A/N: Trigger warning: anxiety spiral

Hermione lifted the train of her burgundy dress in one hand as she turned her head away from the swarming, buzzing, pestering paparazzi. Cameras flashed like a thunderstorm at full force, ferocious and unyielding. She blinked against the blinding lights. Reporters shouted for her to turn this way or that so they could get the best shot of her outfit. All that mattered to them was selling photos. The feelings of the people captured in them — red-cheeked with embarrassment or pale with dread — didn't signify.

She was fifteen all over again, tossed into a world of salacious articles, trashy tags, and intrusive questions designed to humiliate and offend.

A warm hand settled on her elbow, and she flinched as she spun around frantically. Bright spots swam in her vision from the constant flashes. She touched her side, fingers searching for her wand, but she had no pockets — she'd holstered her weapon under her dress that morning. Now she couldn't reach it without drawing attention and breaking international law.

But there was a point to that too. This wasn't a wizarding gala, with moving photographs and reporters who could transform into beetles to get a better scoop. It was a Muggle fundraiser where wands were conspicuous, and which she was only attending in the first place because Tony invited —

Tony. As she adjusted to the glare, she found him standing in front of her. Tall enough that she only reached his ears, he peered down at her, his dark eyes brimming with concern and mouth pressed together in a thin line. His hands were resting on both her arms now — she'd been too caught up to even notice — and he was trying to guide her away from the spotlight.

'Sorry,' she muttered as she stopped struggling and fell into step beside him. Her throat was bone-dry, and the word came out hoarse and scratchy.

'Are you alright? I got caught up working the crowd and didn't notice you were starting to spiral.'

Behind them, she was dimly aware of Happy strolling along the red carpet, stopping at each reporter to make excuses for her. Nerves sank deeper into her gut as she realised just how badly she'd messed this all up.

For the past few months of their relationship, everything had felt like a dream. Tony was brilliant, charming and witty, and despite his asshole tendencies, he was brave and good to his core. She'd never met anyone who got her in the way Tony did. No matter the topic, whether it was a Muggle field he'd specialised in or a wizarding topic he'd never heard of before, they could talk for hours yet still feel like they hadn't spent enough time together.

But while they lived on the same wavelength in private, she couldn't deny that his public persona and obligations were almost as important to him as his private ones. And while he was endlessly cool in public, instinctively knowing the right words to say to get what he wanted, she couldn't even walk the carpet without having flashbacks to her childhood.

They walked up the large marble staircase before taking a hard left and sneaking into a side room, but Hermione might as well have doubled back to the car right then and there.

What am I doing here anyway? She wasn't charismatic or witty like Tony or the rest of the celebrities gathering there, and the things she was good at — research, creature advocacy, even fighting — weren't going to be of much use here. It wasn't like she could go into a conversational deep dive on her work or even her childhood. She couldn't reminisce about movies or joke about her least favourite subjects at school. Even the Muggle-friendly story of how she and Tony met was fabricated to hide the fact they'd stumbled across one another while tracking the same magical creature.

'This isn't me,' she said when they were ensconced in the relative privacy of the side room. 'I'm not some socialite or model. I'm just — '

The same buck-toothed girl who didn't know how to make friends, she thought, the words too terrible to give voice to.

'Exactly who you're supposed to be,' Tony said at the same time. 'I've dated women who know how to work a crowd, and most of the time, they're trying to work me as well. Do you have any idea how refreshing it is to be with someone who wants me for who I am instead of what I've built?'

Given how many people had flirted with Hermione and Ron after the war in an attempt to weasel their way closer to Harry, she had an idea. But Harry was far less invested in the public arena than Tony, so he and Ginny didn't face as much pressure to perform. 'I don't think tearing down what you built is much of an improvement,' she said bluntly.

Tony snorted. 'I thought you looked me up after we met. You did see the videos, right? I've made some colossally stupid mistakes over the years, and if that didn't tear down Stark Industries, then this certainly won't. Happy's out there right now, assuring the reporters that anyone who posts a photo or denigrating comment about you will never get an exclusive with my company again. And next time, we can just enter through the back and bypass the whole circus altogether.'

'But publicity is important for your company,' she protested. At the end of the day, even more than all his inventions and gadgets, Stark Industries' main asset was Tony himself. Reminding investors of that with a handful of appearances here and there was important.

'To a point,' he agreed, 'but I can manage that.'

A faint flicker of hope ignited in her chest. Tony's team had practice spinning almost anything into a positive. If Happy could convince the reporters not to run a story on her, then they could control this. There was no Rita Skeeter here, craving notoriety like others craved acceptance. They could delay this whole thing until Hermione was better prepared to deal with all the cameras and questions.

But that was a big if. Even if they agreed to cooperate, the general passers-by had only been cordoned off several metres away. One of them could have quite easily snapped a photo on their phone.

Feeling lighter than she had since they first stepped out of his fancy big-name car, she laughed. 'Do you normally blackmail reporters into doing your bidding?' she asked, half teasing and half genuinely curious.

A quick grin flashed across his face. He did appreciate a good spy thriller, enough that he'd introduced her to all the classics. 'Not usually, but then I wouldn't call it blackmail. It's more… pointing out the natural consequences of their actions. If they hurt my girlfriend, then when it comes time to announce a new project, I won't want to chat with them, will I?'

She supposed not. Hermione and her friends certainly never gave interviews to Skeeter except when it was tactically necessary. With Tony's influence and expertise, he rarely had to work with people he didn't want to.

'Okay,' she said. 'We'll use the back entrance next time.'

For years, she'd thought the best way to avoid media scrutiny was dating someone they would consider boring. Nobodies didn't push papers or capture widespread interest. After all, wasn't her link to Viktor and Harry what captured the public's interest in the first place?

But no matter what she did, Skeeter tracked her down to spin her sensationalist stories, wrecking every relationship she ever started.

Ironically, it was beginning to look like the best option wasn't finding someone beneath their notice; it was dating someone so famous he had the experience not to care. He'd made a fool of himself in public enough times that insults bounced off him like scrunched-up paper, annoying but ultimately harmless. If their weight ever became too much or hit too close to home, he'd tear their careers to shreds before letting them bury him.

Hopefully one day, she could heal from the traumatic memories and move beyond them. She would be able to acknowledge Tony as her boyfriend in public without shivers scurrying down her neck at the thought of all the ways people could malign the truth.

But in the meantime, this compromise was enough. She could attend all the events he wanted without having to deal with the red-carpet frenzy.

Let the Muggle and wizarding press think whatever they want, she thought, her usual bravery clawing back now that she was no longer caught in the throng.

The wizards could call her a harlot, place bets on how long it would take her to cheat on Tony, and smear her reputation through the mud. The Muggles could question her lack of status or known profession, dig into her non-existent records, and claim she was only with Tony for his money.

None of them truly knew Hermione or Tony, let alone what their relationship looked like behind closed doors. They didn't hear the laughter or feel the sparks. They didn't know how he made Hermione feel more at ease than she ever had, or how his friends told her Tony's eyes shone more when she was around than they had in years.

So let them call their relationship whatever they wanted.

Their speculations didn't matter.

Hermione threaded her hand through Tony's. 'Let's head in before "fashionably late"turns into "outright rude".'

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled down at her, warm and patient and brilliant and hers. 'Sweetheart, we haven't even hit "fashionably late".'

'Even better.'

A/N: Written for TheLadyRogue for the Drabble Game Challenge for the prompt: 'Hermione/Tony; Call It What You Want by Taylor Swift'