"Malfoy," Hermione called, walking briskly down the hall, her professional look on her face as she tried not to show how awkward she felt. What did you say when you needed a favor concerning a family member who went to Azkaban for being against you for seven years while the person you're saying it to has hated you for that amount of time and tended to avoid you at work? Malfoy, on the other hand, turned and his platinum hair caught the light. He had grown much taller - as had she. But she didn't bother with heights, and strode right up to him. "I need a favor," she said.

"I'm not your assistant," Draco pointed out. Hermione, expecting him to say something like that, expected it to also be said in a harsh tone - but the tone was simply conversational.

"This isn't about work. Well, my work. And, I suppose yours, but..." Godric, what was wrong with her? She couldn't talk! "Your father's getting out of jail."

"Yes," he said, bemused. "And?"

"You know what my job is," she said.

"And you know mine."

There was a flash of the Draco she knew in his eyes now. Not the prejudiced Draco, the Draco who enjoyed seeing others struggle in an amusing - not painful - way. He'd hated seeing her tortured, it was just words he liked to see people struggle with, not pain. "No, I... I need to talk to your father and get him to completely change his mind of his preset opinions and prejudices and get him to have a complete change of heart because I've been assigned it because It's of Head equivalency and he's committed over a hundred infractions of laws passed in the last five years and -"

"Shut up, Granger." It wasn't said rudely, but more like a 'please-stop-talking-I-get-it' kind of tone. "I'll tell him you'll drop by... in three days."

"Three days?"

"Give him some time to enjoy his freedom before you question everything he believes," said Draco, and she was pleased at how serious he sounded. It meant he was taking this as a reality.

Hermione nodded. "Thank you."

"Anything else, or can I leave?"

"How are you treating Lolly?"

Draco blinked; it seemed he'd forgotten about his House Elf. "Oh, um... okay, I guess, I'm not around much. I taught her how to play chess," he added.

Hermione smirked. "Ron could beat her."

Draco seemed to bite the inside of his cheek, and nodded mutely.

"I like the respect you're showing," she told him truthfully.

"I have to," he said, seemingly before he could stop himself. "Or I'll get fired, and it's not like I'm going to get promoted or find another job."

She studied him closely for several seconds, looking at how his cheekbones had become more pronounced and his face had lost all of the childish roundness it had once had. His skin was more tan than it had been. but still very pale, and he had bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't been sleeping. He did, however, look physically healthy. But Hermione was still worried. "Are you alright?"

There! Draco that she knew came back, and he sneered. It wasn't, however, to the degree it had been; though she was still glad it was the characteristic look he'd given her throughout their school days, it wasn't as if it appeared on his face naturally. For some reason, Hermione didn't like that. "I'm fine, Granger," he said, his voice suggesting he needed no help from anyone.

"Then I'll leave you to be fine on your own." She frowned, not convinced he was - the circles under his eyes were bruise-like purple and looked etched into his skin. "Thanks for the favor. Enjoy your time with your family."

"I will," he responded right away, a glimmer of excitement and a flash of hope filling his eyes. "But don't blame me if he tries to kill you," he added, noticing he'd answered too fast and too eagerly.

Hermione, however, was touched. He really cared so much about his family he probably hadn't been able to sleep - hence the purple bags. The remark was also not very harsh - it wasn't a death threat, it was more like a joke. "I won't," she said. "Bye and thanks, Malfoy."

"Not a pr- I mean, just don't expect this makes us bosom buddies."

She laughed quietly to herself as she left the man standing in the hallway - a man who she'd always thought was only working on this floor for loss of other jobs. Apparently, though, he really was ready for the full-scale integration. He just needed a bit of a push. "I won't."

"So, how'd it go with Malfoy?"

Hermione watched as Ginny spun in front of her mirror, her swollen stomach creating a large bump in the midsection of the silvery-golden dress she'd tried on. Her skin was aglow with the glow many pregnant women acquired, and she smiled as her now-short red hair swished about her face. "It went well," she told her. "He was very cooperative, and almost respectful."

"Almost?"

"Well, in all honesty, he seemed more bemused than respectful."

Ginny frowned, but her brown eyes, so similar to Hermione's, stayed locked on her reflection on the glass. "Bemused like he thought it was funny that someone like you dared speak to him?"

Hermione laughed and Ginny smiled at her well-taken joke. "It does sound like what he'd do," she said, "back then, during the war."

"Back then? He's not the exact same belittling arrogant bastard as before?"

"He works on my floor, doesn't he?"

Ginny frowned; she'd not been joking this time, but Hermione, unusually for her, had been.

They were sitting in a gown shop, the changing rooms behind them a few years and the entire space decorated with glitter strewn carelessly over a shaggy white carpet with beige walls, hung with silver bows. She supposed it was to look soft and elegant, but the effect was rather unappetizing, and the dresses did not have the greatest designs. Ginny's, however, was very well-made and though a maternity dress, it was still stunning.

The brown eyes of Harry's bride and the soon-to-be-mother of his children were worried, but pleased; she gave the dress one last twist before turning to Hermione. Changing the subject, she asked, "Does it look good?"

Hermione said, "It looks great. Perfect for the theme."

Ginny grinned. "Just think," she said. "Neville and Luna getting married!"

They both laughed. "You and Harry beat them," Hermione said, as if it was a contest.

Ginny's grin slipped for a moment, and Hermione remembered why she ought not to have said what she just had; Harry had whisked Ginny away to wed her less than two weeks after the end of the war, deathly afraid that something else would happen to him or would come after her. But, five years into peace, they were still perfectly happy with the elopement, though Mrs. Weasley was royally miffed she hadn't been able to plan it ("A Godsend, how long do you think it'd've taken?" Ginny had commented afterward). And then Ginny's grin returned, and Hermione knew she was also considering that she had to give up a full Quidditch season while pregnant, and Hermione knew how important Ginny's position as Seeker on the now-five-year-champions of the Quidditch World Cup, the Chudley Canons. She also knew that Harry's job as an Auror was why they'd waited so long to have children - when he might disappear any day, did they want their kids going fatherless? But after a safe five years, they'd decided they could afford the risk. Ginny's thoughts seemed to have followed the exact same route as Hermione's, because she said, "We did beat them. We beat everyone. And we'll be the first to have kids."

Hermione smiled. "And you'll be great parents," she assured her friend. "The maid of honor gown is quite flattering," she added, looking at the dress that caressed Ginny's body effortlessly.

Ginny smiled back. "Now try on your bridesmaid dress," she ordered, pointing to the dress draped over the back of the chair Hermione was sitting in. Hermione took her second look at the dress and made a sort of mix between a snort and snarl. "Luna did not approve of this dress."

Ginny grinned cheekily. "No, but I did," she said, her voice perfectly chipper. "And be glad Luna didn't. I swear it'd be a giant carrot if she'd approved of it."

Hermione couldn't hold back her laugh, and reluctantly stood and gingerly placed the dress over her arm as if garbage. "Oh, come on," she said. "It's a little revealing, so what?"

Hermione threw hr a dirty look and turned her back on her friend, walking the maybe twelve feet into the dressing room. The enclosed space was sort of welcoming, and she drew the greenish curtain so she was concealed, and began to strip of her clothing. "I dislike revealing clothing," she shouted to the red-head.

"Try it on and it won't seem so revealing," Ginny laughed at her over the curtain, her voice only slightly muffled by the curtain in the way. "I'm betting if I were to rip that curtain down right now, you'd think the dress was positively Muslim -"

"Don't you dare!" Hermione squealed, clutching her shirt to her chest - and then, distracted, she asked, "Muslim?"

"You know, showing no skin but that around the eyes and hands? I think," she said, "I'm not Muslim. But the reasoning still stands that that curtain is the only barrier between your over-shown self and this room, which anyone could walk in -"

"We booked it privately, Gin!" she called, making sure to change out of her clothing quickly, hating how she felt so bare in the few moments it took her to sort out how to put the dress on. She grimaced. "Can this be called a dress?" she muttered.

"It certainly can," said Ginny, her voice closer now. "And you, my shy friend, are going to try it on."

"I'm not shy," Hermione scoffed, hesitantly slipping the dress over her shoulders.

"You are, too. Who waited almost three days to accept the invitation of a famous Quidditch player to the Yule Ball?"

"That's not shy, that's careful. And look how it turned out." Hermione looked down at her body, not pleased whatsoever.

"You broke his heart, not the other way around."

"I did it for your brother, you might be thankful," she retorted, taking a deep breath. "Are you ready?"

"Alright!" Hermione could even hear Ginny rubbing her hands with excitement. Her stomach coiled as she swept the curtain aside, and saw herself in the mirror. Go, but it was revealing. She was practically nude. The dress was of blueish-grayish fabric, which did cover her breasts and womanly areas, but it was see-through when it came to her stomach and back and waist and it showed her thighs before fading into opaqueness just before the knees. She felt as if walking around in a living spider web. She hated the feeling she was dressing like a, as they say, slut - but at the same time, it mesmerized her. She had never seen her body in a dress designed specifically for showing it off. This dress made her realize she had a figure she'd never tried to get and a balance between feminine beauty and almost feline strength. She was severely out of her comfort zone, but knowledge was kind of her thing, and she realized that the comfort zone didn't hold all the answers. If it did, they wouldn't have gone Horcrux hunting all those years ago instead of go to Hogwarts. Ginny's eyes appraised her, and while she pronounced it glorious, clearly holding back laughter, Hermione went to model in front of the mirror. She twirled as Ginny had, her own eyes raking up and down the dress. "You really like it?" asked Ginny.

"Ew, no," said Hermione, wrinkling her nose.

And then, from the fireplace on the other side of the room, the flames burned emerald green and rose high into the air, roaring, and Ron leapt out of them. His red mane was slightly unruly and getting as long as Bill's. She smiled in greeting - but when he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her, she remembered what she was wearing, and she flushed scarlet down to her collarbone. Ron's blue eyes seemed to watch with disapproval as she wrapped her arms around herself, hating how vulnerable she felt.

"Right..." he cleared his throat uncomfortably, and he tugged at his already-loose collar.

"What do you want, Ron?" asked Ginny, completely oblivious to the awkwardness in the room.

"I just... erm, Harry wanted to know when you'd be done," he said.

Ginny waved it off like an old event unimportant to her. "A few more hours. There's more dresses here and even more shops."

"Right. Erm, um..." he seemed unable to tear his gaze from Hermione's might-as-well-be-nude figure, and she couldn't stop blushing.

Ginny finally followed her brothers' gaze and then got a dimple in her right cheek from smiling lopsidedly, as she did when teasing someone. "You like it?" she asked innocently, motioning for Hermione to spin. Hermione did not, and, aggravated, Ginny stood, placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders, and pushed her toward her boyfriend, though she somewhat fought, still too embarrassed to move by herself. "There," she said finally. "I'm going to look for more dresses. You two... enjoy that one."

"Don't you dare," said Hermione, whipping her head around to glare, but her younger friend had already disappeared mischievously into the racks of fluffy skirts and tight bodices. Whipping her head back to Ron's, she followed his gaze to the topmost portion of the dress, and turned redder still.

"Um, s-so... d-do you... y'know... like it?" she stammered, cautiously unwrapping her arms from around her torso to let him get a full view.

"Why are you going around naked?" he demanded suddenly.

"I'm not!" she said defensively. "In case you haven't noticed, there is cloth around my body, especially the parts where you're staring, thank you."

"That's where the only cloth is," he retorted, eying the dress as if it was evil. "I don't like you wearing it."

"Well, it's my body?"

"And you're my girlfriend," he argued. "And so showing off people your body is a good way of repaying me for -"

"For what?" she hissed, her blood boiling.

"For taking care of you those nights two years ago!"

Hermione flinched with the recognition, but even more so when she realized he had a good reason. But still: "It's my body and it could be my dress, and it's not like I'm parading around trying to get people to take me for a ride, Ronald. I'm more mature -"

"More mature? That dress says anything but -"

"Do you really think someone immature would put this on?" she said. "Do you really think a thirteen-year-old might've donned it? I'm twenty-three now, Ronald, I can wear what I want, I don't need my mummy to dress me."

"If you're going around in things like that, you do!"

"It''s my body and my life, Ron!"

"And you're my girlfriend!"

"Exactly! I'm your girlfriend, not your property! And as your girlfriend, I'd've thought you'd have loved seeing me in this!"

Ron seemed stumped, red-faced and shouting as they were, and momentarily lost his guard - and in an instant, Hermione had shoved him back into the flames and had thrown the powder directly at his pants, hoping it soiled them. "The Burrow!" she shouted, watching as he faded when the flames died from their roar.

"I didn't say to start a war," said Ginny nonchalantly, sitting on the couch, flipping aimlessly through a magazine. Hermione clenched her fists at how casual she was. "The last thing I need is to get caught in the cross-fire."