"I don't know why, but women in a hair salon share their deepest secrets. - Penelope Cruz

"Hermione followed Skeeter, and instantly recoiled from the glitteringly decadent interior. Every inch of wall not beset by mirrors and glowing crystal sconces was embellished with fresco's and enough gold brocade to put the muggle Versailles to shame. What was worse than even the decor, were the assortment of elegant witches lounging back on satin cushioned chairs, while charms wove through half finished hair, and every coloured creme imaginable obscured the skin of their faces. In amongst the reclining figures and frenzy of floating bottles, scissors and frankly intimidating beauty instruments Hermione could not name, wove witches bedecked in silk white robes; silently moving among the general hubbub of gossip and chatter.

The hubbub only grew as Hermione followed Rita towards a garishly gold front desk, and each set of eyes tracked her movements in the mirrors, recognising the 'brains of the golden trio', the famous British witch. As the skin of her neck prickled, the notice of the room palpable, Hermione cursed Narcissa in a silent mental litany; everything said to the white robed witch waiting at the podium was sure to catch the attention of not just Skeeter, but the eagerly listening room./p

As it transpired, Hermione's unvoiced curses were unfounded; the seated witch, middle aged but with still radiant skin akin to her profession, kept her tones low and only Skeeter heard the carefully worded exchange:

"Welcome Mademoiselle Granger. You are expected in the Gardenia suite. Unfortunately your friend has not been taken into account, mademoiselle…?"

The older salon manager trailed off, disdainful taking in Skeeter as on the french can do. Hermione's lips tugged as a smug grin threatened to break through. But rather than revelling in her luck, she steadied her breath and led her voice rise to pander to the keen audience behind her./p

"No of course, Miss Skeeter is the fashion correspondent for the Daily Prophet. And i thought I might ask her advice on some traditional engagement hairstyles; if someone could show her a selection, while i'm inside, I would be thoroughly grateful."

"Of course mademoiselle Granger" the witch now eyes Skeeter with interest and nodded demurely. "It is a pleasure mademoiselle Skeeter, if you would wait here I will have someone with you momentarily"

Coming around the podium, the tall witch gracefully swept her arm around Hermione and with an 'If you would" escorted her through a doorway to a long mirrored corridor which multiplied the hanging chandelier endlessly, and left the now erupting chatter of the outer salon behind. Once the impossible-to-precisely-age witch reached the end of the corridor, she knocked on one of three large ornately carved mahogany doors, before opening it and announcing Hermione's arrival and waving the somewhat hesitant english witch into the room. Hermione had barely taken a full step before the door was shut behind her./p

Her first thought wasn't of the elegance of the spacious suite, nor of the seemingly relaxed figure of Narcissa Malfoy, her hair slathered with a dark purple paste. For some reason, beyond her post-war habits, she found herself scanning the otherwise empty room, disappointed. She had no time to contemplate the stone that had dropped in her stomach, before Narcissa turned her chair towards her, and Hermione had to steele herself./p

"Thank you for coming, Miss Granger. I wasn't sure you would so readily acquise."Hermione gazed down at the witch who had watched her tortured, who had duelled without mercy, and who had also saved Harry's life.

"I'll admit I was curious. Given our supposed social status', it seemed unlikely to be a mere act of etiquette. What do you want, Madame Malfoy?"

"Please, call me Narcissa." Hermione remained stonily silent.

"Ah. What a chore it is to deal with Gryffindors. I had almost forgotten. How does dear Severus do it."

"With scathing wit and little patience, generally" Hermione kept her tone neutral, but Narcissa smiled all the same.

"He certainly seems to have developed uncharacteristic patience where you are concerned. Why is it that after months of voluntary excommunication, with no interest in the outside world, Severus had suddenly sought you out? As ludicrous as it seems to me, the timing is too suspect to ignore. Has Severus made you an offer of marriage?"

"What? No!"Hermione hadn't known what to expect from the Malfoy Matriarch's invitation, but it certainly hadn't been this. The older witch seemed to scrutinise Hermione's impulsive and surprised reaction against her now blushing complexion, and looked far from convinced.

"Mhm. What do you want from him? Severus had given up enough of his life getting involved with the antics of pretty muggle-born Gryffindors."

"I haven't gotten him involved in anything! He finally replied to correspondence from months ago after he read my article on Dittany in Ad Posse Esse- that was embefore/em the marriage law- and I assure you he has showed no exceptional patience with me, then or since! He's told me im an idiot and a fool for opposing this marriage law, and -"

Hermione realised she'd said too much as Narcissa's face broke into a smug grin.

"So you do mean to oppose the ministry. Sit. Please. Don't look so abashed. You Gryffindor's never disappoint."Hermione sat in a small scalloped loveseat opposite Narcissa, realising she'd been so easily baited, and still reeling with the implications of Narcissa's words. Why was Snape getting involved? Surely not for the reasons Narcissa supposed.

"I want to help Hermione. This law is a travesty. And I can only presume your hasty port-key abroad has left you with few resources and fewer connections."

"Why?"'

"Why do i presume, or what do I want to help?"

"Why do you think the law to be a travesty? I suppose you don't want family tree irreparably polluted with mudblood filth."

"Narcissa looked tiredly across at the girl, as though unsurprised by the conversation's turn. "Does it matter why, Miss Granger? When we seek the same goal?"

''Of course it matters. Why would I ever accept the help of someone who believes me to be filth?"

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"By the time Severus left the study, he had resolved that Granger didn't need his help. Even if she was foolish enough to meet with Narcissa, which he doubted, it was none of his concern. The fierce little witch had proven she could hold her own, if her dealings with Skeeter were anything to judge by. No, by the time Severus had donned his cloak and reached for the silver box of floo powder on the drawing room's elaborate mantle, he had convinced himself he wasn't seeking to aid Granger.

He had to get to Narcissa, before she revealed too much. He had failed to warm her that every word she spoke to Granger would be used against her by Rita Skeeter as soon as the young fool's memories were relinquished. As infuriating as the woman was, she had looked after him when few else had, and was as close as he now had to a friend

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Rita's pen scribbled furiously in the air behind her as she leaned on the elaborate marble fireplace and surveyed the who's who of witching society, doing her best to overhear as they gossiped vigorously in the wake of the Granger girls faux 'announcement'. It was almost with regret Skeeter was finally led from the overly-fragrant mantlepiece by the returning manageress. Still, she made sure to smile beseechingly as she followed her from the front salon to an apparently private office, where sketches and magical photographs bedecked each inch of wall. As skeeter shut the office door behind her, ensuring her floating notes had followed her into the room; the green flare of the marble fireplaces entirely escaped her notice.