On the day of the Opening Ceremony for The Hooper House for werewolves, Hermione found herself in a heated argument not about werewolves, as expected, but about Quidditch of all things.

"What do you mean, you haven't got tickets yet?" Tracey despaired. "Hermione, it's only a week away!"

"I mean 'I haven't gotten tickets yet'," Hermione shot back. "I've been busy, Tracey – Quidditch hasn't exactly been on my mind."

"People have been camping out for weeks at this point," Tracey moaned. "At this rate, there will be nothing left."

"Then I just won't go," Hermione said sharply, and Tracey groaned, shaking her head rapidly.

"No. No no no no no, not going is not a possibility," she said. "This is the biggest Quidditch event in England in years – you are not getting out of it because you were thoughtless—"

"Everything okay?"

Hermione and Tracey turned to see Draco, dressed in very fine robes, looking at them curiously.

"They want to cut the ribbon soon," he told them. "You might want to hurry up."

Hermione sighed. "Thanks, Draco." She turned to Tracey. "Come on, let's head back."

"Fine," Tracey pouted. "But this conversation is not over, Hermione Granger. You are not about to just not go and miss the World Cup."

Hermione and Tracey followed Draco back over to the crowd of people that had gathered. Some people were dressed up very finely (mostly members of the Wizengamot), while some people were dressed in tattered and worn robes (the werewolves themselves, Hermione suspected.) There was the hum of two different types of conversation going on in the crowd – calm, smooth conversation with small talk, and then anxious, brief chattering, some of it in an undertone.

The house itself was a masterpiece, in Hermione's opinion. From the outside, it was made with silvery bricks and dark woods, and the windows were all made of black glass. She'd been assured there were blackout curtains on the inside as well, along with all the cots New Zealand's lycanthropes would need to pass out for the day. She'd seen photos of the house New Zealand had built, and though that house had its own appeal, she much preferred the solid, stately aesthetic of the fine English manor.

Amaia Materoa, one of the New Zealand representatives to the International Confederation of Wizards, was up on the stage, talking to Minister Fudge and Geoffrey Hooper, who was holding a comically oversized pair of scissors with stars in his eyes.

"Is this even going to do anything?" Tracey wondered. "It's not like cutting that ribbon finishes warding the place, right?"

"It's ceremonial," Daphne informed her, coming over to join them. She nodded up there. "With public works, it's just as important to be seen doing them as it is just to do them. If people don't know you did it, what's the point of having done it at all?"

"Fudge didn't do any of it, though," Hermione protested. "I did the initial part, you did the fundraiser, and Royce Fiddlewood's department handled the actual construction—"

"Fudge can take credit as Minister for anything anyone in the Ministry did," Daphne said, shrugging and tossing her hair. "He's up for reelection next year – of course he's trying to be seen doing important things as often as possible right now."

Tracey scowled and muttered something crude about something Fudge could do to himself under her breath. Hermione stifled her laughter, and Daphne shot Tracey an admonishing look.

"Anyway, I wanted to just inquire, Hermione," Daphne said, ever the courteous lady, "if you've discovered anything about my mother's plight."

Hermione heaved a sigh.

"Some, but not much," she admitted. "I went with my parents to a genetics lecture, and I've been researching things through a local library. For the world of it, though, it seems like it's still got to be circumstantial, not familial." She paused. "Unless… have you or your sister been tested for bloodline abnormalities or curses? Have your father and mother, for that matter?"

Daphne paused. "I don't think so. I'll have to ask Father."

"It's possible—"

Hermione cut herself off, staring as Daphne quickly made her way back through the crowd to the front, where her father was standing.

"…I didn't mean right now," she said, aggravated, and Tracey laughed.

"Daphne's efficient, I guess?" She grinned at Hermione. "Come on, don't you want to get closer to the stage?"

"Not really," Hermione protested, but Tracey pulled her through the crowd up toward the front, where the families of those who had purchased art pieces from the auction were stationed. At Draco and Pansy's wave, Tracey tugged them over that way, the four of them falling into conversation not far from where Lucius Malfoy and Reinald Parkinson were talking to each other, Narcissa and Iris nearby.

"My mum is not pleased about the art piece my father purchased," Pansy told Hermione and Tracey the moment they came over. She rolled her eyes dramatically. "My dad's tried telling her it's important to be seen supporting such causes, but all she can come back with is protests that the painting's inappropriate and overly sexual."

Hermione paused, blinking.

"Didn't your dad get one of the normal ones?" she asked. "Just a dramatic werewolf in front of a full moon?"

"Yes," Pansy said emphatically. "He could have done a lot worse. That one wearing trousers with the axe – that one was sexual, really. If it'd had a different head, it could have been the cover of a bodice-ripper."

"Maybe your mother is just scandalized by the primal nature of her baser urges," came Blaise's voice, as the boy himself sidled up next to Hermione. He grinned down at her, making her roll her eyes, before he smirked at Pansy. "If your mum's finding something inappropriate about the painting when no one else is, there must be something there that's making her feel inappropriate feelings that she keeps to herself."

"You were not invited to comment on my mother's sex life," Pansy snapped, and Blaise gave her a wounded look.

"Malfoy's right here," he protested. "So it wasn't just a girls' chat—"

"Malfoy has the sense to not discuss Mrs. Parkinson and her marital woes," Draco snapped. "Honestly, Zabini – must you be so crude?"

Blaise grinned, unabashed. "Only if it's what the situation calls for."

"Anyway!" Tracey clapped her hands, turning to Hermione. "Is the plan still for Monday? You've got everything?"

"I got the pendants from Gringotts a couple days ago after the Chocolate Frog photoshoot," Hermione said, a grin on her face. "They're wicked – just what I was hoping for."

"Excellent," Tracey said, beaming. "And the World Cup isn't until that weekend, so if this really is as bad as you say, we can all rest up at home over the rest of the week to recover—"

"Don't you have Wizengamot on Tuesday?" Blaise said, poking Hermione. Hermione winced.

"Right. Drat. Forgot," she admitted. "Been rather busy with the Prophet and the pendants business."

"Did the book lists come out yet?" Draco asked. "I haven't checked yet, mind. But I've still got to get my school supplies for the coming year and get my robes altered."

"I got mine yesterday," Tracey said. "Nothing much – Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4. Oh, and dress robes." She frowned. "That's new."

"Must be a special occasion coming up, to warrant dress robes," Blaise said. He sighed. "Merlin. How am I supposed to know what style of dress robes to get without knowing the occasion?"

"You're just a peacock," Tracey accused.

"No, no, he's right," Draco said, shaking his head. "Is it a formal ceremony? Is it a ball? A commencement? A ceremony? A wedding?" He made a face. "Might be worth it to hold out and try and sneak out and get something appropriate after we know what event they're for."

"Not all of us can just sneak out on a sickle, Draco," Pansy said, annoyed.

"Not yet," Blaise said slyly. "But after Hermione teaches us how…"

He trailed off, raising an eyebrow and giving them all a mysterious smile, and they fell silent.

"Well, I can ask my father," Draco said finally. "Maybe he's heard word of it, being on the Board of Governors and all."

"I'll poke around in the Wizengamot on Tuesday," Hermione said. "See if anyone knows anything."

"I'll ask my mum to pick me up something when she's in Florence," Blaise said. "I bet most people are going to go with those penguin-style robes if they don't know what the occasion is, and those just are not my style."

"Those robes are incredibly dressy and expensive," Draco snapped. "What do you want to wear? Frills and lace with pantaloons?"

Blaise grinned. "I'd certainly stick out, wouldn't I?"

"Most men's formal dress robes look like a tuxedo," Tracey explained to Hermione quietly. "Not just dress robes, mind, but formal dress robes."

"There were a few people wearing those at the gala," Hermione recalled. "The ones with the bowties."

"They were a bit overdressed for the occasion," Tracey said, wrinkling her nose. "But yes, those."

Hermione considered.

"What do women's dress robes look like?" she asked.

"Oh, practically anything," Tracey said, waving her question away. "You can get away with anything, really, so long as it looks fancy enough. I fully intend on wearing a dress, not robes – dresses are much more flattering to me. I have great arms, so I look best without sleeves, in my opinion."

"Anything?" Hermione's mind ran wild.

"Most girls will have robes with ruffles of some sort," Pansy said, sniffing. "It's the most inexpensive decorative element to be included. Excepting the Patils, of course – I imagine they'll be in those beautiful Indian robes."

"So are you saying don't wear frills?" Tracey asked.

"Just to be careful if you do," Pansy said. "Lots of dress robes overdo it on the ruffles and frills. Make sure you look tasteful."

"Oh, boo," Hermione said, making a face. "Where's the fun in that?"

Pansy rolled her eyes, and Blaise shot her a grin.

"Attention! Your attention please, yes." Fudge cleared his throat, his voice echoing over the crowd with the Sonorus charm. "First of all, welcome to the opening of the Hooper House!"

There was applause at his statement, though from the way Fudge's face fell, Hermione wondered if he'd rather hoped there'd be more.

"Now, this house – this house right here, with the ribbon in front – is part of our werewolf management effort with New Zealand! For those unaware—"

Hermione tuned Fudge out as he went on about the international diplomacy involved in Portkeying werewolves across the globe. She was more preoccupied by the idea of dress robes.

With no limitations on style and magic at her hands, it seemed like anything was possible. Hermione wasn't normally one to get excited about fashion or dressing up, but she was intrigued by the possibilities. She'd seen a photo of a wedding dress with thousands of diamonds covering it – could she transfigure emeralds out something and cover a green dress with them? Could she charm fabric to change color as she moved? The goblins had said that gems could hold spells – could she have gems sewn onto a dress and then charm the gems, literally making a dress filled with magic? That would be dazzling at a party or dance, but invaluable if the party was suddenly invaded and turned into combat.

For that matter, forget dress robes – could she use magic to make something more awesome to wear as the Valkyrie? If she could charm an outfit to change colors so it looked like it was actually on fire—

"I know that look," Blaise murmured from next to her. He bumped her slightly, looking down at her and giving her a quirked smile. "Your mind's going a thousand miles a minute."

"Maybe a little," Hermione confessed. "It's just—if there's no limit on what I could wear, why would I want to wear something plain?"

"Well," Blaise said, amused, "keep in mind, it'd still be for a school event. There's only so much fanciness a school event can contain."

"Oh…" Hermione faltered. "That's… true." She made a face. "A gemstone dress would probably be overkill, then."

"A gemstone dress—? Morgana's knickers, Hermione," Blaise said, trying not to laugh. "Yes, that would be overkill. About a thousand times over."

"It would just be neat to stand out, you know," Hermione confessed, sighing. "Not just for being New Blood for once. But in a crowd of pretty people, to still feel beautiful somehow nonetheless."

Blaise took her hand and squeezed it.

"You'd be beautiful if you went to the fancy event in a House Elf sack," he told her, his eyes soft.

Hermione rolled her eyes and made a face. "I wouldn't feel beautiful – I'd feel naked—"

"Why are the two mutually exclusive?" Blaise murmured. He tilted his head. "Do you think a person would not find you beautiful naked, Hermione?"

Hermione faltered. "I—ah—"

Her face slowly turned a bright red, and she looked away from Blaise, embarrassed, who laughed lowly and moved to hug her from behind.

"It's fine, it's fine. It was just a question," he told her quietly. "But someday… don't you want the person in your bed to find you beautiful when you're wearing nothing at all?"

Hermione could feel the heat in her cheeks from her blushing. "I—I guess."

"So begin with the starting point that you, yourself, are beautiful," Blaise advised her. "Go from there. Everything from that point must be to enhance your own beauty, not to overwhelm you." He his tone was playful, impish. "My mother always says, 'make sure you're wearing the garment, not the garment wearing you'."

Hermione made a face. "That makes a lot of sense, but it isn't very exciting."

"It's as exciting as you make it," Blaise told her, amused. "You don't need to pick something boring. Just something that doesn't drown you out—"

There was sudden cheering and applause from all around them, and Hermione instinctively joined in, looking up to see Geoffrey Hooper beaming out over the crowd with his giant scissors, the ribbon now split in two, hanging limply in the wind.

"I missed the entire speech!" Hermione exclaimed.

Blaise laughed. "I'm sure we didn't miss much."