Deserving

Stepping out of Gringotts and into the lively bustle of Diagon Alley, Hermione still felt slightly dazed, her fingers absently brushing over the moonstone pendant now resting at her collarbone. Draco, ever the picture of smug satisfaction, walked beside her with his hands in his coat pockets, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

Draco smirked. “You’ve mentioned that before.”

She huffed but didn’t argue further as they made their way toward Flourish and Blotts.

Inside, the scent of parchment and ink surrounded them, and Hermione visibly relaxed, her fingers itching to explore the endless shelves of knowledge. Draco, on the other hand, leaned against a nearby bookcase, watching her with a soft expression as she moved from section to section, carefully selecting a few new titles.

“Are you going to actually buy something,” he teased, “or just build a fort out of books and live here?”

Hermione rolled her eyes but ignored him, heading to the counter to pay. Draco sighed dramatically before stepping up beside her and handing a few extra books to the shopkeeper.

“I didn’t ask for these,” she protested.

Draco simply arched an eyebrow. “No, but I saw you eyeing them, and you clearly wanted them.”

Hermione stared at him, lips parted slightly before shaking her head. “One of these days, Malfoy, I’m going to make you stop spending ridiculous amounts of money on me.”

“Doubtful,” he said smoothly, handing over the payment before she could argue.

She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t fight further as they left the shop.

Their next stop was Slugs & Jiggers Apothecary, where Hermione excitedly browsed through the shelves of rare ingredients, murmuring about possible potion experiments. Draco, again, let her have her moment, though he did stop her from overloading her basket.

“For someone who claims to be responsible, you have no impulse control in bookstores and potion shops,” he mused, plucking a fifth vial of powdered moonstone from her hand.

“Oh, hush,” she said, waving him off. “This is important.”

Draco chuckled, shaking his head but letting her be.

As they stepped out onto the street once more, a familiar voice called out, “Draco, darling!”

They both turned to see Narcissa Malfoy, elegant as ever in a deep green cloak, waving them over. She stood near a boutique, her pale blonde hair tucked into an intricate twist, and her expression warm.

Draco led Hermione toward her, and Narcissa greeted her son with a graceful kiss on the cheek before turning to Hermione with a kind but appraising look.

“Hermione, dear, it’s lovely to see you.”

Hermione, though still somewhat in awe of Narcissa’s composed presence, smiled politely. “You as well, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Narcissa, please,” she corrected smoothly before getting to the point. “I’m hosting a New Year’s Eve Gala at the manor, and I insist that both of you be present.”

Hermione blinked, taken aback. “Oh—well, that’s very kind of you, but I don’t really have anything appropriate to wear.”

Before Narcissa could reply, Draco smirked and said, “You have a lovely tiara and jewelry set you were just given.”

Hermione smacked his arm. “I meant real clothes, Draco! I can’t just wear jewelry.”

Narcissa chuckled, eyes twinkling in amusement at their dynamic. “Which set did you gift her?” she asked curiously, looking at her son.

“The moonstone set,” Draco replied casually.

Narcissa nodded in approval. “A fine choice,” she said, turning her attention back to Hermione. “Well, in that case, let’s find you something appropriate to match. And while we’re at it, we’ll pick out a few additional wardrobe pieces—can’t have you unprepared for future events.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but quickly realized there was no point. Between Draco’s relentless spoiling and Narcissa’s determination, she was outnumbered and doomed.

Draco smirked at her obvious resignation. “See? You’re learning to accept it.”

Hermione glared at him. “I take it back. You’re not insufferable—you’re unbearable.”

But as Narcissa looped her arm through Hermione’s and guided her toward the boutique, she couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of excitement.

She had never been to a gala before.

And, if she was being completely honest with herself, she was rather looking forward to seeing what Draco had in mind for her next.

Hermione barely had time to process before she was ushered into Madam Élodie's Boutique, an upscale, elegant shop filled with enchanted mannequins draped in robes of the finest fabrics, shimmering gowns that adjusted to the wearer’s figure, and racks of intricately embroidered cloaks and accessories.

Draco leaned lazily against the doorway, watching with thinly veiled amusement as Narcissa took full control.

“Now,” Narcissa said, scanning the store with a practiced eye, “for a New Year’s Eve gala, we need something regal yet refined. Something that pairs well with moonstones…” She glanced at Hermione’s tiara and jewelry, already calculating the best match.

Hermione, meanwhile, stood stiffly in place, feeling wildly out of her depth.

“This really isn’t necessary—”

“Nonsense,” Narcissa interrupted, giving her a gentle but firm smile. “If you’re attending a Malfoy-hosted gala, you will be properly dressed for it.” She turned to a nearby attendant. “Bring me your finest gowns in deep blues, silvers, and icy whites—something ethereal.”

The attendant nodded briskly and disappeared, returning moments later with a floating rack of exquisite gowns. Hermione’s breath hitched as her fingers brushed against them—**chiffon, satin, velvet, gossamer silk—**each more breathtaking than the last.

Draco stepped up behind her, his voice low and amused. “See anything you like, Granger?”

She turned to glare at him. “I feel like I’ve been kidnapped and forced into a fairytale.”

Draco smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Hermione ignored him, her fingers trailing over an ice-blue gown with delicate silver embroidery, its fabric shifting under the light like moonlight on water. Before she could pull away, Narcissa plucked it from the rack.

“Try this one first.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but was promptly shooed into a dressing room.

Inside the fitting area, Hermione let out a breath, running her hands over the fabric before slipping into the gown. The moment it settled over her, the enchantment took effect—adjusting to fit her like a second skin, hugging her curves in just the right way while remaining elegant and refined.

She turned hesitantly toward the tall mirror, her eyes widening.

The gown was…stunning. The icy blue brought out the warmth in her skin, the silver embroidery traced delicate, swirling patterns down the bodice and skirt, and the fabric flowed like liquid light when she moved.

Before she could second-guess herself, Narcissa’s voice called, “Come out, dear, let us see!”

Swallowing her nerves, Hermione stepped out.

The moment Draco saw her, his smirk vanished.

His gaze darkened slightly as he took her in, his lips parting as if to say something before he caught himself. Instead, he merely dragged his tongue across his lower lip, exhaling softly through his nose.

Narcissa, meanwhile, beamed. “Perfect.”

Hermione flushed under Draco’s intense stare. “It’s… a bit much, isn’t it?” she mumbled, smoothing the fabric nervously.

Draco tilted his head. “No,” he said, voice lower than before. “It’s… exactly right.”

Hermione’s breath hitched.

She quickly turned back to Narcissa, who seemed entirely pleased.

“Well, now that we have your gown sorted,” Narcissa said smoothly, “we’ll need shoes, a proper cloak, and a few more additions to your wardrobe.”

Hermione groaned. “You two are going to ruin me.”

Draco’s smirk returned, leaning in just slightly. “Oh, darling, we’re only just getting started.”

And as Hermione resigned herself to yet another round of indulgence, she couldn’t help but feel that maybe—just maybe—she didn’t mind as much as she pretended to.

By the time they left the boutique, Hermione had acquired not only the ethereal ice-blue gown but an entire wardrobe’s worth of elegant pieces. Cloaks lined with fine silver embroidery, delicate gloves, enchanted shoes that adjusted to her height, and even a velvet-lined traveling cloak that Draco had insisted she needed.

Hermione groaned under the weight of the bags floating beside them, courtesy of a well-placed Locomotor Charm. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, shaking her head. “How much do you think I need?”

Draco, walking beside her, smirked. “You’re associating with the Malfoys now, Granger. You need to look the part.”

Narcissa chuckled. “He’s right, dear. A lady should never be unprepared for an unexpected invitation.”

Hermione sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. Truthfully, she was too overwhelmed by everything to protest much.

As they strolled through Diagon Alley, passing festively decorated shops with snow-dusted windows, Hermione found herself stealing glances at Draco. He was more relaxed than usual, his usual sharp exterior softened by the warmth of his mother’s presence and the casual air between them.

He caught her staring and arched a brow. “See something you like, Granger?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was just thinking how strange this is.”

“What’s strange?” he asked, stepping closer.

“This,” she gestured vaguely between them. “Us… shopping together. Talking. You and your mother treating me like I belong.”

Draco’s expression shifted. He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “You do belong,” he said simply.

Hermione felt her chest tighten at the sincerity in his voice.

Narcissa, who had been walking ahead, suddenly turned back toward them. “I nearly forgot—Draco, darling, I need to stop by Twilfitt & Tatting’s before we leave. I trust you can keep Hermione entertained?”

Draco smirked. “I think I can manage.”

Narcissa gave Hermione a warm smile before disapparating with a soft pop.

Which left Hermione and Draco alone in the middle of Diagon Alley.