The last day of August was unusually cold this year. A vicious wind whipped through Diagon Alley, plucking at the pages of newly-purchased books and prompting the vast collection of caged owls outside Eyelot's Owl Emporium to hoot so loudly in indignation that normal conversation was impossible for twenty feet in any direction. So it was that three hours after their arrival in Diagon Alley Rose Weasley and Allie Potter were still communicating mostly by charades.

James, who had finished Hogwarts, was perusing Quidditch supplies with Harry and Ron while Hermione and Ginny were conducting a last minute double-check of Hugo and Lily's book lists in Flourish & Blotts. Allie and Rose, who were both entering 6th Year, had decided on arrival that the safest option was to do their shopping separately (well out of reach of maternal fussing) and now had almost an hour to spare before they were due to reconnect with the others.

At 5'11" with a slim build that bordered on lanky (thanks, Dad), Rose Weasley spent a lot of time wishing that she could swap figures with Edgar Twomey (a small Hufflepuff boy with curves any woman would be proud of) and the rest of her time wishing that the men in her life would, you know, just... Grow a bit. She had thick, unwieldy red hair that fell well past her shoulders (when it consented to obey gravity, that is) and the kind of stern beauty that Minerva McGonagall might have possessed in her youth. As usual when she wasn't in school, she was wearing Muggle clothes, but today she had added a long indigo cloak to keep out the wind.

In contrast, Allie's choice of protection from the elements was the woolly jumper Molly had knitted for him the previous Christmas. It was emerald green ("To match your eyes, dear," she had said, but then she said that every year) with a silver serpent curling around an elaborate capital "A". Allie was very fond of his Christmas jumpers, which tended to be superior to everyone else's. Molly would never admit it, but Allie suspected she rather enjoyed the novelty of knitting for a Slytherin.

Rose tapped Allie on the shoulder to get his attention before pointing up the street with a questioning look on her face. Allie shook his head firmly and held up three fingers. Rose sighed, her throat already sore from shouting.

"Three words," she yelled and Allie smiled encouragingly. He held up one finger.

"First word."

He pulled his ear.

"Sound like."

He held up two fingers.

"Second word? No? Oh- sounds like two."

He nodded.

"Who? You? Do? Do. Okay, and now it's the second word."

Allie pulled his ear and mimed sitting down.

"Sounds like sit. Twit.? Bit? Er... Pit. It? It... Third word. Three syllables. Second and third syllables..."

Rose frowned as Allie tapped his watch then shook his head firmly.

"Late?" He shook his head again. "Not late." He nodded violently. "Punctual?"

Allie rolled his eyes.

"Early?" He nodded, and then gestured to indicate she should put it all together.

"Do it 'blank'-early. Do it 'blank'-early... Do it properly? Do what properly?"

Realisation dawned, and Rose glared at her cousin as though she would quite like to throttle him.

"Let me get this straight: I use perfectly understandable non-verbal communication to indicate to you that I want to go in a particular direction. You then waste five minutes telling me, in charades, that I should have used charades to convey that message. Have I got that right?"

Allie nodded cheerfully. "We don't play charades often enough. We should be embracing the opportunity."

"Despite the fact that we have just proved we can communicate normally with a bit of effort?"

"Of course," shouted Allie, patting a screeching owl on the head as they passed. "Why waste a single golden moment?"

Rose didn't answer. Anyone who spent time with Allie quickly learned the value of resignation as a virtue. Feeling generous, Allie waited until the street was relatively quiet before attempting further conversation.

"So where are we going anyway?"

"Uncle George gave me some money as an early birthday present and I could do with some new dress robes. There's a little boutique up here that Victoire discovered a few weeks ago, she said they have some really nice stuff."

Allie wrinkled his nose. "Boutique? Does that mean the contents will be tasteful?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Taste sucks all the fun out of life." Allie proclaimed, glancing at his jumper with affection. "But for you, I will endure. The things I do out of cousinly love."

As Allie had feared, the contents of Camille's Boutique were indeed tasteful. It was on a narrow street perpendicular to Diagon Alley, slotted neatly between a jewellers and an antique book shop. It looked small, but once inside they realised that it extended back a considerable distance. The heavy carpet muffled the sound of their footsteps and the displays of clothes were arranged in a labyrinthine fashion that made it impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. Low voices indicated the presence of people nearer the back of the shop, but the words were indistinct.

Rose began to rifle through the first rail while Allie lounged in a chintz armchair by the door. They had only been there a minute or two when Camille herself materialised. She was a handsome middle aged woman with glossy golden hair and diamonds glittering in the neckline of her discreet black robes. She took one look at Allie's jumper and turned pointedly so that she was addressing Rose alone.

"Are you looking for something in particular, chèrie?"

"Er, I'm just browsing really," Despite her usual confidence, Rose was somewhat rattled by the breeding and glamour that was rolling off Camille in waves. "But I think I'm looking for dress robes."

"Ah, c'est excellente," Camille's subtle smile managed to present itself as an accolade. "You have the perfect figure for my new stock. Come, let me find you something."

Startled (the last person to compliment her figure had been when she was five and her Uncle Percy forgot she wasn't a boy), Rose allowed Camille to take her by the wrist and lead her into the depths, Allie trailing reluctantly behind them. In moments, she had been installed in a dressing room with no less than seven gowns to try and Camille's promise to return in a moment with more.

The murmuring voices were closer here. Behind the curtain, Rose stripped to her underwear and surveyed the garments with apprehension. Admittedly, they all looked very pretty, but the kind of pretty that only looks good on other people. Rose would happily admit that she knew nothing about fashion and as a result she preferred clothes that didn't scream "look at me". Her confidence was of the kind that would rather be listened to than looked at.

Resisting the urge to run, she picked out a black one that looked less threatening than the others. Once it was on, however, she had to admit that she had been wrong- the colour may have been safe but she wasn't sure the same could be said of cut out sections that bared almost all of her ribs. The next one she tried on was cream and lacy and would have been lovely, had she been looking for a wedding dress. A bright pink confection clashed hideously with her hair and a bright red one matched it, which was almost as bad. The first one she dared to leave the cubicle in was a dark blue sleeveless gown with a high collar.

Allie frowned at her. "You look like one of those Muggle religious women."

"What, a nun?"

"That's it. Besides, everything you own is that colour."

"It is not!"

Allie opened his mouth to retaliate but promptly shut it again when Camille reappeared.

"Hmmm," she said critically, surveying Rose with her head on one side. "You know, chèrie, that you have very elegant shoulders. I really have not done them justice. And that colour! Ouf! What was I thinking? It makes you look like you are dying. No, it will not do. Wait one moment, I have an idea."

Allie smirked. "Looks like you've been dying every day of your life so Rosie."

"Here," said Camille triumphantly, sweeping Allie aside. "This dress will make you beautiful, I promise."

Feeling dubious and half-wondering if she should be insulted by Camille's last statement, Rose took the dress and retreated behind the curtain. The material was absurdly light. It was a strange silvery colour, and felt almost like water under her fingers. She put it on as slowly as she could, terrified that she might rip it. When she finally got it on she had an almost superstitious feeling that it would be unlucky to look in the mirror straight away. Instead, she went out to where Allie and Camille were waiting.

Camille smiled that subtle smile again when she saw her. "Voilà- une vrai ange. You look perfect, my dear."

Allie raised his eyebrows. "It's a change from the usual, that's for sure."

"How much is it?"

"Thirty galleons," Camille said. "But it was made for you, so you may have it for twenty five. What do you think?"

"I haven't looked yet," Rose said quietly, turning to face the mirror. For a split second, she didn't recognise herself. Her shoulders were completely bare and the dress fell straight to the floor. It seemed more liquid than fabric, flowing over her body and clinging to curves she never knew she had. It caught the light as she moved, making her skin look almost iridescent.

"You should free your hair," Camille said, coming up beside her. "It would suit the dress better, I think. But I will leave you be for the moment to think about it. I won't be far away if you need me."

She left and Rose pulled tie from her hair like someone in a trance.

"How much did George give you?" Allie asked.

"Twenty galleons. He was very generous."

"Do you think you'll buy it?"

Rose didn't answer. She barely heard him. She felt dazed, unsure how to handle this new way of seeing herself. She looked almost beautiful, and that wasn't an idea she was used to. The other voices seemed to have come closer again, she noticed. They were easier to distinguish now. One male and one female.

"That colour is most flattering on you," the male voice was saying in a low, ingratiating tone. "Maman was holding it in reserve until you came. She knew no one else could do it justice."

There was a high-pitched giggle. "Oh you shouldn't flatter me so dear, not when you know I trust your judgement. But are you really sure about the orange? I don't think I've worn it before."

"It's straight off the catwalk," the male voice answered smoothly. "It's the latest season, which is why it isn't in any other shops yet. But personally I think there will only be a few people who can wear it as it is meant to be worn. It would be a pity if you passed the opportunity by, especially as this line is exclusive to our shop. I know you like to be stand out from the crowd."

There was another giggle. "Oh stop it you devil, leave me be. I can't think straight with you filling my head with all these flights of fancy."

"You know I only speak the truth, Madam Peachfeather. Just call if you need me."

There was a rustling of fabric and a figure emerged from the depths. Behind him, Rose caught a glimpse of an elderly witch with heavy makeup and a towering purple wig wearing a ballgown that made her look like a pumpkin.

"Scorpius!" Allie exclaimed, drawing her attention back to the young man beside her. "What are you doing here?"

Scorpius Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "This is my mother's shop. I work here during the holidays."

"Camille is your mother?"

He nodded. "Yes. But what on earth are you doing here? And more to the point, how did you persuade my mother to let that jumper into her shop?"

Allie jerked his head in Rose's direction. "Rosie here needs some dress robes."

For the first time, Scorpius seemed to notice her presence. She knew him, of course. He was in their year at Hogwarts and in several of her classes, but it was strange to see him outside of the castle. He was one of few boys she knew who was considerably taller than she was, and six years of playing Beater on the Slytherin team meant that he was powerfully built as well. She actually felt petite beside him, and she wasn't sure she liked the sensation. It made her feel terribly vulnerable and insignificant.

His white blond hair was pulled straight back from his face in a heavy braid that reached almost to his elbow- he had been growing it since First Year and started wearing it in a braid in Third. It emphasised the sharp lines of his face and when he wasn't smiling (which was most of the time) he looked a little sinister. Like his mother, he was dressed in well-cut black robes and his proud bearing wouldn't have looked out of place on a Muggle military officer.

"I didn't recognise you, Rose," he said stiffly. He looked her up and down, but made no further comment. His impassive expression didn't flicker and Rose felt sure the action was meant to diminish her somehow.

"Were you trying to seduce that old woman Malfoy?" Allie asked as he caught sight of her through a gap in the displays, breaking the tension.

"Good sales is all about persuasion," Scorpius answered, but he was grinning now. "She's very generous with tips."

"And you will be getting none of them if you don't return to work, mon coeur," said Camille sweetly as she reappeared. Scorpius took the hint and vanished back the way he had come. "I see you have met my son."

"I know him," Allie told her. "I've lived in a dormitory with him for five years."

"Indeed?" Camille looked slightly aghast at the thought of her son sharing a room with Allie and his jumper. "And who are you?"

"Allie Potter, or Albus if you're feeling formal."

"Ah yes. Harry Potter's Slytherin son. He has mentioned you."

"No kidding," Albus muttered, but Camille ignored him. "And you, chèrie? Are you in Slytherin too?"

"No," Rose said, wondering if she would still be allowed to buy the dress. "I'm in Gryffindor."

"Wearing silver will be a nice change for you then, I imagine," said Camille smoothly. "Viens. We will say twenty galleons. What do you think?"

"Even though she's in Gryffindor?" said Allie snidely.

"Pfft! You are Slytherin, you cancel each other out. Besides, I myself attended Beauxbatons. Why should I let your silly British rivalries get in the way of business? Come, my dear. Change back into your ordinary clothes and I will wrap the dress for you."

Shepherded by Camille, Rose found herself back on the street barely a minute later, twenty galleons poorer but carrying the dress as though it was her most treasured possession. Even so, as they waited for the others outside Flourish & Blotts Rose still felt distinctly insulted that Scorpius had looked at her today the same way he looked at her when she was eating breakfast in the Great Hall in Hogwarts in her ancient, holey dressing gown with pillow marks on her face. It was a look that carried all the snobbery and prejudice the Malfoys were known for and was meant to remind her of her place in the world. Somehow, she would have thought the dress would change that, a little at least. She fell asleep that night hating him, clutching the thought of her dress like a shield against his scorn.