Narcissa is more than willing to help Hermione out. That very afternoon, she appears in Hermione's living room with a plume of flames and grins brightly at the girl. "We've got a meeting with my tailor at two, and one with my stylist at four. Come along, dear, we've got a busy schedule."

Sweeping an astonished Hermione into the fireplace, she throws a handful of Floo powder down and says an unfamiliar name. Hermione disappears and tumbles out of a different fireplace with a sharp gasp that devolves into a coughing fit. Narcissa follows a few moments after, looking only a little apologetic for her actions.

"A little warning next time," Hermione scolds, then remembers who she's talking to and adds, "please, ma'am."

"Of course," Narcissa agrees, helping Hermione back to her feet. Her eyes drift over Hermione's shoulder and she calls out a greeting. "Matilda, wonderful to see you. I hope you don't mind us being a little early."

Turning around, Hermione spots an older woman hobbling closer. She has a gleaming gold cane gripped tightly in a wrinkled hand while the other flits through the air, sending various pieces of cloth to work on their own. Her lips are pursed as beady eyes pass over Hermione's appearance. "It's no matter," she rasps, speaking to Narcissa but keeping her gaze on Hermione. "Is this who I'm working with?"

Hermione colors and ducks her head.

Matilda clicks her tongue. With deft movements, she taps the floor with her cane three times. The final strike sends a shower of sparks that shoot off to a rather large chair against the far wall. The chair lifts from the ground and floats to Hermione, positioning itself right behind her. "Sit, girl," Matilda commands.

Doing as she's told, Hermione chances a glance up to the woman. "I'm sorry, I didn't have any time to think about what sort of dress I want. This was all short notice and I-"

"Nonsense," Matilda interrupts. The cloth from before freezes when she snaps her fingers and a second snap brings the colorful material soaring towards Hermione. "I specialize in dresses, child, and the cloth knows exactly what you like." She smiles for the first time when she continues and says, "you're a beautiful young woman. I know exactly what sort of dress you'll have."

A length of vibrant red material nudges at her back, easing her forward in her seat, then ducks under her arms until she raises them up perpendicular to her body.

"Color first," Matilda mutters to Narcissa, who nods and settles down on a sofa beside a rack of purple dresses.

The crimson material swirls around Hermione, pressing close to her skin and covering the clothes she's got on. Before she even has the chance to decide, it darts off and a forest green color replaces it. It's a parade of shades from there. Yellows and pinks and oranges coming and going so fast it makes Hermione's head spins.

She's near ready to just close her eyes when Matilda finally slams her cane onto the floor. The material around her stops and, for the first time, Hermione notices the silky smooth feel of it on her skin. It almost feels warm to touch. Looking down, she sees the chosen color is a rich blue. She runs her fingers over it and can't help but let a small smile peak out.

"Stand up, child, we've still got work to do," Matilda demands.

The proceeding events are a whirl of thread and needles and being told to stand this way or that. It's nearly four when Matilda hits the floor with her cane and the finished dress settles just right over Hermione's frame.

It reaches down to her knees, hanging loosely up until her midriff, where it tightens to conform against her bodice. Only one shoulder is covered, and the material twists down her bare back to meet again at her lower back. There is a moment of stunned silence from all three woman present as they take in Hermione's appearance. Then Narcissa clasps her hands and Matilda nods in satisfaction. Hermione is still a little busy gaping in awe.

"Wonderful as always, Matilda," Narcissa praises, standing and pulling out a change purse. She pulls out several galleons. Matilda takes them and holds them tight in hand.

"Anything for my most loyal customer," Matilda says, turning around and moving to a small counter. She drops the galleons into a drawer and closes it tight again. "I hope to see you again, Narcissa."

Narcissa nods, already ushering Hermione to the changing rooms so she can box up the dress. "I've got a dinner party with some old friends of mine in a week. I'm looking for something more colorful this time around."

"I'll keep that in mind," Matilda chortles, leaning forward on her cane as Hermione comes back out dressed in her normal clothes. "Will I see you again, too?"

It takes Hermione by surprise, and she's left straggling for a few moments while both women grin. "Of-of course!" She stutters out, holding her box tight. "I'm sure I'll need to come back some time or another." Not that she could really afford this place, not on her current pay at least, but a visit wouldn't be so awful.

"I'll see you then," Matilda says, all signs of humor disappearing.

"We'd love to stay and chat," Narcissa says, "but we've got another appointment to meet. We'll see you another time, Matilda, and thank you again!"

The meeting with the stylist is little more than a trim to her hair and a few suggestions to taming her hair. Hermione had wanted to tell them that she is perfectly capable of controlling it herself, has been doing so for some time now, but she just sits still in the squeaking leather chair and lets their words roll over her.

By the day's end, she's tired and aching for some rest. Narcissa relinquishes her around sundown, pausing on her way to the fireplace to say one final thing. "I'll come on Monday and help you get ready. Don't breath a word about the dress to Draco. I want him to be completely surprised when he comes to pick you up."

Hermione snickers, already looking forward to denying him and letting his curiosity grow. "I won't say anything," she promises.

"As a matter of fact, keep your floo shut until after Monday. I don't want him showing up in the house and peeking too soon," Narcissa commands.

It seems dramatic and unnecessary, but Hermione is too afraid of what the woman will do if she denies her, so she agrees to it. Narcissa leaves then, and Hermione spends the rest of the night sleeping.

Come Monday morning, Narcissa arrives early and sends Hermione to shower. Hardly having just woken up, Hermione stumbles into the bathroom and cleans up. After, Narcissa sits her in a chair and tells her not to worry about a thing.

Trusting the woman's judgement, Hermione settles down and lets her work.

By the time she's finished, it's mere minutes before Draco is due to arrive. With Narcissa's help, Hermione slips into her dress, and turns to view herself in the mirror at last.

"Oh, Merlin," she breathes. All day, she'd been forbidden from seeing her own reflection, and now...now she can't even recognize herself. Hermione tentatively reaches up, brushing her hand against her cheek, unwilling to believe that she is looking at herself. The hand in the mirror follows her movements, though, and she lets out a sharp gasp. "I look..." Hermione trails off, unable to find the words.

Narcissa smirks. "I believe the words you're looking for are "like a goddess", correct?" Hermione nods faintly. "I told you I would make you look stunning. Not that you don't already, but a touch of makeup enhances the beauty you already have."

Taking a shuttering breath, Hermione turns and throws her arms around Narcissa. "Thank you," she whispers, choking back a lump in her throat.

For a moment, Narcissa is rigid in her arms, and then she settles and loosely wraps Hermione in a hug. "Of course, dear. You're as close as family now, and I do what I can to help family." There is a knock on the front door, and she pulls back. "I believe that's my cue to leave," she says. "Have a wonderful evening, Hermione." She smiles and steps back to apparate away.

Mumbling to herself about insane witches all being in the Malfoy family, Hermione gives herself a final glance int he mirror before stepping into a pair of black flats and walking down to the door. Before opening it, she takes a deep breath to settle any stray nerves, then twists the knob.

Draco is grinning even before the door opens and is halfway through greeting her before he comes to a halt. His jaw goes slack and the rest of his words die on his lips.

To say Hermione looks beautiful would be an unfair and nearly cruel understatement.

Her honey skin is shimmering with a powder and her caramel eyes are bright and warm. Her smile is blinding on its own, but with a gloss over her peony pink lips, it's quite possibly the most alluring smile he's ever had the fortune of seeing. Her hazel locks are piled atop her head with a black rose pinning them in place. The royal blue of her dress is stunning and his eyes catch on the way it fits her so very well.

She's positively breathtaking. More stunning and radiant than the sun, and that is a far better description than simply saying she looks beautiful.

Hermione titters at her expression, snapping her fingers in front of his face to recapture him from wherever his mind had wandered. He jerks, nearly falling in his haste to righten himself. It draws another laugh from Hermione.

Draco huffs and turns his back on her, using the moment to recover himself. He plays it off as false hurt, and mutters, "I was going to compliment you, like a kind gentleman would, but since you're so inclined to laugh at me, I don't think I want to now."

"You're a whiny child," Hermione snickers, unaware of his struggle to compose himself. She crosses her arms. When he still refuses to turn around she sighs and relents. "Fine, I'm sorry, dearest Draco. Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?" She deadpans.

He sniffs indignantly at her teasing but turns around nonetheless. "I suppose I will-" he pauses and smirks "-if you tell me how wonderful I look."

Hermione narrows her eyes in challenge and, without warning, she throws herself forward. Loping her arms around his neck and letting him bear her weight, she cries out, "Oh, Draco, you look absolutely magnificent tonight. I don't know how I'll ever manage to keep my hands off you tonight."

Even knowing it's only a joke, Draco can't help that his breath catches with her words. Merlin how he would love for them to be true. Coughing to hide the fact that his breathing is a bit uneven, he chuckles and untangles her from around him. "You better try your hardest. There will be too many people there for you to grope me without getting caught," he teases.

Hermione throws her head back, the laughter spilling from her lips, and Draco joins in. Once she's calmed down again, she states, "I haven't laughed like that in too long." She gives him an appreciateive smile. "Thank you for brightening my day, even if it is with immaturity."

It takes every part of his will power not to kiss her in this moment.

Clearing his throat, he changes the subject. "We'd better be going. We're late as it is." Hermione agrees and, with a pop, the pair apparate away.

The moment they land on the ground of Hogwarts, the two friends are spotted by the not-so-quiet Blaise and his wife Luna. Before a word can be uttered, Blaise launches himself at Hermione, dragging her into a crushing hug. Luna trails a little behind, a fond smile on her lips. Draco, on the other hand, struggles to combat a spark of jealousy.

"Hermione," Blaise says, "I'm so glad you're alright. I saw in the papers that you'd passed, and then when you came back, Luna and I couldn't have been happier."

She embraces him tight and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek before pulling back. "I missed you both as well," she replies, looking between Blaise and Luna. Luna flits forward and gives Hermione a brief hug.

"I told him you were alright," Luna murmurs, moving to stand beside Blaise. "He refused to listen."

Draco steps up beside Hermione and does his best to keep from glaring at his friend. "Zabini," he greets, stilted and terse.

"Draco, I didn't know you knew Hermione. Though, the papers say otherwise," Blaise shoots back, not missing his friends tension. "Don't tell me they're true."

Hermione shakes her head for the both of them, her cheeks flushing a lovely pink. "No, of course not," she insists. Draco hides a wince with a small cough.

"Right," Blaise draws, eyeing Draco with a smirk. "I thought so."

"How do you and Hermione know each other?" Draco asks, wanting the topic away from him.

Blaise lights up, turning to Hermione. Neither he nor Hermione catch the daggers that Draco throws with his glare, but Luna grins in a whimsical way and watches him close. "When Luna and I first met, she introduced me to her friends. Hermione just happened to be one of them."

Scoffing, Hermione rolls her eyes. "You make it seem like we were friends right off. You seem to forget the very crucial detail of me despising you." Draco's brow arches, intrigued now.

Cackling loud, Blaise states, "I didn't forget, I just cleverly left it out."

"I think you did it because you're embarrassed that I didn't immediately bow beneath the famous Zabini charm," she replies sharply, earning a glare from Blaise and a proud smirk from Draco. She doesn't acknowledge either one. Without really noticing, though, she leans a bit closer to Draco.

"Right, I had to earn your respect," Blaise says. "And you know me. I'm always ready for a challenge." He snorts and shakes his head. "But Merlin did I underestimate you. I don't think anyone ever gave me as cold a shoulder as you did. It took me months just to get you to have a proper conversation and actually smile at me."

Draco gives no outward sign of the pride swelling in his chest except a grin when Hermione's gaze flashes to him, checking his reaction to the story. She's on the verge of speaking when Luna's tinkling laugh brings them all to a halt, reminding Draco that she is still present. She's been silent for nearly the entire exchange, choosing instead to watch the interactions.

"You were terribly upset over not having her approval. I didn't think it would mean so much to you." She sighs, turning to meet Blaise's gaze.

Draco watches with interest as the playful expression on Blaise's face softens into something else, something sweeter and kinder than he's ever shown anyone. Draco knows the look well. How could he not? He may as well be an expert in it now that he spends most of his days trying to ward it from his own face.

"Of course it did," Blaise murmurs, bending closer to Luna. "Even back then, you meant the world to me. Having your friends' approval was crucial if I had any hope of pursuing a deeper relationship with you." He cups Luna's face, brushing his thumbs against her cheeks.

Noticing the intimate moment, Hermione backs away and gestures for Draco to follow her.

They move to Hogwarts' courtyard in silence and walk up the stairs to the front entry. Blaise and Luna are the only ones outside, save a few stragglers like Hermione and Draco who are coming in late. Everyone else is inside, waiting patiently for the others, and Hermione can hear the buzz from the Great Hall reaching all the way outside. She shudders, not wanting to think about what it'd be like to be actually inside.

Despite never really talking about it with anyone, she still fears that others will talk to her the same way that the howler had, degrading her for something that wasn't her fault. The prospect of such a large group of peers sends a shiver down her spine. Surely at least one of them will share the same feelings as the howler had.

Draco, noticing the way Hermione seems to be drawing in on herself but not understanding why, reaches out and grabs her hand. He prays she won't say anything, and she doesn't, just squeezes it in thanks. He lets out a breath.

As they drift through the castle, meandering slowly towards the Great Hall, Draco can't help but laugh. It's loud and full of wry mirth, so obnoxious that Hermione immediately shoots him a glare for breaking the calm that had settled over them. He holds his hands up in apology and debates whether or not to explain what had made him laugh.

"Are you at least going to share?" She asks, speaking in a near whisper, afraid to break the peace like he had done. "Or is it a joke that I'm not privy to?"

Unfortunately, Draco has no such inhibitions as her. "I was just thinking of how somber our little march is," he says loud and with a smirk gracing his features. The earlier tension around Blaise has fled now that he has her to himself. "We're acting like this is a walk to our death when all we're really doing is walking into a room filled with old classmates."

With an ever deepening scowl, Hermione crosses her arms and scoffs. "I think I'd prefer to face death over this. At least death would be quick and painless. This is going to be a slow torture that lasts for hours with no relief at the end," she groans, letting her head fall back. She peers at Draco through her lashes to see how he would reply to her dramatic actions.

"You'd better be prepared for it, because here we are," he says, gesturing with a flourish to the open doors of the Great Hall.

Hermione jerks up straight, pulling her hand back to herself and wrapping her arms around herself. Past the doors, the Great Hall is dimly lit by the warm light of the candles, and the people inside look little more than shadows. Panic floods through her, and her mind whirs a thousand miles a minute.

Hands curling into the sides of her dress, she grips it tight and tries to force herself to breath properly. Her legs feel like jelly and she stumbles behind the door, pressing against the cool stone wall to hold herself upright.

Eyes wide, Draco watches this happen. "Hermione," he whispers, darting closer. He doesn't quite touch her, just leaves his hands hovering over her skin. She wishes he would hold her, or even just lay a hand on her arm. It'd help her focus on something other than the gut-clenching fear coursing through her. "Hermione, what's the matter?" Someone shouts particularly loud in the Great Hall, and she looks around like a cornered animal.

Her lips are moving but he can't hear what she's saying. Leaning closer, he can just catch her repeating over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." His heart clenches wondering where in her head she's gone to.

"Hermione, I'm going to touch your arms, alright? I'm going to put my hands right here-" he presses his palms to her forearms "-and then I'm going to ask you to follow me, alright?"

He can feel her trembling, but she manages a shaky nod, and her gaze focuses on him. He smiles reassuringly, concealing his own mental panic. He's more than a little thankful for the healers his mother had made him see just after the war and all that they had taught him on dealing with someone having an anxiety attack. If only he can figure out why Hermione is the one he's having to use the knowledge on.