Hermione sighed as she tugged at the laces on the back of her dress and turned to face the mirror. The dress was… interesting, to say the least. Certainly, the fabric was of the utmost quality, and it was apparently the 'latest fashion', but she preferred comfort over style when possible. But what could you do when the dreaded mother-in-law insisted that you would look 'utterly fabulous' in her latest present?

Dress robes would have been so much more comfortable, but Narcissa had embraced the Muggle culture with aplomb after the war, and the party tonight was yet another of her lavish 'Muggle-style' get-togethers. The guests for this soiree would include muggle and magical alike, but only the elite of course.

She steeled herself and reluctantly wobbled out of the dressing room wearing her equally 'fabulous' heels. Draco was straightening his tie and turned around upon hearing her less-than-graceful entry.

It wasn't fair, really. Here she was looking like an overgrown banana and he got away with wearing a tuxedo.

'And looking damn fine at it,' her treacherous brain squealed.

'No, Hermione, get back to facts,' the rational part of her demanded.

'And he's already cocky enough; don't let him see you checking him out… No matter how good he looks in that suit...'

Great. There went her last shred of rationality, around Draco at least.

It was too late anyway. His smug smirk informed her that he knew exactly where her last train of thought had been headed.

Then he focused and his eyes widened at her ensemble.

"Wow," was his only comment, but his eyes were twinkling and Hermione had to repress a sudden mariticidal urge.

"Shut up," she muttered as he let out a snicker.

"It's not that bad…"

"It's yellow!"

"Yellow's not-"

"This is your fault anyway! You and your mother and her 'utterly fabulous' dresses and her 'utterly fabulous parties... and... and…"

Sensing that Hermione was descending into hysteria, Draco sat down beside where she had collapsed on the bed.

His thumb rubbed comforting circles on her lower back, but his voice shook with mirth.

"Come on, it-" he broke off into a gale of laughter.

"Draco!" She reprimanded him petulantly.

"I… I'm… I'm s… sorry but you l… look like a canary cream!"


"Or.. Or a… Or a Hufflepuff!"

She couldn't help it. She started to giggle, then to chuckle, and then to full out laugh.

When they had finally subsided, they just lay on the bed for a while, each listening to the cadences of the other's breath.

Draco suddenly pushed himself up onto his side, looking her up and down, smirk firmly in place.

"What?" she asked, still slightly breathless.

"I think you pull it off."

And then his lips were on hers, and hers were on his, and they were going to be late, and Narcissa was going to kill them, but he tasted of mint and smirks and happiness, and she didn't care.

The dress looked better on the floor anyway.

AN: So, what did you think? Review? Please?