A/N1: Standard disclaimer; see chapter 1 for details.
"Potter! Harry Potter!"
The boy flinched, wondering if this year would see a similar turn of events as the previous one, which had so innocuously begun with someone calling his name. He relaxed when he recognized the person as the oddly dressed woman who occasionally sat at the staff table for meals. (Well, maybe not all that odd, considering that Professor Burbage sure had the right of it in her claim that many wizards had no eye for clothing; apparently that included the fashions prevalent in their own world.) "Yes, ma'am?" he enquired politely. "I don't think we've been introduced."
"No, we haven't, child," she spoke in a wispy manner that was cute when Luna did it but sort of creepy with the older woman. "I am Madam Trelawney–Sybill Trelawney–the divination teacher."
"Uh-huh. You teach the mystical hocus-pocus classes, then."
"Disparage it not with such words! I guide the students to identify their inner eye, so that they may be warned of calamities to come."
"Yeah, well, I'd like to have been warned about this one," he muttered. "How nice for you," he said with a smile, racking his brains for a conversational topic. Dean had been inspired by Lee Jordan's dreadlocks, and he had left his roommate in front of a mirror re-twisting his more unruly curls; he now wished that he had waited for him to finish before heading down for breakfast. "How has your school year been so far?"
"Oh, quite well, quite well indeed. I believe I have some true seers amongst your classmates. But alas," she drew near and peered at him through her butterbeer bottle lenses, "you have not availed yourself of my instruction."
"Sorry, Professor," he stepped backwards carefully, "but you do know that we are limited to three electives each year."
"Oh, I'm sure that an exception could be made for one already touched by prophecy. 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'," she cooed.
All desire to be courteous fled with the mention of the hated nickname. "I wouldn't think of asking for such a favour," he replied smoothly, eyelids drooping in disdain, "especially as any free time is occupied by my classwork, extra courses, and Quidditch. And, after the announcement last week, cultural preparation for the nuptials of two of your colleagues." He bowed. "I am afraid that you will have to content yourself with your current roster of students."
As Harry made a quick getaway, Trelawney stood frozen for a moment before shaking her head. "What am I doing in this corridor?" she murmured dazedly. "I can't digest the heaviness of eggs before a morning libation." She shuffled back towards her rooms, wondering if she had finished the bottle from the night before; even had he not been disillusioned, it was doubtful that she would have noticed the headmaster pressed into a nearby alcove.
"Lavender," Hermione tried to calm the excitable girl, "there are months before the wedding. You have plenty of time to assemble your outfit."
"But I don't want someone else to copy my robes. No, that's not the right word. Dress?"
"Or gown, especially considering that we will likely be on the formal end of the fashion scale."
"But she has a point," Parvati put in.
"One wants to be original on a special occasion," added Padma.
Shuddering at their new resemblance to the older ginger lookalikes, she turned to the blonde Gryffindor. "Lavender, remember the magazines I showed you last year? There were scores of designs in just one. There may have been some similar, but that is the way of it. After all, how many variations are there in wizarding robes?"
The girls nodded sagely, and Hermione observed that the audience for Lavender's ambush grilling of her had grown. "Factor in different colours and fabric patterns, and it is unlikely that anyone will be your twin. Present company excluded," she tilted her head at the Patils.
"But what if it does happen?" fretted Pansy.
Daphne rolled her eyes at her and winked at Hermione. "Parkinson, are you a witch or not?"
It was not only the brunette Slytherin who exclaimed, "Ah!" as they realized that details could be altered with a wave or swish of their wand.
"But still–!" Lavender grasped her hand with a painful grip. "Hermione, you must acquire more of those magazines as soon as possible. That way we can get everything sorted as soon as possible."
"That's not really a good idea…" she began.
An unexpected voice broke through the resultant hubbub. "What Hermione means to say," Luna stated as loudly as she could while yet maintaining a dreamy tone, "is that the blibbering humdingers infest the clothing industry."
"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said with a slight sigh of relief. "Trends and fads can be so short-lived that what is popular today would point you out as an absolute frump next March."
The purebloods might not know the definition of that word, but they certainly understood the gist, especially when the girl continued.
"For example, I have pictures of my mother at some formal events less than ten years ago. She had padding on her shoulders that made them look as wide as Greg's!" Everyone giggled in agreement that what was attractive on the Goyle scion would not enhance their femininity. "However, I can get you started so that your search may not take as long next year."
An assortment of parchment and the new-fangled paper was passed around, along with quills and a few biros. The girls regarded Hermione in anticipation.
"Okay." She took a deep breath. "There are a few basic rules for wedding attire. Colours: don't wear white, black, or red. White is reserved for the bride, black would insert an implication of mourning at a joyous affair, and red, well, that's really flashy and would make someone the center of attention." She glared at Lavender's half-open mouth. "And that will not be any of us. Professor Burbage is being most gracious to allow us to be guests at her wedding, and it would exhibit low breeding for us to upstage her."
"So," Daphne enquired, "all others are acceptable?"
"For the most part," she assented, "although each season in the fashion world will have 'in'," she made air quotes, "colours."
"How are we to plan this far ahead?" wailed Sally-Anne.
"Those colours," Hermione tried to soothe her, "are guidelines only, and sometimes are only particular tints or shades. What you can do in advance is determine which ones are most flattering to your complexion so that, at most, all you will have to select is the style and fabric. And even then," she added, "if you can lay claim to a distinct culture, such as Pad and Pav here or," she looked at a girl standing a little way from the others, "Cho, you might incorporate something from your history into the clothing. It's just a suggestion," she appended quickly, seeing that the older girl lowered her eyes at the attention sent her direction.
"We could cast colour charms on blankets to check on which is best for each person," one of the Gryffindor chasers offered. "Some of us older girls would be happy to help any who need it."
"How long would that take?" Hannah fretted. "It seems like we still won't have much of anything to do for months once that is sorted."
"Well," Hermione pondered, "I could ask for some magazines so those of you who are unfamiliar with muggle fashions can get an idea of what is in store for you. Anyone else with non-magical connections, please feel free to jump right in with suggestions."
"My mum is a seamstress and can get hold of pattern books," Penny offered.
"What's that?" asked Sally.
"Some people prefer to make their own clothing instead of buying them," she replied.
"Or maybe can't afford them," Ginny whispered.
Several girls' eyes widened as this had not even occurred to them. Daphne stood. "My mother is on the school board, and I know that she would want Hogwarts to display itself well. I am sure that she will see that those who would like to make their own robes–dresses–can purchase fabric at cost."
"We could ask Professor Flitwick to add sewing charms into his lessons," Millie proposed excitedly.
"And Professor McGonagall can show us how to transfigure some jewelry," proposed Katie.
"Shoes!" Parvati shouted.
"Transfiguration and charms," noted Susan.
"Fascinators!" Hermione gasped. When the rest stared at her, she explained with various hand motions, a charm bracelet flashing as she did so. "Think decorations for your head. They can range from flowers to feathers to miniature hats." She nodded at some disbelieving looks. "It's almost required for fancy upper class affairs."
"You mentioned feathers. How about...animals?" Susan asked. "Well," she gestured, "Neville's grandmother is famous for wearing a vulture on her hat."
"Oh, yes, I do recall seeing that once at Kings Cross," Hermione admitted. "No, ladies, no dead animals. And Luna," she turned and wagged a finger, "if you must have live ones, please make sure they are tame."
Conversations rippled in waves through the group which now included half of the female students. One question from a fourth year echoed during a relatively quiet moment, "Do you think the boys will be this attentive to fashion?"
"It's simple, guys," Draco addressed the group. "Shirt, tie, trousers, and coat. Think of the coat as a short tailored version of dress robes."
Neville was enlarging several pictures from photo albums as well as a society magazine which Dobby had retrieved from their Hogsmeade residence. "If you don't think you'll have another occasion to wear the outfit before you outgrow it, these can all be rented, which will definitely cost less than completely decking you out."
"You can transfigure your own shoes and modify your uniform shirt," Justin suggested, aware that not all students were as well-off financially as his family or the 'nobles'.
"How about this one?" Fred (or George) shone a narrow spotlight onto an image of the Prince of Wales.
"That looks wicked!" added the other.
"No. Absolutely not." Harry shook his head. "You can only wear that if you are a military officer, and he is a retired rear admiral. You two would look like the clowns you pretend to be if you attempt that, not to mention showing disrespect to the uniform and the service that it represents."
"No need to be so harsh."
"We were only asking."
"No, you weren't," said Percy. "And if you even think of trying to slip that by us, I'll have Dad up here quicker than you can fly from one end of the pitch to the other."
The two quickly subsided, but not before muttering about a 'Big-Headed Head Boy'.
Sybill Trelawney staggered a bit when the whirling of the portkey ceased. Only fears for her sanity could have forced her into muggle London; she knew well what many of the students thought of her, but she had always been aware of what she was saying and doing. She believed her finest piece of acting had been that rainy evening in the back of the Hogshead Bar; ironically, it was the owner of said bar whom she had consulted when she feared that her recreational tipple was a bit 'off'. More than once this year she had found herself wandering the halls of the castle with her last memory being comfortably ensconced in her tower.
Of course Aberforth could not be cajoled into procuring her a new batch; something about his crooked-nosed brother banning his business if he branched out into bootlegging. At least her tears had cracked his surly disposition enough to provide her with the dirty bar sponge which had transported her to the location of his non-magical supplier. Ah, the store across the way had bottles displayed in its window; the glass itself was covered by iron bars. Is alcohol considered such a vice as to be jailed? she wondered before she felt a hand on her elbow.
"Yah okay there, lady?" The young man's eyes looked too old for his pink cheeks and friendly grin which showed slightly crooked teeth, but at least he sounded kind.
"Yes, thank you so much." Her hands fluttered, as did several of her scarves.
"Startled me, you did. It seemed like yeh just appeared outa thin air. Like magic, almost."
"Oh, no, I'm sure it's not that." Her eyes behind her glasses widened even farther. "I only came to pick up some fresh, well," she tittered, "liquid means of relaxation."
"Yeah, the off-licence is over there, but," he shot a look up and down the block, "ever think about trying somethin' a little different?"
"Different?" Well, the sherry had seemed to have some odd effects, so, why not? "What do you have in mind?"
He reached under his jacket and pulled a clear bag from an inside pocket. "This yere's top shelf, none of that damn reggie full of seeds and stems you'll find six blocks over."
She squinted at the plant matter enclosed in marvelous clear paper; despite their inferiority, muggles could be so clever at times. "Do you brew this, like tea?"
The young man blinked. "Eh, I never thought about it, but whatever floats your boat, I suppose. Most usually light it up."
"Ah! To inhale, like incense; I use that to awaken the inner eye."
"Inner eye? You one of those fortune-tellers what see visions?"
"Only frequently enough to keep my job," she admitted truthfully.
"Then, lady, today is your lucky day. This stuff'll let you take a trip without leavin' the farm."
"I don't usually visit Professor Sprout's fields, but I take your meaning. I believe I'll try some." She pulled a couple galleons from her bag. "How much will this get me? I'm not familiar with the currency here in...where are we, by the way?"
"Um," he closed his gaping mouth and held out a hand, "may I?" She watched curiously as he bit into the coin. "Blimey, lady, I'm gonna need to get some goods from me partners." He rapped a pattern on the nearest building's downspout with a broken piece of pavement, followed by a series of arm and hand signals aimed at a person who appeared from an alley a block away. "Cody'll bring us about ten more baggies and then bob's your uncle."
"No," she stared owlishly, "his name was Tullius, I'm pretty sure."
"Uh, okay. While we're waiting, let's go into the offie and get you set up in case you don't take to the weed. What's your favourite hootch?"
A few minutes later, after she determined that the Hogwarts flying instructor was not the subject of the discussion, he escorted her gently out of the store. "Now, I promise, you'll like this a lot better. Can't have my pretty lady maudlin' her insides with sherry. Yo, Cody!"
"Oh, thank you so much!" Both men watched, gobsmacked as her purchases disappeared into a purse, which, although large, must have been bigger on the inside.
Her original companion shook images of a blue police box out of his head and took her hand. "Now, when you need more, you just show up right cheer and ask for Jem. That's me name, Jem Stafford. And may I say, it was fantastic doin' business with you."
"Oh, likewise, I'm sure," she smiled as she squeezed the sponge once more and returned to Scotland, leaving the two men gawking at each other.
"Didja see that, Jem?"
"No, I didn't, Cody. And neither did you!"
A/N2: If you're old (like me) you may have caught the references to Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen's Down to Seeds and Stems Again Blues and Jim Stafford's Wildwood Weed.