Draco wasn't sure if he'd actually expected Hermione to show up when he all but commanded her to do so, but sure enough, at five minutes before the specified time, she strolled into Twilfitt's and Tatting's with her ever-present Book of Stuff. However, instead of acknowledging him in the slightest, she headed straight to the reception desk to speak quickly and animatedly with the witch minding the shop. Even the small bits of the conversation he did catch, he didn't understand, so it was no big loss. It did irk him that she had the nerve to ignore him, despite the fact that he would likely have been as useless as fur on a dragon.

Finally, Hermione deigned to clue him in. "Oh, I was just talking to Miss Stevens here about Lily's dress. Since she and Scorpius are meeting with the caterer and we're already here, Lily asked me to stand in for her fitting."

"But you're fatter than she is," Draco blurted. Once the words left his mouth, his hand slid into his pocket and gripped his wand, just in case Hermione got the notion to hex him.

However, that curse never came. Instead, she whispered, "She's going to, er, need a bigger dress when the wedding comes."

"What is she going to do — hold up Honeydukes and make herself look like a whale before the so-called most important day of her life?" Whatever had possessed him to say that, Draco had no idea, but his survival instinct wanted to slap him silly before Hermione did.

He had already steeled himself to the fist ploughing into his forearm. "Are you saying I look like a whale?" Not waiting for an answer, she hit him again, harder this time and in the exact same spot, which caused involuntary tears to spring to Draco's eyes. "Any other opinions on my figure?"

"No," Draco wheezed as he gingerly rubbed the bruising flesh on his arm. To himself, he grumbled, "Bloody madwoman."

"I heard that," Hermione said, her expression scathing. When he still didn't meet her eyes, she said, "Anyway, I'll be in the other room with Madam Tatting while you finish your business with Miss Stevens." With that, she turned on her heel and left Draco alone with the dire-looking receptionist to figure out what was going on.

"Mr Malfoy," Miss Stevens said, shaking him out of his stupor. "If I could get you to sign right here for the automatic withdrawal from your Gringotts account for your son's couture." She pushed a sheet of parchment toward him with the tiniest writing he'd ever seen and a large, blank line at the bottom for his signature. Handing him a self-inking quill, she said, "At the bottom, please."

Her furtive demeanour made Draco suspicious, which caused him to set down the quill and peruse the document more closely. Despite the miniscule text, it didn't take long for his eyes to rest on the cause. "A thousand Galleons for a set of robes! On what planet is that even… did you sew gold into the lining?"

Flushing, Miss Stevens said, "He and his young lady really took a fancy to a particular fabric. I tried to tell them it was sixty per metre, but I don't think they were, er, paying all that much attention to me."

"Sixty per metre? What in the name of Merlin could possibly cost that much?"

Pulling out her sample book, Miss Stevens flipped to the very back page. She set it on the counter and pointed to a black, shimmering fabric. "It's a Chinese silk, and every tenth thread is pure silver from a specific American mine."

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "And what's so damned special about this sort of silver?"

"In the area around the mine, there is an indigenous breed of wild unicorns, and their urine has a scintillation effect on the silver buried below. It also becomes impervious to all impurity."

Incredulity didn't begin to encompass what Draco was feeling. "Are you telling me that you're charging sixty Galleons per metre for bloody unicorn piss?" Somehow, saying it out loud caused the idea to sink in even further, and he wiped his fingers off on his trousers where he had stroked the fabric. Then he took the finance contract and tore it in half. "I'm not paying for that."

As Miss Stevens sputtered behind him, Draco stalked into the room where Hermione was closeted with Madam Tatting. "Granger, get your things. We're leaving."

Her subsequent gasp coincided with Draco's realisation that she was standing in the centre of the room, wearing a pinned-together dress that clung tightly to her hips and bosom, the latter not completely covered by the bodice. He was fairly certain he could see more of her goods than were covered, but it was no time to stare. Looking pointedly over her shoulder to keep his gaze from drifting lower, he grabbed her hand and pulled.

From his own visits to the tailor, Draco should have remembered the step stool, but his current state of mind overthrew his better judgment. It didn't take long for Hermione's body to collide with his own and send them both crashing to the floor. She landed solidly on his chest and knocked the air right out of his lungs.

Incognisant of his discomfort, Hermione narrowed her eyes and hissed, "What are you doing? What if the dress ripped!"

"I don't care," he gasped as loudly as he could. "We're going elsewhere." Still unable to draw a full breath, he pushed her back so he could inhale, but the bulk of the dress's train put uncomfortable pressure on a rather sensitive spot in his lap. "Get off!" he squeaked.

His face scrunched in pain must have told Hermione what ailed him; she scrambled off of her ludicrous perch and regained her feet. Bending down, she offered her hand to help him up, as well. Draco decided that she had filled her quota of inflicting physical injury on him and accepted. Once he was standing again, he dusted off the tiny particles of thread that had clung to him whilst on the floor and reiterated, "Now, we're leaving."

Madam Tatting, who had not said a word through the entire exchange, spoke up. "I beg your pardon, Mr Malfoy! We've worked extensively to get the materials for both your son's and your future daughter-in-law's wedding garments. It's hardly appropriate to change your mind now."

"You're talking about appropriate?" Draco sneered. "You're lecturing me on appropriate when that bloody vulture out there —" he angrily gestured toward the lobby, where Miss Stevens likely was, "— to bully a couple of kids into buying unicorn piss fabric for sixty sodding Galleons per yard. I'm not paying a hundred for that damned thing, let alone a thousand, so yes, we're leaving." Without bothering to see if Hermione was following, Draco swished his cloak as imperiously as he could and walked out.

From behind him, he could hear hurried footsteps, which he imagined was Madam Tatting, desperate not to lose one of her oldest and most lucrative accounts. Spinning around, he was surprised to see Hermione, whom he had assumed would've been busy removing the dress she was still wearing. "Shouldn't you be putting your own clothes back on, Granger?"

"Draco, you can't do that! Scorpius and Lily signed a promise of payment contract, so if nobody pays for the order, then both of them could end up in debtor's court."

If Draco had had any delusions that he'd raised his son to be a shrewd man of finance, they were summarily slain right there. With Lily, he could just blame Potter and his terrible parenting, but he'd thought Scorpius wasn't an idiot — especially a thousand-Galleon idiot. But if what Hermione said was true, and he didn't get the vibe that she was lying, then he was indeed stuck with the bill.

With a grunt of annoyance, he started back into the building and cornered Miss Stevens. "If I ever set foot in this place after today, it will be to tell you I'll never do so again. Consider that next time you try to con kids into spending a thousand Galleons on something they'll only wear once." He picked up the remnants of the contract she'd presented earlier, as well as the discarded quill, and scribbled his name at the bottom. He folded it in half and flung it in the direction of Miss Stevens before leaving again.

Outside, Hermione was pacing, despite garnering quite a bit of attention due to her attire, and when she spotted him, she descended upon him in fine Granger fashion. "You can't just leave! Lily's going to get into trouble, and your son's credit will be murdered!"

"Calm down, woman!" Draco said, the sound of her harping drilling into his skull. "I paid for it. I couldn't really afford it, but I paid for it." He rubbed his temples. "How am I supposed to tell Astoria?" That thought alone launched his headache into a full blown cranial eruption. He was going to be a dead man.

Hermione smiled tightly and hesitantly patted his shoulder. "I'll be right back. Just sit tight."

Before he could make a snide comment about the fact that he was standing, Hermione had already disappeared back into the dress shop. True to her word, she was back in less than five minutes, wearing her own clothing and toting both her purse and the Book of Stuff. Tugging on his arm, she said, "Come on, we'll get some coffee and focus on something else."

Draco found himself transplanted to the Leaky Cauldron before he knew it. They were seated in a private room near the kitchens, but as soon as the door closed, it was completely silent. Looking around in surprise, he said, "I didn't know this room existed, and I've been coming to the Cauldron for decades."

"This was used by the Order during the first war and then by Dumbledore's Army for meetings. Hannah was kind enough to lend it to me, but she was not enthused when I told her I'd be here with you."

"Can't imagine why," Draco said wryly. "Her and Fatbottom never did take a shine to me."

Her expression could have easily made a lesser man wither in fear. "Neville actually put in a good word for you, since Scorpius was one of his favourite students. At least one of you grew up."

"Oh, he grew all right," Draco said before an elbow planted itself in his side. Rubbing the site of what would likely be his second bruise inflicted by Hermione that day, he grumbled, "Okay, I'm sorry. Just stop hitting me."

As hostilities seemed to have ceased, both sat at the large table. Hermione sat at the head, and Draco at her immediate right, with the book open between them. She had turned to a page containing appointment dates, one of which was for a half hour from then, but it was scheduled for their present location. He was confused until he saw the parenthetical note beside the time and place: wine tasting.

"I thought the caterers provided the wine?" he asked, trying futilely to recall details from his own wedding, to which he had never paid close attention.

Nodding, Hermione said, "They do, but they have a contract with Hannah and Neville as their distributers. We're here to pick what they'll distribute."

Annoyed that yet another large sum of his money was going to someone he didn't particularly like, Draco said, "Fine. But what is there to choose? Just buy a dozen casks of standard champagne for the guests and a case of something nice for the dais."

The idea seemed to shock Hermione. "You can't do that, it's rude!"

Not if they don't know about it. "Well, I'm not drinking shite, but I'm not paying a fortune for everyone else to drink the best, so I'm not sure what else you want from me."

"Harry's paying for the catering," Hermione said after a dismissive scoff. "Now, if you're done acting like a child, can we please get on with this?"

A mere minute later, a tray arrived with twelve tiny wine glasses, which were grouped into twos. On the tray beneath the glasses, there were numbers, along with boxes for them to tick either 'Yes', 'No', or 'Maybe'. After setting that down, Hannah came back in with two tumblers and a large pitcher of water. Draco felt a strong urge to mock the entire scene, but with the memory of the fresh bruise percolating on his arm, he declined.

Starting on Number One, Hermione set a glass in front of Draco, as well as one in front of herself. He watched in amusement as she first inhaled the scent before taking the slightest of sips. Her face scrunched up, the way she had done in school when she was thinking of an answer. However, in watching her reaction, he neglected to take a drink of his own. Realising this, he eyed the miniature goblet and downed the contents.

Draco could feel her staring at him, waiting for his analysis, but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Luckily for him, she couldn't keep quiet for more than a minute. "I like the bouquet. It's very dry, but it has a markedly fruity flavour."

"Tastes like mouldy bread," Draco said, his nose curling at the horrid aftertaste that had populated his taste buds. Pouring himself some water, he took a great gulp and swished it around in his mouth to erase the remnants of the wine. "Definitely not."

Casting him a sidelong glance, Hermione tapped her wand on the 'No' box and then doled out the next selection. Again, she sniffed the wine and then slowly drank. "This is a lot sweeter, but the flavour is not very rich."

This time, Draco took her cue and only drank a little. Whatever this one was, it didn't have that rank, yeasty taste that the first one did, at least not nearly as much. "It doesn't make me want to vomit. I'll say maybe."

Nodding, Hermione ticked 'Maybe' beside number two and served the next round. Getting the hang of the process, Draco didn't wait for Hermione's unintelligible analysis before taking a sip. The assault on his taste buds was swift and potent, and it didn't take long until he sent the foul liquid back into its vessel. "Tastes like troll sweat."

"I'm inclined to agree," Hermione said as she quickly drank water, just as Draco had the first time. "Next."

The fourth wine was a rather odd combination. It smelled terrible, but it was very smooth, like well-aged Firewhiskey. Draco nodded to himself in approval. "I like this one," he said. "Smells like a goblin's backside, but it doesn't have that taste of something gone bad."

"Really?" Hermione asked. "I thought it was rather weak, even a bit bland."

"Well, considering I hate wine, I'm reasonably satisfied with it." And Draco was being completely honest. He had always disliked wine, even though appreciation of it had always been one of his mother's greatest joys.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Shrugging, Draco said, "Not my wedding." He finished the rest of his glass and momentarily toyed with the idea of drinking Hermione's, too. Thinking better of it, he took the initiative and served up the next batch, which he didn't care for. The last round was another 'Maybe'.

Tallying up their judgments, there were two 'Maybe' and one 'Yes', and Hermione briefly left the room. When she returned, she had two normal sized goblets and three bottles, which Draco presumed held each of their selected wines. This time, he could see which ones were which, even if he had no idea what any of it meant. He picked up one and sounded it out. "Zinfa… zinfandel. Sounds dangerous."

"That was the one you liked. I didn't really like it, but your opinion counts, too."

The gesture was unexpected. Clearly, she knew far more about wine than he did, so letting him have any say in the final decision whatsoever was a surprise to him. He gave her a slight smile of appreciation, which probably never would've come to pass without the influence of alcohol, however slight. She returned the gesture as she poured two more glasses, starting with Draco's favoured zinfandel.

Taking a long draught from his cup, Draco enjoyed the warm tingle that settled in his belly. He thought he could get used to drinking this particular wine, even if the rest of it could go to hell. He still preferred liquor, but in a pinch, this would do. "This is all right," he mused aloud.

Hermione giggled, which caught his attention immediately. He'd never associated her with that sound. "Just so you know," she said, "that's the cheap one. The one you wanted to serve to the guests."

"I have good taste," he said as he poured himself a fresh glass of the same. "And if you want everyone to have the same, I wouldn't mind this at all." He drained half the glass and smacked his lips in appreciation. "I could get used to this."

Hermione doled out a fresh glass and raised it slightly. "I still like this one, but I could do the zinfandel if you're really that attached to it."

He clanked his glass against hers, and they both drank. And drank some more. It didn't take long before all three bottles were empty, and Draco was finding it difficult to discern between them. All he knew was that he had one hell of a buzz going on and he didn't want it to stop. More shocking, though, was that Hermione was far more fun whilst drinking.

When their conversation drifted to the incident at the dress shop, Draco had finally drunk enough to brave asking, "Why did Lily have you do her fitting? Don't tell me it's because you're the same size." He used his hands to mime having breasts. "You're a bit larger in that area."

Blushing furiously, likely a mixture of wine and embarrassment, Hermione said, "Oh, that's because Lily's pregnant." Her hand flew over her mouth. "I wasn't supposed to say anything!"

In his slightly inebriated state, Draco didn't fully comprehend what she'd said. Instead, he replied, "But don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. They're very nice."

Taking a very long drink, Hermione said, "Oh! Thank you… I think."

"Do you always do that?" he asked, not even sure if he could describe what 'it' was.

"Do what?"

"You're kind of cute when you blush."

Whether it was madness, drunkenness, or Stupidity Serum brewed into the wine, he had no idea, but he closed the short distance between their mouths.