12:30 PM
Antechamber (Backstage)

A team of bubblegum pink and periwinkle blue teacup-sized owls had been deployed at 8PM on the 2nd of May. The tiny creatures had flitted quite annoyingly around the windows of various common rooms, offices, Hogwarts house tables, and other strategic locations to deliver heavy packages of towering black heels to Neely's volunteer victims models. Because Little Miss Woolfolk had employed a group of amateurs to rock the season's couture-ish costumes, the girl had decided that complimentary pairs of "practice shoes" were utterly necessary. Neely felt that a day's worth of stumbling around in the privacy of dormitories and toilet stalls would be more than sufficient. Of anyone fell head over arse on the runway, there would be more than a pretty galleon to pay.

The real shoes for the charity fashion event of the season were carefully stowed in tissue-lined boxes, labeled, and under the security of a pair of burly stone gargoyles whom Neely had coaxed away from the third floor with promises of marble pony lady friends. Rolled in on either side of the stacks of shoes, were mobile clothing racks stuffed with hanging garments. The usually-empty antechamber off the Great Hall had been deemed the'"backstage' area, with a sign reading 'VIP ONLY!' fastened to its door. Only half of the models had been fitted, poked and prodded by the tailors. The other half were still struggling to survive, having been forced into hair and makeup chairs, sprayed with an array of chemicals, and burned in the process. But the dressing was always last. Everyone knew that.

A pair of doltish seventh years, who didn't know their elbows from their knees, but who had been cast solely for the toothpick figures and giraffe-sized legs, were giggling and tugging at the skirts of their looks.

"Don't touch!" Screeched Neely, from her place atop an upholstered foot stool. "That dress costs more than your soul!" Her hands shot to her head, tugging lightly at strands of blonde. They were running behind schedule. A few of the models hadn't even arrived yet, and the head Hair Charmist was beginning to lose his patience. Neely had already twice reminded him that he was being paid double his rate, that his name would soon be associated with the hottest designers, and that Daddy Woolfolk was cementing his continental career.

As three more girls and a boy wandered in, Neely leaped down from her perch and immediately pushed one of them into a styling chair. "All of you," she threatened, snapping her fingers at chairs so that they would take a hint and follow suit. She was too small to shove them like dominoes, but maybe her wand could do the trick. She waved it as intimidatingly as she could manage, although it was not the most formidable looking weapon in the castle.

Returning to her foot stool, the girl climbed up and stood on the tip-toes of her own towering shoes. "Everyone," she called, clearing her throat loudly, and trying for a more sugary tone-- her usual fake brand of sweetness, the one she readily employed when trying to win the hearts of adults and their wallets. "The show starts in thirty minutes--" She looked toward the sparkling numbers that had been charmed the exit. They were counting down to zero. "Make that twenty-three minutes. If you haven't been made over, now is your last chance, or you going down the runway with a bag over your head. Everyone else, please be fitted and slip into your shoes. Practice your walks over there." She waved her arm toward the back of the room, where two pairs of three-way mirrors had been set up to face each other, with a long, embroidered carpet between them. The real runway would be much less cushy, and far more slippery.

12:40 PM
Great Hall (Runway and Audience)

On the other side of the temporary dressing room, the Great Hall had been rearranged so that the four house tables were snaked together in a lengthy, polished wooden runway strewn with silver glitter. It began at the Headmaster's podium, which stood under bunches of floating silver streamers-- an obstructing entrance curtain. On either side of the runway, rows of benches were filled with white gift bags for all attendees. They contained various Wizarding beauty products and pamphlets on post-war fashion. Neely had also mailed out professional invitations to the more important individuals (ones who were not merely students), and had reserved the first row on each side of the runway for said special guests.

Peaking her head out of the backstage door, Neely saw groups both old and young filtering into the hall, chatting amongst themselves, and dressed to varying degrees of taste and stylishness. Some people just didn't get it. Luckily, they wouldn't blemish her front row.

The Slytherin again glanced at the clock. She felt her heart sinking. There were still models missing. She bit her lip so hard that she cringed, and then slipped into the growing crowd. "Excuse me," she whispered, tapping the shoulder of someone already seated. "I hate to be a bother, but..." Neely took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and willed the big blue orbs to grow watery. Opening them again, she blinked out two decent tears. "I'm so worried about these poor designers. They can hardly afford their workspace rent. Do you happen to know where I can find a model or two? On the down low?" Behind her back, she crossed her fingers to wish herself luck. She didn't want to make a scene and chance alerting the whole Hall to the fact that a possible fashion disaster was on the horizon.

---

• The show will officially begin at 1PM. I'll make a note when it happens.
• Anyone is welcome to be a model, or to take a seat out by the runway.
• The front row is "reserved" for "important people" i.e. adults, adults with money, adults with money and style, professors, Ministry personnel, journalists, the Plastics, etc. Your character is more than welcome to join that list.

One of the makeup artists practically had stars in his eyes as he ogled his model, the back of their head showing dark brown hair spiked high with graduated pink tips.  “Miss Woolfolk!” the professional chimed happily, “What do you think?”

Dramatically slow he swiveled around the chair to reveal…

Professor Nicodemus Gunnar…

With blue eyeshadow and lipstick… over a pale white face…

In a couture outfit… better left unsaid.

“So…” the man puckered his lips, “Am I fabulous?” he turned and pointed up at the rail-thin mustachioed man, “Ricardo says I’m fabulous!” after he waxed my legs… he thought ruefully for a moment, but then recovered with a beaming smile, his white teeth glistening as his shiny blue lips stretched from ear to ear.  He had never been called fabulous in his entire life!  But he had heard other fashionable people be titled as such, which to Nico seemed to think was quite the compliment.

“Of COURSE you are, dahling!” the man patted the Potion’s Professor lightly on the cheek with one of his delicate fuzzy brushes.  Looking back at the director of the show he held up the banana, “I had this on hand just in case…” at which point he threw it over his shoulder, “as you can see…” a sly grin began to form over his red painted lips as he whispered, “he hardly needs it…” he snickered behind his hand.

With a wrinkled brow and a worried look he looked up at the man again as he crossed his legs and covered his belly with his arms, “Am I fat?!” granted, he loved his bananas, but he didn't want to ruin Neely's show.  She had worked very hard to put all this together.

“Oh, no, no, NO!” he poked the grown man’s bony shoulder, “farthest thing from it, my dear!” he spritzed some heinous smelling hair spray from his wand, causing Gunnar to sneeze.







Click IF YOU DARE to see Nico’s "fabulous" ensemble…

You have been warned…

How in the world did he end up doing this?

This was certainly not Isaac's comfort zone, he would much prefer to be sitting in the audience showing support that way instead of sitting in a chair back stage having goodness knows what product put into his hair and make-up, yes make-up put on his face!  He gave a slight sigh as people fussed around him, trying to keep a smile on his face.

Originally he had been asked to wear something similar to Nico's rather...interesting outfit.  He had tried to protest, but it fell on rather deaf ears.  So, when word came that his speedo had rather miraculously disappeared he had been able to convince Miss Woolfolk that perhaps a new design was in order.  He was certainly more comfortable with this current option, but still could not believe he was actually doing this.

Hearing the conversation between Nico and the man doing his hair and make-up, Isaac wished with all his might that he could simply melt into the floor and disappear.  Of course he couldn't let his student down now that he had agreed to do this...Yet, looking in the mirror, he wished there was some sort of emergency exit he could speed through.

Isaac's Original Outfit

Isaac's Actual Outfit

There were few things that could draw Neely's attention when she was enjoying the sound of her own voice barking orders at people, but the makeup artist Ricardo had the tone of a thousand well-threaded angels. It helped, also, that the man had taken to calling her Miss Woolfolk, and not Cornelia, like so many other adults. Neely felt mature and in charge-- one and a half of which were true. Thus, sharing a rare glimpse of her pearly whites, as opposed to the coy close-mouthed grin that she favored, the Slytherin turned on her perch to give the artist her full attention.

Neely was just in time to witness the debut. The chair revolved much slower than she had a moment prior, and her smile turned into an expression that could be described 'waiting with bated breath'. But already she could see the intricacy that had gone into the model's look. The pink in his hair was an excellent touch. And when Professor Gunnar was finally entirely visible from the front, blue smile and all, Neely leapt upward with arms thrown up overhead and squealed delightedly.

"Oh. My. Goodgollygodric. Professor, major upgrade," Neely promised, moving closer to examine him more carefully. "Not just fabulous. Fierce!" The descriptive had been plastered all over the best magazines for the past two years, and had naturally become one of Neely's favorites. "You should reconsider your classroom look," she added innocently. Blue lipstick was bound to keep students' attention. Neely made to pat the top of Professor Gunnar's head, but stopped short of actually touching his hair because she didn't want to ruin all of the hard work. Turning to Ricardo, she beamed once more. Even in heels, the Woolfolk girl had to lean up to press air-kisses to each of wizard's cheeks.

Giggling at the discussion on bananas, Neely shook her head and turned toward another gaggle of models. She pushed through them until she reached the Muggle Studies professor. Hands on hips, Neely tilted her head and raised her eyebrows at the mirror's reflection, as if daring Professor Fraiser to suggest that there was something wrong with his second look. While Neely hadn't been keen on letting him give up the makeup and glamor of his original costume, she knew that in his current style, the man looked absolutely studly by anyone's standards.

"Have a glass of water, Professor," she suggested, gesturing to a levitating tray of crystal goblets and hors d'oeuvre. "It calms nerves. Not too much antipasto, though..." She looked back over her shoulder at the diminutive Potions professor, whose nutritional treat had been discarded. Smiling with a favorite air of faux innocence, Neely looked back at the Muggle Studies teacher, simultaneously tapping the shoulder of the nearest hair charmist. "Make it a touch messier, so it looks like he didn't try. The women in the front row will love that."

Plucking an olive from one of the trays, Neely looked at it, wrinkled her nose, replaced it, and snatched a raspberry macaron with chocolate-hazelnut ganache. Much better. "So, Professor," she continued, as the hair dresser attempted to fuss over him. "Speaking of women, do you need me to set you up? I'm like a genius at that." Neely bit into her macaron and her eyes went dreamy. Between bites, she chatted needlessly (talking with her mouth open was not an option). Matchmaking was so fun! "My mum has a friend coming who is totally your type. I can tell, just by looking at you. My mum is really young, by the way. She's a cool mum."

When she'd finished the sweet, Neely grabbed another-- a lemon flavored one-- and looked toward the clock again. The antsy feeling that had momentarily escaped her while she was fawning over her models dissolved.

Fauna was so not amused. She’d been busy working on the mural for an hour when someone tapped her on the shoulder and told her the fashion show needed one of her hats. Fauna had been surprised when the fourth year described the hat perfectly- bright purple, with a broad rim and feathers. The girl’s giggling and odd behavior in general made it hard to understand her, but eventually Fauna got the gist of it. One of her favorite professors needed that hat! Though she privately thought the fashion show was a silly and even inappropriate idea, she just couldn’t let Professor Gunnar face the crowd without a complete outfit.

So reluctantly, she’d made her way to the antechamber of the Great Hall and sneaked into the dressing rooms. The strange girl who’d fetched her earlier was lucky that Fauna was on the mural painting shift and not all the way in Hogsmeade, because there was no way she would have left the art booth to grab her hat. Not even for Professor Gunnar.

When she opened the door she spotted the professors. It was hard to miss them! The potions master looked positively gleeful and the poor Muggle studies professor looked like he needed a drink. Oh my… Professor Gunnar’s outfit. Fauna’s hand flew to her mouth and she started giggling. Now, this was a surefire way to cheer people up after everything that had happened a few days ago. Maybe this fashion show wasn’t such a bad idea.

“I have the…” Fauna waved the hat in the air and then froze. Was that hairspray in Professor Gunnar’s hair? First of all, she was protective of her hats and didn’t let chemicals touch them, and second of all, why did he even need a hat if his crazy hair was part of the ensemble?

“Oh no…” she mumbled and hid the hat quickly behind her back. If this was a joke she was going to be extremely annoyed. Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and she silently cursed the girl who’d convinced her to leave the mural for this. Fauna rubbed at the spot of paint on her nose. It didn’t help that she always fell for those kinds of petty pranks, either.

Fauna Blake had not even strung together an entire sentence before Neely swooped down on her. The Woolfolk girl prided herself in knowing more defaming courtyard gossip than almost any gossipmonger in the castle, but her face showed zero signs of recognition. She did not even blink at the Hufflepuff as she anxiously closed her fingers around the older girl's wrist and pulled her to an empty beauty chair, despite the fact that Fauna happened to be the very same girl who had been harassed and whined at by every Slytherin and his mother for the past several play rehearsals.

"Sparkling Salazar, you are so late," she growled, placing her palms on Fauna's shoulders and forcibly pushing her into the seat. Neely took a few steps back, shaking her head. "Her hair will take at least twelve centuries," she complained to Ricardo, who had come out of nowhere to lean with similar sass beside her. Despite their many physical differences, Neely and Ricardo wore near-identical expressions, each with crossed arms and disapprovingly tilted heads. It was as if Fauna were entirely deaf.

"She's got great eyes, though," the fourth year admitted, swishing her lips to the side in a sort of half-purse. "Play them up with the shadow."

When she finally noticed the offensively offensive hat in the girl's hand, Neely seemed to defy both gravity and time. The thing was in her own grasp and being flung across the room before anyone could say 'Accio atrocity'.

"No," said Neely simply, reprimanding Fauna like a puppy.

If she had spent more than negative one seconds examining it, the Slytherin might have found the hat cute, in a sparkly ragamuffin sort of way that was not entirely unfitting of today's theme. She probably owned something like it, too. But Neely was not going to tarnish the hard work of the designers with someone's secondhand feather-sweating freebie. Thus, as the headgear was tossed aside, it was also silently added to the unwritten list of The Ugliest Effing Skirts, Bracelets, Hats, etc. Neely Has Ever Seen.

"Make it a touch messier, so it looks like he didn't try. The women in the front row will love that."

Sitting there getting ready to walk down a bloody runway wasn’t embarrassing enough.  Now he was hearing what “women” would love from a fourth year.  Isaac was not one to go looking for attention or try gaining too much attention from the opposite sex.  At 37 years old and as a professor at Hogwarts he was quite convinced his status as a bachelor was confirmed.  The last thing he needed was a bunch of women getting ideas.

It had been bad enough when his book was published.  The publisher had tried to turn him into the new bloody Gilderoy Lockhart and every one knew how well his career had turned out.  He still had the life size image of himself that was used for marketing stashed away somewhere for when he needed a good laugh.

"Speaking of women, do you need me to set you up? I'm like a genius at that.  My mum has a friend coming who is totally your type. I can tell, just by looking at you. My mum is really young, by the way. She's a cool mum."

Isaac was sure his eyebrows rose higher then a person’s should.  Was a student actually thinking about setting him up with someone?  He was sure his cheeks colored a bit at the thought, not wanting anyone interfering with his personal life.  He liked things the way they were…or so he told himself day in and day out.

“That will be quite unnecessary, Miss Woolfolk,” he said, glad when she was distracted by someone else.

Fauna had no idea what was going on when the fourth year girl who had given her hell these past few weeks grabbed her wrist and tugged. The awful little Narcissa wannabe had a steel grip! And what was this about Fauna being late? Late for what? She stared at her, hopelessly confused, and was soon pushed into a chair.

The comment about her hair made her mouth fall open in indignation. Fauna shifted in her seat and frowned at Neely and the hair charmist beside her, who both studied her as if she was a bug underneath a magnifying glass. Their severe, disappointed facial expressions did nothing to calm her fear that Neely was going to lift up a high-heeled foot and squash her. Fauna was just the messenger! She was simply delivering the hat that they supposedly needed! She did not come in here for a hair and makeup consultation.

“It’s not that bad-“

"She's got great eyes, though," the fourth year admitted, swishing her lips to the side in a sort of half-purse. "Play them up with the shadow."

Now that comment she could handle, but before she could bask in the glow of Neely’s reluctant compliment, realization dawned.

“Oh, no. No, no, no…” she repeated, the color draining from her face. “I’m not in the show! There’s some kind of… there must be a…”

And then her hat, her purple, obnoxious but well-loved hat, was carelessly thrown across the room like last week’s moldy eggplant.

“Hey!” she protested, her lips pursed together in disapproval. That was just going too far, even for Fauna’s gentle nature. She put her palms on the armrests and attempted to stand up from the chair, but one of the makeup charmists grabbed her shoulders- what was with those steel grips?- and told her to stay still, she was in desperate need of blush.

Fauna gulped. This was not happening. She turned her head slightly to the professors and gave them a look of terror.

“Professor…” she glanced between the two of them anxiously. “You have to help me. I’m not in the show! And… and… she threw my hat!”

Okay, so it was a bit childish and pathetic tattling on Neely, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Fauna was at the end of her rope.

Ooo… Fierce!  The way his fashionable Slytherin pupil said it, that was even BETTER than fabulous!  Nico wiggled in his seat anxiously.  This must be the most exciting day of this Holiday for him.  And while he did seem to be a bit… off without his labcoat and goggles, he might very well take Miss Woolfolk’s advice seriously.  The professor wondered how he could convince Ricardo to let him borrow his make-up.

His wide puppy-dog eyes followed the ambitious 4th year as she came upon his fellow comrade-in-arms.  “Good lawdy, lawd, Frasier!  Cheer up! And you are correct in not needing our lovely student’s help, you’re more than likely to reel in the ladies by yourself,” he gestured in front of him as if he had a fishing reel in hand and was currently dragging in a hefty catch, “HA!”

Then, much to his surprise, he saw one of his own Puffles be hurried into the salon chair next to him.  Ricardo practically flew over to her whilst clicking his tongue in disappointment.  Having only heard Miss Blake say “Professor…” in the full fun pandemonium that could only be the madness of a backstage full of cast and hands ready to put on an affair (which was supposed to start in oooh… 15 minutes-ish, hmmyes?)  he answered, “Fret not, dearie!” he whispered behind his hand so neither Neely nor anyone else around could hear but the two of them, “I promise to sneak it on during one of my changes, teehee!”

Entirely too excited to sit still now he commenced to spin himself about in his chair, his twiggy legs jutting sharply out and occasionally smacking into the bums of unsuspecting folk as they ran about like chickens with their heads cut off.

"WEEEE!"

Neely didn't believe for one moment that Professor Fraiser was being honest. Weren't teachers supposed to set an example and tell the truth? Silly man. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Unnecessary," she mimicked, bobbing her head back and forth. "Puh-lease," she muttered to herself, though not quite discreetly. Piping up, she added, "Sir, do you have a trust fund?"

Fauna's many protests fell on deaf ears. She would have had better luck under the affliction of a half-dozen Silencing Charms than to try to convince Neely that she wasn't a part of the show. Who the ruddy Ravenclaw wouldn't want to be a high fashion model? To swing the pendulum even less in her favor, there were still a few confirmed models missing from the cluster lining up near the stage entry, or else they had escaped Neely's wrath and were possibly buried under fake lashes and synthetic curls by now.

As a number of professionals attempted to begin the Hufflepuff's makeover, Neely ushered the fully-dressed participants closer to the stage. "You first," she said, grabbing someone's arm and relocating the person to the very front of the queue. She used her wand to cut the large, paper "No. 1" that had been fastened with string to the model's neck to keep the looks in order. As she went down the line discarding the first round of placeholders, and yipping at people to dust their shoulders, to suck in their guts, or to stop smearing their mascara, the magical clock chimed loudly.

Neely turned on her heel and sprang for the door. Pausing in the threshold and clutching the door's frame like a cat refusing to be tossed into a bathtub, she yelled, "Music starts on my cue! You know the word. Look serious and sexy, and don't fall."

Finally, the Slytherin flitted through the door, up a small set of stairs, through the jungle of streamers, and onto the platform in front of the stage.

1:00 PM - Showtime!
Great Hall (Runway and Audience)

"Good afternoon! I'm Neely Woolfolk. Welcome to the first annual Remembering Day Fashion Show." She paused carefully, scanning the crowd. She was pleased with the turnout. She beamed at the people in the front row.

"The looks you'll see today were created exclusively for this event, by the most talented and up-and-coming designers in wizarding Britain, as a light-hearted tribute to those we lost in the war..." She paused, to let this sink in, just as her mother had advised. "And as reminder that looking to the future is just as important as remembering the past." Her father had helped her with that bit. Hopefully, along with her adorable face, it would do the job. "All proceeds from private purchases will fund the very important art of fashion. Charity donations are also welcome."

With that, Neely bowed out, the lights dimmed, and the music began. She took her place in the shadows of the platform with folded arms, staring hawkishly after the models as they began to filter onto the runway.

---

Feel free to stomp down the runway, lovies... or to watch!

“Good lawdy, lawd, Frasier!  Cheer up! And you are correct in not needing our lovely student’s help, you’re more than likely to reel in the ladies by yourself.”

Isaac couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as Nico pretended to be reeling in some sort of catch, despite the current topic of his personal life.  Perhaps the drink waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks later that day would be more necessary then he thought.  He would be fulfilling that little tradition as soon as this embarrassment was over and done with.

Being a somewhat private person, this was usually the sort of thing he avoided as if it were the plague.  In his school days he was always getting pushed into more public displays, of course the one doing the pushing was someone he had never been able to refuse.  So, it seemed somewhat fitting that he’d be parading himself down a runway rather publically to mark the ten year anniversary.  Somewhere, he knew Marian was watching and getting a good chuckle out of the whole bloody mess.

"Sir, do you have a trust fund?"

He merely raised an eyebrow at Neely before she was off to continue getting everyone ready.  As the show started he took his place in the middle of the line.  The sooner they started the sooner he could take his turn, and the sooner he would be free of this whole thing.

Aileen had known there were student activities and booths set up around the castle and in Hogsmeade, but frankly, none of them had really interested her so far. Of course, she’d stopped by a few out of curiosity, as well as to get a sneak peak at what she’d be dealing with in the fall. The students seemed much nicer than what she remembered from her own time at Hogwarts, but then again, the people she’d associated with as a teen hadn’t been known for their kindness and generosity.

It was right after an early lunch in the Great Hall that she’d heard an announcement for a fashion show at 1:00. At first, Aileen was extremely amused by this, though she heard some dark mutters around her bemoaning the event's inappropriateness. Despite some sour reactions, it didn’t take long for her to decide to attend the show. This might be the only student-run exhibit she’d enjoy, and besides, she wouldn’t mind seeing the new spring and summer fashions.

So here she was, sitting in the front row, feeling slightly silly but having a good time. It was no coincidence that the people surrounding her also had a sense of style and wealth, and she had to admit she appreciated the seating arrangement.

Soon enough, a young, pretty girl in heels clacked onto the stage and introduced herself and the show. She did a nice job, pausing at the right moments and seeming to be fully aware of her own cuteness. Aileen smiled at her and raised her eyebrows at the mention of charity donations. Light-hearted tribute indeed!

The music began and the models made their entrance, some of them clearly more used to the runway than others, but all of them decked out in the latest styles. There were a few awkward moments, when one girl misjudged the timing and almost barreled into the girl in front of her, and once when it looked like someone was forcibly pushed from the shadows and onto the stage, but all in all, the event was well-organized, and it gave Aileen something to smile about.

Fauna was used to being ignored by certain people on a daily basis, but at a time like this, when she was trying to say something so very important and no one heard her, she was entitled to feel a little panicky! She opened her mouth to protest again, but the makeup charmist would have none of it, telling her if she didn’t want lipstick all over her teeth then she’d better cooperate. The charmists were more intimidating than Neely! They frowned at her, insulted her hair and complimented her cheekbones all at the same time, and Fauna eventually fell silent out of shock and defeat. After brushing shadow over her eyelids, powdering her face (and jumping back when she sneezed), and then tugging at her hair for a few tear-inducing moments, they finally deemed her ready for the runway.

Fauna stood up slowly and glanced at the mirror behind the chair. She did a double-take and then leaned closer. Her brown hair, which was normally somewhat dull and lifeless, looked shiny and fell in soft waves. Her blue eyes popped with the dark mascara and shadow around them, her lips had an actual pout, and her face was smooth and free of freckles. Fauna quirked an eyebrow and frowned. Where did her freckles go, and would they come back?

She reached up a hand to touch her face, but the charmists didn’t give her much time to marvel over her appearance. They beamed at her for about five seconds, and then tugged her away from the mirror and towards the dressing rooms, where she was both attacked and helped by the assistants. Getting Fauna into heels was a particular struggle, which Fauna, of course, lost.

As the models began forming a line, Fauna attempted to hide near the back, avoiding the time when she’d have to walk on stage as much as possible. She was shoved somewhere in the middle and waited, cringing at Neely’s threat that they’d better not fall. Fauna shuffled forward awkwardly in her heels as the music droned on, the peppiness and beat feeling more like a death march to her. The models around her chatted nervously and excitedly as Fauna's stomach not only did flip-flops, but bungee-jumps. Neely gave them the evil-eye from the sidelines and whispered curses at a girl who almost missed her cue.

Fauna gulped when she realized there were only two models in front of her. She wrung her hands, feeling more and more panicky when she caught a real glimpse of the crowd watching the stage. This was so much worse than how she felt at the choir performance, or the reenactment. Here, she was the only one on the stage for seconds at a time- seconds!- and she was absolutely terrified.

Of course, she missed her cue. She was so busy fretting that it took her a moment to realize the stage was empty and it was her turn. Fauna shook her head stubbornly and tried to form words. This was like that time when she was a first year waiting to be sorted, only she’d give anything to be a kid again, and not have to-

Someone growled from behind her and shoved her forward onto the stage. Luckily, she didn’t fall, and clomped down the runway with the grace of toddler taking her first steps. There might have been a few giggles in the crowd but she didn’t hear them over the music, and she refused to look anyone in the eye. The lights blinded her anyway and she was okay with that. When she turned around at the end of the runway to head back to the safety of the shadows, she started walking faster, wobbling on her heels.

Finally, finally, she reached the backstage and slipped in.

Fauna hurried as quickly as she could over to the dressing room, where they helped her out of the outfit, and then, to her surprise, gave her another dress to put on.

She stared at the assistant in horror. “Oh Merlin… I have to go out there again?”

There was no way she could survive the runway a second time without some terrible mishap occurring. Not in these heels!

Oooh… there was a rumbly in his tumbly, and it wasn’t from… err… hunger… -bly.  Yeah.  The nerves were certainly getting to him!

The professor could hardly stand the nerves as he made his way to the line, his head high above the girls, even without heels on, and some of those heels were deadly tall.  Ricardo crept up behind him and attacked with a powder brush.  “GAH!” he squealed, then followed a rush of hushes and shut up’s and evil glares.  The artist, finally free from the student with that horrible hair… but she did have a pretty face, came to check up on his favorite model.

While it was a bit awkward for Nicodemus, he allowed the man the rub, but if he had the time he would have protested the smack on the bum, but he flitted away before the victim could utter a squeak.

His cheeks now tinged with an embarrassed rosy red, he tried to change his thoughts by patting Fauna on the shoulder as she came back from her first run.  He mouthed, “You were awesome!” adding a thumbs up, even though he didn’t even see her walk.

Taking a deep breath he gradually scooted up closer and closer to the glittery floor, and when his time came… he strutted and swayed his hips like no other, taking note from those fancy women he saw on the city streets.  Ah yes… the kind who dropped jaws and caused men to be so distracted they ran into the telephone booths.  Needless to say he distracted a good number of the ladies in the seats as well.  Some of the people, not aware of the proper behavior called for at such a show, whistled and loudly cat-called from behind the front row.  At least he had stunned the VIP enough to not notice the impropriety.  Instead they simply applauded and took their notes.

Nicodemus couldn’t help but allow a sly grin as he kicked up some glitter at the end of the runway, placing one hand on a jutted hip before turning about and strutting right back to backstage.

In the midst of Remembering Day activities, Hogwarts was just as he remembered it himself, abuzz with life and activity. This had all been before the war, of course, and while time had certainly healed some more visible scars, there were some things that would remain forever. The castle was old and the wear and tear had been no good for it or the land around it. After all, it takes years to cultivate what had been cultivated here, but Arius was happy to see the castle and the grounds looking much better than he had seen them when he had last been at the school. It seemed that the professors were really trying their hardest to restore order, though dark magic is nigh impossible to reverse.

Remembering Day was always an interesting time of year. While Arius delighted in the ability to wear black all the time, he had a deep respect for those that had given their lives - on both sides of the battle - he also wasn't sure how far to go with the mourning. He had lost friends, yes, and the wizarding World had lost many valiant men and women, but he was no stranger to loss or sudden disappearances, it was simply a fact of life in his world. Regardless, it was nice to see what his own classmates were up to when he came up to the castle, someone he knew always seemed to be buzzing about.

Today, however, he had come for a very special reason and as a personal favor to Ollis Woolfolk, the man was a bloody genius when it came to running his own business and Arius liked to humor his connections, not to mention the fact that charity appearances were always good for publicity. Of course, as he entered the castle and looked at the runway he wondered what exactly he had gotten himself into. Charity. Goodwill. Charity. Goodwill. he thought to himself, slipping silently into the backstage area. It was just like Arius to be fashionably late and bearing gifts.

"They're fine, no one expects supermodels," he said coolly coming up behind the best-dressed young woman of the bunch. She looked very tense and Arius cold only hope that his being there would calm her nerves, it seemed to do that for countless other women after all. "Neely Woolfolk, I will presume, judging as - next to me - you are the best dressed person here. I won't bother presenting myself as I am positive that I need no introduction." His face wore a broad smirk and he leaned back casually against the wall opposite her, lurking in the shadows. "So, tell me, what exactly is it you want me to do? Your father wasn't quite clear, he simply requested I put in my appearance."