Waker’s freshly-scrubbed drifted over the rack of material, feeling silk, satin, and faux fur in one lazy ripple. Her eyes finally landed on a shade of blue that she thought they could add to the pile of dresses and robes they’d managed to miraculously squeeze behind the curtain. She lifted it gently from its place and moved toward the back of the shop, smiling in affirmation at one of the two female employees. The other was behind the thick linen, along with...

“Grace?” Waker asked, poking her head around the curtain. She stepped in carefully, trying not to surprise the Gryffindor. The three-way mirror, pedestal, and seamstress with floating sewing needles should have been enough to shock anyone who shied away from formal events. “I think you should try this one, too. It would like nice with your hair.”

With a confident smile, the sort of expression a seminar speaker might encourage during Lessons in Public Speaking, she held up the elegant blue piece and then lay it atop the other dozen on the chair. “How’s that one?” She asked, gesturing with her head toward what her friend was currently modeling under the beady gaze of the shopkeep. The woman held her wand like a weapon. Which, technically speaking, it could be.

Taking a few more steps toward Grace, she leaned in and murmured, “We can always try another place...” (Though, if they wanted to get out alive, perhaps not.)

Grace took a big, heaving breath and finally opened her eyes to see her reflection in the mirrors, wondering if she would ever be satisfied with what she saw there. When she had agreed to come shopping with Waker (Beth had already made it abundantly clear that she wasn't into such outings), she had hoped it would make her feel a little more "girly" and help her understand how to project that image.

"I can't be cute, tomboy Grace forever," she muttered quietly under her breath, looking down at the garment she was wearing and gingerly picking up the delicate lacy hem. But as she glanced back into the mirror, her facial expression crumbled, as if she were in significant pain from a Quidditch injury, or she stubbed her toe on the corner of her bed. Somehow the dress just didn't seem very Grace-like.

Why on earth do I feel like I have very little connection to my name? Surely mum gave it to me for a reason, right? she inwardly lamented. She rolled her eyes upwards. Ode to the grace-less one....that's me.

Grace ignored the look from the seamstress and turned slightly at the sound of Waker's voice and flashed the Ravenclaw a partially shy, very awkward smile. "Hey...." Her eyes gazed longingly at the piece that the girl had brought, wondering if it would have any chance of looking as good on her body as it did draped over the chair. She wished she had Waker's confidence in these matters.

Her smile as well as her facial expression softened quite a bit and she quietly thanked the Head Girl for her compliment. Somehow Waker must've known she needed a little boost. She held her arms out to the side helplessly and looked down again at the dress she wore. "Well...it's nice....but I'm not exactly sure it's me. Not that that's saying much," she said with a light laugh.

When Waker then suggested they try another shop, Grace's face fell, worried that she was keeping the girl unnecessarily with her picky tastes. "Um....I'm sure we'll find something here, right? I hope?" Releasing a frustrated sigh, Grace brought her hands up and raked them through her hair. "Oh gosh, I'm so terrible at this. Why am I so terrible at this? I'm a girl, right? This should be second nature to me...." Dropping her hands and lightly slapping them against her thighs, she bemoaned, "But it's not. I'm a failure as a woman...."

Waker was not exactly a ‘fashionista’ in the dress-well-or-die-before-O.W.L.-year way that a few younger Slytherins seemed to be-- but she believed in looking classic and feminine, and she thought it helped her (however shallow that was to admit) when she was forced to give a presentation or sit for an interview. Grace just needed a little push toward lace and pearls, and she was sure to enjoy herself at the upcoming Halloween ball. After all, she was Gryffindor. If she could zoom around on a broomstick at however-many-terrifying-kilometers an hour, at however-many-terrifying-meters above the ground, she could work up the courage to wear a dress.

“Grace,” Waker began, staring almost mother-like at her fellow seventh year. “The dress doesn’t make you. You make the dress.”


This, apparently, was not something the seamstress wanted to hear. Waker shot her a quick, warming smile, and held back a blush. “What I mean is,” she elaborated quickly. “You’ll look good in anything if you realize you’re pretty.” Funnily, it was much easier to say to another teenage girl, than to be the teenage girl facing the mirror and being poked with pins. But the grass was always greener, wasn’t it? “If you can fearlessly ride around on a little stick, you can wear a dress. We’ll just play with your hair a bit... give you a touch of makeup, some jewelry...” It was exciting, really, the prospect of seeing Grace all... graced up.

But a moment later, Waker was rolling her eyes at the failure as a woman speech. She turned to the seamstress once more. “Er, I’m sorry-- but could you give my friend and me a moment alone?” This was followed by a rather hopeful, vaguely nervous expression. The woman obliged, but not kindly.

When she was gone, Waker relaxed a bit. “I don’t say this to many people, because I’ve never really been into Quidditch and... tomboyish clothes... and... well, not until--” No. Stay on task. She blushed, thinking of George, and tried to cover it up by standing a little taller. “I always sort of envied girls like you. You’re the complete opposite of the ones who are going to peak at Hogwarts. You know, the ones who only care about shoes. You’re not going to fail as a woman, Grace.” She stared pointedly at the girl in an oh-so-Head-Girl-y way. “You’re only just starting to be a woman, if you think of it biologically... and... well, come on. The last time I checked, females are defined by their organs, and Waker Nolan is the only witch allowed to have a panic attack in a dressing room!” A sort of sheepish grin followed this outburst. The Gryffindors were really rubbing off on her.

“Here, try this one,” added, pulling a random dress from the pile and handing it over.

A miraculous thing happened as Waker spoke in her soothing voice. Grace's fears slowly began to slide away and she could feel something else beginning to swell inside of her. She was sure part of it was immense gratification towards the Ravenclaw. But there was also a restoration of her confidence that she had allowed to crumble so easily at the thought of being a failure at something. But not just any something.....femininity.

Waker was right though. Grace underestimated the type of natural grace that she possessed, which tended to be hidden underneath her athleticism and tomboyish ways. She was accustomed to wielding her femininity in a minimalist way. Now, she just needed to apply herself like every other aspect of her life.

Even so, the thought of being more daring in that pursuit was daunting for Grace. Having Waker in her corner helped more than she could possibly express in words and Grace impulsively stepped forward to hug Waker. Surprisingly, it was reserved one, unlike the bear hugs she was more likely to give her Quidditch teammates or even Beth. But it was not unlike the kind of sentimental hug that she often gave her mother. Grace found herself murmuring a simple, "Thanks, Waker. I'm so glad that you're here."
 
Pulling back, Grace looked over at Waker and it occurred to her right then, in light of her unfettered willingness to help Grace in her current plight, that the other girl was even more amazing than Grace had initially thought. Certainly Grace considered Waker to be a good friend, but in the past there seemed to be limits on that friendship given that they were from different houses with more immediate allegiances. Grace determined though that even if Waker wasn't dating George, she would likely see the Head Girl as one of her closest friends outside of her own house.

Realizing that she seemed to be dwelling on the negatives of her situation too much, Grace resolved to change the subject. As she accepted the dress that Waker had handed her, she carefully asked, "So...how are things going with George?" Her brown eyes searched the Ravenclaw's face and she offered a slight smile, hoping to silently tell her friend that she wasn't meaning to pry unnecessarily into her relationship with George, who just so happened to be one of her best friends. If anything, Grace's inquiry was in an effort to reciprocate Waker's efforts in helping.  If help was needed or wanted, of course.

Grace hedged a bit more with, "I can never tell because there always seem to be other guys around....like Sebby...." She couldn't help but smirk as she said the name of her fellow Gryffindor, who she had unknowingly been crushing on for quite some time. Quickly pushing thoughts of Sebby aside, she sailed on, "You know how guys tend to put on this bravado in each other's company. Not that I don't think some of it's true...or that I haven't been able to translate what George means after knowing him so long...but it's just nice to get the other side, yanno?" She held out a splayed hand and quickly added, "But I understand if you don't want to talk about that...."

Feeling self conscious again, only this time because she had asked something that could be construed as too personal, Grace held the dress up to her frame and turned to look at her reflection in the mirror again. She tilted her head to the side and she mused, "If only I could use my patronus to thwart off bad thoughts and experiences instead of just dementors." Then a brow shot up and she got an idea. "Hmmm....I wonder if I could pull together a swan costume. What do you think?"

Waker returned the hug, though after a few seconds’ stall. It was like Fauna Blake hugging her, or George reaching out to touch her shoulder that first time they’d had a real conversation. It was still weird, putting away those self-taught formalities. But she’d just thrown them out the window with her little soapbox speech, and she hadn’t even been standing on a soapbox!

Smiling almost guiltily, she simply nodded in a sort ‘any time, mate’ way that she’d seen sheepish fifth year boys do. “You’d talk the same sense into me,” she accused.

"So...how are things going with George?"

It was a turn of topics, that was sure. And if Waker hadn’t been quietly planning the next step in her relationship with Grace’s best friend, she might have been able to provide a less lame answer. “Oh,” she said, blinking. “Great as usual.” She flashed a sincere grin; she wasn’t lying. It’s just that she hadn’t told anyone her plans to sneak into Gryffindor territory tomorrow evening. She couldn’t risk being caught, or confiding in anyone-- not even Grace, who was trusting her with this delicate task of choosing ball attire-- who might tell George.

But she furled a brow when the topic turned to... Guy Talk. “Does he talk about me?” She asked. “Does he--” She lowered her voice and looked toward the curtain. An imaginary scene of George and Sebastian patting each other on the back and snickering boyishly suddenly crept into her mind’s eyes. Her cheeks warmed, betraying that practiced expression of nonchalance. “Does he talk about... stuff?” It was the most euphemistic way to put it in public. “We do together,” she elaborated in a mumble, her hands miming nothing in particular. Had George been running his mouth about their little library tryst? But then, was he not allowed? It had happened, hadn’t it? But Waker had thought it rather intimate-- not to mention dangerous. Perhaps she was just being paranoid.

Shaking it all off, Waker laughed under her breath. “I’m being a cow,” she said quickly. “He can say what he wants. Things are great,” she repeated. “I’ve never liked anyone this much.” She bit her lip and looked at the Gryffindor earnestly.

Waker’s gaze found the center mirror and she nodded in understanding. The Patronus Charm was a particularly useful one, but also inspired a certain longing. “But you’re brave. You’ll manage just fine when you need to.” And it was true. Waker was sure Grace had the courage to fight her demons, corporeal or otherwise. “You’d make a perfect swan.” A little duckling tomboy blooming into a graceful young woman. It was a true story told in a costume if Waker could ever imagine one. “Let’s see... we’ll need some light, romantic material...” She moved toward the chair and sifted through the pile of dresses they’d collected. “Is that your patronus?” She looked over her shoulder. “A swan?”

Grace found herself nodding when Waker noted that she would do the same in regards to talking some sense into the other girl. Indeed she would. Or certainly she would try to. That's what friends did. And Grace believed in being a genuine friend whenever possible.

Grace saw the grin from Waker and the part of her that was a as girly as could be--the hopeless romantic--felt like grinning too. Grace could tell that George was smitten with Waker and it seemed as though the feeling was mutual for Waker. That made Grace very hopeful for her own romantic future. If George and Waker could be completely open and in love with each other, then it was something Grace could see herself being capable of doing with the right person down the line.

"It's okay, Waker," Grace said, holding up her hands defensively, even if it was jokingly done. Her smile turned reassuring and she said, "George hasn't been like that. Which definitely means something good. You're not just some girl. You're special." After a pause, she pointedly added, "And if he did, I'd knock some sense into him because anyone with half a brain knows you're the best thing that's happened to him since....well, forever, really."

And it was quite true. George had been due for a lot of good in his life and as far as Grace could tell, Waker fit the bill.  Now all George had to do was not to mess it up.

Reaching out, Grace gave Waker a quick, reassuring squeeze of her arm before the topic returned to putting together her costume. Grace's thoughts absently turned to her Patronus, and the vision of a swan was beginning to take shape. Even the fashion awkward Grace could begin to conjure up the basics of an outfit. With Waker's help, it was sure to be amazing.

As Grace's eyes followed Waker to the chair, she suddenly became a little shy when the other girl asked about the Patronus. Grace ducked her eyes and looked down at her hands, which she now had clenched together at her waist. Talking about her mother and in particular, her mother's health, wasn't something she did often. But she had been the one who brought up the swan and she figured should explain. "Well, back when we were learning about Boggarts, my fear was my mother losing her battle with cancer. For a while there, it looked like she wasn't." Grace's eyes lifted to Waker's face. It might seem strange to speak of Boggarts and Patronus' in the same breath, but Grace was reminded that they were intricately tied, resting in the health of the same person.

Despite Grace's wand being relatively weak for defensive magic, Grace had more than compensated with her sheer will when it came to performing the Patronus Charm. "And...well, finding out she was in remission is something that makes me happy....To know that my mum was going to live....my Supermom who's magic I revere above all others...." Grace gave a shy little shrug, considering her words may have been on the silly side. Then she simply said, "Well, that just makes me really happy."

Special? She was special? Waker blinked, and then averted her eyes in lieu of blushing. She felt like a fool, for even imaging George would talk about her in that way so many other boys talked about the girls they dated. George was different (even if he was a bold, playful Gryffindor)... and apparently, so was Waker. She laughed, trying to brush off her paranoia, and looked backed to Grace. At least they were both on the same page: a dash of pre-ball awkardness.

“You don’t have to throw punches on behalf, but thanks. That’s very-- it means a lot.” The Ravenclaw nodded, not really sure what else to say. She felt Grace squeeze her arm, and was reminded of the few people in her life who had been able to get past the high security Wall of Waker-- the ones who had taught her to warm up, to slow down, to enjoy life.

The mood became more somber, and Waker’s face more appropriate sober. Grace’s mother had had cancer? Why hadn’t Waker known? It was exactly the sort of thing one asked-- that would have been quite inappropriate, a sin in the name of etiquette-- but the Ravenclaw now felt foolish. She didn’t have to be a big, clueless prat who walked around forgetting to ask friends about their families. Aside from George, though, she’d never been close with anyone whose family could be labeled... well, normal seemed to be the word.

Her heart skipped a beat and her chest tightened. But Grace’s words poured over her brain, and Waker realized what she was saying: her mother had survived. Thank Merlin/God (Healers/Doctors?).

“That must have been hard to deal with,” she said softly, forgetting for a moment that they were standing in the small bit of private space on an otherwise very public map. “My parents are doctors, but I’ve never had...” She shook her head again. “I’ve never had to deal with anything like that. Not someone so close to me. I’m glad she’s a fighter.” It seemed especially fitting, given her Gryffindor daughter. “Let’s make a costume she’ll love, then, yes?” She raised a brow, something of a sparkle coming into her gaze.

“When we've got the dress down, we should go to that jewelery and antique shop around the corner-- they've some really lovely, one-of-kind accessories. You'll be a perfectly elegant swan." Waker grinned, her mind already going over the aesthetic details. A plan. Grace's vision, and Waker's hyper-awareness of silly details that mattered most during, say, a school dance.