Raine Almasy had not been home from Egypt for an hour even when her mother had come out of the family room to inform her that she was booked for a fitting appointment in Diagon Alley later in the week. It was that time of the year again. Limbs were to be measured, robes were to be sewn and money to be frivolously spent. Surely she hadn't grown much since last summer... an inch taller, perhaps, and thinner than her governess would have liked. 

Nothing that required the purchase of an entirely new wardrobe; and yet here she was stood infront of the entrance to "Libertine Ltd." with an address card in her hand, a thoughtful frown on her typically sombre face. She was sure that the only reason Mama even sent her here was because everything in her armory was either black, white, brown or Gryffindor red. That and the imminent Yule Ball this Christmas, of course. But she liked her clothes-- she liked black and white!

Sighing softly, Raine reached for the door handle of the establishment and pushed it open.

It was not like many of the shops that she had previously attended for fittings. For one, it appeared to specialize in menswear. And there was something in the decor that did not quite resonate with her family's tendency for traditional clothing. No. Nothing that brought to mind tweed skirts and stiff blouses. Which probably meant that it had been recommended for some other reason... price, Raine supposed as she smiled wryly to herself, or 'trendiness'.

"Good afternoon?" Her words rang as she allowed the door to shut behind her; a clear voice cutting through the stuffy air of summer indoors. She was dressed as simply as she could (which was how one was taught to dress to attend a fitting) but, of course, she wished to hint at her own clothing preferences. Mama might want a wardrobe with all the colours of the rainbow but Raine certainly did not.

Outfit #9

Libertine Ltd. had had a busy morning, with the usual weekend rush thronging the shop. Darian had several appointments in the afternoon, payments assured rather than the fickle morning window-shoppers, so after lunch he'd closed up. Now, bereft of customers vying for their attention, Misa was munching happily (he assumed) on a salad in the back room and he was straightening the racks. Darian was just contemplating stealing a bite of hers or Merlin forbid even his own unwrapped pasty when his one o'clock appointment ventured in all long limbs and limpid rainwater eyes. He put on his prettiest smile for her, warm and nonthreatening for those who tottered into his shop young, uncertain, or especially shy. After a split second to take her in, amusement tinged the curve of his smiling lips.

Well, what a little cutie, what a well-dressed little fawn! What a right English rose with her leather satchel and her schoolgirl silk blouse. Just looking at her made Darian want to draw a blush from those pale cheeks (not like that as she was far too young and he did have some morals - perhaps just a pinch or two, as innocent as any dowager aunt except one who was spry and voracious and, well, male). He bet it would become her.

"Good afternoon!" he replied. "I am Darian Morgan, tailor, proprietor, and all sorts of other things -very pleased to meet you. As reluctant as I am to do away with this vision of classy academia, I take it that you are one Ms. Almasy and that you've need of new school robes. Am I correct? Please say do. I've a mate down the street who'd thank you for keeping my mind on the job." And hands, dear sourpuss Grey. Without really waiting for an answer, Darian snagged a clipboard hanging from a nearby rack. He ran a quick eye over Misa's neat scrawl, then raised a fiery brow. "Your mother stressed color."

Raine smiled politely at the wizard who had greeted her, nearly two decades of good-breeding constraining the surprised expression that wanted to be let out at being confronted by such eager language. There was something both very deliberate and altogether effortless about the way he spoke. It was, she decided instinctively, a wonderful reprieve from her last fitting-- a wrinkle faced seamstress with more reproach than taste.

"Yes, I am," she replied in a quiet voice to his first question and then frowned every-so-slightly as Darian Morgan briefly studied clipboard of notes that, the young witch suspected, encompassed Mama's opinions about her imminent wardrobe. Her suspicions were confirmed: "Your mother stressed colour."

Well of course she would, thought Raine as she tried not to look irritated by that fact. Her lips curved into a dry, fleeting smile and she nodded her head once: "I suppose some colour wouldn't hurt," she met the tailor's (though that word didn't suit him at all) gaze firmly: "I mean, a little colour. Mama is unreasonably obsessed with coaxing me out of my monochrome wardrobe."

Her tone of voice indicated at precisely how unreasonable her mother was being; one could not expect her to go from one end of the visual spectrum to the other, not overnight. Personally, she thought he wardrobe was rather elegant. Raine gave Darian a kind of helpless expression, shrugging her shoulders delicately: "I would be satisfied with anything that won't make me look five or fifty."

Only younglings or the elderly wore very colourful clothing. And, she amended as she looked over the shop proprietor speculatively, certain types of men. Raine fit into none of those categories.

Darian hummed sympathetically, although he still seemed a little amused. "It's classic - particularly black," he agreed. "If the cut is right, there's no reason at all for it not to be stunning. But mothers are like that, I'm afraid, and summer heat is equally unforgiving." He looked properly apologetic as was befitting for a man delivering such news while dressed in dapper but decidingly dark colors. Perhaps today had not been the best day to play at somber and respectable - or, given this girl's liking for monochrome, perhaps it was the perfect choice. Darian recalled, with some fondness, his silver periwinkle blazer which had on its first outing blinded two bystanders and sent a third into a swoon. That would have been a bad call for today, even if it would have demonstrated his hand at color very nicely. Fortunately all of his clothing boasted temperature control, so really, climate was not much of a consideration despite his regretful words.

"But there is the risk one runs when downplaying dress that your mother is understandably concerned with, of making yourself forgettable or overlooked. If there is no variety in your wardrobe, you may seem dull. To avoid monotony, color is essential. And you want balance, definitely." Because he was too canny to single out a customer's clothing choice (too many opportunities to offend) and too shameless to avoid personal example (any opportunity to touch himself), Darian pressed a hand against his own chest in demonstration. "Take my outfit. Neutral colors emphasize the face not the clothing, for someone with coloring like mine or yours. And that is all right occasionally - yes, I have a very fine face and this is very fashionable - but all the time? No. Then people might tragically forget to admire my equally fine body." He winked, then indicated with two fingers the seams of gold on his waistcoat, the buttons, and the decorative central panel. "Accents are helpful in monochromatic ensembles. Regardless of what you leave here with, you might try adding accessories or mixing fabrics for more visual interest. It will give you some ammunition for your mother's complaints."

"First, though, the fitting." He crooked a finger for her to follow, leading Raine to the back of the shop where a cleared area boosted stools, tall mirrors, a curtained changing area, and a table laden with tailoring paraphernalia.

She did not seem wholly eager to delve into any brightly-colored palette, and he could see why. Her simple outfit and initial reaction to her mother's decree implied that this was her normal style - elegant, certainly, but safe and familiar as well. It wouldn't do to dress her up in ribbons and pearls except in moderation, and there were hues which could both flatter and appease. Darian was a great believer in giving the customer what they wanted, particularly when it involved going against a parent's wishes but not the point where they would, for example, not pay him. Thus the lesson on aesthetics. Certainly he could find a way to let this girl leave his shop with both her and her mother's preferences satisfied.

"As you can see, I don't carry a large woman's stock. So this is the way we shall go about this - I'll take your measurements today, we'll discuss what you like, and in a week or so depending on the size of the order I'll have your garments ready to go. Secondary appointments are sometimes necessary to ensure the perfect fit. Questions?"

As with most things in regard to her parents, Raine was beginning to see that she was going to have to settle on some sort of compromise in her wardrobe. Change, she supposed, could be a good thing.

Regardless of personal opinion, she listened like an obedient little lady, carefully watching the wizard who would henceforth be the primary influence on such affairs. A quick smile as he indicated his waistcoat, a charmed expression when he winked. It was easy to listen to him and easier to comprehend the point of his discourse. "Ammunition indeed," Raine echoed with a thinking gaze before she was led to another quarter of the establishment.

There was an air of procedure and method here. The young witch dropped her bag to lean against one of the stools, glancing around the room with typical attentiveness and catching her reflection in some of the mirrors. She thought that perhaps her mother had more sense than she suspected; the blouse hung on her loosely, not as fitted as she remembered. Or perhaps she needed to eat more.

"... are sometimes necessary to ensure a perfect fit. Questions?" Darian was wrapping up an explanation on how the fittings would work. Raine looked away from one of the mirrors and shook her head, not particularly concerned by how long the garments would take.

"No," she replied: "Though might I request we stay away from purple, when we're discussing clothes? And Hufflepuff yellow," her voice implied a faint resignation to the general idea of colours. Though of course, not all colours were made equal and the two she just mentioned were especially inferior in her eyes.

As an afterthought, the Gryffindor added: "And did Mama say anything about a gown? I'm afraid I'll need one made for the Yule Ball." It was lost on her whether or not tailors took the same measurements for robes as they did for frocks.

Darian ran one last look over the clipboard before tossing it to the table, memorizing it for reference. "Of course. Which colors would you favor?" It was an innocent question, but tempered with his intentions to match her to something flattering as well - no matter which colors she actually named.

And, picking up a thick black book, "As you can see, my women's stock is not overly large. I've got a few things for you to try on, including, yes, some dress robes, and then this book here of designs to look through from which you'll chose some more. Don't worry, you won't have to peruse the whole thick thing. I've an ensemble or two in mind to show you. Did your mother specify to you how many garments she wanted you to leave with?"

Now, there were options here. Darian could perform the actual measuring himself, the fitting, all the persnickety tailoring bits, or he could summon Misa to do it instead. He often made a point to ask with his younger female customers, because Darian did have a bit of a reputation and for some poor sheltered things the touch of a man was absolutely taboo (even if they were sillier for thinking he'd risk losing money and attracting lawsuits). Being dressed well was an honor in and of itself, a process that, barring exceptions, he took too much pleasure in to ruin with copping a feel. Ah, but tell that to the suspicious mothers, the possessive significant others, the touch-shy clientele not accustomed to the brisk invasion of personal space with scissors, needles, fingers and measure. It sometimes wasn't easy living the life of a known lady-killer. Either-killer. Anything-that-moved, oh-look-I've-made-the-gossip-columns-again killer. At least not professionally.

But this girl didn't seem much bothered, any sense of distance born of formality and not unease, so he didn't bother. Misa was bound to finish up soon and wander out, and if there was any seed of discomfort he'd missed, it'd wrap itself up then.

Darian snapped his fingers, the sign of a man ready to get to work. Various implements of his trade rose from the table at the sound; a measuring tape unwound itself and twined lovingly, snake-like, around his arm. Darian took into consideration things like young and female and underage, but would have been honestly surprised to learn that the staring down a fleet of needles, pins, and several sets of shearing scissors (which were all opening and closing with gentle, anticipatory clacks) discomforted potential customers way faster than the tamped-down, glammed-up predator instincts of the proprietor.

"Right!" he said brightly, as the measuring tape rustled his curls. "Ready to begin?"

For some reason, it felt a lot easier to name the colours she hated rather than the ones she favoured, though Raine did obediently utter the ones that first came to mind when asked: "Oh, dark red. Tan and gold." These were colours that she already incorporated into her wardrobe, either out of necessity (her house shades) or circumstance (holidays). Hesitant, she quickly added: "And Ravenclaw blue."

That had been her sister's favourite. Could one be bequeathed a fondness for colour? Raine's eyes followed Darian's elegant hands attentively as he spoke and handled a black tome that sounded as ominous as it looked. Merlin knew what designs lay between those pages or if any would be to her taste; she would have to trust the wizard. "Did your mother specify to you how many garments she wanted you to leave with?" The question interrupted her thoughts and she frowned imperceptibly. If Mama hadn't mentioned, than it probably didn't matter.

"At least three dress robes and then as many as I will need for the next two seasons," the Gryffindor lied evenly as she glanced away from the black book to observe the table, the many measuring instruments staring back lifelessly. It almost gave her a start when they began to move; all at the snap of the tailor's fingers.

At the back of her head, Raine felt relieved to be long past her childhood aversion for sharp objects. The sheer number of needles and snapping scissors would have been enough to send her younger self hiding under the table. "Ready to begin?" Darian asked in a manner that implied a far more optimistic outlook than her own. He was certainly ready.

Raine half-smiled at this and, with the practiced air of any measured doll, stepped up onto a low stool that had been waiting near them: "I suppose I am," she told him as she rolled up her sleeves, straightening her posture: "As ready as I'll ever be." It was fortunate for both of them that she had few qualms with being fitted by a man; Raine was too comfortable with her body to show concern and cared little for the distinction between genders.

He smiled, crinkle-eyed and warm, at the first words to tumble out her mouth. "You're a true Gryffindor," he laughed. "Or - no - blast, was I too quick? Ravenclaw, then?" Wearing just one's House colors was boooring, although Darian understood a little of the loyalty that inspired it (remembered, rather, with a faint nostalgia). Not very imaginative, but then, that was why she'd been sent to him. He'd fix her up in something lovely. "I suppose that rules out green, then. Pity; you'd look lovely in it."

For all of his care, it turned out there was little actual touching once the measuring began. Darian's instruments did most of the work - the measuring tape uncurled from his neck and shoot out to begin testing the length of Raine's arm, her waist size, her inseam. Darian nudged her arm up a little, touched the small of her back as a reminder to stand straight, and checked the measuring tape after every stretch to jot down the number it yielded. Directions to the tape in Welsh were interspersed with light and meaningless chatter, asking who'd recommended the shop to her mother, inquiring after further clothing preferences, nothing that required too much thought on either the fitter or the fittee's part. About halfway through a willowy young woman of Japanese origin trotted out of the back; she smiled at Raine, then gently eased the clipboard out of Darian's hand and wrote down the measurements as he called them out to her.

"Ms. Almasy - Misa," Darian said after a moment, as though just remembering that introductions were the polite thing to do. "My assistant. Misa, will you...? Black basic, then the sapphire ruching and the heavy maroon to start. Skirts, blouses, uniform bits. Oh, and a few sundresses." He winked at Raine. "It is summer, after all."
 
A flick of his wand produced a curtain for changing behind, and when Misa trotted back he placed the first of many robes into Raine's arms and ushered her behind the curtain. It was a simple black, but for a school robe it was elegant in the extreme - all sleek lines and sleeker fabric, gathered at the elbows and then fitting tightly down to the wrists. As soon as she had the thing on the curtain whipped back again, and she was shepherded towards a standing stool on which he could gain a better look. Three angled mirrors hugged the walls and reflected her vision, and Darian pinched back the surplus fabric for her opinion before he really began to work.

Red, blue... didn't make a difference to Raine sometimes. What had been her sister's was as good as her own. She smiled fleetingly as Darian Morgan spoke and demurely muttered Gryffindor, trying not to smirk at the mention of Slytherin colours. "No, green is fine." Her sense of loyalty was not, after all, so archaic as to take offence at everything from that house. She held no animosity against them-- only suspicion (and rightly so, she thought ).

Conversation devolved into light chatter as the fitting continued, measure tape moving as swiftly and as efficiently as the tailor himself. Raine stood still but not stiffly, typically aware of her bearing and altering her stance at the occasional nudge to suit whichever angle the tape was at. Most of her replies to the questions were straightforward and unthinking; no, she didn't know who had recommended the shop... why yes, she did rather enjoy practical clothing... no, she only wore heels on special occasions.

An assistant entered at some point between all this, and then introduced later-- Raine had unconsciously given the woman a slight curtsy before being steered into a changing area, curtains drawn. A black school robe. She slipped off her blouse and then methodically pulled on the outfit, shaking her head of red curls once through the collar. It was comfortable.

And rather elegant, she was able to appreciate once Darian had her stood infront of three separate mirrors all at once. Her eyes shifted observantly from one reflection to another. Raine smiled faintly, turning her head to address the wizard: "Smart," she told him: "If it keeps me warm in the towers and warmer in the dungeons, I can have no complaint." For all her persnickety talk of colours, she was quickly revealing herself to be an unexacting customer.

"We very nearly froze in Astronomy class earlier this year, the professor had to bring up blankets for an all-nighter," Raine remarkedas she looked back to the mirrors. It was never warm enough up there, especially in the evenings, and she wasn't yet sure about dropping the subject. Her reflections stared back, each identical in every respect.

Darian actually clasped his hands together, beaming. "Excellent!" he said, a worrying glint in his eyes. Misa, who'd just trotted up with an armful of clothes, turned around and headed patiently back to the racks at the quick wave of his hand.

Raine came out of the fitting sheet with the first robe, and Darian nodded his professional approval. Of course it wasn't fitted yet and hung loose in some places, but once he tightened it up it'd be gorgeous for a simple black piece. The drape was just right, and as he'd thought the somewhat old-fashioned style suited her. "Right," he said, drawing his wand again. "Don't panic. I'm sending in the pins." They'd been hovering over his tables for what felt like ages in their little metal not-minds, and practically vibrated in their eagerness to be loosed. He spoke a command in Welsh, accompanied by a little twitch of his wand, and they shot forward. Worming their way under the fabric and flashing in the air around Raine they zipped back and forth - pinning, tightening, loosening, taking up - fitting the robe more acutely to her measurements. Not a one scratched her skin. Darian watched with an indulgent smile, because already he'd picked up that she wasn't the type to flinch.

"All of my clothing has temperature control," he told her as steel zipped and sang. "Charmed to your body, give or take a few degrees. You should be fine even without a cloak." He grinned at her idle remark, picturing the scene. Awww, cute! Wouldn't Darian love an all-nighter with Professor Trishna under the blankets. "He's very thoughtful, isn't he? What fun that must have been."

It was of great comfort, knowing that she'd be unquestionably warm all through the winter. Something about putting on cloaks and taking them off and throwing on additional layers... perhaps she should consider relocating to a warmer country, after graduation. Surely they needed aurors in Asia or Africa.

Pins went racing and dashing through the air, shiny and sharp. She forced herself not to observe them and concentrated on her three reflections, all who appeared to be rather unruffled in spite of the needles. It was easier, this way, to watch the robe become fitted to her form-- and draped elegantly in all the right places.

The tailor knew his trade; slightly too well, even. She glanced away from the mirrors as he replied to her comment on the Astronomy tower, hearing the grin in his voice before she saw it. "He's very thoughtful, isn't he? What fun that must have been."

Charting the stars was not exactly one's idea of fun but Raine raised an eyebrow at the personal tone with which her teacher was referred: "Do you know Professor Trishna? I suppose 'thoughtful' would be the right word to describe him." He had been nothing but helpful when she needed to discuss her sister's death, after all. But the Gryffindor remembered a funny scene from the school trip to Egypt just then and smiled dryly at Darian: "'Comical might work just as well."

She doubted that the proprietor would reprimand her lack of respect for a school staff member; even if it wasn't particularly good prefect behaviour.

"I've had the pleasure," Darian replied. He leaned in and lowered his voice, his expression waxing soulful for a moment as if at any moment someone might write a sonnet about him. "Our friendship is a source of great comfort to me," he confided, so sweetly butter wouldn't have melted in his pretty mouth. He splayed a hand over his heart, fingers twisting dramatically in his waistcoat.

"Comical might work just as well."

"Mmm, you're right, what a barrel of laughs! So delightfully easy to - oh, I shouldn't say that in front of his students. But the stories I could tell you!" He gave a sigh, then dumped a different robe in Raine's arms and shooed her back towards the curtained changing room. "Here, go try this one on. Let me know if you need help getting it off with all the pins - they should stay in place well enough, but I wouldn't want you pricked!"

A barrel of laughs? Raine smirked at the phrase as the tailor went on about Professor Trishna in expressions that ranged from tenderly sincere to downright mischievous. He was like a mercurial bird. The sort that sat on either shoulder and whispered contradictory nothings into your ear.

"Here, go try this one on. Let me know if you need help getting it off with all the pins - they should stay in place well enough, but I wouldn't want you pricked!"

The next thing the witch knew, she was being genially ushered back into the curtained area with a different robe to try on. Her eyes shifted away from her reflections as the curtain drew close and she began to slip off the black robe. It was a far more delicate procedure than she expected, avoiding the pins. "Ouch!" she hissed as one of the sharp tips caught her at the small of her back.

"Hold on," Raine nearly heaved a sigh of relief when the garment was off. The other robe was slipped on with greater ease. "There. Do I look gorgeous?" The curtain drew open and she stepped out nimbly, buttoning up the outfit and smiling drolly at Darian.

Darian - poised with one hand curling under his chin, the other folded across his chest - swept her with a delighted up-and-down look. His lips parted in a dazzling smile. "Ravishing," he said with relish. And school appropriate ~ !

A step brought him closer. He favored her with a second, more careful look - his gaze lingering on the places that would need to be pinned. "How does it feel? Do you like it enough to alter?" Technically, Darian did not need to pin any of these robes on Raine. He had her measurements - he could shrink his dummy, tweak it to her exact specifications, and voilà. But he had her for a little yet before her appointment ran out, and Darian was an old-fashioned tailor in the ways that counted. He preferred to work from direct fittings when he could  - for accuracy's sake, because it made it just that much easier to charm his customers into future purchases, and because he genuinely enjoyed the interaction.

"Yule gown's next, I think. We shouldn't forget the most important part."

How long had she been here? The weather outside, Raine knew, was glorious and sunny. Yet here she was trying on robes and making small-talk and wishing she could hop on a broom, perhaps race down a grassy field near Woodstock where the muggles never wandered. Half of her mind was already in that field when Darian asked how her outfit felt.

"Oh, yes. It feels fine. Perfectly comfortable," she replied in a dazed tone before looking at her reflection in one of the mirrors, thoughtful. "If I can run in it and fly in it... well that's certainly good enough for me." Why would anyone want clothes that they couldn't run in? You never knew when you would need to dash somewhere or hop on a broom. Or, she thought with a tiny frown, transform. Even if she hadn't transformed in a while now.

"Yule gown's next, I think. We shouldn't forget the most important part." The Tailor continued efficiently.

Raine smirked at his comment. "That's a matter of opinion," she muttered as she returned to the curtained space. "I don't know if a single dress, made for a single occasion, is anymore important than the robes we wear every day." Her tone wasn't challenging but resigned; in spite of her personal preferences, she knew that the Yule Ball dress had some sort of special social significance.

"If you could... remove the needles perhaps, or tell me how to remove this without being scratched?" The Gryffindor turned around, not yet pulling the curtain close. "I don't fancy drawing blood this time," she sighed ruefully. This would take forever if she had to inch out of every ensemble.