At a funny low bong shivering through the wards, Síomha straightened in her chair, frowning. What the hell was that?

Ceasaí might have keyed her into the wards as a master of the house, same as Ceasaí herself, but that didn't mean she could do much with it — the experience Síomha had with complex wards was very minimal. She could feel it if she tried, relaxing into her chair and closing her eyes, some kind of low cold pulse, but the information the wards were feeding her was far too fuzzy for her to make it out. The source of whatever it was was downstairs, that's about all she had.

...If there were an intruder who had any threatening intent, the wards wouldn't have let them through at all. Her best guess — and it was a guess — was that someone had come through the floo. Who even had their floo password? Ceasaí hadn't wanted to spread it around, out of safety concerns, so Síomha hadn't told anyone. Well, no, she'd told her mother, Aoife, and Ruadhán, in case something happened and she need them to come to the house for her, but that was it. As far as she knew, Ceasaí had hardly told anyone else either — the floo brought people past the wards, and she could be paranoid about that kind of thing.

Síomha sighed, marked her spot with a stroke of a pen, and levered herself out of her chair. She double-checked that her wand was in its holster, before starting out of the room and down the stairs. Leaning down, to see under the ceiling more quickly, she froze in the middle of the stairs, staring down into the sitting room.

Narcissa Malfoy was in their house.

After a moment of staring, Síomha lurched back into motion, thumped down the rest of the stairs. The noise drew Narcissa's attention, she called, "Ah, good morning. I was beginning to wonder whether I should shout."

"Sorry, I'm not used to wards." She stopped on the other side of the coffee table from the hearth, which was a slightly awkward conversational distance, but squeezing in by the hearth would be awkward too.

And she was suddenly feeling weirdly underdressed — Narcissa was made up very properly, in a long skirt and blouse and light summer jacket, all in black and blue, buttons glinting silver. She even had a hat on, wide-brimmed to shield against the sun, a bundle of long white feather stuck in the band, Jesus. And here Síomha was in a little pair of cotton shorts and a muggle tee shirt...

Síomha cleared her throat, tried to force the discomfort off. Honestly, this was her home, she could dress however she wanted. "Ah...were you looking for Ceasaí? She's not here, she took Sailí out for an art lesson. Violet, I mean."

"I was looking for you, in fact." Narcissa paused for a breath, before saying in a pointed sort of tone, "I must be keyed in as a guest before I may step away from the hearth."

"...I don't know how to do that. Like I said, I'm new to wards." When she was seeing friends, she went out, she didn't meet them here, so. She hadn't even known the wards would do that, actually — that made the prospect of sending someone here for something (or for Sailí) in the event of an emergency far more difficult.

It was very subtle, her face hardly shifting, but Síomha suspected Narcissa was a shade exasperated. "In that case, we'll go out to tea. Would you like to change before we go?"

"Wait, what is this about? Where are we going?"

One of Narcissa's finely-sculpted eyebrows arched up. "Out — I thought we should like to get better acquainted, under the circumstances. Unless you're otherwise occupied?"

Well, she had been contemplating a possible response to a paper she'd found commenting on the retention of spectral alteration through recrystallisation of noble metals — not directly addressing her masterwork, but tangential to it — but it was hardly urgent. Though, the thought of going out with Narcissa Malfoy of all people was just...weird. But she wasn't sure if turning her down was the best idea. She was Ceasaí's niece, and they seemed to get on decently well? Ceasaí didn't like Lucius Malfoy, sure, and, it wasn't as though she had so much family left to her that Síomha should go around offending them for no good reason. At the very least, she should try to be polite about it.

And, as weird and vaguely uncomfortable and out of nowhere as this was, she thought Narcissa was trying to be nice? She'd seemed unexpectedly excited about the marriage...or just that it was a sign that Ceasaí wasn't going anywhere, at least. (Narcissa didn't have much family left either.) She had made a point of welcoming Síomha to the family and all, and, maybe that's all this was? trying to be nice and, you know, get better acquainted. And given how influential Narcissa was in this country, offending her when she was going out of her way to try to be nice to Síomha would probably be a bad idea — she could easily make trouble for Síomha in the guild if she really wanted to, so.

Oooh, this was going to be awkward...

Síomha grit her teeth until the urge to sigh passed. "I'm not with anything too important, sure. I'll be back down in a minute."

Back up in her and Ceasaí's room, she hesitated for a moment, looking over their closet and drawers. She hardly owned anything as nice as what Narcissa was wearing — the few things she did have were formalwear that wouldn't be appropriate for wherever they were going. But then, Narcissa must realise that she was just some commoner, and couldn't be expected to have nice things sitting around ready for, what, going to high-class teahouses or whatever. Normal clothes were probably fine. A pair of denims, a vest and a light button-up blouse would do. Her bag slung over one shoulder, she headed back down the stairs.

Quick retrieving a pair of heeled sandals from the shoe rack by the front door — muggle-made, and technically Ceasaí's, but she had standing permission to borrow shoes that fit her — Síomha plopped down on the couch to slip them on. "I hope you weren't planning on going anywhere so classy. I don't have many nice clothes, you know."

"I'm certain this will be fine wherever we go."

Síomha was nowhere near certain of that, but sure. Popping up to her feet, she said, forcing a light, cheerful tone, "So, where are we going?"

They were going to Charing, apparently — Narcissa spoke the key for the public floo at the Leaky Cauldron and disappeared. Ich, that was going to be an awful trip, across the water to Galloway and south all the way to London. Instead of suffering that misery, Síomha apparated straight to the threshold behind the pub. She stepped inside, finding Narcissa waiting for her at the hearth. It might be her imagination, but she thought Narcissa was a little amused with her decision to avoid using the floo, giving her a flat sort of look. Narcissa led the way back outside, and through the heavily-warded entrance onto Diagon Alley.

Síomha didn't visit Charing very often — she hadn't stepped foot in London at all before the age of fourteen — and when she did she normally didn't spend much time on Diagon Alley. When she did see Diagon Alley, it was only in passing, to get to muggle London through the Leaky Cauldron. There were all sorts in Charing, it was a big place, but the closer you got to Diagon Alley the finer the establishments got — Diagon Alley itself was half commercial, and she'd never been able to afford to shop anywhere here. Well, the apothecary, maybe, but there'd be little point, when she could get anything she needed back at the Refuge, and probably for cheaper. She'd heard the rent here was absurd, there must be a mark-up...

(The Blacks owned a fair amount of land in Charing, Síomha knew — some of those rents were going to Ceasaí.)

She would cross Diagon Alley sometimes, moving between neighbourhoods on opposite sides. There were some workshops and cafés to the south that she'd visited on occasion, she had a couple friends from academy who lived near Knockturn, before taking in Sailí Ceasaí had lived on one of those streets just to the north right that way. The most time she'd ever spent on Diagon Alley itself was when she'd been seeing a woman who lived in one of the luxury rowhouses further down, past the bank. (Síomha wasn't sure how Hrönn had been able to afford the place. She honestly suspected she was with the Brotherhood, but hadn't wanted to ask — whether she was a career criminal was an uncomfortable thing to ask the woman you were sleeping with.) The point being, while their surroundings were vaguely familiar, having passed by them a number of times, she had absolutely no idea where they were going.

If Narcissa noticed her hesitation, she didn't show it at all, smoothly clicking her way across the brick. She chattered along as they went...gossipping about Draco, okay then. They'd already done their school shopping — Ceasaí and Sailí were going with Dora and Ted sometime next week — and by the sound of it Draco had been a bit of a spoiled brat about it. Narcissa didn't come out and say that, naturally, and probably didn't even believe it — whatever her other faults, by this point Síomha was well aware Narcissa was a loving mother, at least. Síomha was sure she was just trying to fill the air with gossip, and maybe Draco being fussy about the uniform robes or complaining about first-year students not being able to bring a broom to school might seem perfectly ordinary to Narcissa, but.

Oh no, Sailí didn't have a broom. At least not one that was specifically hers, anyway — there were a few that belonged to the House that they played around on sometimes. They might get her one later, she had a feeling Sailí would want to try playing beater at Hogwarts...

(Quidditch brooms were expensive, that a child Draco's age had one just play around with, even a dated one, was so absurd to her. Wealthy people were incomprehensible sometimes...)

Narcissa led her past the bank, and into the residential side of Diagon Alley — the same tight street with densely-packed buildings, but obviously homes instead, rich and well cared for. Many of the ancient buildings had obviously been remodelled at some point, wood and plaster replaced with alchemised ceramics or stone polished to a shine, metalwork in iron and bronze, the whole street gleaming and glinting in the sunlight. It was quieter than the commercial side, only a few people here and there, a subtle stream of music from a radio through an open window. They passed by Hrönn's house, Síomha wondered if she still lived there — it'd been a couple years since they'd spoken now...

What were they even doing here? Didn't Narcissa say they were going to a teahouse? She didn't think there was anything like that over here, just houses...

After a bit walking along the tall, rich-looking houses — one of the wealthiest urban neighbourhoods in the country, she knew — Narcissa took a turn off into a very narrow alley, brick walls close on both sides. Once they were past the houses it opened up a little, courtyards to left and right blocked off by iron fences crawling with mint and bittersweet. (Those berries were poisonous, but she guessed she didn't often see many children around here.) Past the houses' back gardens the alley opened up a little further — and now they were on a narrow street, tiny, fine-looking shops along one side, trees and beds of flowers along the other. Síomha used to come by this neighbourhood somewhat often, visiting Hrönn, and she'd had no idea this was here.

Narcissa led Síomha into the teahouse — and she was suddenly feeling underdressed again. It was a small place, with maybe only eight tables, everything made out of gleaming polished wood in shades of rich brown and auburn, snow-white tablecloths edged with lace, sat with ladies in expensive dresses and shimmering summer robes, a glint of jewellery at wrists and throats and in their hair. And the patrons were all women, she noticed. This was, what, a place for ladies to linger gossipping, since they had nothing better to do with their time? Such a fine place there were paintings on the wall, actual professional work, mostly rural landscapes, the colours soft and light and pleasant...

Hopefully Narcissa was paying, because Síomha could tell immediately that she definitely couldn't afford to go here.

Narcissa removed her hat as she stepped inside, which Síomha knew was polite. They stood near the door for maybe thirty seconds before one of the workers met them — she greeted Narcissa by name, she must come here regularly. Of course, the greeting was also in French, and so was the response from Narcissa. And then they kept talking in French, as they were led to one of two available tables, Narcissa and the worker, um...just basic hello, how are yous mostly, by the sound of it. Síomha could read French decently well — academic publishing in Europe meant for an international audience was primarily done in French — and she was a little better with it spoken than she'd been before, thanks to travelling around with Ceasaí and Sailí, but she wouldn't even say she was competent with it. They got to their table, the worker helping Narcissa out of her jacket, hung it up from a post nearby, the hat perched on top...and then Narcissa said, indicating Síomha with a nod, something about her aunt — she must be referring to the upcoming marriage, but it was indirect enough that Síomha hadn't followed it.

And then the worker asked Síomha something, but she completely missed it. Carefully, in her absolute best pronunciation, she said, "I'm sorry, I don't speak French well."

"Oh!" Narcissa chirped. "Why of course, I didn't realise, my apologies." Then she said something to the worker which, of course, Síomha didn't entirely understand. She was pretty sure Narcissa said that Síomha was Irish — she caught irlandaise — the implication being that English was already her second language, so it wasn't a great surprise that her French wasn't very good. (The less charitable interpretation being that she meant Síomha was an uncultured peasant who couldn't be expected to have had a proper education.) Soon the worker was stepping away, leaving them to seat themselves.

Síomha tried not to squirm in her chair, feeling unreasonably uncomfortable despite the thorough enchantments supporting her — so thick she hardly even felt the chair at all, as though she were floating an inch above it on a thick bed of air. This was a very nice-looking establishment, she felt so out of place.

"Hands above the table, Síomha."

She glanced up at Narcissa, blinking. "Eh?"

One of her eyebrows curled up. "It is polite to keep one's hands in view while at a table — so none might wonder whether you are a pointing a wand at them."

...That seemed overly paranoid, but whatever. "Okay. Sorry." A little awkwardly, she folded her hands in front of her, on the table, not really sure what else to do with them.

"Do you prefer tea or coffee?"

Right, if they were all talking French here she'd have trouble ordering for herself. That wasn't embarrassing at all. "Er, coffee, please."

"Here they serve tea with pastries, in the French style. Do you have a preference?"

"...Are they going to have pain aux raisins, or is that a muggle one? The ones rolled in a spiral, like a German cinnamon bun."

"Pain russe, I believe you mean, yes. Do muggles make those too?"

"Sure, I've had them a couple times while in France on one trip or another. On the muggle side, I mean, I honestly had no idea whether they'd gotten over here." At least, she assumed they'd been invented on the muggle side? She guessed she didn't know.

Narcissa let out a soft hum, but before she could comment further a server showed up — not the same girl from before, Síomha didn't think. The conversation was, of course, entirely in French. Síomha could more or less follow it fine...sort of. She thought a lot of the parts she couldn't make out were proper nouns, varieties of tea or whatever. The whole process passed by pretty quickly, before long the server was walking off again, Narcissa turning back to Síomha. "They will only be a moment. I understand you have already achieved a Mastery in alchemy."

"Yeah, ah... The guild recognised me back in February."

"And you were, what, twenty-five?"

"Almost — it was conferred about a week before my birthday."

Humming again, Narcissa nodded. "Quite impressive, to achieve an academic Mastery so young."

...She was probably reading too much into the the use of so young — Síomha was well aware Ceasaí was a lot older than her, thanks. "I suppose it's not so bad, but I overshot the record by two years."

"Severus is a very troubled young man, and his relationship with his work is not to be emulated."

"Ah, I forgot, you two know each other, don't you?"

Some kind of expression crossed Narcissa's face, her eyes narrowing slightly. Wondering what Síomha meant by that, maybe? She hadn't meant to refer to the fact that they'd both been Death Eaters, she was just aware of Snape, professionally, details got around. "Yes, we met while attending Hogwarts — he was still following after Lily Evans at the time. He's Draco's godfather, in fact, helping me through the pregnancy and the birth was part of his healer's training."

...Síomha had never heard anything about Snape being a trained midwife, but okay then. Also, what was that about Lily Evans? That was Sailí's mother Lily Evans, right? She'd had no idea they'd known each other. But Narcissa was in a much better position to know than she was, she guessed.

"I've read your submission."

Síomha shook herself out of her thoughts about Lily Evans. "What?"

It was very subtle, but she got the feeling Narcissa seemed a little exasperated — that probably wasn't her imagination. "Your submission. Realisation and Analysis of Complex Intrinsic Spectral Alteration on Natural Silver. I've read it. It's quite an accomplishment. If I were asked a month ago, I would have said permanently altering silver through spectral alchemy was impossible."

She hadn't expected Narcissa fecking Malfoy to go reading her academic work, but all right. "I didn't know you had any training in alchemy."

"I don't, truly. I have considered seeking a Mastery in Potions time and again, but one matter or another always steals away my attention."

"Ah. Well, we've always known it was possible — goblins do it all the time, and for all our differences magic itself doesn't change. The tricky thing was finding out how to do it. I'm hardly the first to make progress at it, but it is a new field."

Narcissa gave her a flat look, too mild for Síomha to attempt to read it. "Modesty in excess is not a virtue. It is an exceptional accomplishment, especially so from a new scholar. Sometimes, it is better to simply accept the compliment."

...Was she being scolded right now? Who in hell did Narcissa think she was, her mother?

Before Síomha could figure out how she was supposed to respond to that, the server appeared again, she twitched a little at the platter unexpectedly being set down on the table. She noticed that the liner on the tray was made almost entirely out of lace, which was ridiculous. Designing charms to automatically knit (or stitch) lace was extremely difficult, though possible — it was considered very classless, though, and was only ever done as a cheap shortcut by people who couldn't afford proper lace. And making lace was terribly slow, which made it expensive. Síomha had never actually bought lace, it was simply too costly, any clothes she'd ever worn that had any lace on them had been made by hand by someone in the family, strips of the stuff that they'd sometimes had for decades now and then carefully removed from one article of clothing to another.

Well, that wasn't quite true — she did have some lacey underwear, which she'd gotten entirely out of curious fascination. Putting lace on underwear was so bizarre to her, it sort of defeated the purpose? But that was muggle machine-made lace, and didn't really count.

Using a circle of lace as the liner on a tea tray, which you might expect to get spills on, was, just— Lace was hard to wash! It was far too easy to accidentally fray or tear the threads, and— That just seemed terribly wasteful, how many hours must that thing have taken to make...

(Maybe it'd been an apprenticeship project or something? That wouldn't be too bad, she guessed, if it was only practice.)

Síomha was so taken aback by the completely impractical and decadent use of lace that she missed half of the process of the tray being unloaded, her attention only being drawn back by the clinking of porcelain. The cups were very delicate, to the point of being faintly translucent in places, carved with finicky little floral designs and finely painted. This was the fanciest tea set Síomha had ever even seen, she was a little nervous to so much as touch it. Just, Jesus, why couldn't Narcissa have just brought her to a normal place?

The roll looked great, at least, if a little smaller than she expected — the ones she'd gotten in muggle France tended to be rather large, near on a full breakfast all by themselves. But that was fine, breakfast hadn't been that long ago, she didn't need a lot.

Anyway, before long everything was unloaded and the server was gone, and Narcissa started fixing her tea. Right, okay then. Síomha carefully picked up her little pot of coffee — didn't want to drop the fragile-looking thing — filled her delicate-looking cup. The server had brought a small tray (with another lace liner), this one had little bowls of honey. Flavoured, obviously — each one had a little piece of whatever it was flavoured with curled along the lip of the bowl, lemon or orange peel, a sliver of whole cinnamon. Síomha dipped her spoon in the orange one, not scooping it up so much as just letting the honey stick to her spoon — the cup was pretty small, didn't need much — once the dripping had slowed down enough quick transferred the spoon over to her cup.

And was almost immediately scolded again, this time for how she was stirring her coffee — apparently you were supposed to do it with little back and forth motions, not in a circle. That actually made sense, once she switched her spoon hit the sides of the cup far less. As thin and delicate-looking as the porcelain was, it'd probably be pretty easy to break it on accident. Still a little irritating to get scolded like a child at her age, but she realised she was very much out of her depth, so, fine.

Woah, that was damn good coffee...

"I spoke with the Sheridans."

Síomha twitched, her coffee cup clacking down against the saucer. "Ah. What?"

One of Narcissa's eyebrows ticked up — visibly unimpressed, Síomha would guess that was supposed to be. "The Sheridans. That is the name of your House, isn't it?"

...Somehow Síomha doubted Narcissa had come by rural County Clare and spoken with her uncle. "Which Uí Shirideáin? There are more than one."

"They live near Athlone. They could tell me nothing about you. They knew of a handful of women named Síomha Ní Shirideáin, but none fit your description." It didn't quite sound accusing, though, a note of uncertainty slipping into Narcissa's voice, brow dipping in a tiny frown.

Peeling apart her raisin bun with a fork and a knife — somehow it seemed inappropriate to do it with her fingers — Síomha shook her head. "Wrong family. The ones in tAtha Luáin is an tArd Caoimhe, they are Clann Cholmáin."

"I didn't realise there were more than one House of Sheridan."

Nobody called it that, but whatever. "There are at least three, that I know of." Narcissa had picked the only ones she knew of who had any significant wealth to their name, which should be a surprise to no one. "My family are from Chontae an Chláir."

Narcissa didn't respond, instead eating a bit torn off of her croissant, smeared with...currant jelly, maybe. After chewing and swallowing, she said, "I'm afraid I've never heard of any Sheridans from County Clare."

"I don't expect you would have."

"Oh?" she said, an eyebrow raising almost challengingly.

Síomha had to fight to not roll her eyes. "I don't imagine you know many small-holding peasants."

"...I suppose not." There was a short pause, which Síomha decided to read as uncomfortable — more on Narcissa's end than hers, this time.

She was guessing it'd been obvious from the beginning that Síomha was a commoner, and uncultured, but it hadn't occurred to Narcissa until right this second that she was legitimately poor. The aristocrat, being nosey and gossipy as wealthy people with nothing better to do with their time were known to be, had tried to look her up with the only Uí Shirideáin who she might have heard of before, so that was a pretty good bet. Síomha wasn't sure how to interpret that discomfort, what Narcissa might be thinking about having just dragged some random peasant off to her fancy little teahouse — or, more to the point, some random peasant marrying her aunt (or even more to the point, marrying Lady Black) — but it was obvious she was a bit taken aback by it, at least.

Not that there was anything she could do about that — Síomha decided to just ignore it, let Narcissa gather herself. Besides, she had excellent coffee to drink and a raisin bun to eat. And hoo, the bun was seriously good too, fluffy and raisiny, and there was some kind of custard in here, flavoured with cinnamon and maybe vanilla...?

She was distracted picking at her bun when Narcissa finally found her voice again. "I don't imagine there are many master alchemists in your family, then."

Síomha shook her head. "I'm the first. I have relatives in the trades, but I'm the first one I know of to get any kind of academic Mastery at all — I have a cousin, first cousin, in an enchanting apprenticeship now, but that's it."

"In that case, the achievement is all the more impressive. It isn't unusual to lean on personal or family connections in the field to help get one's foot in the door, so to speak. Despite his own humble origins, even Severus had advantages there it seems you did not." Through friends in the Death Eaters, Narcissa didn't say out loud.

Síomha glanced up — it looked like Narcissa wasn't being snide about it, at least. Hard to say, she wasn't a sodding mind mage, but after processing whatever that was she hadn't decided Síomha was unworthy of...whatever this outing was supposed to be. Honestly, still very uncertain what she was going on here, but. "I guess."

Narcissa wanted to keep talking about her family, which was...irritating. Didn't see how it was relevant, but Síomha had already given up any hope of understanding what was going on here, or honestly Narcissa in general. She was aware of the dispute over control of certain lands in Ireland centuries ago, but only in the abstract, seemed bemused by the admission that Síomha really had grown up in a tiny farming village. (Somehow, Síomha doubted Narcissa had ever even set foot on a proper farm — an orchard, maybe.) Yes, she did used to help out, both in the greens in the village and her grandparents' farm, and others belonging to various relatives and neighbours, that was just normal where she came from. She still helped out, some, when she was around, but that had become less often as she went into academy, and eventually Mastery study.

Her family didn't send their kids to the Academy — Síomha was the only one who went. No, they weren't homeschooled either, they mostly just didn't get schooling at all. Some basic stuff, sometimes, but for the most part no, only a few of her relatives even had wands. Why was that a surprise? Honestly, Narcissa, did she have any idea how fecking expensive wands were? They'd lucked out and managed to get a little help from the priests of Lúgh and Áine, and they'd still barely been able to afford to send her to Academy — and that was just one child, they certainly couldn't afford to send everyone else...

Sometimes people would land craft apprenticeships and go into the trades, but nobody around where she came from went to academy, or most of the time not even craft school. It was simply too expensive for peasant families, that was normal.

"Well, perhaps their fortunes may be changing in the near future."

Frowning down at her (mostly vanished) raisin bun, Síomha asked, "How do you figure?" She couldn't see how that would ever happen — you could live off of farming, sure, coin coming in from people in the trades helping to cover things you actually needed to buy, but academy was simply too expensive. There were some people in the Wizengamot and the Ministry who occasionally talked about publicly funding craft school and even academy, but unless something huge like that changed, her family would simply never be able to afford to send more than one or two children out of a generation.

Narcissa gave her a flat, blank sort of look. "The wealth of the House of Black will not be so diminished from the expense of sending several children to school. I imagine there is much you might do to improve the lot of your natal family, once you are Lady Black."

...

Oh. She hadn't really thought of that. She and Ceasaí had discussed repaying the expense that had gone into schooling and housing her — she'd always intended to pay that back, and then some, with whatever she managed to bring in throughout her career, but going straight into having children after the wedding was going to slow that down a bit. (Síomha suspected there were loans, would be better not to wait for her to start bringing in actual money.) But that she might do more than that had honestly never occurred to her.

It didn't feel quite real? That she was marrying into nobility — and not just nobility, but one of the Seventeen Founders no less — she was going to be Lady Black. That was just...surreal. Marrying Ceasaí, great, she was happy about that, but the rest of it was, just, hard to wrap her mind around, sometimes. That she was coming into obscene wealth, that she could do things, well— It was too alien, she guessed, hard to imagine.

...She'd try to remember, bring it up with Ceasaí and Uncle later. She was sure there were all kinds of things they could do to help. It was hardly as though her family were destitute, they got by, but.

(Might as well give her mother good reason to be so embarrassingly enthusiastic about it, she guessed.)

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, Síomha said, "I guess you're right about that. I never really thought about it."

In retrospect, she would figure out that tea had been, at least in part, some kind of test. Narcissa had seemingly tried to look into her, finding her submission and the wrong Uí Shirideáin. That really wasn't so surprising, when Síomha thought about it — as nice as she'd been at Sailí's birthday party, the nobility could be pretty serious about marriage alliances or whatever, and marrying the Lady of the House would put her in a pretty influential position in Narcissa's birth family, so. She must have gotten a bit nervous when the family that she thought Síomha belonged to had no idea who she was. That would raise pretty serious question marks about who Síomha was and what she was trying to accomplish with Ceasaí, but those were pretty easily answered with the fact that she'd gotten the wrong Uí Shirideáin, so. Síomha didn't doubt that she'd look into what she'd said to double-check her story, but still. That part of the test she'd passed.

And another part of the test, well... Síomha noticed that Narcissa seemed to soften, slightly, after her reaction to the idea that they could actually use the Black wealth to help her family out some — more than the limited things she'd already been planning on doing, that is. With how defensive the nobility could be about their position, Síomha wouldn't be surprised if Narcissa thought she'd been...in it for something, so to speak. So, passed that part of the test too.

The last part of the test, she was pretty sure she failed, but she didn't realise that test was even happening until she put together the other parts, later. (Also, lunch kind of made it obvious.) Going to a fancy damn teahouse made it very obvious very quickly that Síomha didn't know any of the nobles' absurdly complicated etiquette, at all. Well, she'd maybe picked up a little bit from Sailí babbling about her lessons with Arcturus, but that wasn't very much. Hence the lecturing about keeping her hands above the table, and how to stir her coffee, and how she was supposed to pour, and what to do with the cutlery when she wasn't using it, and...

It was never explicitly stated at any point, but Síomha would put it together later — Lady Malfoy had decided that she needed etiquette lessons, and badly.

But Narcissa didn't give any indication of that at the time, their time at the fine little teahouse finishing up uneventfully. She paid for the both of them, thankfully — Síomha had a feeling that just that little raisin bun and the pot of coffee would have costed her far more than she was willing to pay for them. (They were good, but in her experience the price of luxuries was inflated out of all proportion to their quality.) Another short conversation with a staff person that Síomha could barely follow, Narcissa retrieved her jacket and her hat, and they were leaving again.

Lead back along the Alley they way they'd come — idly gossipping about Sailí and Draco, which she guessed was hardly the worst topic of discussion in the world — Síomha fully expected that Narcissa was heading back toward home, to finish this little outing. So she was a bit taken aback when Narcissa turned into a shop instead. She didn't know the place, obviously (she did not shop on Diagon Alley), but it seemed like a leatherworking shop of some kind? They window displays were advertising wand holsters and gloves and belts and the like, so. Confused, Síomha followed Narcissa inside.

The inside smelled like treated leather, unsurprisingly — there was a sharp, actinic tang to the air that suggested the process involved some kind of alchemy, but it'd be hard to guess what without a look at the reagents they had on hand. (Not that she knew a thing about leather, of course.) Narcissa was greeted by a slightly panicky-looking proprietor — not expecting such a guest today, Síomha would guess — after some inane pleasantries, she said they'd be needing—

Síomha twitched, blinked over at the absurd woman. "Wait, what?"

"Surely you don't plan to wear this one to social gatherings."

Reflexively, she glanced down at her wand holster — she was wearing short sleeves, so it was plainly visible on her forearm. (She realised posh types thought that wasn't quite appropriate, but she didn't care.) "I did wear it to Sailí's birthday."

"I noticed. So did other guests, I'm certain. Garden luncheons of that sort are a more relaxed atmosphere — that one will not be acceptable in more strictly formal settings."

Well, sure, she was aware of that. Hadn't thought about it, she guessed. But, why had Narcissa decided they needed to fix this right now? If it was really so important, she and Ceasaí could have taken care of it later...

Biting her lip, Síomha glanced over the walls. The shop space was rather small, unsurprisingly — they sold custom items, fitted to the buyer, so they didn't need to keep up a stock. That was obviously going to be way more expensive than a general-use one like Síomha's, with adjustable straps to fit a variety of people. While there were example pieces of various things, hanging on the walls or on racks here and there, posters listing available products and services, Síomha didn't notice any prices listed anywhere. That was generally a bad sign. She did have blank notes attached to one of the Black accounts on her, but those were just supposed to be for emergencies, or things for Sailí — Ceasaí had taken to giving her a few at a time when they'd started travelling, in case she needed to pay for something when Ceasaí wasn't around. She had used them before, but this...didn't feel like the kind of situation they were for...

As her hesitation dragged on, Narcissa said, "Consider it a betrothal gift."

...Was that a thing the nobility did? Síomha had heard of courtship gifts, but, she had no idea what Narcissa meant by that.

But, asking what that meant would be a little embarrassing, especially with the proprietor right there — and it was possible betrothal gifts weren't a real thing, and Narcissa was just using it as a polite excuse to justify buying her something. Whatever was going on here, Síomha decided to just not question it.

There was a brief conversation about the style and the materials, but Síomha noticed that the proprietor was talking to Narcissa, and basically ignoring her. That was a little annoying, but she just brushed it off — Narcissa was paying for the thing, and better knew what would be appropriate anyway. Besides, Síomha wasn't picky, the one she had now had just been the cheapest she could find that didn't look like absolute rubbish. The fitting process was very quick and painless, the man taking a couple measurements, quick confirming with an example piece that it shouldn't pinch awkwardly at her wrist or elbow, and that was it.

As Narcissa and the man discussed the (alchemical) treatment of the leather and the enchantments that would go into it, Síomha started to get a better impression of how expensive this was going to be. (She didn't know what might be expected of high-class shops and the like, having hardly stepped foot in any before, but she did know the trades.) Not that she expected that amount of money would mean anything to a Malfoy, it seemed, just, a little absurd for something like this, the one she already had worked just fine...

So of course Narcissa had to add to it — she insisted Síomha get a wrist-purse too. Well, she didn't insist so much as just tell the proprietor that they'd be needing one, completely ignoring Síomha's double-take. She was familiar with the concept of these, but she honestly wasn't sure if she'd ever even seen one before. (Ceasaí didn't own one, as far as she knew.) It was very subtle, a leather band around the wrist, often even enchanted with attention-diverting effects. Alchemically-treated leather was necessary to sustain the space-expansion spells that went into the thing — it was, as it sounded, a small purse that was practically hidden in the wrist, nearly invisible to anyone else. It could be used to carry little things the person might want at any moment, like a pen or little potion phials or whatever else, and normally some coins, mostly used to subtly pass a tip into the hand of service staff or whatever. Supposedly classy types had a thing about it being crass to be seen giving out tips, the sort of thing you weren't supposed to make a show of doing, you know.

Síomha couldn't imagine actually needing one. But she bit down on a comment that would probably be taken as rude, her eyes tipping up to the ceiling for a second, and just quietly cooperated. Before too long, that was done with too — Síomha gave the man their floo address, for delivery, Narcissa wrote out a cheque, and they were walking out again.

(She'd never heard a total price, but she was willing to bet that just then was the most money spent on her by someone who wasn't family or a lover.)

And apparently they weren't done, either — after a very short walk, Narcissa turned right into another shop, this time for a shoemaker. (Practically nextdoor, Síomha suspected the two shops were associated somehow.) Síomha gave Narcissa's back a bemused frown, contemplated for a second whether it was worth possibly offending one of Ceasaí's very few living family by confronting her about what in hell was going on here. Probably not. Sighing, she followed Lady sodding Malfoy into the shop.

Unsurprisingly, it was as clean and quiet and nice-looking as the last place, with very little in the way of stock available on the floor. Custom-made things, of course. Narcissa had decided she needed a pair of what she called town shoes — if Síomha was following correctly, shoes that were nice enough for a lady to be seen in walking around in public, but below the tier of fanciness that would be expected at proper functions or whatever. (Though maybe they were fine at less strict things, like Sailí's birthday or tea or whatever, she wasn't sure.) The same category as the fine but plain black leather boots Narcissa was wearing right now, she thought. Síomha was sure she didn't quite hide her exasperation, but if Narcissa really wanted to buy her more completely unnecessary gifts, fine, whatever. It wasn't like she'd turn down free stuff, she just didn't know what this was about, was all...and it somehow didn't seem appropriate to ask...

Síomha had never been measured for custom-made shoes before, so, this was new. She was involved in the discussion somewhat more this time — she would be the one wearing them, and they'd need to be comfortable for her to be of any use at all. Not that she was that picky, she was fine with the heeled boots that were suggested first, and just kind of shrugged at half of the questions. (She suspected the shoemaker was overestimating the degree of variation she was accustomed to in footwear.) Some random stranger poking around her feet was a little weird, but it wasn't a big deal, the process was relatively painless.

This time, she wasn't entirely surprised when Narcissa suggested a second pair of shoes...though this one was a good idea, actually. They kind of reminded her of brógaí úrleathair, but only vaguely — for one thing, they weren't even made of leather. Most of the material was cloth, the sole with some kind of padding, an alchemised substance that almost felt like standing on some kind of gel, giving under her weight but putting up enough resistance to keep her feet from resting on the floor. (Gel-like in consistency, anyway, the texture was fuzzy and soft.) The rest of the shoe was cloth, but not a solid shape at all. To put it on, you stepped onto the sole, and then folded up the sides and top, and tied them together, the end product rather loose and baggy — she suspected there was some kind of enchantment on the one she tried attaching the sole to her foot, because she didn't think the structure of the shoe was firm enough to hold it there. Narcissa said these were a kind of house shoe, mostly meant to be worn at home, or sometimes at more casual get-togethers.

Rather pointedly, she added that they were also often worn by pregnant women — the feet did tend to swell up a bit, so something adjustable and with soft sides like this was convenient. (Also, Síomha assumed the softness of the sole was nice.) That was maybe not a bad idea...

Of course, Narcissa going out of her way to say that immediately had the man asking about it (politely), which was a little exasperating. Not yet, obviously she had to get married first...

Which then immediately led into questions about who she was marrying, resulting in a somewhat uncomfortable silence — didn't approve of them both being women, and/or cheating to get around it not being legal — so maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut.

This time, when Narcissa led Síomha into yet another shop, she couldn't even say she was surprised. She took a second to let out a sigh, her eyes tipping up to the sky, before turning to follow her.

፠

The floo dropped Síomha back home — she teetered a little, the momentum from the trip yanking her bags into a spin, skipped a step to bleed off speed. She dropped the canvas shopping bag on the coffee table, shrugged off her shoulder bag and gently set it down on the floor. Then she spun on her heel and flopped over onto the sofa, one knee bending over the armrest, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

A little dazed, she just laid there, blinking, the last few hours flickering confusingly in her head. She had absolutely no idea how to interpret Narcissa's behaviour, it was...very odd.

A part of her was tempted to find the whole trip humiliating, but, well, if some random noblewoman wanted to give her free stuff — especially when she wasn't expected to do anything in return (like sleep with her) — Síomha was hardly one to turn it down. So instead, the only strong reaction she could come up with was confusion.

She was alone for maybe only a couple minutes, staring up at the ceiling and directionlessly turning the day over in her head, when she heard the soft padding of footsteps on the wooden floor approaching from the direction of the dining room. The faint prickle of an aura sweeping through the air, dark magic of a familiar tone — that was Ceasaí. "There you are. I'd wondered where you'd gotten off to."

"Your niece came by to take me out to London."

"Which one?"

"Narcissa."

"Right, right." Ceasaí passed by in her peripheral vision, looming barely in sight 'above' her. A hand swept over the top of her head, brushing her hair out of the way, before Ceasaí sat on the cushion at the end, her thigh an inch from Síomha's head. "She did mention she might want to spend some time getting to know you. Tried to schedule it with me ahead of time, silly girl..."

Despite herself, Síomha snorted — it struck her as very much like a noblewoman to try to schedule tea through the important person, rather than just talking to Síomha herself about it. "You know she's like a decade older than me. If she's a silly girl, what does that make me?"

"She can't truly be that much older than you."

Well, no, a full decade was exaggerating, but still. "What year was she born?"

Ceasaí had to think about it for a moment. "Sixty-One? Five years, then — Gwadnwen y disgleirio arnaf, I forget..."

One of the curious things Síomha had noticed over recent years was that Ceasaí had gradually started making religious oaths more often. At least, Síomha was mostly sure that's what that was just now — her Cambrian wasn't great, but she thought Gwadnwen was an epithet for Áine (or whatever the British called Her). She didn't know what to think about that. Ceasaí claimed that she'd never been particularly religious — she'd grown up with a variation of the Roman-influenced Cambrian faiths that'd sprung up shortly after Secrecy (the old Cambrian gods having mostly been forgotten long ago), but had never taken it very seriously — and for the most part she didn't act like she was, but she had begun to talk like it more often. Which was curious. "I guess it's not that much. But I felt younger than that, she kept lecturing me about my table manners..."

There was a thin, exasperated sigh. Gently, fingers started brushing along her hairline, soft and slow and almost ticklish, Síomha let her eyes drop closed. "That does sound like Narcissa — sorry, I should have guessed she'd be a pain. I can talk to her, if you like."

Síomha hummed. "No, I... I think she was maybe trying to help? I didn't grow up with these things, and she knows that. She wasn't rude about it, is the point. It did feel a little condescending at times, but, I don't think she was trying to do that. You know?"

"Yeah, I get it. We probably should get around to proper etiquette lessons eventually — I'm certain we'll find ourselves at some formal dinner party before too long." At Síomha's exasperated groan, she just chuckled. "You two went out to tea, then? You were gone a long time."

"And lunch. She brought me shopping too — I was wondering, are betrothal gifts some high society tradition I just haven't heard of yet?"

The fingers lightly tracing along her forehead paused, for just a second. Her voice dry, Ceasaí drawled, "Narcissa better not have been giving you courtship gifts."

Síomha rolled her eyes. "I mean, gifts given on the occasion of someone's betrothal."

"Oh. Not as far as I know. Granted, that might have changed from my time... A woman might be gifted certain things by her own family, to bring with her when she marries out, but that's it. Why?"

Yeah, she'd thought not. "When I asked Narcissa why she was buying me things, she said to consider it a betrothal gift."

"...That is odd. What all did she buy you?"

Síomha sighed. "There are a few things in that bag there, and more in my shoulder bag — could you summon that for me? I don't feel like getting up."

There was a little bit of shuffling around as Ceasaí gathered her new, overly fancy belongings. Síomha's head ended up settled in Ceasaí's lap instead, the shopping bags settled on her stomach, the fingers of Ceasaí's free hand absent-mindedly tracing along her arm. Tucked into her shoulder bag were the things she'd had pressed on her at the beauty shop — only some of which she even knew how to use. Síomha normally didn't wear makeup at all, but it turned out glamour charms were strongly discouraged at formal functions — which made sense, since a stray aura might disrupt them — so Narcissa considered cosmetics to be a basic essential. Nothing exceptionally complicated, just some powdery stuff meant to smooth out skin tone (Síomha didn't even know the proper term), a palette with a few colours for eyeshadow of whatever, some pens to line things, she didn't know. Not her thing. Narcissa had gotten her a set of things for proper nail care, and some polish, which she might actually use — because the glamour charms weren't reliable, and the spells for trimming nails weren't ideal either — and she did like the perfume. They'd coordinated it to go with the rosehip oil she used in her hair, she thought it was nice.

The lady they'd worked with there had said Síomha didn't need any other products for her hair — she'd actually really liked Síomha's hair, had been a little embarrassing about it. But she did need things to put in it, decorative pins and the like. Like the cosmetics, Síomha didn't imagine she would actually use any of this much, but they'd practically been pressed on her, and Narcissa was paying for all of it, so she hadn't argued that hard.

"I don't think your hair is even long enough to use most of those," Ceasaí said, sounding very bemused.

"It was suggested more than once that I should it grow out. I told the lady there I wasn't going to be doing that multiple times, but I don't think she was listening."

"Mm. Or maybe it could..." Ceasaí reached over, plucked up one of the pins — the decorative part made out of alchemised steel with a curious reddish-gold tint to it, shining in the light, a web of delicate thin wires teased up into the shape of a rose blossom. "This would go like this." She ran her fingers through the hair on the right side of Síomha's head, straightening out the curls somewhat, gathered a bit of it up a little before sliding the functional part of the pin along the side of her head, the metal faintly scratching against her scalp. Eventually the base caught on her hair, a few more gentle tugs, Ceasaí making minor adjustments. "There. That looks nice, I think — a little girlish, but."

Síomha rolled her eyes. "If you say so. I think it all just looks silly."

"I mean it, look." Ceasaí waved her hand in the air over Síomha's face, a mirror charm shimmering into existence in its wake — that was just absurd, how did she even do wandless magic like that...

"...I guess it isn't so bad." On the side of her head, just over her ear, the reddish-goldish metallic rose almost seeming to sprout out of her hair. The colour didn't match, exactly, her hair lighter and more orangeish, but they were close enough to kind of blend a little — not her usual style, but it didn't look horrible. "Can't imagine I'll wear it very often, though."

"No, I imagine not. Did they explain what this is for? You're meant to put aromatic wax inside here," a finger coming to circle around the rose blossom. "The wires are enchanted to slowly burn it — a contact, heatless burn, it won't drip wax into your hair. It produces a subtle fragrance around the wearer, they can be quite nice. I had thought they went out of fashion some time ago — I haven't seen them around since, oh, it must have been the early Fifties, I think — but I suppose it's possible they're having another go around. Narcissa would know better than I."

"That was mentioned, but I figured I should have Violet along when I pick those — I didn't want a scent that's going to bother her, you know. And it should be one you like too."

Ceasaí smiled down at her. "You're adorable."

"In a girlish kind of way, I'm told."

"Oh, shut up..."

After the beauty shop was lunch. Síomha backtracked first, talking about their outing started with a visit to some tiny fancy teahouse somewhere off Diagon Alley. (It didn't sound familiar to Ceasaí either.) She thought Narcissa getting the wrong Uí Shirideáin was very funny — not at all surprised Narcissa had decided to investigate the future Lady Black, but she did apologise, that she should have warned Síomha that was going to happen. Of the Blacks who still lived, Narcissa was the one who took the future of the family the most seriously — rather more than Ceasaí herself did, honestly — and while she did seem to be legitimately enthusiastic about this unexpected development, that didn't mean she wouldn't have questions about Síomha. They should probably warn Síomha's uncle, in fact, and maybe her parents too...

Ceasaí mostly just seemed bemused at her recital of their visits to get a wand holster and shoes. Completely unnecessary, of course, if Síomha needed things it wasn't like they didn't have the money — the way it was said tipped Síomha off that she probably could just use the notes in her bag for whatever and Ceasaí wouldn't mind. It wasn't her money, was all, and it sometimes slipped her mind that Ceasaí put a very different value on this sort of thing than she did. They'd originally been intended to cover things Sailí needed when Ceasaí wasn't around, yes, but...

Actually, when she thought about it, they might have always been a significant gesture of trust — the value of the cheques was blank, she could write in whatever she wanted. It'd never once occurred to her to abuse the privilege, so it'd never once occurred to her that Ceasaí might otherwise have worried about that. Though she supposed if she did misuse them, Gringotts would have a record, so she'd presumably find out regardless. Whatever, it was just an interesting thought.

She was distracted enough with that idea that, partway through describing her lunch with Narcissa, she blurted out, "Hey, ah, would it be okay for me to get my own book of banknotes? Like these." Reaching into her bag, she found the little folder she'd stuck the ones she had in, opened it up to show Ceasaí.

It seemed she was a little taken aback by the change of subject, but after a couple blinks Ceasaí shrugged — just shrugged, at the thought of giving Síomha free access to who knew how many galleons. "Sure. That'll be a little more difficult to arrange before you're properly adopted, but it's doable. We'd have to go down to Gringotts and sign some papers, we can do that any time you have an hour. Probably should have done something like that earlier, honestly — sorry, just slipped my mind. I imagine it was a little embarrassing, Narcissa paying for everything like that."

...Right. Okay. "Ah... It was a little uncomfortable, true. I don't expect I'll use it for much anyway, but, just in case." More the principle of the matter than anything, in a way. Speaking of the principle of the matter, "I have been looking into making the table tennis sets, by the way — I would need more equipment, but I think I've figured out a way to make larger batches at a time. Do you know how to go about the paperwork to sell them in shops or whatever?"

"Direct post would be easier — we'd take out an advertisement in the Prophet or whatever, set up a redirection ward to gather the orders somewhere." Oh, Síomha hadn't thought of that, that was better. If for no other reason, the shop wouldn't be taking a cut too. "But yes, that's no problem."

"Could it be set up so it's in my name?"

One of Ceasaí's eyebrows ticked up, curious, but she answered smoothly enough anyway. "Indirectly, yes. It'd be best to set it up as a commercial trust contracted under the Blacks — if it's directly in your name, your family may be forced to pay taxes related to it. We could write the contract to give you sole authority over the imprint and everything associated with it, if you prefer."

That was what she wanted to know, yes. "I would, thank you." There were a few things to do with the wedding that the bride's family should pay for, but she had a feeling that theirs was going to be rather more expensive than her family could possibly afford. She could use whatever extra coin she could scrounge up.

Anyway, Narcissa had brought them to a ridiculously fancy place for lunch — there'd been a live pianist and everything, it was absurd. She'd felt very much out of place, but at least she hadn't felt vaguely guilty for having too much money unnecessarily spent on her: the Malfoys owned the restaurant, and always ate for free. Narcissa explained the whole arrangement, supposedly the head chef was a muggleborn she'd known back during academy, she'd sponsored his entry into a culinary school on the Continent — and payed for his education there, of course — and helped set up the restaurant for him. The Malfoys did get a modest cut of the proceeds, of course, but Narcissa claimed to believe Britain was terribly short on decent places to go out...which wasn't entirely un-true? Even Síomha had noticed that proper restaurants were more common in other countries — Britain had plenty of cafes and teahouses, some sandwich shops and bakeries, but very few of the sort of places Narcissa was talking about. Supposedly the Malfoys didn't expect to make their money back, but they were willing to eat the loss to invest in the development of the city's culture.

Síomha really didn't know what to think about that, it wasn't the sort of motivation she'd expect from people like her. It wasn't news to Ceasaí, she'd discussed it with Narcissa before, though she didn't have much better of an idea of where that'd come from than Síomha did.

Lunch had involved plenty of lecturing on her table manners, spending much of the meal feeling frustratingly like a scolded child. Not unpleasant enough to get up and leave, but still not fun.

And there'd been more shopping after lunch — clothes this time. That had been rather more embarrassing than their previous stops, since it'd involved stripping down to her underclothes and being prodded at by a seamstress...with Narcissa in the room, mind. (She'd been uneasily aware of the fact that Narcissa was known to have women lovers.) She had offered to leave if it would make Síomha more comfortable, but she'd just shrugged it off. It was awkward, yes, but Narcissa made a point of introducing her to everyone as her aunt's future wife and generally kept a polite distance — she'd firmly put Síomha in the family don't touch category, it seemed. Besides, Narcissa was the one who actually knew what she was doing, arranging it all would just be a hassle if she wasn't actually in there with her.

Síomha still wasn't used to the whole process of going through a proper seamstress and all, specially-tailored clothes, especially with Narcissa around being weird, but she got through it. No, they had to wait for the finished products to come in through the floo — she did have sketches though. They'd gotten one outfit Narcissa said was appropriate for being out in public where she might be seen by important people, definitely more so than muggle denims. The set of trousers and tunic and cloak felt slightly silly to her, but it was comfortable enough. How the trousers laced snug around her waist and hips felt rather great, honestly, she'd had to resist the urge to check out her own arse in the mirror right in front of Narcissa and the seamstress...

The memory was making her feel a little warm, but that probably had more to do with Ceasaí's thumb gently trailing up and down her neck.

And Narcissa had talked her into getting a dress, too — not a super formal one, but nice enough that she wouldn't get funny looks showing up to tea with Narcissa's lady friends or whatever. Síomha didn't like wearing dresses much, but she accepted that the situation sometimes called for it, and Narcissa had suggested she see how she felt about wearing skirts when she had some decent stockings on under them, so, might as well. Not like she was losing anything by trying it, since she wasn't paying for the bloody thing.

(Besides, it was rather more difficult to wear trousers while pregnant, so. Get herself used to it, not a bad idea.)

Accepting the sketch from her, Ceasaí said, "Ah, blue, I do think blue suits you."

Síomha sniffed. "Good that you do, I guess — I'll be in blue for the wedding, you know."

"...Really? I thought Christian women wore white."

"No, that's muggles. The colours vary, it depends, but I'll be wearing blue." Different colours had different associations, which one someone went with depended on what they wanted to say — but blue was Mary's colour, so it was common at weddings.

"Ah, good to know. We should talk about that's going to look like at some point, but it'd be easier if we knew what season it was going to be..."

Their last shop had been a hosiery, which Síomha hadn't even realised existed — muggle shops that sold solely underthings, sure, but she had never been in one on the magical side. Anyway, they didn't sell only underwear, there'd been a few other extra things as well. One thing Síomha ended up with were a pair of cloth gloves, which were comfortable enough, she guessed. Wearing gloves always felt a little awkward to her — she did wear them when necessary to handle various alchemical substances, but she didn't like it, felt clumsy — but the material was pleasant enough, at least, she could suffer through the situations that called for them when it came to it. Embarrassingly, Narcissa had insisted on getting her a proper bustier, the process of getting 'properly' fitted for one very uncomfortable. (Narcissa had left the room for that one.) Ceasaí said ones that were properly fitted to you were more comfortable, and yes, she had said that before, and so had Narcissa, Síomha guessed she'd see for herself when it came in. There'd also been a chemise, in the somewhat old-fashioned underclothes sense, and Narcissa had broached the subject of underpants too, but she'd put her foot down on that one — she could buy her own knickers, thank you.

"Oh, and what have we here?"

Síomha glanced up — she'd handed Ceasaí the bag she'd come away from the hosiery with, for her to look through while she talked. Only looking through the things with one hand, of course, the fingers of her other still lightly wandering up and down Síomha's neck (which continued to be distracting). She'd pulled out a thin band of fabric, embroidered with a lacey curly knotting pattern, strings of beads dangling off of one side, black and white and red and yellow. "That's a garter, obviously. For the stockings?"

"Pretty." She found the stockings themselves next, thin but opaque, soft fabric, running between her fingers. "How long are these supposed to be?"

Instead of answering aloud, Síomha just rested the side of her hand about halfway up her thigh.

Ceasaí's eyebrows arched up a little. Her lips tilting in a smirk, she muttered, "Would you be willing to show me?" Her tone, the angle of her smirk, her thumb lightly running along Síomha's jaw, the dancing in her eyes, made it very obvious what she had in mind.

"Ah..." Her throat suddenly feeling weirdly dry, her face warm — not the sort of clothing she normally wore, unreasonably embarrassing — she swallowed. "If you can transfigure one of your dresses for me?" She didn't own anything that'd work with it right. "And, how long until you mean to start dinner? If we want to...take our time."

She grinned. "There's plenty of time. And if we get caught up, we can always get pizza — I somehow doubt Violet will be disappointed."

"Okay, sure then. You know, if you wanted to play around with sexy clothes sometimes, you could have just said something."

The grin fading a little, Ceasaí blinked down at her for a couple seconds. "I suppose I didn't think of it. You don't tend to dress particularly feminine."

"I don't, sure," she agreed, shrugging. "Playing around in the bedroom can be fun, though. I've done it with lovers before."

"Oh. Well, noted, then."

She knew where Ceasaí's thoughts were going, headed her off quick. "Before we go, I wanted to ask — what was that with your niece and me? I mean, what was today about? It was so weird."

Disappointingly, Ceasaí gave her a careless shrug. "Can't say for sure. Narcissa has always been an odd one, private. That girl never just comes out and says what she's thinking, and she can be very oblique about even suggesting it too."

"Well, that's a fecking pain," Síomha muttered, glaring up at the ceiling.

"Honestly, Síomha, if I had to guess, I'd say she's trying to welcome you into her world, in her own odd, Narcissa way. She must have guessed that there are some things that, growing up in the environment you did, you don't have — she's simply taken it upon herself to fill in the gap. Don't be surprised if you get an invitation to afternoon tea where it would be appropriate to wear some of the things she bought you today."

...Okay. She could see how that almost made a weird kind of sense. "So, that's not a thing noblewomen do sometimes, this is Narcissa just being hospitable in the most confusing, indirect way."

"Er..." Ceasaí hesitated for a moment, wincing just slightly. "Not necessarily. It's, ah, expected in some circles, in fact. If somewhat old-fashioned. It used to be common for the women of a family to...provide certain personal and household essentials ahead of a marriage. Things that might otherwise be expected to be included as part of a dowry, if you understand my meaning."

So, she was saying Narcissa had explicitly taken her out shopping today because she was poor. Síomha didn't know how to feel about that. "I see."

"Today isn't how that's done, however. Normally, there would be a get-together, over a meal and several bottles of wine, and they would hand over the gifts, and their good wishes for the marriage, you know the kind of thing. Similar to a muggle bridal shower, I suppose. So, this outing wasn't that, exactly. But it's possible Narcissa was thinking of it, and...trying to welcome you in a way that makes sense to her, in alignment with the attitudes and stories she grew up with. Am I making any sense?"

"You are." Narcissa was trying to be nice and thoughtful, it'd just come off as odd and vaguely condescending, because they'd grown up in different worlds and didn't have the same set of social cues. Ceasaí didn't think she'd been trying to be rude on purpose, which was the important thing — she'd have plenty of time to feel out her...

...future niece, she guessed? Wow that was strange, she was literally Narcissa Malfoy...

Pushing out a long sigh, Síomha groaned, "All right, I guess I'll take it as a compliment, then." A little squirm to get an elbow under herself, she sat up — the hairpin was still where Ceasaí had put it, she could vaguely feel the weight on that side of her head, her hair held from moving freely. Smirking back at Ceasaí, she said in a bright, bouncy chirp, "Come on, let's go play dress-up."

Ceasaí laughed aloud, shaking her head. "If that's what we're calling it..."

Blluuuuhhh, I've been really struggling with this fic lately. I may or may not start a rotation for my evening writing sessions, like with TGW and First Contact, just to give myself a break to refresh. We'll see how it goes.