Inspired by the hair ribbons in Gezellig's "A Love of Royal Quality." Set before the events of "A Lily Before the Storm" though you don't need to have read that to understand this.

"Well, obviously you can't wear any other house colors," Mathilda flicked her wrist and a handful of tiny bottles of nail polish separated themselves from the towering heap. "And these are clearly out of season." Another couple dozen rolled to the other end of the bed. Alice glanced over the remaining pile then cast her sister a despairing look. Even after the careful coaching, there were at least a hundred colors left; nail polish was just one of Mathilda's passions.

"Ok," the older girl gave her sister a fond look and removed all the yellows from the pile, "These won't match your complexion at all. Oh- and the fawns and steel grey- well, I'd rather you didn't wear any of the Rowle's colors. At least not yet." The sisters shared a conspiratorial glance at the prospect of the upcoming marriage.

"No Fawley colors." Alice insisted and her old sister agreed. There was a time and place of showing off the family colors, but on your nails at school was considered quite nouveau riche. After all, as the Sacred 28, they hardly needed to flaunt their name.

"Alright. Traditionally, blue isn't an appropriate color for Mondays. As a maiden, you want to avoid the deeper shades of red and orange. The moon is waxing, so you should wear something with a warmer tint rather than cool. This shade was so last summer-"

"This one." Alice plunged her hand into the diminishing pile and emerged, triumphant, with a delicate shade of green.

"That one?" Mathilda quirked a brow, but didn't protest. Alice was a proper if slightly forgetful girl. Why, she didn't even realize the state of her nails after herbology that afternoon! Mathilda had caught sight of the chipped polish when Alice accepted the butter dish from her friend and immediately whisked her beloved younger sister back to the seventh year dorm to remedy the disaster.

"It reminds me of the whispering clematis we're growing," Her sister smiled gently down at the color cradled in her palms, "Did you know that they prefer Finnish lullabies to Italian?"

Mathilda made a non-committal hum, as she swept the last of the bottles into her specially expanded makeup box. A betrothal gift, it had five different locks- each one for a different part of her beauty routine and nail colors comprised one full compartment. Pulling her baby sister onto her lap to paint her nails, just like they had when they were younger, Mathilda tried to memorize each precious second of this moment.

Soon, her seventh year would end. Soon, she would no longer bee Mathilda of the Wintermore Fawley's but Mathilda of the House of Rowle. Soon, she would not just be eldest daughter and older sister, but young wife and, hopefully, young mother. Soon, it would be her daughter's nails she painted, not her sister's. But still, Mathilda knew she would miss these quiet evenings. No one could replace Alice.

Planting a kiss on the top of her sister's head, Mathilda capped the polish. "What do you think, dear heart?"

Alice spread her fingers wide and admired the color.

"I love it!" She squealed and almost ruined all of Mathilda's hard work as she threw her arms around her sister.

. . . .

Alice did love the color.

The next day, she charmed the ribbons of her hair to match the color of her nails and paraded through the halls of Hogwarts with her head held high in pleasure.

The day after, all her text books were the same color and several eyebrows were raised at the suddenly color-coordinated pureblood.

It wasn't until the fourth day that someone actually said something.

. . .

"Miss Fawely, might I be so bold as to intrude upon your work?"

Alice glanced up at the nervous voice and blinked to see Frank Longbottom standing at a respectful distance from her seat. It was midday and Alice was taking advantage of the early spring sun to sketch Ravenclaw tower. While it was uncommon for a wizard to approach a pureblood witch sitting alone, their close age as well as similar house affiliation and social rank eased many of the strictest laws of propriety between the young witch and wizard. Furthermore, the Longbottoms and Fawely's enjoyed an amicable, if not allied, relationship. Frank was well within his rights to approach in a respectful manner.

Little of this flashed through Alice's head as she smiled up at the handsome, dark haired wizard. Not four years ago, he had been of a rather round figure, but had shed his softness over the past summer to reveal the sharper panes of a truly romantic face.

"May I be of some aide, Heir Longbottom?" Alice asked, more curious than concerned. Outside of a handful of interactions common to daily life and the ritualistic celebrations of the purebloods, Heir Longbottom had never directly spoken to her. Under her gaze, the tips of his ears pinked.

"My lady, it has come to my- what I mean to say-" He fumbled for his words and It was with surprise that she saw the flush descend over his cheeks and his hands suddenly become awkward. "You're wearing my colors and may I inquire as to why?"

"Your colors?" Alice tilted her head and tugged on a strand of dark hair that had escaped her newly charmed ribbons. Heir Longbottom watched the movement with bright eyes and almost immediately lowered his gaze.

"That shade of green, my lady, is the exact shade of my family's crest." Frank's chin had all but sunk into his chest- his cheeks were stained a bright red in the crisp spring air.

"Oh," For a moment, Alice could only stare at him, then the reality struck and she colored just as deeply. Her hands flew to her hair to hide the ribbons but that only exposed her similarly shaded nails, "Oh. I- Oh. Oh no! Heir Longbottom. You must know I meant no disrespect-"

"No, no- my intention was not to complain-"

"I just chose it because I liked the color-"

"I only wanted to know if perhaps you-"

"This shade reminds me of one of my favorite plants, you see-"

"Because if you were intending it to be a statement of interest-"

"I like it much better than colors of the House of Burke." She finished right as Frank said,

"I would not be adverse- oh." A silence spread between them, "Lord Burke?"

"My fiancé." Alice admitted, curling her fingers around her notebook.

"Lord Bertram Burke?" Heir Longbottom repeated, disbelief coloring his voice. "He's- he's at least seven years older than you!"

"Our betrothal was arranged when I was five," Alice shrugged and, seeing the incredulous expression on the man's face, explained. "A Fawely tradition."

"Do- uh- does Lord Burke meet with your favor?" Heir Longbottom forgot what to do with his hands again- placing them first in his pockets and then taking them out as he stared down his long nose at her. Alice couldn't meet his gaze.

"He's my fiancé," She said helplessly. What else could there be said to a family member, much less a man she had spoken more to in the past five minutes than the past five years, about the man with which she was destined to spend the rest of her life? True, he was not what she considered handsome and rarely graced their Betrothal luncheons with anything more than the most simplistic questions about her and her interests, but then no fiancé was perfect as her mother often said.

"Of course. Please forgive me, Lady Fawely, for presuming your intentions. I was unaware of your current state and do not wish to cast any doubts upon your loyalty to your betrothed." Despite the respectable, but rambling, words, Heir Longbottom looked anything but composed. His face was pale and his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. Alice's heart broke for him. Impulsively, she rose and took his arm, ignoring the breech of conventions that forbade such bold contact.

"No, Heir Longbottom, you must forgive me. I wore these colors in all innocence, thinking only of my pleasure, but ignorance is no excuse! I should have paid better attention to the colors in my house- I'll remove them at once!" She decided impassionately and reached up to pull the ribbons from her hair, even if it meant she might expose the full length of her uncut hair to the public's eyes.

Before she could remove even one pin, his gloved hand caught her bare one. For a moment, they were both shocked into stillness- overcome by the intimate clasp of their hands. But then Heir Longbottom smiled and it was as if the rest of the world melted away before the sheer fondness of his expression.

"My lady, if these colors bring you even the slightest pleasure, it would be my greatest joy to see you in them. As a sign of. . . friendship."

Alice's heart fluttered in her chest and she could no longer meet his eyes. Never, in all her years, had anyone made her feel like this- so cherished and special. Even Mathilda's clear, sisterly love paled compared to this emotions. Stepping back, she clutched her notebook to her chest more tightly.

"It would be my pleasure, Heir Longbottom. Thank you very much- for both your graciousness and kindness."

"It is my pleasure, my lady," Heir Longbottom swept into a low bow, "The color suits your eyes." Then, cheeks still red, he turned on his heel and strode off down the covered bridge. Alice sank down on the stone bench and willed her heart to calm. What would her sister say!