"You can never be overdressed or overeducated." ― Oscar Wilde

"At its best fashion is a game. But for women it's a compulsory game… And so for a woman every outfit is a hopeful spell, cast to influence the outcome of the day. An act of trying to predict your fate, like looking at your horoscope … Because when a woman says I have nothing to wear, what she really means is there is nothing here for who I am supposed to be today." ― Caitlin Moran, How to Be a Woman

Many mistakes are like matches, in themselves insignificant, but the cause of series of events that lead to disasters and catastrophes. ~"Edlets," The Spatula: An Illustrated Magazine for Pharmacists, 1919

00000000000000000000000

It was a quarter to two when Minerva came to fetch them.

'"Luna, I still don't see what was wrong with the robes I had on." Hermione griped, as the humming witch before her finished unravelling the last of the elaborate braids.

"You looked like you were wearing borrowed robes," Luna explained patiently, waving her wand through the newly released locks of hair, eyes not on the uncomfortable face of Hermione, but on the flowing, waist-length curls that formed perfect ringlets down her back.

"I'm still technically wearing borrowed robes." Hermione huffed, looking in the glass bookcase in the librarians' office which was serving as a makeshift mirror, as she eyed the outfit critically.

"Yes but now you look-"

"Powerful" Minerva entered the office and took in Hermione with a fiercely proud smile.

Hermione tried to see what they could, but robes were robes to her. She would never have chosen anything like this for herself. They did rather emphasise her waist, even if she had restored some of the weight she had lost during their year on the run. It was something to do with the way the two rows of gold buttons stopped just below her sternum, or the way the otherwise tailored shantung suit jacket continued to flare out past her hips, the cream silk embroidered into a wavy texture with tiny pearl beads that shone as the length trailed to the floor, revealing the flowing wide legged pants which were unusual among witches, and had a decidedly muggle effect on the overall outfit, along with the fitted sleeves. Beneath the suitlike robes, the thin veneer of a gold lace top clung to her collarbones, the high neckline doing nothing to relieve the anxious feeling that if she so much as slouched in the meeting, the Board of Governors might get quite the wrong impression.

"Powerful yes, and with enough bridal details to remind people what the Ministry wants you to be. The train, the cream, the lace and silk all give the impression, but the cut, well, instead, you're busy being a powerful public figure." Luna finished. She looked at Hermione's hair, which hung unadorned down her back, and tilted her head to the side.

Hermione ran her fingers through it. She wasn't sure what the witch at the Enchantress Salon had done, she'd been preoccupied at the time, but it was no small wonder the place was so exclusive, and no doubt expensive. Normally, with the pent up tension she was still exuding, it would have frizzed into a halo around her head, all but sparking with unspent anger and impatience. But her hair gave no outward sign of her discomfort and Luna looked satisfied.

"Leave it down I think. Brings more attention to the fact it's no longer in the engagement braid." Luna nodded happily to herself and Hermione turned to where Minerva still stood.

"I'm ready"

And she was. Kingsley said farewell, and Luna hugged her as she followed the wizard through the floo, but their goodbye did not break her composure. The walk from the library, through the corridors and down the moving staircase threw out none of the eerie spectres from earlier, probably because her focus was on more recent memories.

I want you to breathe for me. Breath in for four counts. Hold for four counts. Out for four counts. Again.

The same thoughts had centred her as Ron stalked past, his face full of disgust. Centred her, not in calm, but in the depths of her rage, corralling it into a tense tight knot that sat below her sternum.

Dennis fell into step beside her, as Minerva led them into the entrance hall. Hermione barely paid him a glance, staring straight ahead at the twelve wizards who spilled through the slowly opening double doors. At the last moment, she made sure a smile fixed itself to her face.

"Gentlemen, welcome." Minerva called across the hall, arms outstretched as she walked towards them. "We will meet in the Great Hall today, I've invited two more for our party, and there's simply not enough space in my office."

That was all the explanation Minerva gave for their presence, but the board of governors were exactly the sort of men to keep abreast of the daily prophet, and it was last night's radio broadcast that had hastened them to call this meeting. Each and every one of them took in her elaborate robes, before turning to Dennis, some nodding gravely, other's with quickly disguised interest. Hermione noticed two men who looked more warmly at her, and another few who shared a meaningful glance while eying Dennis suspiciously. As Minerva shook the last few hands and guided the party into the Hall, Hermione let the memory of Severus' voice guide her breaths once more.

It wasn't until she was seated at the High table, beside Minerva, with Dennis to her left, that Hermione realised. The usual plates and cutlery had been cleared, the floating candles reflecting off the empty surface, and fourteen places arranged on both sides of the table were slowly filled while small talk drifted around her, leaving one empty. Her fists clenched and she tried to meet Minerva's eye. The older witches' lips thinned, and knew she was not entirely paranoid. A moment later, a wizard in his sixties or thereabouts, dark grey beard and ruddy face entered the hall, full of half muttered apologies about holding everybody up, distracted by portraits like a damned fool. Hermione made sure her smile didn't falter, as the blood thrummed in her ears and her eyes settled on the small double M motif embroidered on the lapels of his robes. He'd been apart from the group for what, a minute? A minute was all it took, to cast and dispatch a Patronus.

This had been a mistake

000000000000000000000

It had been a mistake.

Apparating to the Peaks, standing on the same rocky stretch of cliff beneath the harsh noon sun, where in the morning light he'd had Hermione pressed against him, if only for a moment. That wasn't the mistake. It was stopping, for a moment longer than he needed to, as the recollection hit him. It gave him time to look down at the plant he was still clutching to his chest.

The plant that had, ostensibly, been the reason he'd escorted her to Hogwarts. The reason he'd put himself in the situation to be judged and found left wanting. Moreover, it was just one of the two he'd had sent from the Greenhouses. The thought of the other, still sitting, he was sure, on the bench of his lab, in the hovel he'd been hiding in for the last year, had made him pause for another moment.

That was the mistake.

The moment of hesitation, of complete surrender to every passing thought and whim. The lack of control over his mind, and emotions. The thought of returning home, and seeing that plant, of being reminded that he needn't have faced Minerva or Kingsley, that he needn't have gone to Hogwarts at all, that he had done so foolishly, and pathetically, in order to extend his time with her, to not be alone, when he should have known full well, that the distrust and suspicion he inspired was well earned and he would poison, not just the optics, or her plans, but her life. He was poison, and he knew it, but somehow, she had made him forget.

That was the momentary lapse, the mistake that made him spin, recklessly and desperately into the void of apparition for the fifth time that morning. Not to his hovel, as he had initially planned, but to the steps of the Flamel house in Paris in a single jump. He staggered as he arrived, lurching to the doorstep, and fumbling for the handle, his hands trembling, the weight of the plant against him too heavy as his arms began to spasm at his sides, the feat of opening the door suddenly insurmountable as his throat closed in, the attempts to wrench air into his lungs filling the empty hallway with ragged shallow gasps.

He had enough presence of mind, as shock flooded his system, to make it to the workbench lined with Flamel's glass alchemy instruments, depositing the plant carefully on its surface. The instinct to protect the plant cost him the few remaining minutes of motor control it would take to retrieve the last of his nerve tonic from his cloak.

His spine shuddered and his limbs mutinied. As the floor rushed up towards him, and the edges of his vision swam in black, he stared up at the plant, mocking him from the edge of the workbench, and the lurching gasp that left his mutilated throat was a painful, bastardised laugh.

0000000000000000000

Hermione listened as Minerva led the meeting, eyes flitting intermittently to the wizard bearing the ministry insignia on his robes, wondering if a patronus had in fact been sent. She longed to know Minerva felt the same urgency as she did, impatience clawing at her nerves, but it was impossible to judge as the Headmistress conjured twelves parchment balance sheets, leading the governors through the estimated costs Hogwarts would absorb should they allow married students to attend. Time seemed to drag on deliberately as figures filled the air.

"... and while the rebuilding efforts have drained our accounts completely, further funds would be necessary to repurpose and furnish rooms set aside for… use by married students; I hasten to add that these rooms bear more than just a financial cost gentlemen. I for one do not wish to go down in Hogwarts HIstory as the headmistress who allowed rooms to be built to allow conjugal visits for seventeen year olds." Minerva's distaste thickened her brogue, and Hermione read the faces around the table, heartening to see that at least half of the wizards shared the headmistress' distaste, eying the figures before them with clear frowns.

"Further outlay is required to hire a specialist healer to attend to the needs of those students who would fall pregnant -Madame Pomfrey, while an excellent school nurse, has had no need to develop that particular skill set in a school for children- as well as an increase in the potions budget to cover a private contractor for prenatal brews which are bound to appreciate in the course of the next year. We no longer have a resident brewer which raises the budget significantly, even beyond the wholesale cost of ingredients. In total, the financial cost is almost, almost, as staggering as the cost to Hogwarts reputation, the debt we still have to pay to those who were turned away during the war, and the price that will be paid by NEWT level students whose results will no doubt be affected, and reflect upon your governance of the school"

The governors were still eying the figures, with glazed looks that suggested they were still mentally running the arithmetic, only four men actively listening to the headmistress. Minerva waved her wand once more, and a new set of parchments floated down to land before each of the Governors, startling many out of their reverie. Hermione wondered how much time it would take the ministry to react, if a patronus had been sent. Dennis would be unable to apparate them within the grounds. Fury coursed through her system even as Minerva began to introduce her.

"An alternate plan was brought to me by Miss Hermione Granger, who I have invited to put the same proposal before you. Miss Granger, as many of you know, fought valiantly here to end the war alongside Harry Potter, sacrificing the end of her Hogwarts education. Despite the disruption, she recently achieved the highest NEWT marks in two decades. It is with this deeply held value of education that she is here to represent the attitudes of Dennis Creevey, also my guest, who is currently the only student of age affected by the Marriage law."

All eyes along the table were focused now, and Hermione wasted no more time.

"Dennis deserves to finish his education. He lost his brother, who returned to Hogwarts for the final battle, and we did not win the war only to see muggleborns yet again barred from these hallowed halls." Hermione felt a bristle run through the table like a wave at her impassioned words, but sensed immediately that this was not necessarily good. She didn't have time to brow beat them, and so swiftly changed track.

"I am aware that some of the public comments, and condemnation, that has been levelled towards Hogwarts inaction regarding the law, and therefore your decision, is unfair." At this, several of the men who had eyed Dennis suspiciously earlier, nodded and shared another glance.

"It was not your decision to make this law. It was not your decision to make it apply to 17 year olds, who were still of schooling age. Why then, should you be the ones facing public recrimination? Why should you bear the cost, and the shame, of allowing and indeed endorsing a wave of teenage pregnancies at Hogwarts." Hermione felt a shiver down her spine as the wizard with the grey beard looked over his shoulder, eying the door, and breathed in for four counts rather than hex him.

"Regardless of your own personal feelings towards the law, I think you can all agree that Hogwarts has long been an institution that has commanded the respect of the wizarding world. Under the leadership of Dumbledore, this school refused to surrender its autonomous direction." Hermione paused here, longing to deride the ministry and Umbridges' position within it, but she glanced once more at the man with the embroidered sigil.

"Gentlemen, you alone, are now responsible for that same autonomous and respected direction, and the continued reputation of this institution. In front of you, is a proposed amendment to the marriage law that would make students exempt until they have fully completed their magical education. As a respected body of wizards, your appeal to the Ministry would carry significant weight. The numbers this appeal would affect are so slight, the difference on the overall effect of the law would be insubstantial" Hermione watched the men glance through the parchment before them, at least five still looking sceptical. She couldn't blame them really. How long had she been speaking? Would there be any point to this, at all, if MLE barged in?

"Moreover, your action in this regard, would remove the onus of popular opinion from the school and place it back on to those responsible for the law; the public would recognise that you have done everything in your power to allow students," she paused again, and decided that in the absence of time, she would have to sell this.

"To allow Dennis," she looked down the table at him, and smothered her lingering annoyance with him, to what she hoped was a soft look, "the right to attempt his NEWTs without the trials of a teenage marriage."

"Why should you bear the cost and indignity of changing the course of Hogwarts history, or the blame for disallowing students who fall under the law? You are facing a lose lose situation. This amendment absolves you of guilt, and resolves the stain on Hogwarts history that would be created under your watch."

Hermione watched the faces before her, and stood with bated breath. "I have promised to do my best by Dennis, to allow him his education and the right to secure himself a future. But he is not alone in this, he is not the only one who needs your help. He deserves to know what his immediate future will hold, and it is in your power to provide him the respite to build that future. You have the power to make the Ministry grant Hogwarts an exception, and I am sure that each of you have the same desire I do to protect the students of this school and ensure each and every one of them a bright future, regardless of their blood status."

Hermione looked at Minerva, who looked set to speak once more, when Dennis broke in.

"Um. Can I also say something?" He looked to Minerva as well, who nodded, "I just wanted to say that, I really want to come back to Hogwarts, but that it will be kind of, well weird, being a dad before I graduate, and that I can't even imagine what it will be like for Orla, um, Orla Quirke, she's a few months younger than me but she should be the next person affected by the law, and um, to have to, well, be here and pregnant, well, yeah I can't imagine." Hermione could only presume that the inarticulate rambling had been Kingsley's idea to make him seem more like a child, despite the fact he was recently of age. It seemed to be working. Hermione felt a pith of annoyance grow, and did her best to hide her anxiously bouncing leg under the table.

"So I just wanted to say, really, that I'm sorry if I said anything that I shouldn't have, with the Radio the other day, but it's important, that we get to, to have a normal year at Hogwarts, after, well, after everything, so please, um, yeah." Dennis finally lapsed into silence, blushing down at the table.

Hermione flashed a look towards the Headmistress, who rose to her feet. "I would like to thank the two of you, for your impassioned proposal, but I must ask you to see yourselves out. The voting and discussion of these options is a private matter." Hermione nodded, and as she rose and shook the headmistress's hand, she kept her smile in place and, despite the shock of finding something quite small and firm in the older witches palm, displayed no outward shock.

She kept her smile in place as she followed Dennis off the raised dais, and kept her breathing in check as she walked along the four long house tables, her robes flowing out behind her, the cream embellished silk shining beneath the afternoon light streaming through the bewitched ceiling. She remained smiling, and remained centered, her fist clenched tightly, despite the thought of what might be awaiting them outside the gates of Hogwarts. If they were not inside already.

As the doors closed behind them, Dennis turned swiftly to her, and opened her hand as they stood in the entrance hall. She saw the small copper inkwell lid, and her confusion was momentarily interrupted at the sounds of the two huge entrance doors slowly opening.

"Portus."

Dennis brought his hand down around her palm, hiding the blue glow shining around the copper, and a hook pulled from behind her navel, spinning them away.

0000000000

I don't know if you're allowed to link stuff in now, but for a visual of what Hermione's wearing, go to: weatherwings. tumblr post/ 682972573377691648/ chapter-74-hermiones-outfit