Embarrassment, thy name is Victoire Weasley.

“Just so you know, Miss Weasley – I hate sewing Aurors robes.”

Victoire winced as Madam Malkin jabbed another pin into the material that covered her leg. The sharp tip nicked her calf – the fourth one in the last fifteen minutes! – and made the former-Gryffindor thoroughly regret her decision to purchase a new set of robes. She was beginning to suspect that Madam Malkin had just had enough with outfitting Weasleys rather than dressing Aurors. She had seen more than her fair share over her lifetime, after all. For that, Victoire couldn’t fault the woman but she couldn’t understand why, of all people, Madam Malkin had decided to take it out on her! James Potter was a far more deserving candidate of all of this ire.

What made it all infinitely worse was the fact that Madam Malkin had set Victoire up on a stool in one of the front windows. So, with her arms up in sad imitation of a Muggle aeroplane, she was left feeling ridiculous, pin-pricked, and desperate – nearly – to go home. The said James Potter was exacerbating matters, also, by gaily chatting up one of the other seamstresses was giggling away at every dreadful joke that passed his lips. His grin looked set to split his cheeks and if Why he had insisted on coming along was a mystery to the blonde. Well, not entirely a mystery. He did want some broomstick wax from Quality Quidditch Supplies. Other than that, though, Victoire figured he’d just decided to attend for her own embarrassment. Which was just … fabulous.

“Are we nearly done, Madam Malkin?” Victoire asked, the whine in her voice covering up any irritation that was bubbling close to the surface.

“Auror robes take time, dear,” the elderly witch replied tersely as raucous laughter erupted from around the desk. Victoire sneaked a glance in the direction of her cousin and rolled her eyes. Another girl had joined the fray. If James could pull the young man trying to catch the magical tape measures, he’d have the lot of them under his spell.

As that thought fluttered through Victoire’s mind, the door opened and the bell over the top rang out shrilly. Someone else was joining the madness, it seemed. Victoire sighed and let her eyes drift back to the window and the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley outside. Merlin help me, she thought.

Everly, the 'reckless one,' as her supervisors often called her when they thought she wasn't listening, had to get new robes again. Her previous ones for work had been singed on a recent call to action, and she couldn't seem to fix them properly. So it just seemed more reasonable to replace them. Particularly when her reputation was already so mixed and oddly grandiose for a woman who didn't want one.

She walked into the shop as she walked into any room -- unless she was undercover, perhaps: As if she was already wary of everybody in there. Because frankly, she was. But that often came off as her thinking herself better than everyone else. Everly didn't, actually; quite the opposite.

Her eyes took in the man flirting with some of the employees, and the blonde woman being fitted. Oddly, Everly felt certain that she recognized the latter of the two. But she didn't pay a lot of attention to people she didn't trust in some way, so she couldn't quite place it. The place seemed a bit busy, but she didn't feel like coming back later. So she strode past them and began looking through the racks of pre-made options. If anyone cared how well her work clothes fit, it wasn't her. All she cared about was getting the job done.

Victoire watched in the mirror angled towards her in the window as the young sales assistant looked up from what he was doing and glanced in James’ direction. Gotcha, she thought, imagining the surge of glee that undoubtedly flashed through the Potter man. There he was, all of them trapped in his web, and even Madam Malkin – so fond of his father – was too enamoured to reproach any of her staff for attending him so closely.

She could have smacked James in that moment – not least because the longer he made an exhibition of himself, there more likely one of them would let the Prophet know he was there. The photographers followed him like hawks as it was. In truth, it was a miracle they had made it to the shop without him being mobbed in the first place.

The bell ringing over the door tugged Victoire from her thoughts. She glanced briefly in the direction and watched as a woman entered whom she felt certain she had seen before. James paid little notice, having fully moved on to charming solely the tape-measure-boy. The other girls huffed and moved off, returning to their tasks, one even offering the new woman a “hello” before returning to folding jumpers.

Victoire envied this mystery woman profoundly as she moved over to the racking. Why Victoire had felt the need to treat herself, she would never understand. Partly it was at James’ goading and his offer to buy lunch but her first and second pair of robes had been off the racking, ill-fitting, in truth, and hadn’t lasted long. She had wanted something more durable – something that could survive being singed in a duel. Now she was wondering just why she hadn’t decided to put up with it.

“Alright,” Madam Malkin sighed affectedly, disapproval inched into the lines in her face.

“Alright?” Victoire echoed, looking down at herself.

“What colour did you want, again?” The woman asked, creaking to her feet.

“Purple, please. Dark purple, if you can.”

Madam Malkin sniffed derisively. “Of course I can. Go, pick your boots. Carla will ring you up. You can pick the robes up on Monday.”

With a flick of her wand, Madam Malkin ripped the robes from Victoire’s shoulders and her mirror image was restored, once more, to the pale blue dress she had donned that morning. Victoire hopped off the stool quickly, before the older woman changed her mind, and picked up her jacket, intent on making herself as scarce as possible as quickly as possible.

“Potter, come on, we’re off.” She groused.

“In a minute,” he said, not even bothering to turn around before resuming his conversation, “As I was saying…”

Victoire rolled her eyes and ignored the desire to jinx her wayward cousin. She instead moved off in the direction the other woman had gone. They had a myriad of items in that section and, in particular, she wanted a new pair of dragon hide boots. That’s how they’d ended up in the shop in the first place.

“Stay away from the black robes with the phoenix branding,” she whispered to the woman as she passed, “they’re awful. Didn’t last five minutes for me.”

If it were possible for human ears to do so, Everly's would've perked up at the mention of the Potter family. That blonde woman was talking to someone, addressing them as such, and Everly was instantly curious. Probably the eldest one if they were here, considering she hadn't seen the middle one out, probably ever. But she didn't turn her head straight away. Instead, she walked casually around to the other side of the rack, glancing up at the others in the shop.

Yes, the man she seemed to be talking to looked quite familiar now that the Potter name had been assigned to him. It was almost certainly James, Everly decided, though she didn't know him personally. Recognizing him did not help her determine who the blonde woman was, though. So she turned her attention back down on her shopping, keeping the majority of her attention on the happenings in the rest of the room.

Her fingers tested a couple of fabrics, disapproval hidden behind the practiced, blank look on her face. The options certainly weren't perfect, but Everly just didn't have it in her to care about something so superficial. She couldn't blame someone for wanting something more sturdy, or even more flattering. But she was beyond worrying about such things these days, as she had infinitely more to think about and stress over.

Oh, how she wished she didn't.

Everly lifted her chin enough to look the blonde woman's way when she heard the quiet warning, then turned to look at her properly, keeping her voice low to match. "Those really are rubbish," Everly agreed, her voice as low and drawled as ever. It often made her sound lazy, or even the sort who thought herself superior enough to take up everyone's time with how slowly she spoke. Really, she was just deliberate and unhurried.

"I'm just not in the mood today to worry about finding something permanent, I'm afraid. I really should, though, given how thoroughly I've worn out my last ones." She gestured over towards the fitting area in question. "Got an event coming up?" The robes hadn't looked like anything fancy, but Everly wasn't about to make it clear that she'd observed enough to know either way.