Honestly, Maree didn't know how she'd spotted it, but there was definitely a dress missing in her wardrobe. It helped, of course, that she always had everything was meticulously color-coded, that she regularly took the time to peruse her belongings and and thank them for their hard work[1]. It also helped that there was an empty hanger. Maree loved clothes. There were no empty hangers in her closet.

But here was the surprise: it wasn't in Marigold's room, and Marigold wasn't wearing it when she got back, and though Maree might not have necessarily believed Marigold when cornered, she'd insisted that she wouldn't wear anything that was that "white and flowery on a night on the town." Well, Maree had to believe that.

Prim was the only other possibility, even if the dress was remarkably shorter than she would have suspected Prim to have gone for. But then again, her sister was doing a lot of things Maree wouldn't have expected or suspected--staying out late, sneaking around, constantly checking to see if her lipstick and hair were alright...

Color Maree suspicious.

It had only taken Maree about 5 minutes to concoct an evil plan. Having abandoned preliminary fantasies of elaborate booby traps on the side door (Prim never slunk in the front door. Never had), Maree decided less was more. Sensibly, she slipped into something comfortable (it was likely to be a wait), and padded barefoot into her sister's bedroom.  She slipped beneath the covers, pulled them over her head and waited.

Of course, Maree had thought about hiding in the closet instead. But then she also thought about what might happen with a startled hex in a confined space. Or rather, what might happen to her, should she be too successful in her goal (and of course she would be--successful, that was. This was a well thought-out plan, after all). There'd be a startled hex cast at her in a confined space. Maree was not vain, but she liked the number of eyes and noses that she had at present, thankyouverymuch.

One thing led to another, 1am turned to 2am, and Maree, now tucked soundly in Prim's bed, woke up with a start at about 4:30. Still no Prim. She crawled out of her sister's bed, glee of an ambush all but forgot in light of growing concern. Perhaps she should notify their parents. She didn't want to raise a fuss, and if it was all just nothing... Besides. Short of notifying all of DMLE, what was there to be done?

Maree considered, and she considered wisely. Sending a quick, aerial note akin to those used at her work, Maree communicated all that was necessary to her sneakiest confidant, her trusted partner in crime or, as the case may be, combatting crimes of fashion such as this one. Note sent, Maree snuck back into her own room.

The anticipation was too much. Maree clapped her hands excitedly to herself, before crawling under her covers, wand ready.[2]

1.	Like that somewhat eccentric, OCD zen-master, Marie Kondo
2.	Takes place after this thread

Two Hattie-sized hand prints appeared on the window pane behind a bed of (wait for it) marigolds, as the youngest Woolfolk pulled, leaned back from the squat frame, and watched the glass shiver.

Recognizing one of its residents, the house obliged. The window popped open, and Hattie wasted no time. She shoved a leg through it. Then the other. Two heels dangled in the warm, fragrant basement air, adding a pop of color that would have made the bowl of apples blush.

“Coming in, Gingy.”

Hattie wormed against the ground, and then, with a slight grunt, managed to wiggle her bum and waist through. From there it was an easy slide down the wall, onto a stack of empty crates Amaryllis had helped her arrange in lieu of stairs.

“Amaryllis,” she whispered, as if on cue. A lilac note glided in a wide arc at her ankles, where her ladder ended— the seat of a workbench conveniently located directly beneath the window. (A sign Hattie had had to stay out a bit later than she’d meant.) The handwriting on the bit of parchment was unmistakable.

The youngest sister planted herself on the bench, glad to sit (properly, on furniture) for the first time that night. She unfolded the intricate flying-carpet-of-news, her eyes dancing over her sister’s report.

Primrose?

A mini dress?!

Hattie looked up, baby blues landing on Gingy. “Do you have any of those cream puffs, the ones with the fruit reduction? Cherries, please.”

She popped up from the bench and slipped the note into the waistband of her skirt. (There was no way she could leave it sitting around, lest their mother discover it and realize that Primrose wasn’t the only one sneaking out.)

Humming the catchy Wireless favorite that had been thrumming through the crowd an hour ago, she leaned over to disengage the strap of her shoe, pushing her wand beneath it and tugging it upward against the not-so-stretchy material without thought of the footwear’s price tag— and then using her impatient fingers to pick at the buckle. She freed her foot a moment later, letting it drop inelegantly upon the naked stone of the kitchen floor as if she were a troll, her whole body careening to the right. She quickly yanked off the second, dropping it a good half foot from the first before stretching on her tippy toes.

Primrose in a mini dress... Merlin, had Marigold cursed her?

“And maybe some of those cheeses. I saw them in there. I know they’re for Papa, but he doesn’t need the cholesterol anyway. The Healer said he should eat more fruits.” Hattie grinned, leaned across the counter, and stole the clean dessert spoon from an impeccably-progressing tray. “Like cherries.” She dipped the spoon into the top of the tart, relishing the eruption of violent, red sauce. If the elves were distressed by their youngest mistress’ hindrance of their unfinished presentation, they had lived with Hattie all her life. They knew better than to let such things distress the kitchen.

The girl shoved the spoon into her mouth, humming her satisfaction through closed lips. “I think I’ll need some sourdough, two bottles of butterbeer, and olives. Not the black ones.” She wrinkled her nose. “Can you bring it up to Prim’s room? But wait about ten minutes… I’ll take this.” She plucked a fresh slice of bread— still warm— from the loaf, and topped it with a bit of cheese.

“Thanks, Gingy!” Hattie kissed the slice of bread and flourished it as if it were her hand, blowing affection toward the elf. She gathered up her shoes, pinned them between one arm and her torso, and checked both sides of the corridor before dashing for the stairs. She continued to munch away as she snuck up to the ground level, and then up the servants’ stairs to the girls’ sleeping quarters.

She padded past her own room, and Marigold’s (they’d just had to be put beside one another), and didn’t bother to knock before palming open the door of Maree's. Amaryllis wasn’t the sort of sister who would lead her into a trap.

Rather, they had designs to trap the eldest.

Hattie slipped inside and leaned gingerly into the back of the door to shut it, a whisper of light and wood. “Mmf,” she greeted, toast hanging from her mouth as she shuffled her dangling shoes again and reached for her wand. She tore the bread away from her teeth even as she pointed her wand at one of Maree's brightest lamps.

“So how mini is mini?” She asked, dimming the light to the sort parents allowed to combat monsters.

She’d have been shocked to see her sister wear a skirt above the knees, if it weren’t accompanied by tall boots. “Gingy’s bringing up some snacks,” she added, fleeing across the cool floorboards toward the bed. A foot away, she pressed hard into the floor, propelled herself up  as if jumping into a pool, and came crashing down beside Amaryllis, whom she promptly offered a kiss and shove of her shoulder. “Scoot over, she’ll run the other way if she sees us before she closes the door.” Her voice was a loud whisper, tinged with excitement despite the hour.

Hattie dropped her shoes into the pool of blankets. She began to tug the duvet over herself, her toast, and the rest of Maree. “Can you believe Prim turned out to be the rebel child?” She asked, lighting her wand in the cave of blankets.

Maree burst into a fit of giggles at her little sister's arrival. How mischievous they were! How truly exciting! If only her coworkers could see her now. They would not call her reports of her weekend shenanigans dull ever again.

Of course, Hattie probably was up to antics like this all the time. And if this was the reward--she couldn't well blame her. She wriggled to the side of the bed, wrestling with the sheets before snuggling a bit, acting as the big spoon to her little sister before swooping in to take a bite of toast.

"The white one," she said by way of answer. She bet that Hattie knew every last article of clothing in Maree's closet. "I use it for work. So nothing we'd pick for a night out, of course, but for Prim? Teeeeeny-tiny," she said in a loud whisper before bursting into another fit of giggles. "And lest we forget, it's nearly 5, and she's not been in!" Hattie hadn't been around recently--not her fault, of course. Hogwarts had a way keeping someone out of the loop, even someone as attuned to gossip as she, "and I'm sure she'd never mention in her letters that this is happening all-" she remembered to lower her voice, "the. time. It's very mysterious. And for her to not tell us! And grab my Muggle mini," another giggle; she was so tired, she felt giddy. "You know what this means," She held the covers well over their head so she could look Hattie directly in the eye. Her face was serious. Her voice the low, grim tone of an undertaker.

"Intervention."

It wasn’t quite dawn when Primrose apparated outside of the barn.  She could hear the stomping of hooves and quick flicks of tails that accompanied excited movement inside.  She dug inside of her purse and with a few quick flicks of her wand, assuaged the anxiety that they would feel about hearing (and probably smelling) their care taker without getting food.  She couldn’t go in though.  The smell would definitely carry and she had to sneak the dress she haphazardly threw back on less than fifteen minutes ago back into Maree’s closet. 

She must have looked it too. 

It’d been a mad dash after hopping out of Grigory’s bed.  She hadn’t intended on falling asleep and staying the night, but one thing led to another, 1 AM turned to 2 AM, and before she knew  what was happening, her eyes closed and it was 4:30 o’clock in the morning. 

As much as she wanted to stay nestled up with under the covers, Prim knew if she wasn’t home before everyone else woke up she’d never be able to return the dress without its owner realizing it was gone.  It took quite a bit of resolve to ignore sleepily murmured pleas to stay, but she’d done it and crawled out from under the duvet to hastily tug the dress on and her (Marigold’s) shoes.   

So, here she was sneaking across the yard, avoiding detection like someone who’d just made a break from Azkaban… except she was trying to get back in.  As she approached the side of the house quietly, Prim went to the window that she’d left unlocked and gently pushed it inward.  Climbing up and in, Prim quickly shed Maree’s dress and held it up in her left hand, waving her wand quickly to give it a quick clean.  Good as new. 

It would have to do.  Settling it down on her vanity, Prim lifted the robe off of the stool in front of it and tugged it on, tying the belt tightly.  If she were to run into either of her parents in the hall, it’d clearly look like she had been sleeping in her room… never mind the dress she was carrying.  Hopefully they wouldn’t notice – in an ideal world she wouldn’t run into anyone.  Picking up Maree’s dress, she sent up a little wish that this would go well and made her way to the door. 

Exiting her room, she peered around; the coast was clear. 

Quickly, she scampered up the stairs toward her sister’s room.  She hadn’t run into anyone yet.  There was a hallway left… she could do this.  Leaning against a wall, Prim let out a long, deep breath.  She prepared herself to make the final leg of the journey and tip toed down the hall.  Her heart was beating in her ears.  Resting her hand on Maree’s doorknob, she turned it slowly – silently – and pushed it open. 

Rather than being met with the slow, deep breaths associated with sleep and a pitch-dark bedroom, Prim cursed herself.  She hadn’t checked the bottom door crack.  It was too late – she already had a foot in the room.  She stopped, eyes wide and mouth slack, like a deer that heard a stick snap in the woods.  Her fingers tightened around the dress.  Caught!

The white one! If white was a virginal color, the dress would paint Prim to be anything but. Hattie thought only of the sheer quality of the color white when it swathed skin, and the fact that the dress would be leg central on her eldest sister. Perhaps they’d even spy a pantyline.

But Amaryllis had a point. The dress wasn’t even the primary concern here. Despite having just slipped in through the kitchen herself, the youngest Woolfolk could only imagine what her sister was doing out at this hour. If she was anything like Hattie...

“Maybe she was chasing a wizard,” she whispered knowingly. "Has Papa replaced the stable hand while I’ve been locked up?” Hattie stared at Amaryllis in earnest, hoping she’d not have left such a detail out of her owls. She always sent the sweetest owls, and a delicious boy in riding pants was a very sweet detail.

But before she could discern such secrets from her sister’s shadowed profile, the door creaked open and aha!

Hattie threw back the blankets as if they were being attacked by blast-ended skrewts. “Primrose!” She shrieked. Her sister looked like she’d been hexed to the ground. She pointed her toast at the dress, a thrilled grin spreading on her face.

She squirmed out of the blanket and leaned over Amaryllis to get a better look at Primrose, one excited arm gracing the best middle sister’s shoulder (and giving Maree a chance to fill the tense quiet). Hattie’s face morphed into a more serious expression as her limbs contorted to free themselves of pillowy confines.

“Was it Marigold? Did she Imperius you?” She asked, concern arching its way into her eyebrows. She squeezed Maree’s arm to warn her that they might need to tackle Prim. “It’s ok, Primrose, you just need to be honest with us. And yourself,” she added, adopting the tone of an intake nurse at the St. Mungo’s addiction program. She swept her arm out in demonstration, the toast going with it. “And Mum and Papa. Definitely tell Mum if Marigold is being an evil bi— witch.” Hattie offered a guilty little upturn of her lips, despite the serious topic, and her brows danced up again for emphasis— letting them know just what she thought of Marigold. She bit into her toast before either could give her a proper tongue lashing.

But promptly she chewed, swallowed, and then: "Are those her shoes?” She used Amaryllis’ poor arm as a launchpad and bounced onto her knees, now careening over the edge of the bed. (Poor Amaryllis). Hattie's fingers were shaking with excitement as she waggled them— and her entire arm at Prim’s ensemble, and the incriminating evidence. "I knew it. She’s a Dark Lord.”

"Surpriiiiiiiiise!" Maree burst from under the blankets, propped up on her side as her littlest sister scoffed her name, proceeding to give wild accusations... Apparently they had differing ideas of 'intervention.' Weren't they supposed to be... inviting? To keep her from running?

Which, actually. Good point. Their plan--such as it was--hadn't quite covered that. "Hattie, lock the door," she commanded, a wicked grin.

"Oh, come on; let's be sensible, here," she said, looking levelly between the two sisters, the sole bastion of reason. Time to appeal to her sisters' mutual dislike of poor Marigold.  "Like Mari could talk Primrose into anything." She sauntered out of bed, strolling knowingly towards her sister. "We all know Prim could withstand a good Imperio... but the question is, what couldn't you stand up to, Primmie?" She raised an eyebrow. "I would have lent you the dress, but you never would have because you knew I would have had questions! And you did something you are ashamed of!"

Okay, so maybe Maree hadn't exactly read up on the difference between intervention and interrogation. Time to soften it up.

"At least Hattie has the good sense to responsibly tell me when she's sneaking out." Maree folded her arms across her chest, chin raised hautily. It was all a show, of course. Maree didn't care what Prim chose to do in her free time. She always knew Prim was a private person. She didn't need shared secrets to giggle over to feel connected. She wasn't some attention-needing, insecure teenage --no offense, Hattie--that needed to feel involved in everything in order to...

Oh my God. She was. Maree's hand went to her mouth a moment before recovering, pretending to look at her nails. This was how people played it cool, right? Was she looking cool?

In all of the things that Prim had planned for… this hadn’t been part of it at all.  Not one, but two of her nosy sisters had planned a stakeout.  They’d probably been up all night!  Oh Godric.  If they’d been up all night, they would have known she hadn’t been home at all. 

She’d almost been relieved when Hattie latched onto the least correct thing she could have ever said.  But, the relief was short-lived.  Maree was not so silly, and did not waste a second in allowing her an escape.  Primrose struggled to make anything other than a strangled sort of sound and looked between her two sisters.

This was the very definition of betrayal.

It made the Roman Senate look virtuous by comparison.  She might have preferred being stabbed at least twenty-three times to this.  Maree might have been innocent in most things, but she was not dumb and that was where Prim’s misfortune merely started.  Hattie provided the fuel for such a train of thought and Maree was worse than Wild Flower or Valentine: she just ran with it. 

Hattie had locked the door and while an armed Primrose could have dealt with that, she left her wand in her room.  A locked door with a Hattie in front of it?  That was an impossible barrier.  She’d never let her through – and Hattie was not above physical violence to get her way. And no amount of stern looks or doe eyes would sway her. 

Amaryllis was supposed to be the easy one in this situation.  But she was just as ruthless.  If she had guessed this would be the outcome, Primrose would have just taken something from Marigold’s closet and have been done with it.  She would have just screamed at her and then moved on.  There would never be this many questions: Marigold was not this interested in her life.  It really made her question her judgment in all of this. 

Clutching the dress in her hands, Primrose faltered.  She wasn’t ashamed! That wasn’t it at all – was it?!  Oh Godric.  Gnawing on her lip for a second, Primrose looked between her two sisters to try and decide which one she would address first.  The rock and the hard place never looked so much like tricky blonde demons before. 

“It was a gathering – with friends,” Primrose lied feebly.  There had never been a reason to come up with another story – she was much better at planning her words than creating it out of the blue.  If only she wasn’t so tired!  If only they hadn’t surprised her like that.  “I – I hadn’t asked because it was so last minute!”  Prim continued, “You couldn’t expect me to wait,” her eyes sought Hattie (she was far more likely to believe such a thing), “and these shoes were better…” objectively true, but a weak excuse in combination with having so little time to actually ask for the thing she took… hopefully neither of them would notice. 

Grinning around a bite of toast, Hattie whipped her wand up faster than one might believe she could, at 4am, after an obvious night out, and with her mouth full.

But then, even as she thought the locking charm, smoothly demonstrating her skill with silent spells to her sisters, Hattie's barefooted, mini-skirted form plastered itself against the back of the door, arms fanning out triumphantly—- and not without suggestive flourish. She swallowed; her grin widened like a blade. “Got it."

Extra precautions mightn’t be necessary, but they sure were fun.

And, alright, a little bit necessary: Prim might find her way out of a locking charm, wand or no wand, but she wasn't going to wrestle her little sister so soon, Hattie knew. It bought them time, at least.

Even so, Hattie glanced over her shoulder at the solid wood of the door, as if it might suddenly reveal her parents' faces. While she stood between Prim and the door, the door not necessarily stand between Hattie and her parents.

When no sound of eavesdroppers met her, Hattie’s gaze dropped to the floor. The light and shadows under the frame remained still. Her eyes flew back up, seemed to smile at Maree’s words. Hattie looked like she’d stumbled upon a chocolate fountain.

Hattie giggled at Amaryllis’ sudden sass, but her hands took up the perch of her hips at the sweetest sister’s question.

"We all know Prim could withstand a good Imperio... but the question is, what couldn't you stand up to, Primmie?”

It was a mystery for the ages of the manor house. Prim looked like they’d found her stash of gillyweed and rolling papers, or like she’d been told it was National Hug a Werewolf Day.

Hattie nodded obediently at the mention of her own sense of responsibility, never mind the absurdity. No one was going to punish her this evening. No one was really surprised she’d stroll in at sunrise. It was all about Prim’s escapades.

“You are,” Hattie said, with relish and love, “The worst liar. Honestly, Prim, you make Fred Radley look like Neely.” Even so, Hattie’s eyes slipped to the shoes. They were nice. They probably were better than whatever Marigold would have paired them with.

Hattie shook her head once, hair whisking stormily down her back. “If it were that last minute, you wouldn’t have bothered to raid anyone’s closet. You have a million outfits for that sort of thing. You’re you, Primrose,” Hattie pointed her wand at her. It looked accusing. But it was actually pointed just past her, at the tray of food. A cluster of cherries fittingly flew past Prim’s ear. Hattie snatched them ‘round her pinky finger, but then clutched them with sudden philosophic enthusiasm. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in a smile-frown. “You dressed to impress someone. A blockhead like Boomer could see that.”