Chapter Six: Justify The Means

To say that Hermione was a little hungover would be like saying that the Titanic hitting the iceberg created a little problematic hole in the hull.

It was noon on Tuesday, and she was still lying in bed. Whatever was in that drink mixture had truly rendered her inert. She woke up in the hotel at checkout time the day before, Blaise pushing her to gather her things, a headache splitting her face open.

Returning back to the apartment, a bombardment of questions from Ginny awaited her, who'd read about the event in the Prophet. Turns out the snapshot of she and Blaise standing with Draco and company had made it in the entertainment section. Highlighting how she attended with such a high-profile date, more important gossip to Wizard-kind than any Muggle rock star or designer.

If she was honest, Hermione couldn't remember consecutive memories of the night, just blurs of it. Blaise seemed a bit off when he'd dropped her off, and she only hoped she hadn't done something stupid. She hadn't yet sat down and tried to piece it together.

Lying wasn't something Hermione resorted to often, but she was tired. She ended up telling Ginny it was fun because she'd met Mick Jagger, but nothing special. Refusing dinner she went to sleep to nurse her bad judgement with suggestive remarks from her flatmate. She didn't bother explaining that no sex was had that night, Ginny wouldn't have believed her anyways, trying to get the alcohol out of her system. The dishonesty continued as one day off ended up not being enough, so her holiday was extended. Calling in sick, she informed Gladys she must've caught food poisoning from the crab cakes she didn't eat.

Now she felt guilty but pleased she didn't have to strain her eyes to read about the latest dull case unfolding, and stretched. Then got up to actually eat something. She took out the milk, groaning at the news clipping Ginny decided to pin up on the fridge. It was the picture; Hermione was smiling too brightly in her drunkenness at the camera while everyone else in the circle had a cool grin. She sighed, trying not to think about Pansy Parkinson and her date laughing at her when they saw it.

Pouring a bowl of cereal and brewing some tea she slumped down on the sofa, and leafed her way through a lame fashion mag Ginny took a liking to for the sex advice. As she was sipping her cup, out of the corner of her eye she spotted a flash of red.

Miss Hermione Granger
Kilburn, London
URGENT

It was a wizard letter that was peaking from underneath the hydro bill on the mail stack. Anxiety gripped her stomach as she snatched it up to open it. Urgent letters in that world were not that common unless it was serious.
Was it a summons? Was she fired?

Her mind zoomed at a hundred miles an hour about the possibilities. Her hands were shaking and she began to feel her breathing hyperventilate until…
She paused, noticing a silver 'M' seal was keeping it together.

"No. It can't be…." She said aloud. It wasn't the Ministry stamp, it was a family crest. Unfolding the parchment, her suspicions became true as she began to read. "Bollocks."

{}

Monday, July 2.

Dear Hermione,

You left your wand with security before departing my wonderful party last night. I'll be working at home this entire week so feel free to stop by any point before 5 pm. I do have somewhat of a life. A little notice would be nice, but I'm not picky.

And no, I'm not going to give it to anybody else to take care of or pass off to you. Unless you physically pick it up from me I'm not really arsed to try and find out your exact address. If Blaise is incompetent enough to forget to grab your wand along with his, he obviously didn't care enough in the first place.

My address is on the back of this. Tell your name to security, I let them know you might be dropping in.

Yours truly,
Draco Malfoy
Like Magic Inc.

PS: Before you start mouthing me off to Potter, I'm doing you a favour. Trust me. Protocol for losing a wand is that the Ministry destroys it and requires you to get a new one. But I bet you knew that, didn't you?

{}

Trust him?

Hermione felt herself grow pale at the realization that she was obligated to step inside Draco Malfoy's less than humble abode. She felt immensely stupid too that she was irresponsible enough to get drunk and forget the most important tool in her everyday life. Like losing her birth certificate.

Though it was a kind thing to do, saving her wand, he had to have some other angle for getting her alone. A favour for being a 'gentleman', or maybe revenge on Blaise for something petty? Worst part was that she knew Draco knew she wouldn't dare inform Blaise of where she was going, and certainly did not want to tell Ginny. Until Ginny would likely notice she was annoyed and sussed it out of her, that is.

She contemplated this for a moment. Why was she so hesitant of Blaise finding out about her making a visit to a house? She shouldn't be scared of his reaction, for heaven's sake, that wasn't healthy. Still, she didn't want to start a fire until she knew for sure what Draco was after, as surely somebody like him wouldn't do anything pleasant for somebody like her without anything in return.

"Might as well get this over with," she moaned.
Appetite gone.

Not bothering to make much effort as her head was still out of sorts, she went to her wardrobe and threw on some black tights and, probably ironically, an oversized Rolling Stones sweater. If it were anybody else she had to deal with, she may have laughed. She cursed the piles of laundry she had put off in heed of paper work.

"Praise Odin, Merlin, and Jesus for me Crookshanks," she pleaded dramatically to the relaxed kitty, who was lying on her bed, carefree.

She brushed her hair out, spritzed on some Chanel No. 5 (instead of showering because she figured she'd have to wash of the Malfoy stench when she came back), and shoved on a pair of beat up combat boots. Grabbing an umbrella, wallet and tube tokens, she set out on the wet summer street to catch the N98. It was, of course, very late.

Thirty minutes later, she was irritated in the humidity as she stepped out of the London Underground and into Mayfair. She'd been here only once. Ginny suggested they check out Green Park, the city life had made her friend miss the greenery of Ottery St. Catchpole. Now she was trying to navigate her way to '15 Curzon Square', through streets of extremely expensive looking flats and houses very close to Hyde Park.

Finally, after some direction from a man in a suit, she spotted a massive black brick building on the edge of the sidewalk, and as she crossed over to it felt overwhelmed by the elegant interior and cleanliness. Shaking it off, she did as she was instructed.

"How may I help you today, miss?"
A bored looking guard was sitting at the concierge, in the middle of a rousing round of solitaire.

"Hi…I'm here to see Draco Malfoy." The guard's face remained unmoving. "If he's in. I've never been to his flat before, so I don't know the number….He uh, told me to just mention my name, Hermione Granger."

Sighing, the guard closed his game, pulling up something on his computer after several clicks. "Yes Miss Granger, it appears he's instructed us to let you through. ID, please?"

She gave him the driver's license she never used, and he took it for a total of three seconds before passing it back.
"At the end of the hallway. #3."

He buzzed the glass door open and she gathered her wits to make her way to the metaphorical gates of hell.

Inside his home, Draco was speaking to Theodore Nott on his mobile, surprised he'd give in to buying one. Draco had already taken his bet seriously, mostly as an excuse to go ahead with his scheme to hurt Blaise, but Theo wanted to ensure that Draco knew he wasn't just letting the alcohol and drugs take the wheel when he suggested it.

"Glad we're on par. Now, one thing I wanted to clear up; you can't tell anybody about this, Draco," he exhaled through the receiver, puffing on his smoke break.

"And why not?" Draco asked, turning the volume down on his speakers, and leaning back against his sofa.

"Because if word gets out I know Blaise will find out. He looks into everything suspicious. And we can't have that happen, now, can we?" he replied. He meant business, Draco could tell.

"If Pansy notices me sidling up all friendly-like to Granger, she's going to want answers. You just don't want to get fired if it all becomes sour."

"True. But you can lie to her, right? You're not under some sort of ancient Parkinson spell? Just don't include me in your excuses, Astoria would kill me."

"Alright, alright, so bossy."

"Yes, I am. Any progress by the way? Only been two days, but you said you had something already going? Blaise really rustled your jimmies didn't he?"

Draco smirked. If only he knew what kind of evidence he'd collected, what nastiness he had up his sleeve.

"Granger left her wand at the party. I'm making her come pick it up here. That's all you need to know."

"What? What are the odds! When is she coming?" Theo was astounded.

"No idea. I gave her a week. I've got somebody on the other line, Theo. Need to go."
He couldn't stand talking to the bloke for more than five minutes.

"Mate, you're killing me. Come to the club this weekend, catch up with the lads to fill me in."

"Maybe, might be busy. Bye, Nott." He clicked him off, shaking his head at how much of a chameleon Theodore could turn into when you were on his side. "Draco Malfoy. May I ask who's calling?"

"Hi, Mr. Malfoy. It's Michael….um, your bookkeeper?"
Draco held back a snort. Michael was older than him, and Mr. Malfoy made him feel like his father.

"Finance Manager, Michael. You won't just be doing books. Plus it sounds more professional."
Michael Lott was a fresh out of school graduate looking for a job. Any job. He hired him a few days ago. Draco found him awkward, but he was very keen and nice enough to follow instruction without back talking.

"Oh, right. I was calling because I was just wondering when you needed me?"
Guess his rent's due, is what popped into Draco's head. God, I'm an arse.

"Not until next week, I'm afraid. If you're requiring some pay, I'm sure I can –"
The door suddenly was being thunked, surprising Draco while simultaneously filling him with the gleeful thought that it might be Hermione.
"Michael, I'm afraid I have a visitor. Use that company credit card I gave you to make business cards, alright? With Finance Manager as your title, yes? And make sure the company logo is on it. Can you do that, Michael?"

"Y-yes, sir." He knew he was being totally condescending, but Draco found great joy in being the leader.

"Alright. I will set up your direct deposit tonight, expect your first weeks wages by tomorrow morning. I'll call you later, if you really need me fire up an e-mail. Bye Michael."

He strolled to the entrance hall, opening the door wide, and grinned at the sight of his old school rival flushing.

"So you decided to show up, then? You disappointed me, Granger, I thought you'd certainly inform me when you'd be coming."

Hermione straightened up and self-consciously tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Draco noticed she was slightly damp from the outside, and wanted to laugh at her choice of attire, wondering if it was coincidence or a subtle 'fuck-you' to him.

"Somehow, I didn't think you'd mind, seeing as you get to tease me for it."

"Come on now, Granger. Always so hostile. Want to come in?" He leaned out of the frame, a lazy gait in an attempt at appearing relaxed.

"Not particularly, no. But I assume that you left my wand in an inconspicuous place so I must go in regardless."
He smiled at her, which only caused her to be more annoyed. For once she wanted him to appear fussed that she always knew what he was up to.

"I'll chalk up your unpleasant attitude to exhaustion. You look like hell."

"Thanks," she replied sarcastically. "Fault goes to your allowance of mind-altering substances at your party."
Testy, is what he continued to think, surprised that she actually was a naughty girl and drank those mixtures. Or knew about them.

"And not to you? Who drank so much in a four hour span that you were hungover for two days?" he ribbed, moving back inside to let her in. "As I recall you came with the intention of being in a state of drunken spite."

"I did," she admitted forthright stepping inside and discarding her boots. "I think I failed on the spite part."

"You tried. Kept your word, at least. Want some tea? Coffee?"

"Tea is fine," she muttered, confused as to why he was being so cheery. It was weird.

Exasperated that he couldn't have just handed her wand so she could get on with her life, she found herself unwillingly impressed with the layout of his house. She gaped, realizing it was two-stories, only becoming gobsmacked as the expansive kitchen he led her to was amazing; cream stone floors, dark wooden cabinets with white accents and a fully stocked bar. The ceiling was at least ten feet high, with flood lights and windows that spanned the walls.

The kitchen was open concept that led into a giant curved room, with a large oval sofa facing a TV, artwork lining the wooden walls, oriental cushions and rugs all around.

"You approve of it, then?" Draco inquired, noticing her scanning the premises.

"Yes, it's quite nice," she replied politely, figuring she was being very rude to someone who had an important possession of hers held captive.

Finding it strange she'd say something pleasant to him at all, he was reminded of her change in attitude a few days previous when she was wasted.
"So out of curiosity, do you remember anything at all about that night?"

He traipsed to the cupboard, gathering fifteen different kinds of tea boxes and laying them ceremoniously on the island to which she was now sitting. She eyed him with bewilderment as he turned on the kettle, an odd display of homeliness.
She had to admit seeing him so calm was a rare thing, not being overly obnoxious as she remembered him. It wasn't as if she'd really had any encounters with him since school to be fair, but being nice wasn't usually on his agenda.

"Like tea, do you?"

"Love it," he replied with no discomfiture. "So, do you remember?"

"I remember bits of it. I remember drinking, lots of drinking. Then trying to talk to your friends and failing, meeting Mick Jagger to snorts of derision from Pansy, and singing along like an idiot to a really good performance."

He let a small genuine chuckle escape before he could stop it, something Hermione noticed. Did he find her amusing?

He did, but he found it more hilarious she actually thought he was friends with people like Daphne and Lucian.

"Do you by chance remember telling me that my business plan was 'remarkably clever'? And thanking me for the opportunity of seeing the Rolling Stones in your lifetime?" he smirked in an attempt to recover, pointing to her sweater. A blush crept over her face, his words evoking the memories.

"I do, yes. I did have a good time, I will give you that." She played with the selections of tea, internally scoffing at the pretentious nature of them. They all instructed you how long to steep the leaves for, and what temperature you should do so at.

"Glad to hear it. Made your choice? I myself like raspberry chai." He yanked a bag out of the container and pulled two mugs from a very empty cupboard.

"Uh, well I suppose I could try it. Usually I just drink green, but it seems that's the only one you don't have."

"I loathe green tea," he replied with a grimace, taking out another bag and shoving the boxes to the side for clean-up later.
She fought the urge to tell him he was crazy; that would be much too friendly.

Pouring them both a cup, he pushed hers across the surface and stood there facing her.

"Thank you," she said quietly.
Silence passed, and she found her eyes wandering over his body. She was startled he was wearing Muggle clothes outside of public eye, but was more startled that they were so grungy. Tight black jeans and a faded muscle shirt with a strange design on it; surely meant to look old, surely far more expensive than they should be. Perhaps he really was trying to retaliate against mum and dad. Envisioning Lucius Malfoy fainting at his son's appearance pleased her greatly, and she took a sip to hide her grin.

His hair was short, she continued the scrutiny, and not gelled back like it was at school. Styled in a careless way while framing his face nicely. The feature she noticed most, which she hated herself for, was his eyes. Used to staring at a steel wall, the grey was softer, and friendlier. It made no sense to her unless it really was a ruse she thought he was trying to get her to participate in.

"You like it?" he asked, breaking the peace. For a moment she thought he was asking if she liked his appearance.

"Very much," she answered truthfully, furrowing her brow. Slanting back on the stool, she took a deep breath. "Now, Draco, not to sound mean or ungrateful, but why have you invited me in? It's not like we're old mates, and I never got the vibe you were particularly fond of me."

"I try at friendliness and this is the response," he shook his head jokingly. "Alas, you do have me cornered, Hermione. And yes, I will use your name if you'd prefer not to be childish. I merely think it fun," he winked, making her uncomfortable again.

"Well what is it?"

"I need your help," he said simply, a wicked smirk on him.

"My help?" Odd that Blaise had foreseen this kind of thing popping up, she mused.

"As you very well know, my business is new. It was pointed out to me by Vivienne when I had her fit Pansy for her dress that I didn't have any sort of contract whipped up for future clients. Honestly, it barely crossed my mind. Seeing though, as it is the 21st century, and Wizarding laws are a bit, shall we say skewed? I think I'd greatly benefit from having a legal document that ensures I won't get sued or fucked over for something stupid. It's not as if I live in a village of 50 and I know every face. I'd like the freedom to end having sessions with somebody who continually disagrees with what I think looks good on them. No refunds," he recited all this to her, as if he'd practiced saying it to a mirror.

Hermione was a bit stunned.

"I don't know why you would want me for the job, Draco," she admitted after a moment of thought. "There are plenty of higher-ups, especially in the Muggle world, who are far more qualified than me."

"Problem is, love, that you are both proficient in the Muggle and Wizard climates. Plus, you aren't 105 years old, you're surely more up to date than anyone else I could hire, a dead ringer for the job. I'd pay you, of course. And it's a onetime thing, isn't it? Unless I need more assistance."

His logic was actually sound, but a voice in the back of her mind was screaming 'It's a trap!'

"I just…this is very strange."

"Oh, I know. But we're adults, aren't we? I'm completely serious, and the only reason I invited you over is because I knew if I wrote you a letter you probably wouldn't even read it."

"Except you did write me a letter, and I did read it," she shot back.

"That was for the wand. Sooner or later you'd realize you'd left it. Look, if Blaise wasn't going to flip, would you even consider saying yes?"

"And what makes you think Blaise would flip?" she countered, staying as cool as she could while death-gripping the poor mug.

"It's Blaise, sweetheart," he said matter-of-factly, so which she both turned scarlet and became more infuriated. "Theodore was telling me about how you agreed to make him a top client now that you've decided to go corporate. That's how I know about your focus decision, in case you were wondering."

"I repeat, why would he be mad?" She didn't care if he knew about her career, she wanted to know why he thought Blaise was so horrible.

"Because Blaise doesn't like me, as you must have gathered from him pissing on me 24/7. I doubt you told him I sent you this letter? Or that you even lost your wand."

Damn him, Hermione thought, keeping a straight face.

"Of course I haven't yet, I only opened it an hour ago. This isn't a big deal," she lied, knowing Blaise would seize up and come up with a hundred different reasons Draco was undermining him.

"Oh but it is. I already told you, he likes to control everything. He plays it confident, but honestly, don't you know how insecure he is? Caught you in his little web by being handsome and good with words, but you deserve better than that. I wasn't lying when I said he had a plan for you. I think the plan's pretty obvious, hmm? Surely he's given you 'permission' for things normal people don't have to ask about in relationships?"

Her stomach began to twist in knots. Knowing that Draco could be this observant having only seen them together a total of two times was disturbing, and he'd known him forever too. Maybe she was trying too hard to see the positive light in Blaise. Because he hadn't done anything bad to her, but she did get the feeling that she always was walking on eggshells, she was always wanting to please him when he had high expectations. But if he pointed out something she didn't like, he'd brush her off.

"That's really none of your business," she smiled, taking another gulp of tea which was, in fact, very delicious. "Thanks for your concern though. I think I can fend for myself in knowing when I'm being used."

"You're too nice."

"I don't want to talk about this," she almost growled. "You don't know me, and you barely know him when he's away from everyone else. This is totally inappropriate. Now, I forgot to say it at the door, but thank you for keeping my wand. Can I please have it?"

"No problem," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Of course you can darling, it's just in here."

She rolled her eyes and stood up, following him into the living room, which was littered with books and CD cases. Faintly, The Beatles could be heard on the stereo, and she fought the urge to comment on the fact that this was her favourite album.
Human traces that perhaps Malfoy could be a normal person was unnerving to her, as she watched him go to a shelf on the other side of the room, into which she could make out a splendid dining area.

In a shoe box, Draco reached up and handed her what she came for. She relayed more gratitude and grazed past him. Chanel No. 5 drifted in his senses, and he was reminded of when she accidentally touched his cock as he helped her up.

And then images of her fucking Blaise filled his mind, and he balled his fists, sincerely hoping she didn't bloody remember him being decent to her, if she was going to be insolent and refuse to see that he was right.

It was tortuous for her, he knew it. She liked to see the good in people when there wasn't any left in Blaise. He had to plant these ideas in her mind to make her overthink them, and one day she'd realize he wasn't the villain. Theo never said he couldn't hint to her what Blaise was up to, and if she thought Draco had a glimmer of goodness in him to warn her about it, then he could get her to be persuaded much easier.

"So I take it you're saying no to me?" he said gently as Hermione marched to his door.

Hermione spun around, and was about to utter a haughty 'yes', when she noticed his face.

"What's wrong….? Are you actually upset?" she asked in bewilderment.

He was upset that he couldn't keep his poker face on while she was here. He really was bursting to show her the video he had, he didn't want her to 'make love' to Blaise ever again. And it bothered him that he wasn't indifferent about her actions.

Trying to swing this in his favour, he turned his manipulation metre up ten switches. He cleared his throat.
"A bit. You seem to think I'm trying at some kind of scheme, which I totally get, by the way. But I'm not. I'm not trying to rile you up by bringing up Blaise, I just know how he works. Fine if you want to be with him, but don't try to pretend like he's not going to act like how I said. I'm simply a) trying to give you work, and b) really do need help. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing, do I? I can put on a face pretty well, but I seriously didn't consider having a contract until it was pointed out to me. Rookie mistake."

She was extremely surprised at how vulnerable his tone was. And despite keeping her guard up, she got the feeling that he was actually telling her the truth.

Tentatively she began her next sentence with an air of apprehension.
"If you're serious about this, I'll need a list of items you want me to include in the contract; all the conditions, all the means for terminating a client, if you have a set price for your services or if its negotiable, things along that vein. You have to dictate how lax or airtight you want it. And if you want two different contracts for wizards and muggles."

"And?"
She saw his lips upturn into some expression that resembled being grateful, and she loathed herself for being affected by it.

"And that will take some time. When is your first client meeting? Or do you even have any?" she asked skeptically.

"Oh how you doubt me, Granger." He pulled out his phone from a pocket and thrust it into her face. She clutched it into her hand, business inbox opened, to see 167 messages unread. Her mouth gaped open slightly.

"Most of them, from the subject line, are inquiring about the cost per session, but about 50 of them want me immediately. I honestly chalk this up solely to having Mick Jagger at my party. For some reason they think I styled him too, a fault by some journalist."

"When is your first client meeting?" she repeated.

"Next week, but it's with Astoria," he said, rolling his eyes. "I promised Theo for some reason, that she could go first."

"I'll need a bit of time to whip it up, it's straight-forward mostly. And I need all that information I just listed, in great detail. Unless you want to be sued."

"No, we wouldn't want that. I could meet up with you for dinner somewhere, talk about your service charges, and I about the stipulations," he suggested. Her face was mangled, unable to come up with anything that would be polite. "Okay, clearly that's a no."
And he laughed.
She did not.

"So what do you suggest? I mean, I can e-mail you the details, but you'll probably have to follow it up, right?" She nodded. "I could call you?"

"Uh, yes I suppose you could."

"Have a phone?" She replied that it wasn't on her, so he procured a business card resting on his kitchen counter and scribbled his digits on it. "And yours?"

Reluctantly, as he handed her his cell again, she typed in hers, as well as her house number into a new contact file.

"Great," he smiled. "Thank you."

"Uh, you're welcome," she replied, unnerved by this turn of events.
Before she could fully process it all though, she was out the door, telling him it might be a week if she was as busy as she was normally. Deciding on the tube again, she sat on the dingy public transit, and realized exactly what she had just agreed to.

Dreading the Spanish Inquisition from Ginny when she got home, as surely she would sort out that something was off, she groaned and hoped to Merlin that Blaise wouldn`t freak out when she informed him of one of her first clients.

Back in the luxury side of town, Draco couldn`t wipe the smirk off his face.
"That was far too easy."

He poured the remnants of tea into the sink, contemplating how he would inform Pansy of what he was up to. She had wanted to meet up for drinks later in the day.

Yet as the night came and went, he found no good opportunity to do so, and any strangled attempt at starting the conversation was blocked out by something else. Strange, he thought. Pansy was one of the few he had no qualms talking to about most things. Instead of fretting about this new development however, he drowned himself in scotch so it didn't matter anymore.

The Following Sunday: Thank You Dinner

"You know, Draco, since the party I've received over a hundred letters, emails and phone calls asking who you are," Vivienne told him beaming. "And many of my colleagues just loved the dress you picked out for your friend, Pansy."

"Glad to hear it. It was the aim, anyways. She looks good in everything but seems to think I know how to dress her best," he shrugged.

"Oh don't be silly. You picked the right shade for her skin, the right cut for her body, and she had the right personality not to be overwhelmed by the pattern. That is talent, lest you think it isn't. You probably just aren't aware that most people have no idea how to be individual and interesting, most of your friends were pretty good."

Andreas, Vivienne's husband, nodded earnestly at her words, digging heartily into his steak frites. Andreas, who was 25 years her junior, and a former model and student to her. A Malfoy wasn't one to judge age difference given his family history, but he couldn't help but find it all humorous. This 72 year old fashion icon, with dyed orange hair and studded everything with an enthusiastic Austrian muscle-man who always looked like he had just been on a heroin binge.

The reason he found himself in their company was because he thought it necessary to invite Vivienne out for a dinner to say thanks. Though his mother gave him the initial contact, it was essentially all her doing that he managed to get Mick Jagger at his party, which by cause and effect was one of the only reasons he had so many clients lined up. Now they sat in Galvin at Windows, a literal 2 minute walk from his flat, and an 80 pound a head restaurant.

"Thank you. And thank you for making time for me to come out here," he grinned. He was surprised she had a free schedule on a Sunday, only one week after the soiree.

"First weeks of July are the slow ones of the year. August is when we have to really get it together for the fall release," she drawled, winking.

"So you're going to fit me in that dress for the fall and winter collection right?"
Georgia May had decided to join her second mother for supper. Mick was away, and Georgia was on summer vacation from college, she normally lived in New York City. Draco obviously couldn't say no to her attendance, but was trying his damnedest to ignore her. For fear that he would either feel immense guilt or anger at the fact he had footage of her fucking, and that she had horrible taste in blokes who cheated without a second whim.

He was toying with the idea of releasing the video to the public in a way that would not be traced back to him. However, it would really humiliate Hermione on a national spectrum, and he didn't really want that because it was unlikely she would recover quickly, even if she was resilient. Any suggestion of a makeover, and she would zap him into dust, thinking he was using her in a vulnerable state. Plus, Georgia May seemed to be a nice girl, though Draco disproved of somebody who paid no heed to relationship status, and it wouldn't be fair for her when she really had nothing to do with this.

"We'll see. I was almost considering asking Pansy to walk in the show. A bit stuck up of a girl, but she has the attitude I need."

"Oh, yes. And her boyfriend was simply dashing," Andres chimed in his accent, mouth full.

"Hm, you know sometimes you worry me," Vivienne chuckled. "You think she'd like that, Draco? If I were to ask?" Georgia May pouted for a split second before sipping her champagne, recovering immediately, as she was used to rejection quite often being a model.

"Yes, she would most definitely. I think she'd explode with egotism, actually. Very proud, that girl," he smirked.

"Good."

"Question though, from before. I'm intrigued," he polished off the last of his bass and swallowed. "You said my friends were dressed 'pretty good'. They'd be very depressed if they heard that they weren't flawless. What does that mean, exactly?"

"Simple. Most of them had help picking out their ensembles, and most of them tried to adhere to the age-old social rule on what looks good and what does not. It was quite obvious."
He was reminded of telling Theo that Hermione looked 'fine' right before the deal, because he knew Blaise put it together for her. Maybe he did have a knack.

"I think I might've fallen victim to that," Draco admitted, while Vivienne shook her hand at him.

"No, no. You liked the grey suit; you wore it. People are very caught up in about what others think, I don't get that vibe from you. Besides, I doubt you would've been able to top Mick, for god's sake he was wearing red velvet pants and a bobby cop helmet."

"True," he chuckled. "I didn't want to try. Though my circle is very serious about topping one another."

Thinking of Hermione again, somehow he needed to enact a plan of action to make him win favour to his favourite Gryffindor gal. It was sick really, because without that blackmail he probably couldn't pull any of this off. Or so he thought.

"Speaking of your circle, have you seen your dishy friend Blaise recently?"

Draco paused, composing himself before he replied with a, "No, he's very busy. We're not glued to the hip mates, i'm afraid."

"Oh, that's too bad. He said he'd get in touch with me but I haven't gotten any word," she slumped.

"Why would he get in touch, if you don't mind my asking?"
Something was off. If Georgia had knowingly cheated with Blaise, she wouldn't be bringing it up now.

Georgia grinned sheepishly under Vivienne's curious gaze. "I sort of…hooked up with him. At your party."

Silence ensued as Draco wanted to go on bended knees and thank Yahweh for granting him a way out. For making his bite a little less venomous when he decided to attack. Golden opportunity, perhaps fate even, it was that she would admit this aloud. Because now he didn't have to use the video, this was much better.

"Blaise? Your friend that came to talk? Was that the handsome darker-skinned chap with the black suit and green tie?" Georgia nodded while Draco attempted to put on a stunned expression, waiting for somebody to notice.

"What's wrong, Draco?" Andreas had stopped slugging back wine when he saw him fidgeting with his hands.

"Blaise is dating somebody."

Vivienne tactfully covered her mouth, while Georgia's demeanour dropped from coy to shameful immediately.
"He what?`

"He's dating Hermione Granger, the girl in the green dress that was with him."
Georgia scoffed disbelievingly.

"Are you kidding me?...Oh bollocks, you mean that drunk nice girl who my dad liked? Fuck," she cursed, pushing her seat out dramatically to go on the patio and smoke a fag.

"I'll handle it, don't worry," Draco said to the couple, trying to hide his amusement at Hermione being a 'drunk nice girl.'

He gently pushed his way out the glass door and went to coax his riled kitten into the palm of his hand.

"Are you alright, then? I'm guessing he didn't tell you he was taken."

"No, no he didn't," she inhaled as she stared at the city in the sunset, leg shaking on her high heels.

"Did you ask?"

"Yes!" she whined, spinning around to face him. He lit up his own cigarette. "Of course I did. God, this is horrible. Draco," and she leaned in closer. "Draco, we shagged. I was drunk and I didn't use a condom. It was so stupid, I know. You must think so ill of me. I have that Depo-Provera shot, which is nearly 100% effective as birth control, but still. He likely didn't tell her. I mean obviously...he could have had sex with her since and – oh my god."

"It's not your fault," he soothed as she put her face in her hands. "He lied to you, and you asked him straight out. The only thing you can do is fix it."

Draco never would've imagined that this crazy girl would be so remorseful, and human. Fame, he supposed, really said nothing about temperament.

"Should I let Blaise know that I know?"

"No," he shook his head. "Tell Hermione. If you give him the opportunity to man up, he won't. Trust me, there's a chance that he could persuade her to think you're lying, or jealous. Or else, try to block you from contacting her."

"But how am I supposed to get a hold of her?" she sulked, groaning at the prospect and collapsing against the railing.

"I have her phone number, her house one. I can give it you. Only, you have to promise that you won't disclose that you found this all out from me. Because she kind of hates me, and probably want to come slap me if I didn't tell her first."

"Odd request, but deal. Have to make this right at any cost. Wait, if she doesn't like you, why do you have her number? And when should I call her?"

"Because she's a lawyer, and I hired her to help me. And that's a good question."
He had been in touch with Hermione a few times, the conversation over the phone just as awkward as when she visited him. They had agreed to meet up soon so he could see a physical preview of the document, as he still was struggling with computers and pdf files, and had yet to find a date.

"Ah, I guess you don't want her to drop out from helping you? I feel horrible." He let her make her own conclusions about why he wanted to hush it up.

"That's probably the best reaction, Georgia. At least you care, right? Look, I'm supposed to meet up with her soon, so I'll call you. I'll prod her about Blaise a bit to make sure she's okay and he hasn't been a total cad, yeah?"

"Yeah, that sound alright…wow, you're really great, eh?" She flitted her half-finished smoke onto the ground, stomping it with her heel. She moved in and gently leaned her head on his shoulder, and his only natural reaction was to pat her awkwardly.

He didn't have any intention of gauging Hermione's emotions, he actually intended to text Georgia when he was with her so he could see how she reacted, so he could plan accordingly what to do. He wasn't sure if Hermione would be a sobbing mess or a crouched tiger ready to chew Blaise's face off.

They walked back inside, Draco internally reminding himself to make sure that he called Hermione tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, it was the first real day of work. A new chapter in his so-called life. Feeling unprepared, he put the negativity to rest for the time being.

The rest of the evening went fine, though Georgia was obviously gutted. Draco assured her it was alright, and hoped she would be more careful next time as she deserved better than scum like his enemy. He went home thanking his lucky stars that everything seemed to have fallen in place for him. He didn't need to use the stupid video, and everyone except for Blaise would come out unscathed, he hoped. He tried to ready himself for how he was going to keep his act up when shit went down in a few days.

Falling asleep on the couch after watching a Doctor Who rerun, his mind drifted to his conscious, and whether he had one.

Yes, he was a horrible person, but the satisfaction he was going to get was well worth it. In his mind, he was going to come out on top and everyone would get what they deserve, hell or not.
The ends justify the means.