"I understand entirely, ma'am!" she answered, both deferentially and emphatically. "Like you, I wish no discomfort upon your daughter. I believe that all of my clients, regardless of age, should wear corsets with comfort and safety. Gone are the times of severe tight lacing for the conquest of a twelve inch waist."

"Twelve inches!" both mothers echoed, sounding shocked.

"Indeed, but those dark days are long gone, and for the better!" Madam returned. "May I ask if you have any questions?"

They did. Many, in fact. They wished to know her waist size, the average waist size, any health issues a girl their daughter's age might face, the need for wearing corsets at night, if she had daughters, if she would have her daughters train their waists...

"I am twenty-seven, and the mother of five so far. Three girls, two boys. My oldest girl, Matilda, is six. Seven in the spring. She knows, as does her five year old sister Althea, a bit about my profession. Simply put, that I sell corsets for teenagers and older, and they are meant to make you look and feel pretty. After she turns eleven, she will begin to assist me in the shop in very small ways. When she turns thirteen, or when she begins to change, I will fit her for her first corset. She will be laced comfortably at all times, never to the point of discomfort, and always progressing to a smaller size."

"How far," Mrs. Tunridge asked, "do you plan to have her train down her waist?"

"As far as she likes, with the understanding that a waist above eighteen inches past the age of seventeen is not well looked upon. That may change, though, as at one point, anything above fourteen inches was considered stout. Of course, individual body types must be taken into account. Some manage eighteen with ease during their first year. Others cannot get below twenty without fainting. And I would never intentionally lace a client to fainting, much less my daughters," Madam added, with even more emphasis.

(From my other fic, "Dora Tonks Grows Up")

Matilda Elizabeth Barnatt, oldest daughter to Marie Barnatt, stood in front of her mirror, wishing for only the twentieth time she'd begun to waist train that she had a second pair of arms.

Wearing a corset was easy. Comfortable. She loved the way it felt, hugging her frame, making her feel beautiful and supported. She loved the way it looked, too, even though you couldn't see her developing body under her loose robes. Dress ones were fitted, of course, but you needed to have an occasion to wear them, and so far, she had none. Matilda had arrived home from her first year of school and her mother had immediately seen that she was starting to develop.

"You're ready for your first corset, my dear!" she'd told her, proudly.

Matilda had been thrilled. Her mother took her measurements that day, and working well past everyone else had gone to sleep, finished the first one before Matilda had woken up.

"You didn't have to finish it all at once, Mama!" Matilda had protested, but her actions betrayed her. She'd held the garment against her like a doll or stuffed animal, then marveled at her mother's lovely work. The corset, her first ever, was all white, but decorated with all sorts of flowers. Embroidered flowers, too, not the print kind from fabric. It was more than beautiful. It was a work of art. "I could have waited a day or two."

Her mother had hugged her. "I know, but I was as excited as you were, my love. Now, shall I help you into it?"

For the first few days it had been...less comfortable than Matilda would have liked to admit. Oh, it hadn't pinched or robbed her of her breath or anything like that.

It had just felt stiff. Almost to the point of her wanting to take it off.

"It takes a few days for the corset to adapt to your body," Mama had explained, sympathetically. "After you wear it for a bit, it will feel much more comfortable. And, of course, you don't need to wear it for a full day. You shouldn't, really. Just a few hours, here and there. That will allow it to adjust to your body, and your body to it. Much easier than trying to break it in all at once."

Matilda knew that breaking in a corset, or seasoning it, was a process that everyone who wore a corset experienced, with every new corset they wore. It was a pity, with so many spells and corsets having been in existence in one form or another for hundreds of years, that no one had found a way to make it adapt to the wearer's body immediately.

Still, Matilda had not given up, and after three days, she had been rewarded with the feel of the gentle yet supportive daily hug that she now experienced as soon as she was laced in.

She'd even managed to get her twenty-four inch waist down to twenty inches-and that had been without sleeping in one! (At twelve and a half, her mother thought she was far too young to sleep laced up. Another year, perhaps two, and then she'd be ready. Matilda didn't mind, not really. She liked wearing the corset during the day, but it was nice to be able to have it removed to sleep. Especially since she always slept curled up, not at all how she would when she eventually wore one to sleep.)

The only problem Matilda faced was difficulty self lacing. She could get out of her corset easily enough at the end of the day, but she simply couldn't manage to put it on in the morning. Her mother always had to come to her aid. Matilda was all thumbs when she tried pulling on the laces, and even managed to tangle them up more than once.

"How," her mother had asked, more than once, with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "did you manage that?"

Matilda had tried to shrug it off, but in her frustration, she'd been close to tears. "I don't know!"

After a long hug from her mother, and a few minutes to get herself under control (you didn't want to be near tears before lacing up), her mother had laced her in with her easy, skillful movements. Matilda had tried to watch her fingers, tried to memorize the movements.

But it seemed hopeless. A month in, and she was no closer to being able to self lace than she had been when she'd begun.

"It's hardly the end of the world if you can't," her mother had soothed her. "I'm here for now, and we already know that of at least two girls in your year who have already begun to train their waists, so they'll be able to help you. If you ever marry, your husband will be more than happy to assist you. And if you don't, you can hire a maid for that purpose. But I do believe that if you keep trying, you will learn."

This was all true, and things would have been fine, at least, for the rest of the summer holidays. But near the end of July, her mother had to leave for a week for her corsetieres' conference. It was held every year, although not usually during the summer months. Her mother had been reluctant to go for this reason, but Matilda's father insisted, saying that he could handle the house and the family for a week.

So, off her mother went, and now, on the morning of the first day she was away, Matilda had no one to help lace her up.

Althea, her sister closest to her age, was barely ten. Sarah was only eight. Even if her brothers had been older-and they were five and three-she couldn't have asked for such a thing without nearly dying of embarrassment.

This left Matilda with two options. The first was to go a week without wearing a corset. This would never do. She enjoyed it too much, for one thing, and for another, she'd lose progress if she stopped. Perhaps an inch or more.

The second option, which still filled her with embarrassment, was to ask her father.

It's the lesser of the two evils, she told herself, firmly, as she made her way to his room.

It was still early, enough so that he might be asleep. Her sisters were, and so were her brothers. She could tell by the lack of noise.

Matilda wore her chemise, which was long enough and soft enough to be a nightgown, and carried the corset in one hand and a pair of casual robes in the other.

"Papa?" she asked, shifting her robes to knock on the door. "It's Matilda. Can I come in?"

The door opened, and her father stood, still in his night shirt and dressing gown. "Of course, honey. Is there something you need?"

Matilda walked inside, shutting the door behind her. Her father was a kind man, always gentle, even surrounded as he was by children who could, at times, be a handful. As the oldest, Matilda often helped her mother with them, but boys-well, they could be rather wild.

"I-I need help," Matilda began, glancing first at the floor and then at her father. "Mama might have told you I've begun to wear corsets?" At his nod, she went on, quickly, "Ineedhelplacingup."

"Pardon?"

"I need help. Putting it on. Lacing it to its proper size," Matilda explained. "Can you? Help me, I mean?"

Her father looked at her, then at the folded up corset in her arms. "I had thought your mother had already given you lessons."

Matilda stared down at the floor again, wishing it would just swallow her up already. "She did. Several times. But I'm all thumbs. Or, maybe, I just need a set of extra arms. No matter what I try, I can't. I can't get the laces to go in the right way, and I sometimes tangle them up dreadfully. Even Mama doesn't know how I could make them into such a mess. So, would you? Do you mind?"

She was still looking at the floor when she spoke, so she felt, rather than saw, her father place his hands on her shoulders. "I'd be happy to, honey."

Matilda looked up. "Really?"

"Of course. It's no trouble. Now, shall we do it here, or in your room?" he asked.

"My room has a lacing bar," Matilda offered. "It's easier that way."

It was meant, when someone else laced you up, to hold your body straight. To prevent slouching, even involuntarily. Of course, if you self laced, you couldn't use the bar, not without a second pair of arms. So, perhaps, there was a silver lining to all of this.

"So do we." Her father gestured for her to come over to the far side of the room, nearest to the set of windows. "Your mother has me lace her using it when we're going to a party. Usually, one with a great deal of pure blood families, and she wants to look her best."

The Barnattes weren't a pure blood family. They were close to it, by most standards, but not close enough to qualify. So, Matilda reckoned, it made sense that her mother would want to lace especially tightly when they went to those sorts of events.

"Now, if you'll just step over here...you can put your robes on the chair, for now. Good, and put your hands on the bar," her father began.

Matilda turned around, stuck by a new fear. "Papa? Please lace me in slowly, all right? Not all at once? This closes at twenty inches, which is my measurement, but it can be uncomfortable if you lace someone in really fast."

Her father chuckled, sat down on one of the chairs, then gestured for Matilda to sit in the one opposite of him.

"Did your mother ever tell you about my disastrous first attempts with lacing her in?" he asked, still smiling.

"No," Matilda admitted. "Never."

"Would you like to hear?" At her hesitation, he added, "Oh, she won't mind, I'm sure. At any rate, it makes me out to look bad."

"Well, all right, then," Matilda agreed.

"Your mother's waist," he began, "was fourteen inches when we were married. She's sixteen inches now, after five children, which is a feat in an of itself." He chuckled. "But a fourteen inch waist-I'll show you photos of her in our wedding. I'd seen her in her dress robes, and she was nearly as small then, but when I saw your mother in her wedding robes, with her waist nearly as small as her neck, I was the one who almost fainted." He smiled, no doubt remembering the day. "It took us a few years before she was able to have you, so her measurement was fourteen inches all that time. Your mother could self lace with ease, honey, but she always said there was something nice about another person lacing you in. I was happy to be that person, of course, but I was woefully unprepared for it."

Matilda frowned, just a bit. "How so? I would have expected that lacing in another person would be easy."

He laughed. "So did I. But I didn't have the least idea how. First, I hurt your mother by pulling back, not out. It was quite painful, too, and she immediately stopped me and told me what to do. Rather loudly, too," he added, sheepishly. "But it was justified, as I was hurting her. So, we got that bit fixed. But I kept hurrying the process along, and even though your mother was at ease in a fourteen inch corset, you still need time to let it adjust to your body. I rather saw it as a race, and couldn't understand why your mother was so red in the face afterwards, or took so long to regain her breath."

"Poor Mama," Matilda murmured.

"Poor Marie, indeed," he agreed, using her first name. "I did try to go a bit slower, but without much luck. Finally, Marie had me get lessons from my mother, who also had a fourteen inch waist upon marrying, although with only me, it was fifteen inches afterwards."

"Then, your mother didn't tell you what to do or anything before you got married?" Matilda asked, surprised.

"She told me plenty about the duties of a husband, but didn't think to teach me about lacing my sweetheart's corset," he explained. "When I came to visit and explained everything, she set me straight."

"How did she do that, Papa?"

"She undressed, down to her undergarments, and me use her to practice with until, and I quote, 'You can manage take me down to fifteen inches without me wanting to tear the bloody thing off.' A colorful one, my mum," he added, at Matilda's shocked expression. "It took a few hours, but by the end, I was able to lace her up according to her standards, and your mother had a far more pleasant experience that night when I helped her into her night corset. So you see, Matilda," he concluded, "you needn't worry about me hurting you, or going at it too quickly. Your mother insists I lace her at least three times a week, and I'm always happy to do it more often. She hasn't had a complaint since those first few days."

Matilda felt herself far more at ease. "All right."

He stood, and so did she. As she arranged herself at the lacing bar, and attached the clasps of the busk together (because, she could, at least, manage to that), her father spoke again.

"Now, you said you want to be laced down to twenty inches?"

"Yes, I've been comfortable at that measurement for nearly a week. The corset closes at that. Mama has one that closes at eighteen, but she doesn't want me to begin to wear it until this one feels loose. And since I won't be sleeping in one for some time, it could be a very long time until I'm at eighteen inches," Matilda rattled off.

"There's no hurry. You're only twelve, after all, and even to get down to twenty inches before thirteen is quite a feat. Now, are you ready, dear?"

"Yes, Papa. I'll hold my breath, now."

She took in a deep breath, and after a moment, felt her father's hands pulling at the laces. There must have been quite a lot of slack, because Matilda didn't feel anything at first. Then, the gentle feel of the fabric and steel pressing against her side, becoming more sturdy and warm and comfortable as her waist became smaller. Her father worked slowly, perhaps at the rate of an inch a minute, and it was rather a lovely feeling. Her mother wasn't fast, of course, but this slow pulling made her relish the experience. By the time Matilda felt her father tying the laces off into a bow, she felt so safe and comfortable in her corset hug that she could almost fall asleep like that.

"You're all finished," her father told her. "How does it feel?"

Matilda turned around, grinning. "Don't tell Mama, but even nicer than when she does it."

He chuckled. "Then my mother's lessons have paid off for at least two of the beautiful ladies in this house."

Matilda pulled on her robes. "Maybe as many as four, if Althea and Sarah end up being all thumbs like me."

He put an arm around her shoulders. "Perhaps, we can try to help you become better at self lacing. Not that I mind helping while your mother's away."

"Can you Transfigure an extra pair of arms onto me? Because, at the rate I'm going, that's the only way I'd manage," Matilda complained, but with a bit more humor, now that she knew she could count on her father's help.

"Extra arms? Where would they go, exactly?" he asked, teasingly. He poked her neck. "Right there?' Then, he poked her head. "Or there?"

"Papa!" Matilda protested, giggling.

The End

Author's note:

As the quote at the beginning of the story shows, the character of Matilda is from my WIP fic, "Dora Tonks Grows Up." At the point of publication, it's the only time I've mentioned her. Madam Barnatte, similarly, is a rather minor OC in the aforementioned fic.

I came up with the plot bunny of an OC needing the help of her father to help her lace up, because she had yet to master the art, and for whatever reason, her mother wasn't around. Killing off Madam Barnatte was NOT an option, so I had her go to a conference instead. As someone who wears corsets fairly regularly, I can attest to the fact that mastering self lacing is DEFINITELY a learning curve. Especially when you're becoming smaller, and need to break in a new corset.

Necessary medical note: although the ages of girls/young women who begin to wear corsets in my Harry Potter fics are in their teens or tween years, and this IS historically correct as far as the 1800's go, IF you're under the age of 18, please please PLEASE consult your doctor and your parents/guardians before you consider wearing a corset. Everything Matilda thinks about them has been my personal experience (no, they're not torture garments subjected to woman by the patriarchy of the 1800's-there's TONS of information refuting that claim that I don't have the space to put here), but I also waited until my late 30's to begin to wear one. The human body is VERY versatile, especially the female one, but I IN NO WAY endorse teenagers wearing corsets-at least, not without the approval of a medical professional.

Finally. If you've enjoyed this, I'd love to read your feedback. Also, if you HAVEN'T read "Dora Tonks Grows Up" and are interested in that universe (which begins several years before this fic), what are you waiting for? :)