Chapter 13: Showtime

In an age when the fashion is to be in love with yourself, confessing to be in love with somebody else is an admission of unfaithfulness to one's beloved.Russell Baker


Hermione was dreaming.

She dreamed that her flat was inundated with people, all dressed in green. Malfoy's staff then. There were clothes racks everywhere, waterproof garment covers monogrammed with the Malfoy company logo were strewn across the marble floor. Polaroid cameras flashed as models posed in front of a plain, white backdrop- archives for the show later in the evening.

"Miss Granger, we need to start moving the clothes to Malfoy Manor. If you would like to get ready..."

She blinked at Helen, who had a mobile device fixed to one ear and a clipboard in hand, staring at her expectantly.

Oh for Merlin's sake, she was awake.

Suddenly aware of her embarrassing position, sprawled on the couch in the living room, Hermione cleared her throat and tried to assure Helen that she had it all under control. Unfortunately, sitting up that abruptly whilst hungover was a bad idea. She winced at the sudden stab of pain in her temples and only managed to croak an "okay" before she shuffled to her feet, cheeks flaming as she went on the walk of shame in her very own apartment.

As she stood under the rain shower, she became painfully aware of the fact that her mouth was dry as a crisp. How much did she had to drink last night? She remembered little other than being packed into a cab by Ginny and Harry after two bottles of wine. It was a miracle she even found her way back to her flat, really. She had a feeling that she made a detour somewhere. Did she go get any late night munchies?

She puzzled over this as she towelled her hair dry in front of the mirror behind the sink. Quickly casting a few charms to make herself look presentable, she frowned as her reflection yawned back at her.

Oh well, it didn't matter. What didmatter was that today was it. The big show. Her first solo show, and it was going to be held at Malfoy Manor, at a Mystery Party where everyone who was anyone would be attending.

Hermione grinned and did a little dance, and her reflection winked at her and gave her a thumbs up.

Oh yes, it was going to be the best day of her life. Her last runway presentation was back at Saint Martin's, at her year's graduation show, sandwiched between tens of others' works. But today was just about her clothes.

Well, it was her clothes under the Malfoy label. With the secrecy clause in place, she doubted if anyone would ever know that she was the designer behind the seams (excuse the pun). But hey, it was just a one-off job. With this collection under her belt and the pay cheque, she could easily launch her own line.

That was the whole point of her taking the job, along with Malfoy's abuses, anyway.

When Hermione came out of the bathroom, the flat was almost empty. She got herself a glass of water in the kitchen and approached Helen, who was directing the last of the staff out of the flat, clothes racks in tow.

"Miss Granger! Are you ready to go?" asked Helen.

She nodded in reply. "Yes, let me just grab my hoodie and my sewing kit. Should I just floo to Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes that would be best. The clothes are on their way, chauffeured of course, we don't want to lose them mid-apparition," smiled Helen. "I have to go to oversee the setting up of the runway now, if I don't see you later, best of luck Miss Granger."

The flat fell silent as Helen exited, and Hermione sighed. She trotted into her bedroom and frowned when the hook on the back of the door, which was usually occupied by her crimson Gryffindor hoodie, was starkly empty. Glancing at her watch, it was already half past ten, eight hours to the show. Frantically scavenging through her scant wardrobe yielded no lucky hoodie.

Biting her lip, Hermione scrunched up her face in confusion. She could swear that she had just worn the hoodie last night. She couldn't have left it in the taxi, right? It had been rather chilly last night, she wouldn't have taken it off...

Oh. For. Merlin's. Sake.

NO.

Or, in Malfoy's words- Sweet Merlin Jesus Christ Mary Mother of God- NO.


Malfoy eyed the hoodie with a sort of foolish suspicion. Like it would bite him if he touched it. After all, it did have the golden letters 'GRYFFINDOR CLASS OF 1996' sewn across the back, with a roaring lion underneath. Currently, it was growling at him menacingly.

Ah right, it must have witnessed what transpired last night on the couch.

Merlin was he pathetic.

First, Malfoys were NOT scared of cotton lions. Or paper tigers, for that matter.

Second, the couch incident was of such minuscule significance that there was no reason why he should even be thinking about it. She was drunk. Obviously the strains of being a virgin in her mid-twenties had weighed too heavily on Granger, and in desperation she had tried to sully his sacred body with her delectable hands...

The brakes in his head screeched loudly as he felt an uncharacteristic heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Delectable hands my arse, he thought darkly to himself.

A loud knock on the door shook him out of his trance, and he hastily cast an Invisibility Spell on the offending piece of clothing before stuffing it, with difficulty (how big was Granger to need a hoodie this big?), into his briefcase.

"Ready, Malfoy?" chirped Zabini when he opened the door.

"Actually, not quite," drawled Draco as he shut the door behind him. "I need you to find me the hottest date in town for tonight."

Blaise cocked an eyebrow at that. "I thought you would have had that sorted?"

"Well, I've been busy," he replied vaguely, stepping into the elevator.

He fancied he heard the lion growl indignantly.


Magnificent.

That was the only one word for what Hermione was standing before.

The Malfoy Manor's gardens reminded her of the gardens of Versailles. It stretched on for miles, and it was clearly modelled after the French palace grounds, but with a more subtle, modern twist. Fountains were made of black marble, and instead of elaborate baroque sculptures, they were simple and streamlined in shape, sensual in their fluid lines. Flowers were in full bloom in the British spring, and their sweet scent tinted the gentle breeze.

There was nothing like a dry, sunny British spring afternoon.

The runway itself was set up just behind the mansion, a more understated but no less stately facade. No trace of its corrupt and dark days was left. Hermione could hardly believe that this was the same building she had stormed and purged along with the Order a mere five years ago.

Congratulations were in order she supposed. As much of a ferret Malfoy was, he knew how to turn things around.

"Miss Granger!" a young man crashed into her line of sight, sweating like a champion. "The shoes and bags are here, we need you to pick them out now."

She smiled widely and nodded. "Okay, let's get this show on the road."


Two hours and about five double-shot coffees later, Hermione was sat on the floor, surrounded by her sewing kit, patching up the seam of a maroon pleated skirt that a model had stupidly torn apart whilst posing for a picture.

Photographers were everywhere, as were fashion journalists, TV presenters and fashion It girls who were mingling with the models and makeup artists, wrecking havoc on what had once been an organised backstage area. Funny thing was no one recognised her. The only girl of the Golden Trio was on her arse sewing a dress and no one noticed.

But there wasn't time to think about this now. The show was due to start in thirty minutes. Last-minute alterations were made left, right and centre; there was such a thick mist of hairspray that Hermione's eyes stung; and the backstage managers were herding models, being fussed over by their dressers, into order.

Hermione had snipped off the thread when her phone rang. Again. For the 47th time that day precisely, and from the same person. Viktor.

A dresser came by to whisk the skirt away for its designated model, and Hermione clambered onto her feet, not sure how she should feel about Viktor. She chewed her bottom lip with guilt as another text popped up on her screen. Maybe she should at least text him back.

Spotting Helen, Hermione grabbed her arm and told her that she would be back in five minutes, then dashed out of the suffocating confines of the backstage and into an empty corridor.


Draco was in a better mood than he had been for days.

The party was in full swing even before it had officially started. All of the investors he had set his eyes on had turned up, along with everyone who was somebody in wizarding London- actors, models, singers and painters. The paparazzi was having a field day.

They were particularly excited at the fact that Draco had on his arm the supermodel of the day- Coco Toscana.

Coco was surprisingly pleasant company. She was after all, for a lack of a better word, stunning even by Malfoy's impossible standards. She was also wearing a short and tight dress. And Draco liked short and tight dresses, especially on women with legs like hers.

In fact, he had liked it so much that he found himself abandoning important networking chitchat with potential investors to engage in some old-fashioned necking with Miss Toscana in a random corridor.

How nice it was to be snogging someone who was willing to be snogged, unlike some prude who couldn't even...

His train of thoughts was interrupted when Coco grabbed his right hand and placed it squarely on her bottom. Oh, Merlin, he thought as he grinned into her lips. Jackpot...

Or it would have been, if a startled shriek had not jolted them apart, followed by a very loud, "Malfoy, what do you thinkyou're doing?"

With half a mind to irk her even more, Draco deliberately squeezed Coco's fine arse and drawled condescendingly, "Run along Granger, I don't do free shows, especially not for virginal souls like yourself."

Flushing crimson, Granger all but barked at him, "Malfoy, this is hardly appropriate behaviour twenty minutesbefore the show starts..."

"Draco, who is she?" cooed Coco, throwing an haughty glance over her slim shoulder.

"Nobody," replied Draco smoothly. "Why don't you go get seated now, I'll be right after you darling."

After making a big show of French kissing, Coco blew him a cheeky kiss and brushed past Hermione, who looked as though she was about to throw up.

"Very classy, Malfoy," she said venomously and applauded slowly and sarcastically as Coco disappeared around a corner. "Where did you pick this one up, at Slut 'R'Us?"

Draco settled comfortably back against the wall, secretly pleased at how wound up Granger was. "There, there, Granger, no need to be possessive now. We can give you a turn now if you didn't get enough of my fine form last night..."

Her jaw dropped and she squealed indignantly. "You are disgusting, you slimy, immoral, depraved git!"

"Come now, Miss Granger, why the potty mouth?" tut-tutted Draco with a sardonic smile. "Looks like I'll need to have you promise not to talk dirty at the conference."

Granger narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What conference, you dirty libertine?"

"Dirty libertine? That's a new one," grinned Draco provocatively. "Why the PR conference, obviously, where I will parade you as the designer of the collection."

"What?"

Draco sighed as she gaped at him. "What did you think, excuse my Muggle language, the X factor is here, Granger? 'Hermione Granger, war hero of the Light, debuts fashion line with Malfoy International Corporation.' You're going to be a lightning rod for all the publicity and hype, which means ka-chingfor me."

"Hype?"

"That's right, Granger, for once you get to be allthe hype, they will be going crazy for you," said Draco cheerfully, patting her on the back. "And you won't have to share the honours with Potty or Weasel, or broadbacked Krum for that matter..."

Granger roughly brushed his hand off and spat, "I'm meant to be the hype?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, what do you think I paid you all that money for?"

He took her silence to be comprehension and made a show of checking his watch. "Fifteen minutes before the curtains open, better go and change into something decent. And get someone to do your hair please, I'm allergic to ugliness."

Then, feeling triumphant for having somewhat gotten back at her for the night before, he made to leave.

"Oh, before I forget," he stopped himself, conjured up Granger's hoodie from thin air and held it out to her. "Here's the hideous hoodie you left in my flat last night. Might want to wash it before you wear it again."

Draco should have been more alert to Granger's stormy silence. She calmly took the hoodie, then without warning, drew her arm back, and threw it straight at his face.

The last thing he saw before being tackled to the floor by the angry piece of garment was the Gryffindor lion baring his teeth.


She should have known.

"Open your mouth just a little bit hun," said the makeup artist. She obeyed and watched silently as he painted her lips a bright orangey red.

Of course that was why he hired her. The publicity. The hype. The triumph of telling the world that he had her- Hermione Granger, war hero, Golden Girl- as his subordinate.

Arrogant, spoiled pervert.

She should have known. Not once had he shown any interest in her work, from the very beginning when she made her impassioned speech about Indonesian organic cloth till the very end. He didn't go backstage to look at the finished clothes, he was too busy groping that harlot with the beautiful figure. He didn't care. He didn't take her seriously as a designer, just as a what did he say? Oh yes- a lightning rod for profitable publicity.

As hard as she was trying, she couldn't help but feel hurt.

A wave of applause and cheers reached her ears, and she gave the makeup artist a tight-lipped smile. "Show time, I suppose."

He grinned and gave her hair one last spritz of hairspray. "Show time it is."


Hermione stood nervously just behind the curtains, peeking out discreetly from the heavy velvet folds.

The show was perfect, just perfect. It was surreal to see the reaction of the crowd, and she dared say that they loved it. As the sun set behind the Manor, the models stepped out in her evening pieces. The timing was perfect, she caught Helen's eyes on the other side of the backstage area, and grinned.

Applause drew her eyes back to the stage, and she smiled as the forest green gown with the adventurous neckline received a standing ovation. The crowd picked up the Malfoy reference then.

Speaking of whom, Hermione's eyes landed on him, who was seated at the very end of the runway. He didn't even look up as the model stopped to strike a pose, too busy with his hand on his date's thigh to bother himself with the show.

She hadn't noticed how hard she was gripping her dress until Helen tapped her on her shoulder and she unclenched her fingers.

"After the models make their final lap, Mr Malfoy will join you on stage," she instructed, showing her a plan of the runway. "You will stand there and Mr Malfoy will-"

"It's okay, Helen, I know what's going to happen," Hermione interrupted with an assuring smile.


This was it. Judging from the thunderous applause, Draco could expect a very healthy revenue from his new fashion line.

He readied himself to take the stage with Granger when he caught sight of a shade of red, moving quickly along the back corridor of the Manor.

Oh, shit.

He called his manager quickly and ordered, "Helen, improvise, I have to go."

Then he ran.

"Granger!" he roared as he caught up with her in the lobby of the Manor. "What in the name of Merlin's underpants do you think you're doing?"

She turned around, the red, floor-length dress she was wearing swishing around her feet gracefully.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Malfoy?" she asked quietly, her red lips pursed into a stern line.

No anger, no hate, just a quiet question. He was in trouble.

"I don't give a shit, you come back to the stage with me. Right now," said Draco through clenched teeth.

"No," she replied, lifting her chin as if in defiance.

He glared at her. "You won't get paid, then."

She laughed, then smirked. "That's the best you got, Malfoy?"

"You can't just walk away from this Granger!" he exploded.

"Why don't you watch and see, Malfoy," she spat back, turned and surprised him with a one-fingered gesture without even looking back.

"Granger! I'm serious!" he yelled at her retreating back.

"Screw you Malfoy!"

And she disapparated with a pop.


It has been almost 4 years since I last updated, but here I am. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint after this ridiculously long wait, it's the first creative piece I've written in a very long time so I hope that it met expectations. I am in the middle of exams now, so it might take a while before I update again. Nevertheless, I have the next couple of chapters planned out, so hopefully I will be finishing this story soon. Thank you for the sparodic reviews I still get after this long hiatus, enjoy, my readers!