Transfixed Boutique (Dramione)

One-shot

Ginny bored Hermione with her wedding fittings, her flower colours. All the bullshit that Hermione agreed to help with years ago in the threat of wartime; something she had promised to Ron as he took his last breath. 'Look after her, 'Mione, please?'

She shuddered at the memory. The Battle of Hogwarts was a poor time of misguidance for her, to put it simply. She gave her everything to Ron, only for him to move to Lavender Brown's warm cot next. After that, she had acted like a massive slag, if you were to ask her. She snogged the bloody git Malfoy in the safehouse's cupboard quite a few times, even offering him a warm bed when she was really in despair. Tall, platinum blonde, arsehole Malfoy.

Except for Draco's blimey father, the Malfoy's had sought refuge with the Order after Draco was presented with the dark mark. Narcissa would never allow for that monstrosity of a creature, once human, to mark her child with such a symbol of hatred. So, she immediately fled with Draco with the help of Snape; he called them in missing, reporting it as an abduction of sorts by foreign magic. Something American or maybe Candian. Too busy fleeing to listen.

It had been a hard time for all, and it brought even more pain. The loss of Ronald had hit everyone dearly, even down to Malfoy. They weren't so friendly, but he did enjoy debating quidditch with the bloke. Especially, when his team lost the night prior.

But, that was the past. Here they were, presently trying to convince the French dressmaker that Hermione didn't need a large ball gown.

"I'm just saying, she has no use for a ballgown. And if she wears it, she'll outshine me, the bloody bride!" Ginny's hair was frizzed out, face furrowed in a deep scowl. She looked like her mother when she would chase the twins around at Christmas, unsuccessfully trying to capture their fireworks. Although, Hermione valued her life too much to tell her that.

The woman muffled something in french, glaring at Ginny.

Hermione couldn't wait to leave, to get food. She yawned, waiting for the woman to do something, say something. This dress was scratchy and standing so long made her feet hurt.

In her heavy accent, the woman pointed to Hermione and said, "You! Go change. I will have your dress brought in. Shoo!"

Hermione guides her way through the massive dress shop, to the backroom. Which, by the way, looked a bit like a supply closet with its various cleaning supplies and rags. She didn't get why she and Ginny couldn't share that large dressing room.

Moving further past the cleaning supplies and such, she pushed open the door from the opposing door she'd just entered. Taking note of the small, almost flat-like state, she tugged down the puff sleeves of the soft pink coloured dress. Her brown curls were sat on top of her head, held within the confines of a muggle hair tie.

Draco never understood those things. Muggle contraptions like the telly brought him joy; those just looked like a pain in the arse to use, and they broke often! He looked her up and down, taking note of her uncovered skin peeking out from the dress she was about ready to drop.

Potter chose him, of all his bloody war buddies, to be his best man. Malfoy had been a right arse at school early in their years, but some sort of mutual understanding bloomed between them. Plus, Draco promised himself to get on well with Granger's friends.

Not for her, but so maybe she'd dislike him a little less. They'd shared a cot once, but now his room was cold. They never really spoke after the war much, only simple unspoken gratitude shared in a nod or small grin. He never knew when the distance came as the days blurred together.

His mind snapped back when the sound of unzipping echoed through the room.

"Granger." He tested the name civilly on his tongue, missing the way the soft whispers of Hermione would fall so easily.