Chapter 15: Got Milk?

I won't eat any cereal that doesn't turn the milk purple. - Bill Watterson


EXP: 16/05/04

Hermione groaned loudly at the carton of milk. She wondered if it was okay to drink milk that expired four days ago. She unscrewed the lid and made a face at the terrible sour smell.

Damn it, but she wanted cereal.

She hadn't even brushed her teeth yet and she wasn't wearing a bra, but well, she could just nip down to the corner store, keep her mouth shut to rein in the morning breath and run back up.

Slipping her flip flops on, she grabbed some change and ran down the stairs, her arms crossed over her unsupported chest. Thankfully she didn't bump into any of her neighbors on the way. She reached out to open the door and... Well, she couldn't see anything. Only whiteness.

Had she gone blind?

The noise was so incredibly loud that she was surprised she didn't hear it until now. It was the paparazzi, shouting her name and shoving their cameras in her face.

She wasn't sure if it was ten seconds or ten minutes before she managed to unfreeze and slam the door shut, the loose change tumbling out between her fingers, her back glued to the cold steel door.

What the hell was going on?


The Daily Prophet

21st May, 2004

BREAKING NEWS: HERMIONE GRANGER THE REAL MASTERMIND BEHIND MALFOY FASHION LINE

In one of the biggest plot twists the fashion world has ever seen, it has been revealed that HERMIONE GRANGER is the designer of the wildly successful fashion collection DRACO MALFOY'S company launched. There is a two-month waiting list for fashionistas wanting a slice of the thirty-piece collection...


Witch Weekly

21st May, 2004

SPECIAL MID-WEEK EDITION: OMG HERMIONE!

Can you spell D-R-A-M-A? It turns out that HERMIONE GRANGER is the designer of DRACO MALFOY'S fashion line, not his model ex-girlfriend COCO TOSCANA. How did this happen? Witch Weekly delves deep into the web of intrigue of wizarding fashion to shed some light on this dramatic development...


The Gringott Times

21st May, 2004

GRANGER: THE UNEXPECTED SARTORIAL GENIUS

According to a leaked insider source, MALFOY INTERNATIONAL CORPORATION (MIC)'s venture into fashion was the creation of HERMIONE GRANGER. The ingenious fashion line is responsible for the big leap in MIC's share price this month underpins the conglomerate's outstanding growth this quarter...


"I can't bloody believe it. I hadn't even brushed my teeth."

Ginny chuckled, holding up the Daily Prophet at eye level while Hermione busied herself with taking the bride-to-be's measurements. "I wonder who this mysterious inside source is," she mused.

Hermione didn't reply. Ginny narrowed her eyes at her silence.

"You know, don't you, Mione? Who is it?"

"I don't know," replied Hermione, tucking away the tape measure and plucking the newspaper out of Ginny's hands. "I just... It's a stupid... I mean, there's no way of..."

Ginny snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Hermione! Tell!"

The assertiveness of her voice brooked no argument. "Okay, fine, but you're not allowed to laugh at me. I think it's... Malfoy."

Ginny held it in for three seconds, before bursting into guffaws. "Malfoy? Come on, Mione!"

"I told you not to laugh!"

"I'm sorry, but... Malfoy?"

Hermione gave the redhead a pointed look, Accio-ing a book of fabric samples from the bookshelf. "Sit down, Gin. And yes, Malfoy."

Ginny sank down onto the couch and grabbed the floating book, crossing her legs. "No way. He's an arsehole, and all this-" She picked up the Prophet and waved it around. "- is actually a really sweet gesture."

With a nonchalant shrug, Hermione leaned over and flipped through the pages. "You know I believe in the good in people, Gin. Here, that's the French lace I was telling you about. Isn't it just lovely?"

Ginny snorted, completely ignoring the lace. "You believe in the good in people? Alright, drop the Ghandi act Hermione. We're talking about Draco Ferret Face Malfoy here."

"Can we please just not talk about it?"

"Did something happen that I should know about?" asked Ginny with a suspicious twist of her lips, drawing her knees up to her chest.

It was on the tip of her tongue. She hadn't told anyone... Should she? Huffing, Hermione closed the book and sighed.

"We-ll," she began hesitantly, which piqued Ginny's interest immediately. Hermione kept her eyes glued to her unpainted fingernails and murmured, "We might have... Kissed a couple of times."

Hermione winced at the ominous creaks and groan of the second-hand couch she got from Gumtree as it laboured under Ginny's hysterics. "WHAT? WHEN? WHY? WHAT? WHEN?"

"I was drunk, and then I don't know, it just... happened."

Ginny looked positively gleeful at the flush on Hermione's cheeks. "When was this, you cheeky minx? I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"A couple of months ago."

Ginny tilted her head to the side and dragged out the single worded question with a sly smile. "Aaaaand...?"

Hermione decided not to dignify the question with an answer, which only broadened Ginny's grin. "That good, eh? I've always wondered if Malfoy was a good snog."

"Ginny! You're engaged!"

"Pffft! You know what, Mione, I think he fancies you."

"NO," replied Hermione vehemently. "No, no, no, no, no." She took a deep breath and said with finality, "No."

"Merlin's balls, could say no more," muttered Ginny with an eye roll. "Well, there you go, it was most definitely Malfoy who leaked the news. You should go thank him. With a good bit of Frenching."

"Ginerva Molly -"

Flicking her red hair over her shoulder in exasperation, she sighed dramatically. "Alright fine! Go buy a Thank You card or something boring like that! Now, about that French lace..."


Hermione stared forlornly at the card in her hands. How did she ever think a Thank You card was a good idea?

It had been so much trouble as well. The WHSmith around the corner didn't have the best selection of greeting cards, so she had to settle for one with a grey kitten in a teacup, with a simple "Thank You" scribbled underneath in a most irrelevant fashion. But it really was the lesser of two evils - the only other Thank You card in stock involved a flying dwarf.

Then there was the actual trouble of writing the damned card. She spent around ten minutes debating how to address it to him. "Mr Malfoy"? (Too formal.) "Dear Draco"? (Too familiar.) "Hey boss"? (Ha!) And what exactly was she to fill the huge white expanse of the card with? A limerick or a poem? And how would she sign the card? Somehow the usual "Hermione xoxo" didn't seem quite right.

The eventual result was rather spartan, but she supposed it served its purpose.

DM,

Thank you very much for your very kind gesture.

My sincerest appreciation,

HG

She had to physically restrain herself from adding an "xoxo" after HG to somehow reconcile the terribly mismatched content of the card with the kitten in the teacup.

Straightening her back, she decided that all this dawdling was rather pointless, and reached out to knock firmly, three times.

The door swung open to reveal Draco Malfoy. Dressed only in dress pants.

It was probably the only time Hermione had ever managed to catch Malfoy off his guard. He stared at her as if he saw a ghost.

"Um, hi," said Hermione awkwardly, breaching the uncomfortable silence.

He nodded tersely. "Granger."

Before she lost her nerve, Hermione shoved the grey envelope into his hand. "I just wanted to say thanks, Malfoy."

He didn't even look down at the envelope, but arched an eyebrow and asked nonchalantly, "Whatever for?"

"I know you were the insider source."

Malfoy shrugged and deadpanned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It was a really kind gesture, and I want to offer my sincerest appreciation," said Hermione, wincing as she realised that she had just paraphrased what she wrote in the card. "I mean, if you need anything, anything at all..."

Malfoy didn't reply and let the silence linger and morph into something less than appropriate. She could swear she saw the corner of his mouth lift ever so slightly.

"No! I didn't mean that, obviously!" she snapped, rather miffed at the fact that she felt her ears turning red in self-consciousness, made worse by stumbling over her next words. "You know like if you need, um, a favour in making... dresses..."

"Draco, where did you go?"

Her eyes snapped up to the brunette who appeared in her line of vision, whose dress was practically falling off her shoulders. Well, that explained why Malfoy was missing his shirt.

Hermione quickly averted her eyes, but the woman gasped and all but pushed Malfoy out of the way, grasping her hands. "Merlin! It's Hermione Granger! So nice to meet you, I am literally in love with you!"

"Thank you so much, I'm flattered really-" she began.

"I'm on the waiting list for half of the dresses from your collection. I can't wait to finally take them home, especially that floor length one that closed the show, it's just divine-"

"Look, I'll get a dress from her for you, okay?" Malfoy cut in snappishly and nudged his overnight guest away from the doorway.

"Yes, sure, that can be arranged," replied Hermione with a smile.

With a nod, Malfoy moved to close the door. "Goodnight Granger."

"Goodnight Malfoy."


Witch Weekly

29th May, 2004

ANNE LAWSON LOOKS STUNNING IN HERMIONE GRANGER

Supermodel Anne was pictured wearing a gorgeous bespoke wrap dress designed by Hermione Granger on a dinner date with current love interest, millionaire Draco Malfoy...


Witches Wear Daily

3rd June, 2004

HERMIONE GRANGER DRESSES DIANE MCCARTHY FOR THE RACES

Actress Diane McCarthy was spotted on the arm of tycoon Draco Malfoy at the races on Sunday, looking beautiful in a beaded dress custom made by designer of the moment, Hermione Granger...


"You know, it would be cheaper if you just took Granger out for a nice dinner."

"What the fuck are you on about, Zabini?" drawled Draco with a barely suppressed eye roll, more interested in reading the Gringott Times.

The ice clinked as Blaise took a sip of his rum on the rocks. "How many of Hermione's custom made dresses have you bought for your dates these two weeks?"

"I like having my dates look presentable. I have impossibly high standards."

"And how many times did you go to Hermione's studio this week to make sure the dresses are of your impossibly high standards?"

Damnit. Draco thought he'd managed to be discrete. That damned sneaky bastard.

"I will do what I please, Zabini, I don't have to explain myself to you. Now shut up and drink your rum."

"I heard you left a client meeting early to go to Granger's. Why don't you just admit that you like her?"

"Shut up, Blaise. Seriously."

"You like her."

"No."

"You fancy Hermione Granger. I thought I'd never live to see this day."

"Keep on talking Zabini, and I'll make sure you don't."

"Draco and Hermione, sitting in a treeeeeeee- OW! Bloody hell Malfoy, my nose!"


Dear Miss Hermione Granger and Guest,

You are cordially invited to attend the wedding and reception of Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Please RSVP by 25th June.

Date: 15th July, 2004

A portkey will be delivered to you on the morning of the wedding and will be activated at ten o'clock. Guests are required to arrive and be seated by half past ten.

We look forward to seeing you on the joyous day,

Pansy and Blaise


"I can't believe your wedding is less than a month away!"

"I know, it's ridiculous how quickly it's coming," replied Pansy, who was currently standing stock still as Hermione made small alterations to the wedding dress. "There's still so much to do with the flowers, the catering and the decorating, but at least the dress is almost done!"

Hermione smiled warmly. "That it is. I just need to do a bit more work on the veil."

"So are you bringing a plus one to the wedding, Hermione?"

"I was going to bring Harry, or Ron, or Ginny, but I don't know which one you are chummiest with," teased Hermione, kneeling down to work on the seam.

Pansy chuckled. "No, darling, you have to bring a date. How about Viktor Krum? The tabloids are convinced that you're secretly dating."

Hermione snorted. "Journalistic swill. I haven't heard from Viktor for months. I suppose he got tired of waiting."

"What a shame, he's quite the eligible bachelor."

With a shrug, Hermione admitted, "We don't have the chemistry. It was exciting during the war, with the secret flirty letters and all, but take all that away and it's just not there."

"Obviously, since he has the emotional capacity of a large piece of rock."

"Draco!" Pansy shrieked at the unexpected intrusion. "That's not very nice! And no one's meant to see the dress before the wedding!"

"Looking good, Parkinson," commented Malfoy with a smile. "Not bad, Granger."

A genuine smile. Hermione felt herself smiling back. "Thanks, Malfoy. I'll be right with you, I just need to help Pansy with the dress-"

"Don't worry, I can manage. I'm sure Draco has a lot of work for you, considering how many girls he will have to try out before he picks out one for the wedding."

Malfoy scowled. "Shut up and go, Parkinson."

"I love you too, darling," replied Pansy, giving him a peck on the cheek and then Hermione's. "I'll leave the dress in your room and see myself out when I'm done."

The bedroom door closed with a thud and Hermione moved around briskly, tidying up her work desk. "Right, Malfoy, what can I do for you today?"

A brown paper bag appeared under her nose. She stared at it in confusion.

"Cookie?"

Hermione blinked. Once, then twice. Did Draco Malfoy just ask her if she wanted a cookie?

"Um, yes, sure, what cookie is it?" she replied at long last, not knowing where to look. Her eyes settled awkwardly on his tie, which was navy blue today.

"Red velvet."

"Oh I love red velvet," she said, just a tad too gushingly.

Her eyes went up a few inches and registered the half-smile on his sarcastic lips.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked abruptly, spinning around towards the kitchen. "Some tap water? Oh wait," she stopped, and looked over her shoulder with a small smile. "I forgot, you only drink Perrier."

He smiled back.


Draco leaned back in the armchair, watching Granger sketch on a levitated sketchpad, her brow scrunched up in concentration.

Blaise had not been wrong in his observations. He was wrong about the part of him liking her, of course, but not about the fact that Draco would spend a couple of hours in Granger's studio every week.

It was some kind of funny truce. They never talked about the exposé, which surprised Draco. He had expected the crone to nag for a reason for why he did it, but she had not. She'd just taken the olive branch he graciously extended without any incessant probing, wiping the slate clean. Now he was a legitimate customer of her business, and that was that. Simples.

It was raining and he had been drinking Firewhisky when he sent off that owl in the small hours of that morning. He'd watched the owl fly into the dark of the night and his drunken self had congratulated himself on doing the right thing.

The right thing. What a mind numbingly dull reason for doing anything, but there you go. Alas, most truths in life were mundane.

"So, is it true that you have a shortlist of women to choose from for the wedding?"

Draco put on a cocky smirk. "Of course. I can't be careless about this, I'm the best man."

Granger did not reply for a few moments, seemingly engrossed in some small detail on the sketchpad, before replying, "Fair enough. What designer are you wearing then?"

He shrugged. "I haven't given it much thought. Do you make suits?"

She looked up. "I learned how to in tailoring class, but I haven't made a men's suit myself."

"Would you like to make one for me?" he asked.

"I could, it might involve some trial and error though."

"That's alright."

"Why don't we start now? I'm finished with the sketch." With a flourish, she ripped off the page and handed it to him. "A floor-length gown for Bridget."

Draco nodded his thanks, quickly scanning the sketch. He had to give her credit, she delivered exactly what he asked for every time. He folded it up and tucked it into a pocket. "Seems adequate to me, but I'll show it to Bridget and see if she has anything to say about it."

She nodded, and said sternly, "Final draft by tomorrow, 3 pm. I have to start on the dress if she needs it by next Monday."

With a wave of her wand, the sketchpad and pencils stacked themselves neatly on the bookshelf on the far end of the living room, and a tape measure floated over to them on a meandering course.

"Doing things the Muggle way, huh?" remarked Draco.

Granger grabbed one end of the tape measure and uncoiled it. "Of course. Now, take your jacket off."

"Should I take off my shirt too?" he asked with a wink as he slid his jacket off his shoulders.

Oh shit. Did he just wink?

Granger shot him a cool look and said, "That won't be necessary, Mr Malfoy. Stand still now."

She moved behind him and measured his shoulders first, standing on tip toe as he was a good bit taller than her.

"Have you planned Blaise's bachelor party yet?"

"Not yet, it's been busy in the office."

"Just have one at the office."

Draco snorted. "Granger, I can't have expensive strippers loitering around the office. What would become of my company's reputation?"

Moving around him to scribble down his measurements on a small notepad on the table, she snorted right back. "As if you have a reputation to salvage."

"I resent that. And I'll have you know that I happen to separate business and pleasure quite capably, Granger."

"Yes of course. What was its name again... oh right, Marie? Are you telling me you never slept with her?" she asked loftily, popping a chunk of the red velvet cookie into her mouth and washing it down with a mouthful of milk.

"Come, Granger, don't be such a wise arse."

Her eyes crinkled in what must have been amusement as she set the mug down. "Alright, let's do your chest measurements now- what in the name of the seven hells are you doing?"

Draco sighed with exaggerated chagrin, neatly gripping her chin. "Calm down, Granger, you have a milk moustache."

He carefully ran his thumb over the bow of her lips, which was coated in milk. Up, down, up down. He wiped his thumb on his sleeve. "All done."

He smirked at the faint blush of her cheeks as she gave him a muttered thanks. This smirk, however, faltered when she wordlessly reached out and wrapped his arms around him. In his panic, he nearly asked her what in Merlin's name she was doing, when he realised that he was measuring his chest.

His eyes fell onto the top of her head. It was such a bizarre sight. He'd never seen Granger from this angle before. And he could smell her shampoo...

"Malfoy!"

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright? You look a bit out of it," she remarked, giving him a pointed look. She turned around to make a note of his measurements.

"No I'm fine-" he insisted.

Until she dropped on her knees.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

She was hovering just... There. He knew she was going to measure his trouser length, but Merlin's balls. You'd think a prude like Granger would be more aware of how suggestive the position was, but it looked like the artist was blind to such trivial awkwardness when it came to her craft.

Granger started on the outer seam. She could've just gone from point-to-point with the tape measure, starting at his hips and ending at his ankle, but no, not Granger. She had to smooth the tape measure firmly all the way down his leg with her palms before stopping at the ankle.

The hairs on the back of his neck pricked hotly and uncomfortably.

He started to panic when he thought about the inner seam.

He watched as she hummed casually, twisting back to scribble his measurements. Turning back, she pushed her hair out of her face and started reaching out for his inseam...

He stumbled back. Very quickly and inelegantly.

"I have to go Granger. I - ahem - I forgot I have a meeting."

Unfazed, Granger got on her feet with a shrug. "No problem, you can come back later, I probably don't need more than two weeks to finish your suit anyway. By the way, here are the dresses you ordered. You'll have to carry them, don't shrink them, it will mess up the beading."

Granger shoved the dresses into his hands and peered at him from underneath her bangs. "Are you quite sure you're alright, Malfoy?"

"For the hundredth time, Granger, yes I am!" he snapped, a bit too loudly.

A dark scowl clouded her face over, and she ground out through gritted teeth. "Fine. Excuse me for asking." She took a big gulp of milk and slammed the mug onto the table when she was done.

She got a milk moustache again. Draco stared at it, wanting to wipe it away like he did a few minutes ago. Instead, he squared his shoulders, spun on his heels and slammed the door shut behind him.


A/N: Hello readers! Univeristy life is officially over for me, and here I am finishing up this story. It's nearly 4am here now, but I am determined to publish this before I go to bed! I hope you enjoyed it, it got a bit cheeky towards the end, and it's about time as well. I will be working hard on the next chapter, keep your eyes peeled for an update much quicker than the previous ones :)