3. The dress

Pansy had seen more of Hermione Granger in the past month than in the five years before – and that included those regular Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly features about the Golden Girl's latest exploits. The woman had taken to the organisation of the society wedding of the century with an energy that made Pansy feel exhausted just watching from the sidelines. She had ambushed – ambushed – Pansy when she was leaving the Daily Prophet offices after turning in her fashion and investment articles, manhandling her into a nearby café and dragging a massive binder from the depths of that tattered little beaded bag she seemed to take everywhere, overflowing with lists, planning charts and so many stacks of colour-coded notes that it made Pansy's head spin.

The woman hadn't been kidding about spending lots of time together and getting to know each other, either. She now knew exactly how Hermione Granger liked her steak, that she preferred salmon over shrimp and felt guilty about eating chips, though she never could resist them. She knew the woman would twirl pencils in her hair when she was thinking about something until they got stuck, and chewed on her bottom lip when she tried not to laugh. She could see from the set of her shoulders when work had been stressful and when it was calm, and she could never, ever get used to how physical Hermione was with her friends. Little touches, a hug and kiss on the cheek to greet her, a hand on her arm or knees bumping when she wanted Pansy's attention, or even leaning on Pansy's shoulder in helpless laughter at her biting comments on the people around them. It made Pansy's hair rise and goosebumps erupt all over her body.

Lunch dates, Saturday dinners, and after-work get-togethers were filled with the most inane discussions about colour schemes and the kind of parchment on which to send out the invitation and it was all Pansy could do not to tear her hair out in frustration. Who even cared if the parchment was pearl or alabaster or cream or eggshell? Who would notice if the ink was midnight black or obsidian, or even fucking magenta?

It took Pansy a while to realise that all these ridiculous discussions really were symptomatic of only one thing: Hermione Granger was afraid to fail. Through her marriage she was suddenly entering the highest echelons of a society she did not fully understand, with rules and expectations she knew nothing about, and she did not want to fail. And what was more, she thought Pansy was going to save her. So Pansy let herself be dragged into cafés, met up with Hermione and pretended to be interested in the details of a wedding she had promised herself would never take place anyway.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't just Hermione anymore. The first lunch with Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley had been as near a disaster as it could have been without Hermione noticing. Constant biting and not even half-disguised digs from the Weaselette had made the tension rise to boiling point, and if Luna hadn't made the irritating red-head back down for Hermione's sake, Pansy was quite sure she would have lost her temper after all.

The result of it all, however, was that Pansy now had the honour of throwing Hermione a Betrothal Ball to properly introduce her to Society, and she couldn't wait to see Hermione squirm uncomfortably among people who would notice every faux-pas and quietly - or not - condemn her for it. The Weaselette had promised help, but Pansy wasn't planning to take her opinions in account.

The ball itself wasn't that much of a chore; after all, Pansy had spent years of her childhood watching and helping her mother organise many social events in a constant competition with the Malfoys that had spurred on both women to throw the most lavish and extravagant of parties at a moment's notice, only to be outdone the next time. She could organise a ball in her sleep. And it was an excellent opportunity to take Hermione shopping for the most unflattering robes ever to be worn by a Malfoy bride-to-be, especially since the other bridesmaids had begged out of the shopping spree. It wasn't like they needed the opinion of someone who wore strawberries and radishes in her ears. And Ginny Weasley had the elegance and taste of a drunk Hippogriff. No, Pansy was much better off trying to find a dress for Hermione by herself, without those two interfering witches.

"Why don't you try this one? I'm sure this chartreuse will make the highlights in your hair come out beautifully," Pansy said as she handed yet another dress to Hermione through the curtain of her cubicle. It had the most atrocious lime-coloured lace borders she had ever seen and she couldn't wait to see Hermione in it. The pureblood society matrons would be horrified.

Hermione stepped out from behind the curtain, tugging uncertainly at the dress and looking at Pansy with pleading eyes. "How is this one?"

Pansy felt her mouth go dry. The dress hugged Hermione in all the right places, hinting at her hip curves just enough to be tantalizing, and that godawful colour actually worked on her dark skin, bringing out the golden flecks in her eyes and… Pansy shook her head violently to remove those thoughts from her mind and conjured a hesitating smile.

"The colour really does suit," she admitted, though grudgingly. "But maybe we should find you something a little more… loose?" Her eyes lingered on Hermione's bosom and hips, and Hermione self-consciously wrapped her arms around herself. Pansy found herself patting Hermione's shoulder comfortingly. "Have no fear, Gra… Hermione. I'll find you something suitable."

She dashed out into the shop again and headed straight for the rack with earthy colours. She found a dress in shades of cinnamon and puce that would entirely drown the blushing bride-to-be's lustrous skin - did she really just think that woman had a lustrous skin? - but as she turned around to go back she saw a shop assistant walk away from Hermione's cubicle. She frowned, instantly suspicious.

Moments later, Hermione pushed aside the curtain and stepped out, dressed in a beautiful peach ball gown with silver embellishments on the shoulders and bodice that seemed to be moving like a constant flow of water and light, and Pansy froze. Hermione looked absolutely gorgeous. She smiled at Pansy, her brown eyes alight with pleasure, as her hands stroked the delicate fabric of the ethereal skirt, made of many layers of the finest silk.

"This is the one, I think," Hermione said as she gazed at herself in the mirror with a look of surprise, as if she herself could not believe how beautiful she was.

Pansy could only stare, the cinnamon atrocity in her hands dropping to the floor, forgotten. The dress was perfect, accentuating the beautiful line of Hermione's shoulders and bringing out the warmer undertones in her skin, and...

And Pansy just couldn't bring herself to make a scathing remark. The words dried on her tongue and her eyes refused to look away from the divine picture in front of her.

She had to fight away tears while Hermione changed and cursed that damned meddling shop assistant who had found the perfect dress to make Draco Malfoy fall even more in love with that bloody woman.

But as she wiped away the one tear of frustration that did escape, she reminded herself that there was always the ball…

AN: Special thanks to Chiseplushie for betaing! Hope you all enjoy reading.