Disclaimer: Let's just keep this simple, since my brain hurts. HP not mine please don't sue me.
Author's Notes: I am not supposed to be typing. Which, since I usually do my writing on the computer, means I am not supposed to be writing. It's amazing what being 'unable' to do something will do for your muses. Even if all they produce is rather random drabbles that are occasionally difficult to fathom...
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The Look of Innocence, or Mimicking Mary
It was white and simply cut, with good lines and a small bit of sweet, slightly flirty lace lining the scoop-necked collar. There was a little ribbon bow on the upper hem, right between her breasts.
She'd only bought the dress because, when she'd seen it in the Muggle store and tried it on, her friends had said it made her look fresh and unspoilt. She could not remember ever feeling any such thing before. But when she put it on she felt... almost so. It was close, really, and nearly enough to make her bitter.
Which was why, in the end, she took it home and showed it to him.
He stormed from the house so that she wouldn't see his tears. It was as she'd feared. That was when she knew, and she no longer needed to simply feel.
She put the dress away, in the darkest corner of her wardrobe, and tried not to think of it. But she couldn't help it sometimes, remembering; the way it looked and felt, and she was just wishing, wishing... wishing.
When she found out for sure, that almost-early-spring day, she got the dress and put it on again while it still fit. She waited for him to get home, and when he came through that door after finishing his assignment, she waited for him to notice. It didn't take long.
Then, she waited for him to understand. When he did, his breath stopped altogether; his color was high, his eyes dark, his hands shaking as she'd never seen. He gulped in air, and he had only one thing to say.
"Better be Harry James then, darling."