First Date Jitters
Hermione Granger did not get nervous.
At least, that’s what she told herself as she stood in front of her wardrobe, staring at its contents with increasing frustration. The neatly folded blouses, pressed trousers, and sensible dresses all seemed to blur together in a haze of fabric, their uniform colours a monotonous sea of too formal, too stiff, and too Hermione for something like a date.
She was not a woman who had time for nervousness. Or rather, she had never been the type to let such things affect her. In the wake of all the chaos, the battles, the responsibility of managing both the world and her own tumultuous emotions, she had learned how to compartmentalize, how to maintain composure no matter what.
But this? This felt different.
A date. With Blaise Zabini.
She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, tugging slightly at a strand. She was overthinking, of course, but the flutter that had unexpectedly appeared in her stomach over the past few days felt impossible to ignore. Her letters with Blaise had taken on a distinctly different tone as of late—more flirtatious, more intimate, with just the right amount of teasing. The sort of correspondence that no longer felt like a simple reconnection between old schoolmates. It was light, yes, but it carried a sense of weight—an undercurrent of something else. Something that felt like a dare.
And that realization, paired with the sheer novelty of it all, had her utterly thrown off. She could face down dark wizards without breaking a sweat, but an evening out with a man who had once been nothing more than a rival? A man who made her feel—well, something—that made her mind spin, her stomach twist in ways she wasn’t sure she could handle.
Which was how she ended up standing in front of her closet, staring at a range of perfectly sensible options. Dresses, trousers, blouses—all neatly pressed and completely unremarkable.
The sound of Ginny’s voice floated from the other side of the room, carrying a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Hermione, for Merlin’s sake, just wear the green one!”
Ginny was lounging on her bed in her usual effortlessly relaxed fashion. She was flipping through one of the books Hermione had abandoned in her frantic search, her expression a mix of patience and barely contained annoyance.
Hermione turned with a sigh, hands planted firmly on her hips. “What’s wrong with this one?” she asked, gesturing toward the navy-blue dress she had draped over her arm. The fabric was a soft, structured material, elegant but understated—perfectly modest, practical, and tasteful. It was a dress she could wear to any formal event or Ministry function without a second thought.
Ginny didn’t even look up from where she sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through one of Hermione’s old textbooks with an air of casual indifference. But then, her gaze flicked over to the dress, and her face immediately contorted into a look of sheer disbelief. It was the kind of look that said, You are hopeless, and I love you, but honestly, Hermione, what are you thinking?
“It’s fine,” Ginny admitted, though her tone made it clear that she thought it was far from ideal. “If you’re attending a Ministry gala. Or possibly testifying in court.”
Hermione’s lips pressed into a firm line, and she scowled at Ginny’s amused smirk. “It’s not that bad,” she grumbled, clutching the dress against her chest.
“Oh, it’s that bad,” Ginny said with a dramatic sigh, finally lifting her eyes from the book. She crossed her arms, shaking her head with an expression that seemed to say she had tried to help, but now, Hermione was beyond saving. “Come on, Hermione, you’re going out with Blaise Zabini, not presenting a case in front of the Wizengamot.”
“Maybe I want to look professional,” Hermione muttered defensively, the words coming out more forcefully than she’d intended. She didn’t know why, but this was important to her—her first date since Ron, the first time in ages she felt the weight of something new and exhilarating.
Ginny raised an eyebrow at her, an amused glint in her eyes. “It’s a date, Hermione.” The emphasis was thick with exasperation. “Not an interrogation. You can’t just look like you’re about to conduct a meeting on magical tax reform. You need something... flirty.”
Before Hermione could protest, a loud pop echoed through the room, and within seconds, Lavender Brown appeared in front of her with a flourish, hands on her hips and a look of triumph lighting up her face.
“I knew you’d need my help,” Lavender declared grandly, practically beaming at the two of them.
Hermione groaned, already dreading what was to come. “Ginny, why—?”
Ginny shot her an unapologetic look, slumping back on the bed with a mischievous grin. “She needed backup. And you need serious intervention.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” Lavender said as she threw herself onto Hermione’s bed with exaggerated flair, “I’m here to fix everything.”
Before Hermione could even begin to voice her objections, Lavender was already rifling through the contents of her wardrobe, muttering under her breath as she tossed aside dresses with remarkable speed. “Too rigid. Too mumsy. Why do you own so many blazers?” she added with a baffled tone, shaking her head as if Hermione’s wardrobe was a crime against fashion.
Hermione crossed her arms defensively, eyes narrowing slightly. “I like my blazers,” she muttered, but it was lost on Lavender, who was too busy pulling another hanger out from the closet.
Lavender didn’t even look up. “Blazers do not scream ‘date me.’ They scream ‘ask me about my latest research paper.’”
Ginny snorted, clearly enjoying the spectacle of Hermione’s discomfort.
Hermione huffed in mock offense. “Well, maybe that’s the vibe I’m going for,” she shot back, though she was beginning to sense that her comfort zone wasn’t exactly what she should be aiming for tonight.
Lavender finally paused, turning to Hermione with an intense, appraising gaze. She held up a deep green dress that Hermione hadn’t even considered—a beautiful fabric, elegant but simple, with just enough flare at the waist to be feminine without being too frilly. The colour was striking—a rich shade of green that somehow complemented Hermione’s skin tone, highlighting her hair in a way that felt right.
It was—well, Hermione took a sharp breath. It was perfect.
“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She hadn’t even thought about this dress. It wasn’t too much. It was just… enough.
Ginny smirked, leaning back onto the bed with a satisfied look. “I told you the green one.”
Lavender gave Hermione an expectant look, her eyes practically gleaming with mischief. “Put it on. Now.”
With a dramatic sigh and only a slight hint of reluctance, Hermione took the dress from Lavender’s hands and disappeared into the bathroom to change.
The moment she emerged, both Ginny and Lavender’s reactions were immediate, their gasps of approval echoing through the room.
“There she is,” Ginny said, her grin wide as she took in Hermione’s transformed appearance. “Hermione Granger, but make it effortlessly attractive.”
Lavender’s face lit up like a firework. “Blaise is going to die,” she declared in a voice that was both teasing and completely serious, as if she had a crystal ball and could see exactly how Blaise would react when he saw Hermione in this dress.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but a pleased flush crept up her neck. She couldn’t help it—there was something about the way the fabric fit her, something about the simplicity of it that made her feel more like herself, more free. But she quickly reminded herself, “It’s just dinner,” she said, smoothing her hands over the fabric with a small frown.
Ginny’s expression turned mischievous as she leaned forward. “Oh, sure. Just dinner. With Blaise Zabini. The same Blaise Zabini you’ve been exchanging ridiculously flirty letters with for weeks now.” She paused for dramatic effect before adding, “How’s that going, by the way? Because, you know, he’s definitely looking forward to tonight.”
Lavender wiggled her eyebrows in that way that made Hermione feel like she was being entirely too obvious. “The same Blaise Zabini who, let’s be honest, has probably already imagined you in significantly less than this dress.”
Hermione gasped and quickly grabbed a nearby pillow, lobbing it in Lavender’s direction. Lavender dodged it with a laugh, but Hermione’s cheeks were burning.
“I hate both of you,” Hermione muttered, her embarrassment mixing with exasperation.
“No, you love us,” Lavender said sweetly, grinning from ear to ear. “And you need us. Now, let’s talk makeup.”
“I am not—” Hermione began, but Lavender was already pulling out her wand, eager to put the final touches on her look.
“Oh, hush, Hermione,” Lavender said dismissively. “You have amazing features. We’re just going to enhance them.”
Ginny added with a wink, “Translation: you’re not leaving this flat without at least a little lipstick.”
Hermione groaned, but she let them have their way.
By the time they finished, Hermione hardly recognized herself. The dress fit her like a glove, its rich green hue accentuating her features without making her feel too exposed. Her curls were tamed just enough to look intentionally tousled, and the subtle hint of makeup made her eyes look brighter, her lips just a shade more inviting. There was a glow to her—something fresh and new.
She swallowed, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The nerves truly hit her then, harder than before. This wasn’t a Ministry debate, a courtroom, or a strategy meeting. This wasn’t work or responsibility. This was a date. With Blaise Zabini.
Ginny seemed to read her expression before she even said a word. “Relax,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “It’s just dinner. You’ll be fine.”
Lavender’s grin widened. “And if it goes well, more than fine.”
Hermione groaned again, feeling a wave of heat rush to her cheeks. She would never let them live this down, but there was a small part of her—deep down—that felt thankful. Grateful, even. Because for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she had to have everything perfectly planned out.
“Go,” Ginny said, her voice full of encouragement. “Go and have fun. You deserve it.”
Hermione took a deep breath, stepping away from the mirror and walking toward the door. The evening was still young, and who knew what it would hold?
But for the first time in a long while, Hermione wasn’t overthinking it.
Tonight, she was just Hermione.