying to process why the man had reacted that way.
"Mr. Turnbull said you could help us with some charms that might be of interest to my fiancé's clients." She noticed the way the man stiffened, so she altered her statement as not to scare him off. "They're very powerful men, and a friend suggested your shop might produce untraceable portkeys that wouldn't look out of place in our home."
The tension in the man's neck reduced just the slightest. "We do." He nodded.
"Lovely!" Hermione exclaimed, putting her hand out. "Monica Prewett." She waited for the man to respond, and he did with no hesitation.
"Augustin Savatier." He introduced himself, and Hermione committed the name to memory as Draco shook his hand. "Is there a design you're looking for? We can charm any object."
"A candlestick perhaps?" Hermione hesitated, looking to Draco, who shrugged apathetically.
"You can pick one from the showroom then." Augustin gestured to the room behind them. "Iomhar can help you wrap up the purchase and I'll charm it in the back."
"Thank you." Hermione gushed and nearly dragged Draco away to get his interpretation. "He knows something." She spoke quietly, pulling Draco closer to her as they shuffled slowly around the room to look at the candlesticks.
"He knows me." Draco spoke at the same volume. "But I don't know him. At least I think I don't. I don't know his name."
"The name sounds French." Hermione commented, lifting a candlestick to look at it just in case they were being watched. "I can ask Fleur if she has any contacts in the French Ministry so we can look him up. We don't want to scare him off by interrogating him."
"That sounds good." Draco nodded in affirmation. He picked up a small paperweight sculpture of a cat and let go of Hermione, finding Iomhar to pay for the item. Hermione waited by the door as the two conversed, and watched the door Augustin had opened, though now it stayed shut. Draco returned to Hermione's side and the two walked back onto the street toward Cantlebar Road, walking side-by-side, but not touching.
"I didn't have Savatier charm it." Draco clarified as they walked. "I don't want something like that in my possession, but I didn't want to be too conspicuous by not purchasing anything."
"What will you do with it?" Hermione asked. "I never pegged you for a trinket man."
"I'm not." Draco shot her a dirty look and Hermione grinned, happy to know she got under his skin just as much as he got under her's. Draco rummaged around the small paper bag Iomhar had handed him and lifted the intricate sculpture out of the bag.
"You can have it." Draco offered, and Hermione smiled coyly.
"Do I look like a trinket woman?" She teased and Draco raised an eyebrow.
"No, I suppose not. No need to keep it, then." He went over to the rubbish bin by a shop front and tossed the bag in, holding the cat above the bin. "You know, it kind of reminds me of Crookshanks." He commented, though it didn't, and at that, Hermione hurried over and snatched the sculpture from his hand.
"You horrid boy!" She scolded. "Now I'll never be able to throw it away!" She cupped the small trinket in her palm before slipping it into her pocket.
"Whatever happened to that mangy old beast? You can't imagine that I'd believe he's hiding somewhere in your one bedroom flat whenever I come over." Draco posed the question, sticking his hands in his robes to keep from reaching for Hermione. He had thoroughly enjoyed the time she'd spent latched on his arm, and while he'd love for it to happen again, he knew the odds were low.
"He lives at the Burrow." She answered wistfully. "I didn't want to risk him getting hurt, so when I left my parent's home, I took him with me and the Weasley's have been taking care of him ever since."
"Figures." Draco scoffed, explaining himself when Hermione looked at him through the corner of her eye. "That you've left that grumpy hairball with the Weasley's."
"He's not grumpy." Hermione disagreed. "He's just an old soul."
"He's an old cat, Granger. Old cats have old souls."
"He's part kneazle, you know." Hermione noted and Draco spared her a glance.
"Then he's an old kneazle with an old soul." They were silent for a moment before Draco spoke again. "Do you miss him?"
"Every day." Hermione smiled at the thought of her familiar, who had been her best friend and closest confidant during a very critical period in her life. "But he's not a city cat. He deserves space to roam, and mice to chase, both of which I am sorely lacking in my flat."
"Couldn't Floo into work like the rest of us, eh Granger? Had to be in the heart of London?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, and nearly rolled her ankle in the process. "These bloody heels!" She exclaimed, grabbing Draco's arm as she stumbled. Draco took both hands from his robes and supported Hermione as she slid the shoe off and back on to readjust. Draco caught a glimpse of the seam of her nylons and had to look away, unimpressed with his inability to control his thoughts. He was a man, for Merlin's sake. A grown man that turned red at the first indecent thought he had of Hermione. He felt pubescent again, or at least he assumed he did, since Draco's puberty was spent trying to gain favor with the Dark Lord. The only experience he had with women was snogging Pansy twice before deciding he didn't like it. Thinking about snogging now, Draco determined he must've disliked snogging Pansy, because the thought of kissing Hermione made his heart race and stomach tie up in a knot.
When Draco averted his gaze from Hermione's lean calves, he saw a sign with a pint glass on it.
"Do you want a drink?" He asked, hoping Hermione would say yes. Not because he wanted her drunk, but because he hoped to keep the night going. Especially if it gave him more time to stare at Hermione's legs.
"All right." Hermione nodded as she stood, following Draco's gaze. She didn't drink very often, but she liked Draco's suggestion because it meant they got to spend more time together.
"All right." Draco parroted, nearly too stunned to say much more. So with a silent smile and gesture, he let Hermione take the lead, if only to protect her from wandering eyes, which, if they were anything like his own, would find themselves magnetically pulled to the tightness of her skirt across her rump. But Draco was a gentleman, of course, so he didn't stare.
At least not while he held the door open for her.
At some point, Hermione's gaze had shifted to the cobblestone beneath their feet, and when she looked back up at Draco, through dark lashes, Draco thought he was finally beginning to understand what she meant.
