Hermione stood on a pedestal in a dressing room, leering at her own reflection in the mirror. She wore a gorgeous red dress that Harry'd picked out, forbidding her from looking at the price tag. They'd left the hotel to talk in private - his words, not Hermione's - and he'd led her down a couple side streets and onto the main drag of the little town. He took her arm, and Hermione's cheeks flushed scarlet. People were staring. Who was this bushy haired vixen walking arm and arm with the illustrious Harry Potter?

Hermione watched as cell phones were pulled out and photos were taken, and she wondered how she would explain all of this to Mr. Malfoy, but of course Harry had the answer to that. As they walked, he pulled his phone from his pocket and smiled at me. His fingers grooved elegantly across the keypad, and then he pulled he phone to his ear. A moment of silence, and then; "Draco Malfoy, old chap!" There was laughter from the other end of the line and polite chatter. Hermione watched the photographers with a muted frown. She didn't even like Harry Potter. She could only imagine the rag mag headlines, and it made her want to scream. "Yes, well, that's actually why I called, Malfoy. I ran into your little publishing agent in London, and I simply have to have a night with her. Old fling, you see." His haughty smile twisted Hermione's stomach. What was he doing? What was he saying? She'd worked hard to get where she was, and suddenly he was throwing it all out the window on a whim.

Hermione reared back to protest, but Harry lifted a single hand to quell her. "Fantastic, Draco! Next time I'm in your neck of woods, I'll give you a ring." He hung up the call and grinned at her. "Problem solved, Hermione. You have plenty of time."

Hermione's mouth hung agape, and she shook her head. "At what cost?" She questioned, yanking her arm from Harry's. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to him. "I don't know about you, Potter, but I've not built my career on the premise of sleeping with whatever prick walks up and waves a few fingers. Now you've convinced my boss that I'm just another one of your little bimbos."

Harry smirked. "You don't like me very much, do you, Hermione?" He took a step toward her, and she closed her eyes. Damn that Harry Potter, thinking he owns everything and everyone. "Well, think about it this way," he began, a grin on my face. "You're about to publish Ginny Weasley's in depth exposay about my...talents." He grinned. "If you were to have a torrid love affair with me, that would boost sales, would it not?"

Hermione groaned, and she wrapped her arms across her chest. She didn't want to agree with him, so she argued. "There's no love lost here," I said.

He laughed. "Okay, then a torrid hate affair." His grin was wicked, and he took another step toward her. His hands grazed her hip, and his lips balanced on her ear. "Hate sex is even better," he whispered, and he plastered a single open mouthed kiss to her neck. She glared into the distance even as his thumbs rubbed along her hip. "Smile for the cameras, Granger. We're going dress shopping."

Hermione didn't smile, though. Instead, she peeled herself from his embrace. "I don't want to go anywhere with you, Potter." It was true. She couldn't stand being there with him on this street like one of his common whores. "I wish you would just leave me alone."

Harry chuckled. "Well, gorgeous, I can't do that, so let's make the best of this."

That is how Hermione ended up in the red dress. She scowled down at the fabric, and she clutched the silk between her fingers. It was beautiful, and Hermione imagined it cost a fortune, but Harry was buying, so she decided not to argue with it. "Fits nice," she called to Harry through the door, and he laughed.

"Well, come on out and lemme see it," he said, and despite herself she stepped around the corner. Harry sat in a chair with his legs crossed, smirking in her general direction. He stood, pivoting around her. "Well, look at you. There's a hot bod under those boxy office clothes you wear," he said.

Hermione recoiled from that, but she shook her head. "Of course I do, Potter," she said. She reached up and unleashed her hair, tossing it slowly, so that it tumbled down her shoulders. "How about it, then?" She paused, smirking at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm sure my boyfriend will like it."

Harry quirked an eyebrow toward her, taking one of her hands and spinning her around in a twisted dance. "Why didn't you tell me, then, Hermione?" He questioned, and Hermione shrugged a shoulder.

"No need to," she answered, dropping his hand and side stepping into the dressing room once again. She locked the door, and she leaned against it with a shake of her head. "No need to," she whispered, thinking of Neville in his suit and tie. He'd be going home from work about now and tossing the tie aside. Probably warming a TV dinner and watching a documentary about a castle or something equally as boring. Hermione glanced at her watch, and she pulled her phone from her pocket, hitting speed dial number one.

Two rings later, Hermione heard pots and pans rattling and the sandpaper on gravel voice of her Neville. "Hermione, hi."

Hermione smiled at the sound of his voice. "You're cooking? That isn't like you," she said, because it was true. Hermione typically did the cooking in the relationship.

Neville laughed, but there was a pause. "Well, my cook isn't here," he teased.

Hermione smirked and flexed for the mirror. "You won't ever be able to guess what I'm wearing."

Neville paused again. "Nothing?" He asked. "You're stark naked in your hotel room pining for me?"

Hermione laughed. "Close enough. I am wearing a dress that I'm pretty sure costs more than two months rent of my apartment. It clings to everything," she said.

Neville practically choked. "I have some questions then," he said.

Hermione laughed. "Well, go on then," she agreed.

She could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Why haven't you sent me a picture, where are you going, and who with?"

She shrugged. "I thought I would rather call and torment you a little bit," she said, raking her fingers through her hair once more. "As for where I'm going, well, I'm not going anywhere. Harry Potter is buying it for me," she said before pausing. "It's a rather long story, and it's been a strange day."

He paused. "You're with Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? The one that was so terrible to you in high school?" More rattling, and he groaned. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but can we talk about this later? There's a pot boiling over," he said.

Hermione sighed, nodding. "Okay, but I'm taking it off now. Definitely pining," she managed.

He seemed unbothered. "Alright, 'Mione. I'll talk to you later." With that, he hung up, and Hermione turned to the mirror. She watched the fabric shimmer. She sighed, maneuvering her hand to reach the zipper, but failing to reach the golden trail. "Harry, do you mind?" She called through the wall, beckoning him to join her.

Hermione could hear the smug grin before she could see it, but when he emerged in the mirror he wore a victorious grin. "A little stuck, are you?" He inquired, but he was right behind her now. His strong hands framed her back, and Hermione resisted the urge to remind the all too handsome semi stranger where the zipper actually was. His hands crept up the small of her back and tugged once at the zipper. "There we go," he said, but his hands told another story. They dragged the fabric across Hermione's shoulders, and she shivered and jerked away.

"I've got it from here, thanks," she said. She pulled the skimpy fabric more firmly on her shoulders, waiting for him to leave, but he didn't move. "Harry, would you like to move this along a smidge? Don't we have a few other stops to make?"

He laughed once. "Don't change the subject, 'Mione," he argued, placing a hand on the small of her back. She took a single deep breath as he followed the slow slope of her back. "Why didn't you mention this boyfriend of yours in the first place? Why'd you wait until now to bring the bloke up?"

Hermione shrugged, a shiver ripping through her spine. "I didn't see any need to until now. He hadn't come up," she amended. She took a step away from him, and then she turned to face him. "What does it matter?"

Harry grinned. "I think you're attracted to me," he answered. He took a step closer to her, and she took a step back - a vicious dance. "You're attracted to me, so you're creating this sexy boyfriend to distract yourselves from the sexier man in front of you." He stepped closer again, and Hermione stepped back again only to run into the back wall of the dressing room."Am I right, Miss Granger?"

"Neville is real," she said. "My boyfriend is real, Potter." She said, jerking her phone from where she'd stuck it into the lining of her bra and opened it to show him a picture of herself and Neville canoodling. "That is Neville - my Neville. I'm not making him up," she hedged under her breath.

Harry's smirk grew slowly. "You didn't argue with me," he said, and Hermione shook head. Why was everything so hard? Why wouldn't he leave her alone? She knew he was only toying with her. He didn't actually want her, so this is stupid.

Hermione shook her head. "Get out, Harry," she said, and to her surprise he did. He held up his hands like a white flag and stepped back into the lobby. Hermione pushed the dress from her shoulders, allowing it to drop with a soft thump on the carpeted floor, and then she padded barefoot to wear she'd hung her dress up on the back wall. "The nerve of that man," she muttered. "What does he think - just because he is famous he can watch me undress? Just because he was born into a family with prestige that Hermione would fall to my knees and present myself to him to have his way with me?" She muttered under her breath as she pulled her sundress back into place.

"What're you saying in there, Granger?" He asked, and Hermione sneered in reply.

"Don't listen to me either," she replied, replacing the red dress on it's hanger and then hanging it over one of her arms. She waited another moment before moving, and then she stepped into the lobby with her arms across her chest. She shoved the red dress onto the wrack and looked at him. "Alright, now I need to go to a drug store. Do you think you can handle that, or would you like to let me go completely?"

Harry shook his head. "No thanks," he said. "We still have to talk about how we're fixing Ronald's little situation." He led her out of the little boutique without argument and pointed down another side street with a grin. "There's a drug store right down this street."

Hermione turned down the street, and she looked at the ground. "What do you want from me, Potter? Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me straight away and skip all of this middle part?"

Harry laughed. "I thought we could have a little fun first, Hermione," he said, and she sighed, sensing the innuendo from a mile away. "But if you want to skip straight to the end here then fine. I want you to take care of Ron."

Hermione frowned, eyebrows pinching together with a calculated frown. "Take care of him? What do you mean by that?" She could only imagine a murder suicide pact forming without her even realizing it.

"I want you to take care of him," he said with a grin. He watched my expression blossom into panic, and then he chuckled. "I want you take Ron back home with you and hide him. Just keep him undercover while I clean up the real mess."

Hermione turned to look at him and sighed. "Are you serious? Really? You want me to take a murderer who spent an entire month tormenting me in high school into my home for God knows how long? No, Harry. That is not happening," she said.

Harry turned to look at her with a glare. "Well, then, you'll lose the book."

Hermione thought about Mr. Malfoy and the promotion she was sure to get if she got this account. She closed her eyes, remembering the snide comments of that fifteen year old boy from a huge family. She imagined the cover of Ginny's book - a saucy accent with a wide spine - and the wild popularity it would possess. "Okay. Fine. I'll do it."