Author's Note: Chapter Six!

The rain cleared up around ten minutes after my fitting. I had originally planned to go back to the office and squeeze in some last minute work, but there was a certain 'friend' with whom I needed to speak — to interrogate, more like.

I raced to the gym in mine and Ginny's apartment building and found her on one of the wizarding exercise contraptions. It was shaped like an elliptical machine and shouted abuse at weaklings, like a proper trainer.

"Hermione?" the redhead exclaimed, popping both earphones out. "I'm thrilled you've finally decided to join me, but those clothes are a little out of place for the gym, don't you think?"

I glanced down at my damp office clothes and made a face. "I'm not here to work out."

Ginny's mouth made an o-shape, and she quickly changed the machine to a slower speed. "Is something wrong?"

There were several others at the gym that afternoon, most of whom recognized us and whispered to one another. It was no secret that I, Hermione Granger, had never stepped foot in any gym, as I was afflicted with incurable laziness, but I hardly thought my presence should have garnered such a strong reaction.

It appeared Ginny noticed my worried looks, because she turned off the machine and ushered me to a more private area around the corner.

"What's wrong?" she asked, glistening from her workout, like a proper goddess. "Is it the dress? Did you not like it?"

"It's not about the dress," I quickly answered, fearing she would choose another. I was already so attached to the blush rose one. "It's — erm — It's Benoit's assistant."

"Assistant?" Ginny repeated, perplexed. "I didn't know he had one."

There it was, the answer. She had no idea.

It was mortifying enough, being fitted to a designer dress, whilst the tailor mumbled all every imperfections under his or her breath, but for that tailor to be Draco Malfoy was something else entirely.

I exhaled, rather deeply, having worked myself into a panic the entire way home. "You won't believe me when I tell you."

"Now you have to tell me," she demanded. "Was it the assistant? Was the assistant a guy? Was the assistant fit?"

"Er —" I choked on my breath a little. "Yes, biologically-speaking, and no, not in a million years."

She tossed a quizzical look at me, facing screwing into odd expressions as she tried to decipher the jumble of words I had given her. "Translation?"

I leaned in, and whispered the answer into her ear, fearing Rita Skeeter had bugged our building again and that my horrific dress shop experience would end up on the front page of the tabloids.

"You're joking!" Ginny squealed, a note of humour in her shocked-filled eyes.

I grimaced. "I'm glad you're amused, but that fitting happened to be the most horrific experience of my life, including the Second Wizarding War."

She titled her head sideways, jokingly. "Lighten up. It's not everyday our precious ferret does peasant work."

Despite my attitude, this did make me laugh. Having him tailor a dress to me was poetic justice in its truest form.

"He did a bang up job," I admitted. "Hid my pouch and everything."

"First of all, you don't have a pouch. Second, did he speak to you at all?"

I shook my head, having left out the bit about my nipples poking holes through the chiffon — well, not literally. "At first, I didn't think he recognized me, but then he had that smirk on his face. You know the one."

Ginny nodded fast, as she had also been on the receiving end of it. "I wouldn't worry too much. I bet he was equally mortified. Last I heard, he was in America doing freelance work. A muggle dress shop is completely out of character, no?"

"Looks like he wants to keep a low profile," I furthered.

"I wonder…" she questioned, slipping into thought.

I wondered, too, but I figured there weren't an abundance of employers willing to hire an ex Death Eater in Wizarding Britain. Plus, working in a Muggle dress shop played to his advantage, in proving he had nothing against non magic folk, despite his affiliation with the Dark Lord.

The Malfoy clan were pardoned for their crimes, but their fortune had been wiped out by the Ministry, for reparations and the like, leaving them high and dry. It was one of my first cases in the Auror Department, excavating Malfoy Manor for clues pertaining to active Death Eaters and sympathizers.

Draco, of course, had not been present, nor were his parents. In fact, I had no idea the investigation on him and his family had come to an end. Before the horrific dress shop incident, the last time I had seen him was the Battle of Hogwarts.

Different time. Different life, entirely.

I held nothing against him, but running into him in the dress shop was a surprise — and not the good kind. I figured, because he had the experience of growing up wealthy, he inevitably knew a thing or two about fashion and design.

Perhaps he was new at Benoit's and that's why Ginny hadn't known about him.

Either way, the wedding date was inching closer and closer, and I had one more appointment at the dress shop. The second time, I made sure to wear something other than monochrome business clothes and soaked, suede shoes.

It was scheduled a couple days after my conversation with Ginny, and through her advice, I decided I wouldn't pay Ferret Boy a second of attention. If I showed his presence didn't faze me, perhaps he would stop trying so hard. I couldn't decide which was worse, the fact that I had run into him at all, or the fact that I had to go back and pretend he didn't make me feel like a minger nerd all over again.

His shrewd, calculated, puke-coloured orbs would see right through me, surely, but I had no choice.

I sauntered through the doors of the dress shop (the actual name of which has now slipped my mind) and found the front empty.

"Er —" I froze, mid-step, nearly tripping over the heels Ginny had given me for the occasion. "Is anyone here?"

There were several soundless seconds, wherein I hurried to check my day planner to make sure I'd arrived at the correct time. I was scheduled for an afternoon appointment on the first Thursday of the month — and there I was.

Then, after one excruciatingly long minute, there was movement coming from the fitting area. I waited at the front of the shop like a lost tourist and cursed myself for putting actual effort into my appearance. If I wanted to show Ferret Boy didn't faze me, I should have shown up the same as last time.

Alas, it was too late to turn back and have a change.

Benoit's tall, blond-haired assistant turned the corner and found me, standing there like a complete and utter twat.

As if on cue, those puke-coloured eyes scanned me from head to toe, shrinking my confidence to the size of a peanut, before he beckoned me towards him. "Right this way."

I followed and made sure to keep at least seven feet of distance between us at all times, as he escorted me to the same fitting room as before. This time, the dress was altered to my shape, waiting for me. I couldn't help the excitement in my chest, wondering what it would look like now that it was ready. It was a brilliant feeling, enough to eliminate the growing tension in my muscles.

Without further word, his royal pain-in-the-arse left me alone and walked off to do Godric knows what.

I didn't care.

Instead, I shut the divider and slipped into the dress, sighing with sheer joy as the chiffon brushed my bare skin and complemented me in ways nothing had ever done. I decided then that Ginny had exceptional taste and, if ever the situation arose, that she would choose a wedding dress for me.

(Still waiting on that one)

It was around my twelfth twirl that I heard someone from the other side.

"I need to see if the fit is okay," he voiced, rather bored.

I tried my absolute best to ignore the tightness in my chest and reluctantly stepped outside, in front of the triple mirror. It was a crime to me, that he could be so indifferent considering what had happened in the past, but I supposed indifference was better than his old behaviour.

I stood there and waited for him to say or do something, but all he did was look at the dress, standing roughly three feet behind me.

"Is . . . something wrong with it?" I asked, feeling stupid.

Instead of responding to me like a normal human being, he resolved to scrutinize me even harder and make me feel like an even bigger twat.

Impossible, seeing as I had reached my daily limit.

Then, in an unexpected maneuver, he moved closer to me and brushed my long hair aside, before dragging the zipper that ran down the back of the dress all the way up. I had forgotten, until then, that I hadn't zipped myself. Suddenly, the fit hugged me all around my torso. I stood there, in front of the mirror, and smiled a little. It was nice wearing something that took my curves and made them look presentable — sexy, even.

"There," he remarked, pleased with his work, though not enough to give me the impression he thought I looked good. "You can go now."

"Er —" I raised both eyebrows. "Right, then."

Three Hours Later

Harry snorted with laughter, as I drowned my feelings in pint after pint. It was not usual for him to be so loud, but it appeared my recent experiences with Draco Malfoy were too hilarious to resist. To my astonishment, Ginny hadn't told him about the first bit, but that was probably due to her rigorous training schedule. She was off-season, but that didn't mean she had the liberty of losing her shape.

Plus, there was the wedding to consider.

"To be fair, he's probably more scared of you than you are of him," Harry added, wiping laugh-tears from his eyes.

I grimaced. "First of all, I'm not scared of him. Second, he's not a house fly!"

The Chosen One arched an eyebrow. "You're scared of house flies?"

"That's not the point," I countered, frustrated, though a little amused myself. "I'm just thankful I'll never have to deal with him again. Good riddance." With that, I downed another pint, earning the attention of several patrons at the pub.

"Erm . . . about that," Harry started, scratching the back of his head, as though he had done something wrong. "It won't be the last time."

I shot a sharp look at him. "Excuse me?"

He swallowed. "I — I invited him to the wedding and he's definitely going to be there — but it's fine because you'll have us and your date and —"

"SHIT!"

The young man panicked. "Hermione? What's going on? What's happening? Are you okay? Do you need to see a Healer? Should I take you home? Have you —"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

I had now, quite successfully, earned everyones attention and was left with one resounding realization.

"Hermione, tell me what's —"

"A date," I muttered, sinking into my chair. "I've been so busy at work that I forgot to secure a date for the wedding — and I'm the sodding Maid of Honour!"

Harry breathed out, sighing with relief. "Don't worry about it. Ginny told me you haven't sorted out your date, so I sorted one out for you."

I glanced up, with mingled misery and intrigue. "I'm listening . . . "

"Just show up to the wedding and your date will be there. He's one of the groomsmen."

"Wait, so . . . you expected me to be dateless?"

This time, Harry grimaced. "No," he countered. "I expected you to have worked yourself into exhaustion, leaving no time to sort out a date for yourself."

I smiled a little, knowing this was at least a little true. "Do I know this person?"

"You do," he answered, awfully ambiguous. "He went to Hogwarts with us."

"Wait, it's not —"

"It's not Ron," he interjected. "Daphne would kill me."

"True," I added, rather cheekily, thankful that I had friends to look out for me. I then raised my glass and made a toast. "To Harry Potter, for recognizing a dateless minger when he sees one!"

He laughed and clinked glasses with me, after which we drank ourselves into unspeakable states of drunken-ness.

One Week Later

Does anyone remember that scene from the 1995 adaptation of Casper? It's the one at the very end. Kat is sitting all alone, in a room filled with people dancing, and suddenly a handsome stranger approaches her and takes her hand. It's so sweet and so tender, and exactly how I imagined the wedding would be — for me and my mystery date.

This is what really happened:

I, along with the rest of the wedding party, stood at the altar, dressed in blush rose with my hair in soft curls, and watched as Ginny walked down the aisle with her arm hooked around Arthur's. It was, perhaps, the most touching moment I had ever witnessed, and I admit, I did tear up.

I then looked at Harry and found that he had tears in his eyes, as well.

I couldn't help but be proud of my friends, for overcoming so much and making it to this occasion. They had come so far from the awkward teenagers I had known in Hogwarts. They were now adults and this was their wedding.

It was a moving ceremony, filled with sniffles from the audience — most notably Molly Weasley — and short, sweet vows spoken from the heart.

I found I didn't even care that Ronald and Daphne were there. I paid them no mind. This wasn't about me, this was about our friends. Though, as soon as the ceremony drew to the final phase, it hit me.

I glanced across, to the groomsmen, and found Ronald, along with Neville, George and, surprisingly enough, Dudley.

Something didn't add up.

All four of those groomsmen already had dates, as I had seen them enter with girls on their arms. Yes, even Dudley. I narrowed my eyes in thought, and spent the last few moments of the ceremony wondering where on earth my date could be — and then it happened.

Before the Official could speak his final words, thereby declaring Harry and Ginny a married couple under wizarding law, there was a ruckus near the doors.

I turned, with everyone else, and joined in their collective gasp.

It appeared there was another groomsmen, one who had only just arrived, late and apologizing the whole way down.

Oliver Wood.

Oh, snap! I wasn't lying when I said Hermione would be paired with pretty much everyone haha. Anyway, thanks for reading. Tell me what you think!