Work Text:
The esteemed Diagon Alley Merchants and Entrepreneurs Society held their quiet, convivial quarterly meetings on Monday evenings. Baverstock Flotsam, the current chair, was drawing their Autumn one to a very satisfactory close when there was a quiet yet firm protest.
“What was that?” he squinted as he tried to pinpoint the offender.
Blaise Zabini stirred at the back. “I was hoping to discuss my proposal.”
“Proposal?” Perplexed, Flotsam turned to his co-chairs. There followed some shuffling of rolls of parchment. “What proposal?”
“It’s regarding me taking over the old Stillbow’s Musical Instruments shop. It’s been vacant for some months,” Zabini explained.
“Stillbow’s? Have we heard of this?” asked Fortescue from the front row.
A shrill, commanding sort of voice made itself heard as Ms Malkin of Madame Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions intervened. “We have, and it has been summarily dismissed, as it should. This is that preposterous idea of having scandalous undergarments on display at the very heart of Diagon Alley, where families would stroll past every day.”
“It bally well was dismissed,” assented Ruth Mordecay, the new manager of Flourish & Blotts. “Can you imagine the horror when someone goes out looking for entertainment and stumbles upon that sort of den of iniquity?”
“Really? As much as that? How scandalous are we talking?” Flotsam asked, straightening his pince-nez with intent.
“It’s not scandalous at all. My designs use specialist enchantments focused on practical applications, like back support, reducing discomfort, and smoothing,” said Zabini.
This disappointed Flotsam. “Sounds pretty boring to me.”
Zabini was even more crestfallen. “But when was this decided? I thought the Society hadn’t met since I submitted the proposal.”
“The Society doesn’t have to meet,” Ms Malkin’s tone was so haughty it lingered as a malevolent cloud of fumes over all their heads. “It takes only two members registering their opposition and the whole matter is never even considered for a vote.”
Ruth Mordecay’s curt nod left little to no guesswork to who those two members might be.
“It should still be discussed in the quarterly meeting. How else would we make an informed decision?” said Draco Malfoy.
Flotsam fairly crumpled in his seat at this intervention.
“That’s right,” said Hermione Granger, sitting nearer the front. “There’s precedent. When the Ogden’s Brewery wanted to establish a stall to sell their finest whiskey directly to shoppers, some puritans tried to stop the endeavour but it carried with the support of other Society members.”
And there’s the other one, thought Flotsam, a tension headache spreading like spilled ink behind his eyeballs.
He had been hoping to enjoy his tenure as Society Chair all the way into retirement. There were some nice big dinners involved, and a great deal of hobbing, nobbing, assorted back slapping and heavily discounted tickets to the heated booth seats for Puddlemere games in return for an expedited judgement on some trifling matters. The work still got done, of course, but most of it didn’t even involve much paperwork. In most cases, all that was required was a pleasant conversation over some good brandy and Diagon Alley’s future was safely presided over.
Then, they had joined.
The only small consolation, Flotsam considered, was that, when it came down to it, there was very little he could have done about it.
Malfoy’s magical genealogy could be traced back so far you’d need several experts on Ancient Runes to cover most of it. Moreover, his family was fairly swimming in gold, so there could have been no conceivable objection to him taking over Pebblesmith’s Potions Emporium right down Main Street. Unfortunately, the young man had an intolerable tendency to show involvement and keen interest in everything. Since he was a Malfoy and knew everyone down to their great-Aunt and their pet kneazle, this had seriously hindered awarding any expedited contracts for fear of attracting any silly rumours of corruption.
When, a few months later, Granger announced her intention of buying up the old Artemis Antiquities and turning it into a bookstore, this caused quite a stir. It was seen as unfair competition by the previous manager of Flourish & Blotts, in the sense that he would now have a competitor to speak of. Nevertheless, Hermione Granger had fought down any and all obstacles with brutal determination by doing the unthinkable: she read through every single statute, minute and bylaw that the Society had ever produced and used this knowledge against them with all the finesse of an Impedimenta . As far as Flotsam was aware, the previous manager of Flourish and Blotts was still in Bournemouth on an indefinite rest cure for his nerves.
Truly, there could never be anything more frightening than a woman who read.
Granger and Malfoy had become such a constant source of chagrin that Flotsam had, in the privacy of his own judgement, given them the collective moniker of The Horrors. They continued to earn it throughout this meeting.
Granger made the chairs dig through records to find her blasted precedent. Desultory groans punctuated the protracted search and find, but a glimmer of hope came with it.
“It says here,” Ms Malkin read out, triumphantly, “that existing Society members must be not just supporters but also investors in the endeavour.”
“And I will happily invest in Zabini’s new shop,” said Granger.
This stunned the designer. “You will?”
“Yes, of course. I like your ideas, or at least what I’ve seen of them so far. They fill an important gap in the market.” She rummaged in her tiny sequined purse, her arm disappearing into it almost to her elbow. “I don’t have a lot of cash on me at the moment, so this is symbolic, but I’m good for the rest.”
Malfoy appeared equally nonplussed, depositing a large pouch of gold on the other man’s outstretched hand where Granger’s two lonely galleons had previously shone. “That was easily sorted. Here you are, Zabini. I look forward to our first shareholders meeting.”
“I’m not sure what just happened,” Zabini told Neville Longbottom.
The owner of Root, Stem & Bloom patted him on the shoulder. “I wish you luck. I really do.”
⋆｡°✩
Parents, Teachers and other illustrious Magical Community leaders have united in an open letter to the Diagon Alley Merchants and Entrepreneurs Society as they seek to stop the opening of a new business. The exciting new trade endeavour, Hook And Eye , was slated to open later this Autumn after eighteen months of feverish research and development by designer Blaise Zabini. Despite the commercial venture’s aims of becoming the premier purveyors of excellent magically assisted undergarments, the overall response has lacked support.
“It is simply immoral,” said Mrs Gertrude Mienable, of the Owlery & Pet Emporium. “Who in their right mind would let their children walk down the street to see such things displayed in a shop window? I think it’s shameful.”
The concern for children’s welfare appears to be justified. An insider source at Hogwarts has confirmed to The Daily Prophet that catalogues for the upcoming store have been confiscated from students, giving rise to suggestions to ban any such marketing tools and barr the store from opening in any major thoroughfares.
For others, confining any risqué laces and silks to a backstreet does not go far enough. “I have looked through their brochure, out of curiosity of course, and I consider it an unacceptable use of magic,” said Mr Ellarious Parp, 68, of Parp’s Famous Beers and Cheeses. “There simply isn’t the need for enchanted supports and weight distribution charms. We’ve always gotten on just fine without them. Magic should be used for the betterment of humanity, not for self-indulgent fripperies.”
Turn to page 8 to stay abreast of developments on this story.
The newspaper was put to its only logical use lining the contents of the bin as Hermione sat by her store’s bay window. Beyond the condensation laden glass, Diagon Alley was brightly lit and decked out for Yuletide. Multiple trees decorated the streets, some spinning or dancing along to the street performers. The brass music wasn’t very good, but that was understood to be fine. It was, after all, the season of kindness, generosity of spirit and plenty of warm beverages, many of them spiked. Children, pink cheeked and swimming in scarves and mittens, chased each other with slushy snowballs. Couples lingered by storefronts or enjoyed a butterbeer as they strolled past.
This jolly atmosphere was on the verge of soothing Hermione's anxieties when she was faced with an unexpected visitor.
“Digesting today’s news?” the newcomer drawled, occupying the other side of the window bench seat uninvited, a book under his arm.
“Impossible. There’s nothing of any substance to be found,” Hermione snapped.
Malfoy crossed his legs in one long, smooth motion. “I would have thought you’d find its contents most interesting.”
“You would be incorrect.” Since he seemed quite happy to just sit there and stare, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I have a vested interest in the enterprise.”
A fact she both resented and regretted, but the man had come through at a critical juncture, and with money so old it had roots and shoots branching off into every aspect of the wizarding world. She sipped her tea suspiciously, guessing Malfoy Holdings probably had something to do with the production, distribution and marketing for both her teacup and its contents. “What of it?”
“I do not like the coverage our endeavour has garnered.”
“You are jumping ship, then.”
“Come now, Granger, there’s no need for that. I think I’ve proven myself a useful resource.”
“So’s my patience, and it is far more finite than your gold. Are we approaching a point?”
The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I’ve touched on it already. I want to discuss this talk of vetoing our opening or relegating the store to some dirty alley,” he raked his hands through locks of his hair. It suited his equally fine features and high cheekbones. Hermione told herself she hadn’t noticed. “We have to change our strategy. I know you have submitted appeals and that you’re working on persuading other business owners of the legitimacy of our venture-”
Hermione’s jaw clenched. “I shouldn’t have to convince anyone. The only reason they don’t see how useful it is, is because none of these blasted nincompoops has gotten to the end of the day with a sore back and red welts from horrible straps, or forgone exercising because it’s painful, or-”
“I agree,” Malfoy put his hands up in surrender, “however-”
She wasn’t about to let him take his bags of gold away and endanger everything she and Zabini had worked for. “This is worthwhile. Witches and wizards will draw real-world benefit from the pioneer work-”
“Yes, I know-”
“And they’re not just idiots, they’re hypocrites as well. The same arseholes that ‘don’t see the need’” she mocked, pointing at the crumpled up newspaper in the waste basket, “are the same ones using Ever-Warm long johns in the Winter, or the Collision-Proof codpieces when they play Quidditch. And then there’s the whole angle about Hogwarts. The reason those biggots don’t like the students having access to the catalogue is nothing to do with the sexy lingerie, it’s because of the chest binders. I know Malkin is behind this, yet I don’t remember her having any issues with gender affirming underwear when she tried to sell me my first push up bra back when I was twelve.”
Malfoy nodded all throughout her tirade. “Which is why we need to be more aggressive. We need to make more noise, be provocative. Sod trying to appease these people’s collective neurosis. We’re launching the shop and we’re doing it now. This weekend, well in time for the holiday rush. We’ll throw a grand opening so lavish that they’ll attend just by being in the same postcode, with a catwalk to boot. And once we’re open, well,” he shrugged, a malicious little twinkle in his eyes, “it will make it that much harder to close us down.”
Hermione recognised it when her buttons were being pushed, and expertly at that. There was no denying that she liked the idea of shaking things up. “Hm. What’s that under your arm?”
He passed it over. It was a treatise on stability enchantments for potion brewing, quite old, and as far as Hermione had been able to ascertain, possibly the last surviving copy. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I found it, just now. I’m happy to pay whatever you’d like for it," Malfoy said.
“Keep it, from me. As an early Yuletide gift, and to celebrate the success of our upcoming opening.”
Hermione decidedly did not notice his warm, glinting smile, either.
⋆｡°✩
Draco was busy reviewing his notes for a test on a new Pimple And Pustule Clearing Tonic before wrapping up for the work day when the door to his laboratory swung open.
“They’re at it again,” Granger informed him.
“What is it now?”
“They’ve contacted the modelling agency we hired and threatened they would never work for any Diagon Alley business ever again if they went ahead with the show later tonight.”
Draco was still attempting to finish the complex calculation, even as he processed her words and the rage vibrating from them. “We knew they were likely to try something.”
“It’s not going to work. I don’t care what their threats are, we crack on.”
He heartily approved of the spirit. “Good. Are the models still coming?”
“No, they’ve backed out, but between the twins from Fortescue’s, three of Zabini’s friends, and me, we’ve got it covered.”
There was a crease between Draco’s eyebrows as he jotted down some notes. Granted, he hadn’t been paying the account his full attention, but it seemed to him Granger had said something fairly beyond the realm of sanity.
And then he saw her, and any rational thought process stopped all at once. Draco glued his eyes to the ceiling and cleared his throat multiple times before he could get it to work. “What- how- what are you- Why?”
Either Hermione pretended not to understand him or his gibbering was just too much for her to make sense of. “You knew we were using your storage closet for the models to get ready, since your shop is right next door.”
“No, I’m fine with that. But why are you wearing those?”
“They’re Zabini’s design.”
“Yes. But why are you wearing them?”
Focused as he was on staring at the unreliable copper cauldron in the corner, at the shelf of ingredients, at the blackboard of tasks he needed to update, at the stack of letters that still needed filing, or anything at all that wasn’t the woman standing in front of him, he heard only the sharp intake of breath and beat of silence before the clap of thunder.
“There’s nothing wrong with me modelling, nothing at all. Since the shop is looking to cater to bodies of all shapes, it will be good to have that represented, and you would do well to remember there is no wrong way to have a body.”
“We will find another way.” Draco ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Let me think. Where could we find someone…”
Yet Granger wasn’t done. “Whomever judges me and has a problem with the way I look, it is very much their problem. The idea that people, and to be fair mostly women, have to meet certain standards of beauty is rooted in patriarchy and capitalism, and just another blatant form of repression.”
Malfoy snapped his fingers as his brain finally kicked in. “Actors. There’s a production of The Wizard’s Staff Has A Knob On The End going on in the Narrows, and they might well agree to help us.”
“Will you just look at me?” Hermione fairly shrieked, in a way that made him afraid for his immediate safety. He could have sworn the glass jars danced on the shelves.
“Would you be pleased if I did?”
Not merely okay, but pleased. This was important.
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.
Draco felt justified in drinking her in, then. There was a slip of silk hanging over her shoulders, belt undone at the front and rustling past her thighs. The contrast between the deep, dark red lace of the corset and the cream of her freckled skin was mouthwatering. Down, down, down, past luscious curves, hung the clasps for garters. He lost himself, following shimmering fabric to stockinged feet.
Most enticing of all, Granger blushed at his unabashed stare, and went to cross her arms - but must have realised the vulnerability of that gesture, so stopped herself and adjusted her chest, rolling her shoulders back.
It did things, both to the aforementioned chest, and to Draco. He barely bit back a groan.
“Right, then. I will speak with the theatre company. I am reasonably confident we’ll find a few willing models there.” For a moment, Granger’s eyes flashed with hurt, and he blamed what he said next on that. "I need you to understand something. I am, to my core, a feminist. I believe everyone should be able to feel comfortable, safe and respected, regardless of what garments they may be wearing or modelling."
She seemed puzzled, yet encouraged. "Good."
"I would go to great lengths to protect this right."
"As you should."
"Excellent," Draco nodded. "That being said, if you walk out to the store modelling… That ," he finally managed, "I will be compelled to find the names and addresses of everyone that laid eyes on you and Obliviate them all."
"What?"
He didn't hesitate, didn't try to take it back or give excuses. "Every. Single. One."
Draco didn’t back down, even when subjected to the bollocking of a lifetime twice over (since Zabini was just as outraged over what he deemed to be Australopithecus-worthy shameful behaviour). Malfoy’s resolve did not shift, and he felt good about the decision, all the way through the show and the resounding success of the launch party.
That is, until he walked over to Granger’s bookstore the following morning with a peace offering in the form of tea and a cranberry and orange scone, only to be summarily dismissed without even getting the opportunity to present his case.
⋆｡°✩
Christmas Eve, there was a knock on Hermione’s door. She answered it, deciding she was blowing past uncaring all the way to cherishing her dishevelled state, from her frizzy hair down to her thick woolly stocks with the mistletoe pattern sagging around her ankles.
“Good evening, Granger.” He rolled the dice with a winning smile, and lost.
“I was under the impression my staff had relayed the message that I never wanted to lay eyes on your face ever again.”
“They did, but I couldn’t let it go. For a while there, we made for excellent business partners, didn’t we?”
“Right up until you behaved like a complete arsehole.”
Malfoy nodded, chastened. “I was a bit of a tit.”
“Try a complete tit.”
“Let’s just say that tit was definitely a factor that affected my otherwise impeccable reasoning.”
His attempt at lightening the mood made it crystallise into ice. “My freezing doorway is too good for you. Push off.”
“I thought you might say that, so I brought a deterrent against eviction,” Malfoy said, and gently tugged his cloak aside.
“That had better be an excellent apollo- Oh, you idiot. You horrible, terrible man. Give it here.” Nestled in Granger’s hands, the tabby kitten mewled once, then started purring against her chest. “This is a shameful bribe.”
“It is. Have you noticed his little white socks?”
Granger sighed. “I have now.”
“Has the bribe worked?”
“I’ll admit, this is quite the deterrent.”
“I owed you a Yuletide gift, and a proper apology for my behaviour.”
“Does this cover both?”
“Just the first half.” Granger looked more beautiful than ever, the soft light tickling from inside to caress the sides of her face. He wished he could follow it with his thumb and, with a cloudy breath released for courage, proposed, “Are you free at any point during the holidays? For the apology bit.”
Running the pad of her index finger behind the purring kitten’s ears, Hermione took her time considering it. “I’ve got stuff on tomorrow, but you could come over on Boxing Day, if you’d like.”
“I’ll bring the food. I should have asked you earlier."
"And yet?"
"I find you very intimidating,” Draco revealed.
"Do you know what they say you should do when you find someone intimidating?"
He shook his head, taken to memorising the shape of her smile.
"You should imagine them in their underwear."
He laughed, long and loud, and they lingered in the cold a few moments before saying their goodnights. Draco trudged back home through the snow, glowing warm.