The Scandalous Tale of the Diagon Nursery Calendar

by Woldy

Summary:

In which Hermione finds herself again following her divorce, becomes re-acquainted with old enemies, and nearly everyone takes their clothes off.

Notes:

Written for lash_larue for femmefest. Many thanks to the femmefest mods and to my beta, kellychambliss, who did an incredible job at short notice despite my sloppy grammar and the length of this story.

The decree absolute arrived in the post on a Tuesday morning, defining the legal end of her marriage to Ronald Weasley. Hermione filed it neatly with the other divorce papers before waking Rose and hurrying to get her fed, dressed, and delivered to nursery. Given the difficulty of managing with one child, Hermione was -- as ever -- thankful that they had not provided Rose with a sibling.

It was only after dropping Rose off that Hermione remembered she had cause for celebration. She paused to buy an apricot pastry at a cafe, walked briskly to the Ministry and ate it at her desk, sweeping the crumbs into the waste paper bin.

Otherwise Hermione’s day was like any other -- busy, impersonal, and efficient. She wrote several bloodless reports, hurried out of work at 3.52pm to collect Rose, exchanged a few words with other parents about the need for better magical childcare, and Apparated home to read Rosie a story before dinner.

That night, as she lay in the bed she’d bought with Ron when they moved into the house, Hermione spared a few minutes to wonder how he was. Then she fell asleep.

----------------------

For many years the nursery on Diagon Alley was an issue that everyone complained about, but nobody did anything to resolve.

It wasn’t that the existing facility was bad, exactly, but it was small, over-subscribed, and lacked a playground. The staff were good-natured and well-trained, but the nursery closed at 4pm - long before the working day was over - and there was a limit to the miracles which could be achieved in three rooms with ageing furniture.

At intervals the parents banded together to repaint the nursery in bright, glossy colours, but the paint-work was the only thing which looked new. This was how Diagon Nursery seemed likely to stay indefinitely, up until the day that Ginny Weasley fixed Hermione with a determined look and announced, “Something has to be done.”

“But what?” Hermione said, sipping her tea and debating whether she could justify having another scone. “The bake sales are getting us nowhere.”

“Fuck, yes,” Ginny said, because -- kids or no -- after playing years of professional Quidditch, the swearing was ingrained into her vocabulary. “Bake sales are a waste of everyone’s bloody time. If we had our days free to spend in the kitchen, then we wouldn’t need childcare. No, I’m thinking of something much more lucrative.”

Hermione had decided in favour of the scone, and her mouth was full when Ginny said, “I think we should make a naked calendar,” and she nearly choked.

“You can’t be serious!”

“I’m perfectly serious,” Ginny said, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms. “They’re all the rage amongst Muggles, and the good ones raise a fortune. Which is good ‘cos the shop next door to the nursery is on the market for 60,000 galleons.”

“There’s is no way we can raise sixty thousand galleons,” Hermione said, abandoning the half-eaten scone.

“A bit more, actually,” Ginny replied, “‘cos we’ll have to renovate the buildings and put in the playground. Call it eighty thousand to be safe.”

There was a pause as Hermione mustered her instinctive objections into a coherent argument.

“Come on, Hermione. When have you ever said no to charity?”

“When I’m already exhausted. It’s just a pipe dream, Gin -”

“It isn’t!” Ginny insisted. “I’ve thought this out. We’ll need a dozen enthusiastic parents and a photographer, but if the the photos don’t move then it won’t look like porn and we’ll be able to sell them to Muggles, which is a huge market. I think I can get us the printing done for free and a ton of media coverage if I call in a few contacts. Wheezes can do a lot of the distribution for the calendar, and bookshops will stock if they think it’ll sell. All we need is some commitment and hard work.”

“And a dozen parents who are prepared to be naked on half the country’s households and newspaper stands,” Hermione pointed out.

“We’ve got two already,” Ginny said with a smile. “I’ll do it and I’ve Owled Fleur. If you agree, then we’ve got January, February, and March covered.”

“Absolutely no way!” Hermione protested, “I might help with the organisation, but I’m not taking my clothes off. The only person I’ve ever stripped off for is your brother, and we know how well that worked out.”

“I knew I could count on you to help!” Ginny said triumphantly, and Hermione realised she’d been trapped.

That afternoon they made a list of likely candidates and fired off Owls until the kids got tired and Hermione lifted up Rose in preparation to Apparate home.

“I’ll let you know what they say,” Ginny said. “Let’s talk on Wednesday night.”

“It’ll have to be after Rosie goes to bed,” Hermione said, but Ginny interrupted her.

“Bring her over here, and we’ll plot at yours. Harry can feed and entertain them.”

After more than two years as a single parent, Hermione wasn’t too proud to be bribed with childcare. She took Rose home, made macaroni cheese for them both, and did her best to put the crazy plan out of her mind.

It quickly became apparent that the sheer size of the Weasley family helped in finding participants for the calendar. Within several hours Ginny had persuaded Angelina, who in turn recruited her friend Chloe. Despite her initial reservations, Hermione mentioned the plan to Parvati when she was collecting Rosie one afternoon, and Parvati looked surprisingly enthusiastic.

“Like that Muggle film. The one with the Women’s Institute and that florist who’s having an affair. Oh, what’s it called?” Parvati asked, turning to her wife.

“The affair wasn’t the florist, it was that other one. The drab woman,” Lavender said.

“Yeah, but the film’s about a bunch of women making this calendar for - Calendar Girls! I knew I’d remember. You should watch it.”

Hermione watched the film that evening, and Rose fell asleep on the sofa beside her, arms clutched tight around her toy dragon. Hermione paused the film with a wordless incantation, carried Rose gently to bed while silently reproaching herself for the failure of dental hygiene involved sending her daughter to bed with un-brushed teeth, and then finished the film.

It was, in fact, very similar to their project, which would help when explaining their plan for their calendar to other people. Well, provided they didn’t object to Muggles or Muggle technology, which quite a few wizards still did.

Buoyed by the success with Parvati, Hermione dropped in at the Leaky Cauldron over lunch to recruit Hannah Longbottom nee Abbott. By Wednesday they’d found half their models and a sponsor to cover the production costs. Unfortunately, both of their address books were exhausted, and they still needed more models and a photographer; there was nothing for it but to put up a poster at the nursery and hope for the best.

Centred Text
Volunteers needed for charity calendar!
All proceeds towards expansion and improvement of the Diagon Nursery.
Contact Ginny Potter or Hermione Granger for more details.

 

There were several responses, some of which were odd.

“We to keep the prints of our shots, right?” Rachel asked.

“We could probably arrange that.”

“Brilliant! I’ve always wanted to be a pinup. Of course little Katie was a baby model, so it must run in the family.”

“I’m sure you’re very proud,” Hermione said politely, since she’d been told about little Katie’s brief modelling every time she’d spoken to Rachel and had drawn her own conclusions on the subject. “It’s wonderful to get such an enthusiastic volunteer.”

Inevitably, not everyone was so supportive.

“You’re going to be completely naked?” Penelope Clearwater asked in a scandalised tone. “How inappropriate! What sort of example does it set our children if their mothers are flaunting their bodies all over the country?”

“Nobody will be flaunting their bodies, Penelope,” Hermione said in her best Reasonable Voice. “It’ll be tasteful. You don’t object to the Venus de Milo, do you?”

“I might if she were being sold off to raise money for our children! This unpleasant enterprise brings the whole nursery into disrepute. Really, Hermione, as an ex-Prefect I would have thought that you would have the sense not to get mixed up in such a sordid scheme.”

“Would you?” Hermione replied crossly. “That shows how little you know about me. If you have a better idea for raising 80,000 galleons, then by all means let me know. Otherwise, we’re proceeding with the calendar. If you really object to us expanding the nursery, then bear in mind that I won’t force your children to attend it.”

Penelope drew herself up to her full height, and her pearl necklace quivered with her indignation. “We shall see about that. I will be speaking to the nursery governors about this!”

For several days Penelope’s threat didn’t materialise into anything, but given her notorious ability to create bureaucratic hurdles -- perhaps inevitable in an ex-girlfriend of Percy’s -- that wasn’t much comfort. Hermione knew something was afoot when Astoria Malfoy approached her outside the nursery, the small figure of Scorpius at her side.

“I’ve heard you have a plan for a fundraising calendar. Penelope’s been bothering everyone about it.”

“We’re not trying to cause trouble,” Hermione said defensively. “The nursery really does need expanding and calendars like this have been very effective for Muggles, so-”

“Yes, I can see why you’re doing it, but the idea won’t fly with the governors,” Astoria said bluntly. “You’ve got my vote, but I don’t think you’ll get many more. They’re a conservative bunch, and Penelope’s lobbying them mercilessly, so if you’re serious about this, then you need a strategy.”

“What do you suggest?” Hermione asked, and Astoria gave her an assessing look.

“Take it to an emergency parents’ meeting. If your motion passes, then the governors won’t overrule it. You’ve probably got a week, two if I stall them, before the governors will make a decision otherwise. If we win at the meeting then you can tell me whether you need any more help.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t think traditional pureblood families would...”

“You’d be surprised what traditional pureblood families get up to,” Astoria said, lowering her voice, “because we’re very good at bribes and blackmail. Trust me, a few naughty pictures won’t shock anyone, whatever they might say to the contrary in public.”

“Well, thank you,” Hermione said, “I’ll get onto it.”

“Good,” Astoria replied, taking hold of Scorpius’ arm in preparation to Apparate. “This place needs shaking up. Let me know the meeting date; I’ll do what I can.”

Hermione collected Rosie from where she was talking to another small girl - Emerald? Esmerelda? Something like that - and went to warn Ginny of the impending storm.

“That utter bitch,” Ginny said. “Now what do we do?”

“Organize a parents’ meeting apparently. I’ve looked at the constitution, and we need ten parents’ signatures in order to force the governors to call a meeting. So if you talk to your family, then-”

Ginny sighed. “Right.”

----------------

“Mummy,” Rose said as Hermione chopped broccoli and carrots the following evening, “are you going to stop wearing clothes?”

Hermione paused, cast the wandless charm to lower the knives, and turned around slowly. “Of course I’m not, sweetie. Why d’you ask?”

“Jon’than said you were going to be walking around without any clothes on,” Rosie said, squinting at her mum with fierce concentration.

“I expect Jonathan heard somebody talking and got confused.”

“He said his mum told him,” persisted Rose.

“I see,” Hermione said calmly. “Well, Jonathan’s mother has misunderstood. Aunt Ginny and I are organising something to help the nursery build a playground and get bigger, but everyone will still wear clothes normally.”

“Will Aunt Ginny be naked for this thing?” Rose asked, with her characteristic ability to pick up on exactly what you were trying not to tell her.

Hermione quietly cursed Jonathan and his meddling, censorious mother. “Yes, just for a few minutes. Sometimes it’s better not to wear clothes, like when you’re in the bath.”

“Daddy doesn’t wear his shirt sometimes,” Rose said thoughtfully, “but he says I have to or I’ll get hurt from the sun.”

“Daddy’s quite right,” Hermione said, moving onto a new subject with relief. “Remember out talk about No-Sun charms?”

“I don’t like them, they’re itchy,” Rose complained.

“You’d like the sunburn even less,” Hermione told her, turning back to the chopping board. “Daddy and I know about these things.”

“I can’t believe she has the nerve to spread rumours among the children!” Hermione seethed later, a glass of wine clutched tight in her left hand as she leaned over the floo. “Has Albus-”

“Yeah, same story,” Ginny said, looking grim. “It’d be nice to make our own bloody decisions about what to tell our kids. Now James is asking what it has to do with babies, and I’d hoped to put that off for another decade.”

“What did you say?”

“Harry handled it,” Ginny replied with a hint of a smile. “James has gone away with the impression that mummy and daddy take all their clothes off and do something slimy a bit like custard. I dread to hear what that’ll have turned into after the usual round of Chinese whispers.”

“We need to go on the offensive with this before it gets any worse. Perhaps we should write to the other parents and tell them what’s happening, because -”

“They’ll be dealing with the same questions and blaming us,” Ginny said bluntly. “Attack is the best sort of defence. I’ll try to draft something tomorrow and get George to whip up some flyers.”

“No explosions,” Hermione warned. “I think we’ll see enough of those already.”

---------------------

Hermione arrived early for the parents’ meeting, but the largest room in the nursery was nearly full already. The volume of conversation dropped as she entered and then rose again, leaving Hermione was in no doubt that she was being talked about.

A lectern and a cluster of chairs had been arranged at one end of the room, beside which Penelope and her small-minded, cashmere-clad allies were circling the Nursery Governors like vultures.

Penelope’s friends were the sort of people who wrote fusty letters to the Daily Prophet about the need for better manners, but it wasn’t stopping their eyes from flicking maliciously back and forth between herself and Ron, who was sitting in the far corner beside George, Angelina, and the twins. Hermione turned her back on the crowd at the front and scanned the room for a suitably politic seat.

“Come and sit with us,” Parvati said, gesturing at Hermione. “Then they can glare at us simultaneously instead of straining their necks.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, sliding into the chair beside Lavender. “I admire your patience at putting up with them.”

“It’s not like we have much choice,” Lavender said, under her breath. “But if it makes you feel any better, I hear that Odina and her husband are living in separate houses now. I suppose it’s socially acceptable for one’s marriage to fail, but getting an actual divorce or moving on is uncouth.”

“We shouldn’t take pleasure in other people’s misfortune,” Hermione said, trying in vain to convince herself. It didn’t help that Ginny had hesitantly confirmed what she already suspected: the divorce damned her in the eye of some of these people, and by arguing publicly for the calendar, she might undermine their efforts.

Parvati gave her a sideways look. “Of course not,” she said brightly. “Lav and I would never do that, even in Divination class. We’re just enjoy life’s little ironies.

“Excuse me everyone,” Astoria called loudly, and Hermione swivelled to face the lectern. “Please take a seat, we’ll start shortly.”

Penelope and her allies settled themselves in the front row, presumably so as to better intimidate the Governors. Whatever misgivings she had harboured about the Malfoys in the past, Hermione found herself grateful that Astoria was acting as Chair

“This Emergency Meeting of the Diagon Nursery Parents Association has been called to discuss a motion put forward by Ginevra Potter. The motion reads as follows: ‘Recognising that the Nursery is in need of both renovations and expansion to accommodate the children within our magical community; and Acknowledging that the central limitation to these improvements is a shortage of funds; The Association approves the production of a nude fundraising calendar featuring members of this Association, all the proceeds of which will be directed to the Nursery Improvement Fund.’ Will anyone wishing to speak on this motion please raise their hand.”

Inevitably, there was a flurry of hands at the front of the room.

“Will each of you please stand to address the room,” Astoria said, calmly. “Penelope.”

“My name is Penelope Rothburn, and I am strongly opposed to this motion,” Penelope said, turning as she spoke so as to address her comments to all the conservatively dressed members of the audience. “This is exactly the sort of thing that leads to familial breakdown and fragmented communities. Children should be raised in stable homes by a mother and father who respect the sanctity of their marriage; having pictures of naked witches in our households is a provocation for infidelity and divorce.”

Hermione took several deep breaths in a determined effort to control her temper and leaned forward until she could see Ginny across the room.

Ginny sent her a sympathetic look, and Harry shot her a tense smile.

“It is well known that pornography contributes to sexual promiscuity, and it would be irresponsible of this nursery to add to those social ills. Indeed,” Penelope paused for a moment, and her gaze settled on Hermione, “we’re seeing the effects of these sad trends already, so it’s our duty to step in before more children are put through the trauma of broken homes.”

“Look, that’s not fair!” Harry said, shooting to his feet. “You’ve got your personal views, or whatever, but having married parents is no guarantee that you’ll raise kids decently. Children need to be loved by those around them, whoever those people are. Let’s just discuss the motion and leave the politics out of it.”

“Mr Potter, you are speaking out of turn,” Astoria chided mildly, “but Penelope, please confine your comments to the motion under consideration. The breakdown of contemporary society is not relevant to this debate.”

Penelope’s mouth tightened. “The notion of hawking naked photographs of anyone in the name of this nursery is repellent. Our mission is to promote child welfare and development, and it would be wrong to use the proceeds of pornography for this end,” Penelope said firmly, and re-took her seat.

Hermione glanced across at Harry and mouthed “Thanks.” “Don’t worry,” he mouthed back, and Hermione smiled weakly before turning her attention to the next speaker.

“This whole thing is completely inappropriate,” a grey-haired witch in a pale blue cardigan was saying. “This nursery has been in Diagon Alley for nearly two hundred years; it’s an institution for families and family values in magical society. I don’t want our children to grow up thinking they can parade about showing their private parts to all and sundry like this! It’s - it’s pornographic and shameful!”

“ ‘Zere is nothing shameful about ze human body,” Fleur retorted and someone at the back of the room called out, “You would say that, being French!”

“And a veela!” someone else added, just loud enough for Hermione to hear.

“This meeting must come to order!” Astoria said loudly and authoritatively. “Tabitha, you have the floor unless you’ve finished. You have? Then Fleur, go ahead.”

“Enough of thees insults!” Fleur said, getting to her feet and holding herself proudly. “You stereotype and patronize me, but eet will not stop me being right. We live in our bodies, and if we are lucky, ‘zey are strong and this makes ‘zem beautiful, I theenk. All of you were naked when you were born from your muzzers, naked when your children were born and conceived. ‘Ze calendar will be nude and nothing could be more appropriate for a nursery, I theenk!”

Fleur tossed back her silvery hair, looking around the room in challenge and then retook her seat.

“Quite right, darling,” said Bill, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Well said, Fleur,” Ginny said loudly.

At the front of the room, another of Penelope’s cronies was complaining about the degradation of the moral values of the young, earning yet another rebuke from Astoria.

Beside Hermione, Lavender’s hand shot up.

“I disagree,” Lavender said, standing up. “I’m Lavender Brown-Patil and I say let’s not get so het up about it, yeah? The calendar is for charity, and the people making it should be beyond reproach here. We were in Dumbledore’s Army together, we fought Voldemort, and we were fighting for the rights to be free of censorship and raise our children as we liked. If you ask me, this is part of the same project: we take in more kids - every magical kid that wants to come - and they learn to get along. If the calendar’s in aid of that, then I support it, and I’m prepared to get my kit off.”

“Me, too!” yelled Angelina from the back.

“There’s really no need for this!” protested one of the Governors, a plump man in a fur-lined robe.

Astoria raised her hand quellingly. “Let’s try to keep this as a civilized discussion. Ginny Potter, you have the floor.”

“The point of this isn’t to decide whether, as parents, you’re for or against nudity,” Ginny said, looking around the room at the people who seemed to be wavering. “What you need to ask yourselves is if you think the nursery needs improving and whether you have any better idea to raise the money. Merlin knows we’ve had enough jumble sales, bake sales, and raffles to last a lifetime, but we still don’t have the galleons we need. If you want a bigger, better nursery for your kids and your grandkids, then vote for this motion - it’s as simple as that.”

“Thank you, Ginny. Does anyone have anything further to contribute?”

Several hands shot up at the front of the room.

“In the interests of efficiency, I’m going to confine further debate to those who have not already spoken or who have additional information to provide. Any more speakers?”

There was silence, and the hands at the front were lowered, although Penelope’s friends didn’t look happy about it.

“Then I suggest we put this to a vote,” Astoria said smoothly. “Any objections? Good. All those in favour of this motion, please raise your hands.”

Hermione put her hand up and looked around the room. A lot of people’s hands were raised, but it was impossible to tell from this angle precisely how many people were in favour, let alone how many were in the room. Was this half? A little more than half?

“Thank you. And all those opposed to the motion, please raise your hands,” Astoria announced, and resumed counting.

There seemed to be fewer hands this time, but Hermione noted that Astoria had been right about the governors since all but one of them were voting against.

“And all those abstaining,” Astoria said, scanning the room as the final set of hands were raised. “Thank you. Then with a vote of thirty one in favour, twenty six against, and two abstentions, this motion is passed. There being no other business on the agenda, I declare this meeting over. Thank you all for attending.”

The quiet of the room burst into immediate noise as people stood up or turned to their neighbours, or in Ginny’s case, let out a whoop of triumph.

Hermione picked up her bag and squeezed along the row of chairs towards Astoria and Draco, who was now standing behind her.

“Congratulations,” Astoria said, smiling.

“Mostly down to you, I think,” Hermione replied and saw Draco smirk.

“My wife is quite the strategist,” he drawled. “Tt’s one of her best features, though I regret to say that it makes our home life very complicated.”

“Draco exaggerates, of course,” Astoria said, turning towards him and laying a hand on his forearm. For a moment they looked at each other with the bright, calculating eyes of two people who enjoyed nothing better than a vicious and thoroughly manipulative argument. Whatever Ron’s faults might have been, Hermione was - not for the first time - thankful that she hadn’t entered a relationship with a Slytherin.

“Now we’ve got approval, you’d better get to work. Got a photographer lined up yet?”

“Not yet,” Hermione said, a little taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “We have a few names, and Ginny’s looking over the portfolios.”

“Excellent,” Astoria said, “I’ll send you another. I know a lady that you ought to meet.”

Ron was waiting awkwardly for her by the door, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Hey,” he said. “I wanted to come ‘n support you. It’s great that you and Gin are doing this, not that my approval matters I guess, but it’s a good cause. Those guys are arseholes for using our divorce as ammunition against you.”

Hermione could have said plenty about blame and sexual double standards, but those things weren’t Ron’s fault.

“Thank you,” she said instead. “See you Friday, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Ron said and hesitated, shoulders hunched and indecision on his face. “Ginny says you’re worried about having your picture taken. Obviously it’s none of my business now, but I think you’d look lovely in the calendar. You’re beautiful, Hermione, I never stopped thinking that.”

Hermione felt herself blush and looked away, as Ron said “Erm, so, Friday,” and fled.

She went home, thanked her parents for baby-sitting, made herself a huge mug of hot chocolate, and pondered the oddities of etiquette with one’s ex-husband. Especially when he was Ronald Weasley and thus, infamously, not the master of tact.
 

----------------------

Although it was ironic, it wasn't unknown for Voldemort's sympathisers to choose a life amongst Muggles over a life of being treated as criminals by the magical community. After her notorious outburst at Hogwarts, Parkinson had evidently decided to flee from yet another fight by taking up Muggle fashion photography.

Hermione had never harboured sympathy for those who designed clothes to fit skeletal women and made shoes that nobody could walk in, but she wasn't sure that even they deserved to suffer Parkinson's constant sniping. She put the letter and pictures firmly out of sight, resolving that whatever happened, they could surely find a more agreeable photographer.

The week passed uneventfully and soon Hermione found herself Apparating to Ron's house on Friday with Rose in her arms and Rose's weekend bag lung over one shoulder. Ron opened the door in jeans, swept Rose up into a bear-hug, and then put her down so he could take the bag from Hermione's hand.

"Floo me if you need anything."

"I think we'll be all right," Ron said, smiling down at Rose. "D'you want to go to the Muggle waterslides tomorrow?"

"Yeah!" Rose shouted, jumping in excitement.

"Isn't it too cold?"

"They have indoor ones in swimming pools," Ron said, with the air of one who'd done much research on the subject. "George and Angelina take the twins."

"Right. Well, have a nice time," Hermione said, stifling the urge to add "be careful".

It was nice, in a way, to have the weekend to herself. On Friday night she had dinner with Dean and Luna, which involved a rather peculiar starter but provided a nice opportunity to catch up and hear tales of their travels in Asia.

On Saturday she luxuriated in bed for nearly an hour before making a vain effort to tidy up the garden. In the afternoon it started drizzling, and Hermione nestled on the sofa to watch a cheesy romantic movie, because everyone needs some escapism, and then a serious documentary about injustice because one needed brain-food, too.

She had cheese on toast for supper, took a long bath filled with scented goo that she'd been given for Christmas, and went to bed feeling...content. Well, nearly content. For the first time in what she realised was nearly two years, Hermione felt the stirrings of sexual interest. She was horny.

Now that Hermione thought about it, she hadn't had sex since long before the divorce. There'd been months when she was still breast-feeding Rosie and growing steadily angrier at Ron for leaving her to do most of the childcare and housework, and Ron had got angry that Hermione was angry at him all the time. Of course, this made her angrier because he had the nerve to be cross instead of apologetic, and whatever desire existed between them had wilted like a flower in the frost.

The night that Ginny announced that she was pregnant again they had flooed home -- Hermione seething over something Ron had done, though she could no longer remember what -- and he'd announced, "This isn't working. I think I should move out."

They had the most civil discussion that either of them were capable of at the time -- which wouldn't have won them any awards -- and Ron had left. Then there was constant legal paperwork, the exhaustion of looking after Rose while working full-time, and somehow Hermione had never reconnected with her sexuality. She'd grown used to feeling asexual, but she didn't feel that way at the moment.

Hermione slid her hand down beneath the waistband of her pyjama pants and hesitantly touched herself. She was wet and the sensation of her fingers against the textured nub of her clitoris was very nice indeed. Hermione worked herself to a breathless orgasm and then lay back on the rumpled sheets and gazed at the dark sky outside. Single parent or not, she surely deserved to have a sex life, even if it was only with herself.

Hermione awoke in a good mood and had decided to make French toast for herself and Rose before she remembered that Rose was at Ron's. She ate her own French toast rather sadly and went to diligently weeding the garden, which was where Ginny found her that afternoon for the next planning session.

"This," Ginny announced, waving the portfolios at her, "is a complete disaster."

"It can't be that bad," Hermione replied, with what transpired to be unfounded optimism.

The portfolios really were that bad.

Although the first set of pictures did feature nude women, the photographer seemed intent on capturing the women's bodies and omitting their heads. The pictures looked anonymous, over-sexualised, and frankly rather creepy.

"No," Ginny said firmly, and Hermione didn't argue.

The second portfolio consisted largely of sepia-tinted portraits of bored-looking children clutching their Hogwarts letters, their Prefects badges or occasionally both.

"If these are his good pictures, what do the bad ones look like?" Hermione wondered, and Ginny snorted in amusement.

The third was a collection of landscape pictures. Although closer inspection proved that there were living creatures in the images, most turned out to be sheep. The fourth portofolio consisted of an assortment of mediocre wedding photos.

"She might be okay," Ginny said, doubtfully, leafing through the pictures of bouquets, bridesmaids, and smiling couples. "There's nothing strictly wrong with the pictures."

"Except that they're dead boring. We won't raise the money with pictures like that."

"Then we're fucked," Ginny said bleakly. "I've contacted every magical photographer I can think of, but there just aren't all that many. I mean, we could hire a Muggle, and I'm sure the pictures would be fine, but it's an Obliviator callout waiting to happen."

"There might be one more option..." Hermione said hesitantly. "Astoria sent me another portfolio."

"Get it out, then," Ginny urged, and Hermione hesitated, pursing her lips.

"It's really not someone we want to work with."

"Are they worse than creepy-decapitation guy, cheesy babies, or only-does-sheep? Show me the damn pictures. I mean, how bad can it be?"

"You'd have to get naked in front of Pansy Parkinson," Hermione said bluntly.

Ginny's face darkened. "Let's hope the photos aren't any good."

But the pictures were good -- scratch that, they were excellent.

Hermione didn't know much about photography, but even she could see the careful use of light and the bold, provocative framing. Although the point was to sell clothes, the photographer had managed to capture a mood in each of the images; they were incomparably better than the others.

"D'you want to Owl her or shall I?"

"We hated each other," Hermione said. "you should have seen the Prefects' meetings."

"She crucio-ed me, once," Ginny replied. "Although to her credit, it wasn't very competent."

"Fine, I'll do it," Hermione conceded, because an exchange of bitchy remarks and having dragon dung spilled on her robes by Parkinson clearly wasn't equivalent to being tortured.

Hermione's letter to Parkinson was scrupulously polite and filled with bland phrases about the nursery, their idea for the calendar, and Astoria's recommendation of her friend. Parkinson's response was terse but equally inoffensive: "Sounds fine. Could meet to talk any evening after 9. Let me know, PP."

Hermione frowned at the letter for a bit, cast a number of inquisitive spells on it - which revealed nothing - and then replied to schedule the meeting. If both she and Ginny tried their hardest, then, with luck, nobody would curse anyone.

The next few days passed slowly, and Hermione was becoming increasingly concerned about the fact that she'd invited a Death Eater sympathiser into her home even before Ginny's panicked appearance in the floo: "Minor crisis! I'll be a bit late, wait if you can."

"What am I supposed to do with her in the meantime?"

"Give her a drink! Have to go, see you soon," Ginny said and disappeared.

Hermione had just made a pot of tea -- reasoning that a hot drink never hurt anyone unless it was thrown over them, which seemed unlikely even for Parkinson -- when the doorbell rang.

"Hi," Pansy said, standing outside in the dim light of the porch. "Been a long time."

From what Hermione remembered of school, Pansy Parkinson had been too thin, worn too much makeup, liked sickly pastel colours, and was generally surrounded by a posse of Slytherins. She'd had a pug nose, too, although that was one of the few things Hermione didn't hold against her.

The nose was the same, but the figure standing before her was dressed head to toe in black, her face bare of makeup and hair cut into an efficient, spiky bob. It was, in Hermione's admittedly biased opinion, an improvement.

Hermione became aware that she was staring and blurted, "I expected you to floo."

Pansy's mouth quirked. "No connection in my apartment. I work with Muggles, which you might have noticed, given that the pictures don't move."

"Yes, I know what Muggle photos look like," Hermione said crossly and then chided herself for rising to the bait. "Come in."

"Where's Weasley?"

"She's running a bit late and asked us to wait," Hermione said, gesturing Parkinson towards a chair. "Drink?"

"No, thanks," Pansy said, putting down her bag but not removing her jacket.

There was an awkward silence.

"Is there somewhere I can go for a fag?" Pansy asked, and Hermione's relief at not having to make small-talk briefly outweighed her disapproval.

"You could smoke in the garden," Hermione said, and Pansy produced a pack of cigarettes.

"Call me when Weasley arrives, then," she said, and slipped out of the patio door.

Hermione poured herself a cup of tea and then sat on the sofa watching Parkinson smoke outside and feeling uncomfortable. Surely a hostess had a responsibility to entertain someone? It wasn't as though Parkinson was a guest, though. Still, it would be polite to talk to her, wouldn't it? They'd have to talk if the calendar was going to be made, and it wasn't as though Ginny would be any better at it - worse if anything given the Weasley temper and -

Hermione sighed, put down her tea, and went out to join Parkinson, who was sitting on the step with a cigarette in her hand and smoke curling from her lips.

"Do you want this job?" Hermione asked, and Pansy gave her an impassive look and took a sharp drag before replying.

"Actually, I do."

"Why?"

Pansy looked away and blew out a haze of smoke. "Mostly people go through life thinking they're essentially good, and they'd be heroes if they got the chance: helping the injured, savings refugees. I don't have that luxury. I was there and I didn't help. So photography was an escape, I suppose. It's an art of surfaces and images, everything is brief and insubstantial. I love my job and I'm good at it, but it would be nice for the pictures to mean something more occasionally."

Pansy turned her gaze back towards Hermione, narrow-eyed and challenging. "Is that the confession you were looking for?"

"Pretty much," Hermione said, sitting down on the step beside her.

Mutely Pansy offered her the packet, and Hermione shook her head.

"Ever tried it?"

"Once or twice," Hermione said, thinking of the time during the war when she'd grabbed a packet of cigarettes from a shop. Her hands had shaken as the tip flared in the damp, gloomy wood, and she'd desperately tried to think of anything except fear or loss. Smoking hadn't helped; nothing had helped until Ron came back. A few years later, nothing had helped until he'd left.

"It would be a bad example for Rose," Hermione said to fill the silence, "and they're terrible for you."

"Everyone deserves one vice," Pansy said, taking a final drag before stubbing it out. She slid a fresh cigarette out of the packet, lit it with her wand, and took the first deep inhalation before giving Hermione an almost-flirtatious look from beneath her lashes. "Just one? Don't you ever yield to temptation?"

"Smoking doesn't tempt me."

"Let me guess, you only crave desserts? Sexual desire channelled into chocolate?"

"That's none of your business-" Hermione was saying when Ginny opened the door behind them.

"Sorry! Lily's been a terror today. Anyway, let's get to business."

Pansy extinguished the cigarette with a wave of her wand and tucked it back into the pack. "Fine with me. You've seen my portfolio?"

"It was impressive," Ginny said reservedly. "If we're capable of working together, then you might be just the photographer for us."

Given what Hermione remembered of Parkinson from school, the discussion was amazingly frictionless. Pansy had clearly done some research about calendars, and her work in fashion photography obviously involved similar skills.

"I was thinking a mix of standing and seated shots, mostly taken from the side," Pansy said, tossing a few pictures onto the table. "All these poses would look great nude and avoid the full frontal problem. The sales figures for the nude calendars among Muggles show that the crucial thing is to avoid any genitals, nipples, and anything in bad taste. Black and white looks arty, and it's traditional, so I thought we'd do that unless you object."

"That sounds fine," Ginny said, looking a little out of her depth with all this talk of poses and camera angles.

"Ideally we want eleven people, and we'll do a group shot for December. Who've you got at the moment?"

"Technically there's eleven," Ginny said, glancing at Hermione, "but Lavender and Parvati want to pose together. Harry's offered, but I figured we could be photographed doing the happy families thing."

"A topless 'boy hero' will do wonders for your sales," Pansy said bluntly, lounging in her armchair with an easy confidence that was almost sexy. "Yeah, let's shoot Lav and Parv together because if the old codgers are offended anyway, we might as well do a thorough job of it. So you need another model; it would be weird to repeat one person."

"Can we do another group picture?" Hermione suggested.

"No. They take ages and look boring as hell."

"I can try to recruit someone else," Ginny said doubtfully, but Pansy had already picked up the list of names and was reading it.

"Why aren't you on here, Granger?"

"Because I don't want to pose," Hermione said, trying not to get defensive. "I don't feel comfortable with it."

"It would really help, Hermione," Ginny said, looking hopeful. "The rest of us are doing it, and it seems like Pansy won't embarrass us too much."

"I..." Hermione said, searching for an explanation she could share without sounding melodramatic or desperately insecure. "It's just -- given the divorce and everything..."

"You'll have to get over it sometime, Granger," Pansy said, giving her a piercing look. "Everyone feels like shit after a relationship ends, and then we get over it and move on. Just because you're not shagging anyone doesn't mean you aren't worth looking at."

"That's really not the point," Hermione lied, looking down at the table to avoid their eyes.

"Maybe we could find you a non-scary pose?" Ginny suggested sympathetically.

"Of course we could, but if this is about self-confidence, then maybe you need to see yourself differently. Granger, if you do this, then I assure you that you'll find the image of yourself in the photo attractive. And you won't be the only one."

Hermione hesitated, weighing her fears of public ridicule against the possibility of transformation, and remembered her nerves before the Yule Ball. It hadn't been the evening she'd dreamed of, but people hadn't laughed at her then, and perhaps they wouldn't laugh now. If Parvati and Lavender were prepared to risk it, and Hannah was doing it despite her shyness...

"All right, fine," Hermione said tersely, and when she looked up, Ginny was smiling.

"You're a hero," she said, throwing an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"Want a hug from me, too?" Pansy asked dryly.

Hermione smiled at that. "I think I'll manage without."

"Well, I should head off," Pansy said, gathering her things together. "Let's figure the shooting date, and I'll look into locations. Shall we meet again next week to iron out the details?"

"That sounds great," Ginny said, sounding as if she meant it, and they shook hands before Pansy left.

Ginny turned to Hermione and gave her an appraising glance. "You look like you need a drink," she said, summoning a bottle of wine and some glasses. "It'll be great, there's nothing to worry about."

In Hermione's opinion, there was plenty to worry about. In addition to her usual weekly activities of working and raising Rose, they scheduled the shoot for a Saturday in three weeks' time. This meant they had to find a location, get their volunteers organised, plan the printing and distribution, and -- not least -- be ready to look good naked.

To add further to the complications, Ron chose this time to make a big announcement. When Hermione arrived at his house after the next weekend that he had custody, she found Rose colouring in a picture of a hippogriff with intense concentration and Ron sitting there looking awkward.

"I've, um, got something to tell you," he said, beckoning Hermione into the neighbouring room where they were out of Rose's earshot. "I'm sort've seeing someone. I'm not going to say anything to Rosie, because I dunno if it'll go anywhere, and it's basically boobs, and beer at this point --" he coloured, as if just realising this was indelicate phrasing, "but I wanted you to hear it from me rather than Ministry gossip or the 'papers."

"Thank you for telling me, Ron. I hope it works out," Hermione said, and found that she meant it.

Worse still, Hermione's own romantic status was less stable than she'd thought, since she found herself struggling to focus during the subsequent meetings with Pansy. Perhaps it had been Pansy's comments about sex and temptation when they'd spoken in the garden that had set her imagination racing.

Or perhaps Pansy herself was encouraging it through the series of tiny, casual touches that Hermione found herself intensely aware of: the brush of their fingers on a glass, and the pressure of Pansy's bare foot against her ankle beneath the coffee table. Hermione didn't know if the contact was intentioned or accidental, but it was diverting nonetheless.

"Earth to Granger!" Pansy said sharply, and Hermione dragged her eyes away from watching the curl of Pansy's lips around the cigarette.

"Sorry," said Hermione, trying not to blush. "Could you repeat that?"

This was ridiculous. Hermione hadn't fancied a girl since her brief and unrequited crush on Susan Bones in their fifth year, and she'd assumed it was a phase. She wasn't fifteen now, and this wasn't just a girl -- it was Pansy Parkinson who'd been a bitch and a traitor once.

Besides, Hermione had no cause to think that Parkinson was queer or even any reason to believe that she herself was queer aside from these sudden, weird thoughts. It was probably just her libido going crazy after the prolonged sexual abstinence, Hermione told herself.

Unfortunately her body continued to react inappropriately when Pansy said things like "tits looks gorgeous from that angle," or, once, "I'll do Granger lying down." The latter phrase came back to haunt Hermione in bed at night, and she made the unpleasant discovery that the mental image of Pansy was far more effective when masturbating than that of Oliver Wood, Viktor, or even Charlie Weasley. She decided not to think too hard about what that meant.

The time sped past, and before Hermione knew it, they were only days before the photo shoot. She was getting ready to leave work one afternoon when the departmental secretary appeared in her doorway and asked incredulously, "Are you really making a nude calendar, Miss Granger?"

"What?" Hermione said, distracted. "Oh, yes. A number of us are doing it to raise galleons for the Diagon Nursery."

"That's really cool! My cousin told me about it, but I didn't think you were that kind of person" said the young secretary, with what Hermione considered to be an unflattering amount of surprise.

"You realise people don't automatically become boring old farts the day we turn thirty?" Hermione asked, picking up her bag and heading for the door.

"Er, yeah," the secretary said, sounding unconvinced.

Hermione left her office and closed the door behind her. "Well, have a nice weekend," she said, heading towards the apparition point and leaving the confused-looking girl in her wake.

That evening Hermione made curry and read a moving cartoon book - courtesy of the same charm used for magical photographs - with Rose before putting her to bed.

As she washed her face, Hermione looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and was downhearted about the contrast to the models in Pansy's photographs. She didn't look elegant or mysterious, just tired and utterly ordinary. If this calendar was going to work, then Pansy would have to work photographic wonders.

Three days before the shoot, they had a final late-night meeting about the logistics, and Hermione found herself sitting on the sofa trying to focus on what Ginny was saying instead of on the way Pansy's knee was touching her thigh.

"...if everyone gets there at nine, then you should have time to set up the lights," Ginny was saying, focusing on the parchment in her hand. "I've told them to do their makeup and stuff beforehand so we've got more time on site, but you might have to give them some guidance or something."

"Fine, I can Owl everyone." Pansy said, moving her leg so that the contact with Hermione's thigh increased.

Hermione squirmed, and Pansy looked up, giving her bland look that belied their bodily contact. Was Pansy flirting?

"Great. Now we don't want Harry for the whole day, obviously, so if we can arrange a time, then I'l make sure he shows up for it," Ginny continued, apparently unaware of these events.

Pansy leaned back casually in her chair, dropping a hand onto the sofa cushion beside Hermione's, and the next moment Hermione felt Pansy's finger trail up the inside of her wrist. All her nerves seemed to come to tingling attention; this was an erogenous zone at the best of times, but the effect was magnified with Pansy so close that Hermione could feel her body heat.

It was difficult not to think about where this might lead, especially since she would soon be naked in front of Pansy. How would it feel to have Pansy's eyes running over her skin and for the camera to capture that gaze? Would the sexual tension be visible in the pictures? Hermione got wetter and wetter at these thoughts while the dry discussion continued around her.

She was jolted back to the matter at hand when Ginny said, "What do you think, Hermione?"

"Um," Hermione said, clearing her throat. "I don't have strong opinions on the subject."

Ginny frowned as if this was not the response she'd expected. "Okay. Let's leave that for another day, then. I think we're done and I'll expect your Owl, Pansy."

The contact between them was broken when Pansy stood as if to leave, but instead she excused herself and moved in the direction of the bathroom. Hermione suspected that it was a deliberate move to leave them alone in the house and found herself hovering nervously by the floo after Ginny had left.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Granger," Pansy said, re-entering the room. "And it might be bedtime."

"It's getting late, yes," Hermione said, unsure exactly what that comment was alluding to. "I've got work in the morning, of course."

"You know where I live if you need anything," Pansy said, stepping closer, and Hermione felt her heartbeat speed up. Were they... Was Pansy going to kiss her? But Pansy stopped, easily within reach, and simply looked at her.

"Yes, of course," Hermione said, trying to maintain her composure. "I'll think about it."

"Really," Pansy said, sliding her tongue along her lower lip and almost mesmerising Hermione at the sight, "it would be my pleasure."

There was no doubt now that they were flirting, but Pansy didn't make a move. Which was probably wise, however much Hermione's body might yearn for that contact, since they had to work together. In public and in Hermione's case, without wearing clothes.

"Well," Pansy said, brushing Hermione's arm with her hand as she stepped into the fireplace, "good night."

Hermione was touching herself as soon as the bedroom door closed, and it took several intense orgasms before her body stopped responding to the mere recollection of Pansy's touch.

The next few days were filled with frantic exchanges of Owls from participants asking about waxing, props, hair dye, make-up, and god knows what else. In the end Pansy replied with a simple message to everyone:

For fuck's sake, calm down. Wax whatever you like, or don't. Keep the hair-styles and make-up sane or I'll change it. Remember the pictures will be black and white.
This is a nude shoot so I don't care what you wear as long as it isn't tight enough to leave marks - no bras. If you're nervous then come in something that makes you feel beautiful; it'll help when you take it off. Bring your own music or jewellery if you like, but you don't need props. You'll want a packed lunch.

Each question from the others made Hermione more self-conscious, and she wavered about whether to engage in a fury of depilation before booking a waxing appointment. It hurt and she felt vain for bothering, but at least she needn't worry that Rita Skeeter would attribute the divorce to her hairy legs -- 'she really let herself go'.

Hermione woke before her alarm on the fateful Saturday, fussed nervously around the house until it got light, and forced down a bowl of muesli. She took a shower in the hope it would relax her, which it didn't, and then spent ages taming her hair which had become a giant frizz.

After assembling her lunch, there was just time to replace her aged pyjamas with a blue shirt, jeans, and no underwear before getting Rose up.

"But it's the weekend," Rose said sleepily.

"Mummy is working this weekend, Rosie," Hermione reminded her. "You're going to grandma and granddad's. They'll probably let you watch cartoons."

"Okay," Rose said, lured by the appeal of Tom and Jerry, and deigned to be dressed in her most inconspicuous set of Muggle clothes.

By the time Hermione reached the warehouse, Pansy was waiting outside and smoking a cigarette.

"That's a filthy habit," Hermione remarked, and Pansy turned casually towards her. As usual she wore head to toe black, but Pansy still looked better than anyone had a right to at 7.57am without wearing any make-up.

"It's fucking cold," she said. "You'd better be an ace at warming charms."

"Luckily, I am," Hermione replied, placing a hand on the huge wooden door and murmuring the password.

Photography turned out to require a lot more equipment than Hermione expected because Pansy unloaded a van full of cameras, tripods, screens, lights, light stands, rolls of white and grey cloth and strange silvery umbrellas. Assembling the backdrop was fairly easy, apart from the minor panic when Hermione's blue flames singed a screen, but they noticed before anything caught fire.

Hermione assembled a makeshift dressing room from a few conjured screens, a mirror, and some chairs, and by the time Ginny had arrived with a box full of tea supplies, they were almost ready.

"Cuppa, anyone?" Ginny asked, waving the huge teapot.

Pansy gave a thumbs-up from across the room and Ginny flicked her wand, spelling some tea into the pot and then heating it in an instant.

"Morning!" Parvati called, wandering in wearing a bright pink sari. "God, this place is huge. Anyone else here yet?"

"You're first," Ginny said. "Want some tea?"

"I'd kill for a coffee," Parvati replied, pulling up a chair. "Ta, Ginny. Lav will be along with a minute, she's just getting the kids sorted. Have you decided what month we're going to be yet?"

"We won't know that until afterwards," Pansy said over her shoulder as she manipulated a camera onto a huge tripod.

"Oh, right. This is so cool. If you don't mind, then Lav and I were thinking of doing a sort of wedding thing - white veil and top hat."

Pansy paused and turned around slowly. "You old romantic. Want to get your rings in the shot, too?"

"Pansy was my first girlfriend," Parvati confided with a grin. "We were eleven."

After the flirting thus far, it wasn't a surprise that Pansy was gay, but Hermione still startled at hearing it confirmed unexpectedly.

"She was our first snog, you mean," Lavender corrected, having arrived just in time to hear this. "I was your first girlfriend."

"Keep telling yourself that, Brown," Pansy called in fake provocation.

In reply Lavender made a face at her and dropped a kiss theatrically on Parvati's cheek.

"Actually, I want a smoke, so if you come out with me then we can talk about your idea," Pansy told them. By the time all three had returned from the cigarette break, the wedding theme had been approved, and several more people had arrived.

"Good morning, everybody," announced Astoria, entering in a long white fur coat and some impressive diamond earrings. "Hannah, dear, you look beautiful."

"Oh, thanks," said Hannah, who looked nervous, and Hermione spared a moment to be thankful - again - for Astoria's intervention.

The warehouse was gradually warming up, but the huge space still felt intimidating until Angelina and her friend Chloe arrived with a magical stereo and a box of doughnuts. The sight of all these middle-aged women drinking tea or coffee out of styrofoam cups whilst wearing a peculiar assortment of clothes and no underwear was rather surreal.

"We should get started," Pansy said, wandering over to collect her tea.

"Right," Hermione said, mustering her courage. "Who d'you want first?"

"I don't care as long as they're ready."

"I think there's a spell to do it randomly-"

"For Merlin's sake. Just go alphabetically. It doesn't matter."

"Excuse me, everyone!" Hermione shouted over the bustle of conversation and Angelina's music. "We're going to start. We'll go alphabetically if that's all right, so, um, Angelina, you're first."

"Cool," Angelina said, downing the remainder of her coffee. "We're over here, yeah?"

Angelina walked casually over to the set where Pansy was waiting, and there was a horrible moment where they exchanged a long, considering look, like rival cats meeting on uncertain territory. Hermione remembered Pansy's derogatory remarks about Angelina's dreadlocks at school, and it was clear that Angelina hadn't forgotten.

"Don't I remember you?" Angelina said in a tone several shades less friendly than normal. "Slytherin prefect."

"That would have been me, I was a bitch at school." Pansy said with brutal honesty. "If I said anything terrible, then I apologise."

"No harm done and we gave as good as we got. You gonna make me look hot?"

"That's the plan," Pansy said, and they both seemed to relax a little.

"Mind me putting some music on?"

"Knock yourself out," Pansy said, spelling one of the lights brighter.

Hermione heard the words of a song that was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't identify it until the chorus: "It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes..."

"You must be kidding."

"Might as well have a sense of humour 'bout it," Angelina said, pulling off her robe.

Pansy tossed a Quaffle at her, and Angelina snatched from out of the air with an enquiring look.

"Think a bit circus," Pansy said, from behind a camera. "Lots of interesting body shapes, lines and textures. I'll let you know if there's stuff showing that shouldn't. Shift left a bit into the light - that's the spot."

"Gotcha," Angelina said. She raised the Quaffle above her head and arched backwards, her athlete's balance and flexibility giving her the grace of a dancer.

There was a frenzy of clicking, and Hermione turned to see Pansy hunched and intently focused behind the camera.

"Gorgeous," Pansy called. "Yeah, lovely. Push for a bit more extension. Turn away from me just a little..."

It looked amazingly easy with Angelina up there, strong and confident in her own body. Of course, she'd been photographed hundreds of times in her Quidditch career, which doubtless helped.

Hermione left them at it and returned to the cluster of chairs around the teapot and food.

"You all okay?"

"Bit worried," Hannah admitted, giving her a tense smile. "I don't look like that naked."

"It would be a boring calendar if we did," Hermione replies, trying for confidence that she didn't feel. "Maybe people will relate to a normal, girl-next-door look."

"Mum next door," Chloe interjected.

"Even models don't really look like that," Cho said, her hands wrapped around the cup for extra warmth. "They get professional stylists beforehand, choose the most flattering out of hundreds of shots, and then the picture gets airbrushed like mad. It's hard to feel insecure when you realise that standard of beauty doesn't even exist."

"Oooh, chocolate," Ginny said, grabbing a doughnut. "Who's up next?"

"Me, I think," said Astoria, who was holding her instant coffee carefully away from the white coat.

"Jesus, is that the diamond as big as the Ritz?" Rachel asked suddenly, staring at Astoria's hand around the throwaway cup.

"Not quite - I wouldn't want to embarrass the Queen. It's a wonderful tool of intimidation for when I'm tempted to slap Draco."

Hermione met Astoria's eyes, and they exchanged a smile over the shared experience of being deeply, violently annoyed by Astoria's husband.

"Ready when you are," Pansy shouted, the words echoing across the empty space.

"I'm quite ready," Astoria said, unclasping the fur coat and letting it fall open. Underneath, she was naked save for the glittering diamonds on each earlobe and the huge diamond in her engagement ring.

"That," Hannah said in admiration, "is one hell of an outfit."

"You should try it," Astoria suggested, slipping the fur off and draping it over a plastic chair.

"On the black one," Pansy instructed. "Face away from the camera and look back over your shoulder. Left arm out - yeah. Stay right there."

It took a minute for Pansy to adjusted the lights, and Astoria sighed impatiently at her.

"I said don't move," Pansy threatened.

"When did I ever listen to your instructions?"

"You will if you want to show those rocks off properly. I've shot for fucking Cartier, so have some patience."

Pansy made a few more adjustments, returned to the camera, and assessed her friend.

"You'll do. More definition in the face." Pansy bent over the camera, and then she was shooting again and her tone of voice shifted from the blunt everyday manner to something softer far more encouraging. "That's it, lots of emotion in the eyes. Think about wanting to smack Draco. Chin a touch higher. Beautiful. Be ferocious, you're really going to thump him."

Hermione had been horribly nervous when she woke up, but watching Pansy helped to set her fears at rest. Both Angelina and Astoria had a lot of natural confidence, but Pansy was guiding them through the poses, telling them they were beautiful and capturing the smiles in their eyes and the easing of their limbs. Despite the artificiality of the setting, these women looked gorgeous in front of Pansy's camera.

"I think we're doing bloody well," Ginny said quietly, beside her.

"So far," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "Is Chloe ready?"

"I think so. All Fred and Angie's friends seem to have this exhibitionist streak," Ginny said easily. "Hannah looks terrified, but I think she'll be okay once they start."

Chloe's shot involved an antique silver cigarette holder containing a lit cigarette, which Chloe held with a rakish 1920s air as if daring the viewer to object.

Hermione cast an unobtrusive ventilation charm in their direction and watched Pansy capture the tilt of Chloe's chin and faraway look in her eyes as she exhaled.

Cho posed in a seated position, the light gleaming off her dark hair as she gazed boldly into the lens. Fleur was different entirely, channelling her Veela blood into a series of spiky high fashion poses.

"Very nice," Pansy murmured in a voice that was almost a purr. "You're a natural."

"Fashion eez about ze body not just ze clothes," Fleur said with a sniff, turning so that one side of her face fell deliberately into shadow. "If one eez not chic when nude, one eez not chic when dressed."

Ginny and Harry were the most difficult yet and produced quite a fuss amongst the barely clad women even though neither of them was naked. Hermione's favourite of their poses involved Harry standing behind Ginny, his arms protectively around her and her head resting against his shoulder. Unless Hermione was much mistaken, they'd just got their cover shot.

Ginny gave Harry a kiss when they finished, and he blushed, uncomfortable being shirtless in front of a watching crowd, and then headed off to relieve Molly and Arthur from baby-sitting their boisterous kids.

Hermione hardly noticed Hannah's shoot amidst her own nerves, but the time must have rushed past because the next moment someone was calling her name.

Hermione took a few deep breaths and then stood up. She unbuttoned her shirt and dropped it on the chair before unbuttoning her jeans and -- oh god -- slipping them off. It was less terrifying to stare at the floor than to look up, but the distance across the warehouse felt vast, and she realised for the first time hot it was under the lights.

"Hey," Pansy said, walking up to her. "I think this will suit you. I want you to lie on your stomach and read this."

Hermione looked up and Pansy handed her a heavy, leather-bound book with Hogwarts: A History, 7th ed. 1964 written on the spine.

"It was my mother's," Pansy said. "I hear it's one of your favourites."

"How did you know?"

"We Slytherins have our ways," Pansy said evasively, and then her eyes met Hermione's and her cheeks went pink.

"That was really sweet," Hermione said, running a finger down the book's spine.

"Yes, well," Pansy replied brusquely, clearly uncomfortable at having been caught in an act of kindness, "it's in the service of a good shot. So get on the floor."

Hermione lowered herself onto the fabric, propped herself up on her elbows and opened the book, which was just as fascinating as she'd hoped. The typescript was different from her edition, and there was a different introduction, of course, and --

"Hair away from your face and do something with your legs," Pansy ordered, forcing Hermione's attention back to the photo shoot. "Lift one foot. Good. Now try with both. Great, keep changing... Same shot but rotate a bit. Lovely."

Hermione tried to keep her eyes on the book and forget that she was being photographed, but that didn't work for the final shots when Pansy insisted that she look over the book and straight at the camera.

"More emotion," Pansy said, clicking away. "Show me some passion. Look at me as though you want to fuck me -- yeah, that's better. Smoulder. Give me a gaze that will singe the pages."

It was all too easy to obey those instructions. Hermione didn't necessarily want to fuck Pansy - at least not here - but she'd imagined it. Hermione has visualised peeling off those anonymous black clothes to run her hand over Pansy's breast and lick the soft skin inside her thigh. She has imagined Pansy vulnerable and dishevelled, her toes curled and head thrown back as she comes.

Hermione wasn't sure if the content of fantasies was visible in her expression, but Pansy said, "Yes, perfect. Gorgeous. And we're done! You did great."

Hermione closed the book gently and pushed herself up from the floor, avoiding the moment when she'd have to meet look at Pansy without the camera between them providing an excuse. She walked slowly towards Pansy, holding out the book and said "Thanks. This really helped."

"I want to make you look and feel sexy," Pansy said, and then quickly added, "It's my job, as a photographer."

Hermione chanced a look up, and their eyes met. "I know that," she said, "but thank you anyway. Your instructions were very stimulating."

Pansy gave her a thoughtful look. "That's good to hear. Nude photography is a rather...intimate act. When it's done well, it's rather like making love."

"How's that?" Hermione asked, feeling the heat run through her veins.

Pansy leaned closer, her hand on Hermione's bare shoulder, and murmured, "When the chemistry is good you can see it in the pictures. Sometimes, if it's special, shooting someone will make me wet."

She pulled away, giving Hermione a sideways glance that indicated the conversation was far from being over, and shouted "Next!"

Hermione walked back to the others, feeling glad that her part was over but uncertain about this dynamic with Pansy. The flirting was fun, unquestionably, but did she want it to go beyond that? There was a huge difference between imagining sex with a woman and embarking on a relationship, especially when she had a daughter who would be affected by that decision. If she dated Pansy, then it would be all over the Prophet and Rose would probably hear comments at the nursery. Or was Hermione just using that as an excuse?

"We're going to do the group shot next because people are getting fed up with waiting," Ginny said when Hermione rejoined them and was pulling on her jeans.

"You might have mentioned that before I got dressed again," Hermione chided and begun undoing the buttons again.

It took some time for them to arrange themselves into an assortment of seated and standing poses, and then Pansy called for a hundred corrections: asking someone to move their leg to cover their groin, or to push their hair out of the way. Even aside from the difficult task of getting several good photos in which eleven women all had their eyes open and were smiling. It was cramped and tedious, and in the end Pansy resorted to setting off a small firework behind her to draw their eyes and catch some unexpected grins.

"That'll do," Pansy said, straightening up with evident relief. "Good job, everyone, these always take ages."

Hermione wolfed down her sandwich and was shocked to find that it was after 3pm already, although most of the pictures were done. She watched Pansy photograph the young Hufflepuff girl who seemed to require persuasion to stop her smiling, and then Parvati and Lavender who were resplendent in a white veil and silk top hat respectively.

Lav's hair was slicked back and her face looked free of make-up, although Hermione suspected appearances were deceiving in this case. Pavarti looked out from behind the veil, heavily kohled eyes and bright lipstick subverting the notion of the virginally innocent bride. The poses featured them face to face, sometimes holding hands or exchanging a reserved kiss, and while they were already beautiful, Hermione thought it would look stunning in a black and white photo.

"So what did that mean, anyway?" Hannah asked once they were finished.

Lavender and Parvati exchanged a look.

"Well, it could be read as a traditional lesbian butch-femme dynamic," Parvati said.

"Or you could think of it as a queering of gender through drag performance," Lavender added.

"Or maybe we just really like dressing up," Parvati continued, using a charm to remove her eye make-up.

Hannah looked from one to the other, apparently no closer to understanding what had just happened. "You both looked lovely," she said, and Parvati smiled back.

Hermione looked at the two of them being happy, secure, and playful together and decided that a relationship with a woman might not be quite so terrifying after all.

The last set of pictures were brisk and efficient as Rachel posed with great enthusiasm. Hermione found herself watching Pansy's hands twist expertly around lenses or manipulate her wand and tried not to dwell on what else those dextrous fingers might be good at. Finally they were done, and the women who had remained till the end said their goodbyes.

"So what do we move first?" Ginny asked, looking at the equipment surrounding them.

Hermione hoped that her motives weren't too conspicuous when she replied, "We can handle it if you want to go."

"Looks like it's just you and me, Granger," Pansy said with more than a hint of suggestiveness, once Ginny had Apparated away.

"I'll, um, help you with the screens," Hermione said, feeling suddenly flustered, and charmed a heap of equipment to float out to where Pansy's van was waiting.

Loading the van was considerably harder than unloading it because everything had to slot into a particular place, but after some swearing and minor collisions, they levitated the last light stand into the van and Pansy turned to face her.

"Thanks," she said, stepping forward. "Now, unless I've misinterpreted things, we have some unfinished business."

"Er, yes," Hermione said, her pulse quickening. "Would you like to go for coffee with me sometime?"

"Or we could be a little more direct," said Pansy, reaching out to wipe a smudge from Hermione's cheekbone.

Pansy's thumb stayed there, gentle against her skin, and Hermione took a sharp trembling breath when Pansy stepped closer.

"You should ask for what you want," Pansy said, and then kissed her.

It was wonderful and impossible to put into words - soft as spring grass yet as thrilling as thunderstorms. Hermione's lips parted, and when their tongues brushed it was easy to forget about everything except Pansy arching against her, to forget Rose and the media and -

Hermione pulled sharply away. "We can't do this in the street."

"No? Where would you like to do it?"

"Somewhere private where people won't see. Given my recent divorce..." said Hermione and knew from the change in Pansy's face that she'd said the wrong thing.

"I can't be in a relationship with someone who won't acknowledge me in public," Pansy said bluntly.

"And I'm not saying that I want to keep my life hidden from people," Hermione amended hurriedly, "but I don't feel ready to...I didn't even think that I was queer before this developed with you, so it's a big adjustment for me."

Pansy didn't move away, but her body tensed as if drawing in on itself. Her voice was cool when she said, "Well, goodbye, then. It was nice working with you."

Hermione stood on the street in the fading light and watched Pansy leave.

She collected Rose from her parents, who'd fed her an early supper involving chocolate mousse -- "Why don't you make that, mummy?" -- and went home.

It was strange to think that the photo shoot was done and the calendar almost finished; they still had to print and sell them, of course, but Ginny had that under control. She hadn't realised how much of her time and effort was involved in the project until, well, it was over. Life without the calendar would be calmer and quieter, but also a little bit emptier.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Rose in a huge hug. "You don't miss daddy do you?"

"But I see daddy at weekends," Rose said, sounding confused.

Rose had been very young when Ron had moved out, so perhaps she didn't remember what it was like to live with two parents. Hermione firmly believed that she and Rose was enough to constitute a family, but she still sometimes wished that there were more of them.

"I love you, sweetheart," she said and kissed the top of Rose's head. "Now, bedtime."

Rose insisted on being read a book about a spotty dog that her grandparents had apparently given her earlier and which Hermione faintly recalled from her own childhood. In some ways it was nice to have the distraction, which stopped her dwelling on thoughts about Pansy or -- more accurately -- the lack of Pansy.

It took more than a week before Hermione realised that the sense of loss wasn't going away, and that it was almost certainly connected to Pansy rather than to the calendar, which Ginny was updating her on regularly.

"We're printing two hundred copies to start with, but I'm almost certain we'll need several more runs," she told Hermione one evening. "There's been tons of interest. I expected you to look happier about that."

"I am happy about it," Hermione said, giving her a re-assuring smile.

"Right," said Ginny, looking unconvinced.

If it was obvious to her friends that Hermione was feeling down, then this was probably affecting Rose too. Something had to be done.

"Do you think it's too early for me to start dating?" she asked Harry over lunch the next day, and he paused from eating his chips.

"No..." he said slowly, "Are you concerned about Ron, because he's not going to mind. He wants you to be happy."

"I'm more worried about Rose."

Harry shrugged. "Kids are adjustable. James hated Al for the first few months, but he got over it. We adjusted to living with magic, so Rose isn't going to panic if you start seeing someone. You've got a whole life ahead of you, don't waste it."

"Thanks," Hermione said, and stole a chip.

"You've always worried too much," Harry told her, his eyes smiling behind the glasses. "Anyone I know?"

"It's someone...unexpected," Hermione answered, with what she felt was understatement.

Harry gave her a piercing look, and she reflected that he'd always been more perceptive than she gave him credit for.

"It's Pansy Parkinson," she said.

"Is she good for you?" Harry asked, watching her closely.

"I'm not sure yet," Hermione said, giving voice to the concerns she'd been bottling up for days. "I don't know her that well and I'm not completely certain that I trust her. Plus, she's a woman, which makes it so weird, and unexpected, because I ought to know what kind of people I'm attracted to by now and I don't want some kind of experiment, but I think we get each other. She brought me a copy of Hogwarts: A History to the photo shoot because she knew it would relax me and -- does this make any sense?"

"Yeah, pretty much," said Harry, popping a chip in his mouth. "You think there might be something there and want to get to know her better. Sounds like dating to me."

"But exploring this wouldn't be...crazy, or selfish, or something?"

"Not if it makes you happy," Harry said, eating another chip and getting a smear of ketchup on the side of his mouth. "That's the important thing. You've always got my support."

Several days later Hermione was leaving the nursery after dropping off Rose when Astoria approached her and announced, "I swore I wouldn't get involved in this, but she won't wait forever."

"Is she... She's been waiting for me?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Astoria said, raising an eyebrow, and walked away.

Hermione hesitated, torn between the obligation to arrive on time for work and the desire to act upon this news. Succumbing to impulse, she Apparated directly from the nursery to Pansy's house and knocked loudly on the door. There was no answer.

Hermione cursed herself for expecting Pansy to be home during the day and reluctantly went to work, where she wasted much of the day drafting a letter to Pansy. She sent the letter by Ministry owl -- stuff the protocol about personal communications -- and tried not to worry that Pansy had been home and simply chosen not to open the door.

There was no reply that evening, nor the following day, and by the third day of waiting, she had more or less given up hope. Saturday morning came and went, and Hermione felt a growing sense of regret at the lost opportunity.

By late on Sunday night, the last person she expected to stumble out of the floo was Pansy, who looked exhausted and was clutching the letter.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"You're late," Hermione said weakly.

"New York fashion week," Pansy replied. "It's London next and then I'll be away again. Your timing stinks."

"Oh," Hermione said uncertainly, moving slowly across the suddenly fraught space of the living room. "So there isn't time for..."

"I can make time," Pansy said, stepping nearer. "Clothes can be over-rated."

"Definitely," Hermione said, cupping her palm against Pansy's cheek and kissing her. Pansy leaned into her, breasts soft and fantastic against her ribcage, hands tangling in Hermione's hair, and the kiss became greedy and breathless.

"Is Rose-" Pansy asked, pulling away from Hermione's mouth to kiss down her throat.

"She's asleep," said Hermione, in what is almost a gasp.

"Thank Merlin," Pansy replied, the words breathed hotly against the skin of Hermione's neck, "because we need to go to bed. You'll worry less after a great fuck."

"Is that a promise?" Hermione asked breathlessly, and Pansy smiled with a flash of the Slytherin calculation that she used to dread.

"Yeah," Pansy said, walking her backwards in the direction of the bedroom, "it is."
Epilogue

If the traditionalists amongst the magical community found it odd that Rose Granger was accompanied by four parents when she arrived on Platform 9 3/4, then none of them were ill-mannered enough to mention it.

Rose hugged them all, refused her dad's offer of help with lifting her trunk onto the train, and then disappeared into a compartment with Albus. As the train away begun to move, smoke puffing from its huge chimney, Hermione could just see Rose wave from the window.

"She'll do great," said Pansy, squeezing Hermione's hand.

"My first few weeks were horrible," Hermione answered with a frown. "The train was nerve-wracking and I spent most of the time pretending to look for Neville's toad."

"Yeah, you were a slow starter," Pansy said, a wicked note in her voice, "but I think your later years have made up for it."