footloose and fancy-free [billie]

Barbara’s mother was smiling indulgently in that desperate way (she wanted Billie and Kendrick to think well of her, probably) so Barbie cornered Billie a yard or so away from the cafe table her mum had commandeered while they’d waited, to save a modicum of face, and said, apologetically, “My mum’s so embarrassing.”

She’d never really gone out on her own in a city so large as London -- it was a rather different beast from Hogsmeade. Of her roommates, Barbara knew Hogsmeade the best (it was just a fact) and had felt safe dragging them ‘round to all her favourite spots and shops, but -- though she was suspicious she knew London better than Billie -- she wasn’t sure she knew it well. But she knew well enough how to behave in the Muggle world -- Florence had taken her once or twice, and the lessons Barbara had learnt from those outings were, mostly, that one was only as conspicuous as they acted.

“You’ll love muggle boutiques,” she said, praying she was right to say so, “They’ve got such charming little things, sometimes even my size, so you’ll probably have even better luck. Have you eaten yet or should we get dinner?”

She glanced over at her shoulder at her mum, who was still meeting Kendrick, and said, “Mum, Mum, Billie and I are going to go. We’ll stay close and I’ll meet you back at the Leaky in four hours, bye!”

Her mum had worried quite a bit -- Barbara was fifteen but looked ten, and Billie was fifteen but looked twelve -- but she’d let her have a pocketwatch charmed to chirp on the hour and made her wear some protective necklace she’d bought during the war (Barbara was convinced it was useless, but if it let her out during the summer…)

“We should get ice cream too,” she mused, latching onto Billie’s arm as they headed down the busy street, then -- with a little shake of her head -- “And tell me about the boy! What happened?”

@Billie Fay

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Billie said with a polite smile, glancing over Barbara’s shoulder at Mrs Gibson. She nodded when her friend talked about muggle boutiques. Could they really be that different from magical ones though, she wondered? “I’ve eaten already, but I don’t mind if you’re hungry,” she said, glancing back at Barbara. The blonde was a little nervous about heading into muggle London, but it was honestly more for the muggle part than the London part. Barbara was tiny, but she was a force to be reckoned with – it was hard to feel unsafe when Barbie was on her side. But she’d barely spent any time in muggle areas at all; it was the acting that put her on edge.

She gave Kendrick a small wave and another thankful smile as Barbara declared that they were leaving, and hoped quietly that he wouldn’t have to be there for long. She was beyond grateful to Kendrick for doing so much for her this summer. Well, she was thankful to Kendrick for a lot – like letting her live with him, and looking after her, and a million things – but this summer had been the first one where she’d really been social with her friends; he’d been the one dropping her off and picking her up most of the time.

Kendrick had really had to act like her parent in ways he just hadn’t needed to before, from meeting other people’s parents to having her boyfriend over for dinner. Billie was always acutely aware of how much space she took up in his life and tried to be as unburdensome as possible, but there were a lot of times when she couldn’t really make herself or her impact smaller, and in times like this – aside from feeling guilty about it – she just had to be grateful.

The girls set off, linking arms together as they walked. Billie nodded at the ice cream suggestion, thinking it was a rather warm day, then smiled when Barbara asked about the boy, her cheeks growing just a touch pinker. What had happened? A lot. Lots of kissing, mostly. “Well,” she started softly, wanting to share but a bit unused to the feeling. She didn’t know how to tell stories in the more dramatised way that made them more fun to listen to, like some of her friends could. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I told you I told him how I felt, and that he kissed me…” She thought back to the girls’ night sleepover they’d had towards the end of June.

“I saw him almost every day last month,” she admitted, a small, embarrassed smile appearing as she spoke. “And one day he just, sort of – if we’re only dating each other, then we’re boyfriend and girlfriend – or something.” Billie tried to copy his voice, more monotone and matter-of-fact and then laughed at herself, a light melodic sound against the chatter around them. She gave a tiny shrug, her expression clearly a mix of embarrassed and pleased. “Which was good,” Billie said honestly, “because I’m not sure if I would have asked.”

As Billie snuck a peek at the adults, Barbara snuck her own look over her shoulder, grimacing. “I’m not that hungry,” she said, but unfortunately she was. “I won’t keep you long,” she promised instead. “We can just stop on the way and pick up a toastie. Do you have muggle money?” She and her mother had needed to stop at the bank that morning, but she had a small bundle of notes in her bag now, folded into a pocket. How odd, that something as essential as money would be printed on something as insubstantial as paper. It felt less reliable even than parchment.

Neither Barbara nor Billie was particularly tall -- in fact, neither Barbara nor Billie was even average -- but Barbara felt obliged to trot anyway, hoping not to drag their pace down. Her friend seemed inclined, as Barbie had come to expect, toward nonchalance -- the tale of Billie and Phillip was not quite as sensational as it had seemed in letters. “Just like that?” said Barbara -- it wasn’t horribly romantic, was it? -- but she smiled quickly, and added, “Wow!”

In fact, if she tried a little harder, she could even believe it was a touch romantic -- Phillip was no grandstander, no swaggerer. That was a good thing. Not a very sensational thing, but surely not bad. More genuinely, her smile broadening a little, she said, “I think that’s sweet, that he did that. So you wouldn’t worry.”

This last bit might have been a reach, but Barbara was fine with that. It had been a flattering reach. She pulled them up short by a street vendor to order a toasted sandwich -- “Do you want something?” she added, remembering to be polite. “A drink?”

As they were heading on their way again (Barbara had let go of Billie’s arm in favour of her sandwich) she tilted her head to one side -- “You’ve seen him nearly every day? I thought he was Irish -- where has he been staying?”

More importantly, and asked more eagerly: “What have you been doing? Have you been on any proper dates?”

Billie nodded when her friend talked about food. “I don’t mind,” she said again. She ran a hand absentmindedly over her handbag to make sure, then nodded silently in response to the money question. Something about Barbara’s expression had caught her attention, and Billie wondered distantly if she, too, would have been embarrassed by her mother or father if one of them had been around and dropping her off today. It was an abstract concept. The thought drifted away as they put some distance between themselves and their respective guardians.

Just like that?

“Yes,” Billie said, still smiling a bit. It was quite plain, and forward, but that was just how Phillip was. Sometimes it made her a little nervous that he wasn't very verbally expressive – she had to infer how he felt from the things he did rather than the things he said, and it wasn’t really in her nature to err on the side of assuming people thought highly of her.

With her free hand, the blonde tucked some wispy strands of pale blonde hair behind one ear. There were a million more things she wanted to gush about, but the wanting-to-center-herself thing came with a little guilt, too, as it always did. Billie slowed to a stop as her friend did. Her pale eyes flicked over the drinks selection as she wondered if she should say yes just to make Barbara feel less pressured to eat quickly. “No thank you,” she said after a moment, giving her friend a smile, then waiting as she ordered.

She blinked when Barbie asked about him being Irish, and wondered momentarily how to answer that question. Should she say yes he was from northern Ireland but that he’d been living in Scotland with his uncle? Or that he was staying in London this summer with a friend in his year? It seemed complicated, and by the time the thoughts had crossed her mind she’d realised what Barbara was really asking, and felt excited to answer it. “Oh, Barbie, he has his license,” Billie said, glancing at her friend as they walked, unable to keep this one in. She was clearly thrilled by this fact – and trying to temper the emotion – and she hoped she’d see something of her feelings reflected in her friend’s eyes.

“He – ” she spoke a little quieter as they sidestepped a small group of people, and Billie reminded herself that she’d need to watch her language for their outing today. "He can apparate; he comes and picks me up,” she said. It felt like boasting, but she didn't know how to skirt that. “I suppose, a couple? We’ve been to a lot of places,” she added, wondering what exactly counted as a proper date. Had it been a date when he’d apparated them to his old house in Scotland and sat on a rug on the roof of an old barn? Or when they’d gone to that stony Irish shore? “He wants to take me to somewhere in Europe for a day,” she said quietly, her tone quite disbelieving. “I don’t think I’d be allowed.”

“Okay,” said Barbara, turning back to the toastie man -- she felt a bit guilty, like she’d somehow discouraged Billie from nourishing herself, but she also didn’t really want to buy them both drinks. She was worried enough about the sandwich -- to eat it, she had to clamp her purse under her elbow to keep the cheese and grease away from the fabric. Certainly drinks would have complicated it further.

She was almost too busy eating speedily to recognise her faux pas -- she registered it finally as Billie blinked with surprise, and was trying to decide whether to risk speaking with her mouth full to reassure Billie she had no need to answer a personal question like that (it wasn’t a personal question to her, of course, which made it a little silly to worry about, but she had long since learned that with Billie some things were more private) when her friend replied.

“Ach, my!” said Barbara -- “Has he taken you anywhere? Side-along?” She’d never tried that -- her mother preferred the Floo to Apparition. She was dead curious what it felt like -- she and Billie had another year still to go before they would learn how that, but she could hardly wait. Total freedom of location, she imagined it would be. But the sensation of Apparition was less a concern than where they’d been.

“A lot of places? Tell me more,” she pleaded -- “Where did you go?”

More important was where they were planning to go, it looked like -- though, privately, she thought that Billie was right that they wouldn’t be allowed to frolic off to , but she said, “Well, you’d have to tell me all about it, if you went! I’ve only been to the continent once but it was so lovely -- you must go to France, of course -- I’ll ask my mum to give me a list of her favourite shops, she’s always out there on the weekends -- ooh, there’s a chocolatier, she’s always bringing some home.”

This seemed like a lot of fluff, even to her, so she stopped and took a deep breath -- “Oh, this is all so exciting, I’m sorry!” she said, “Let me just --” she steered toward a wastebin to get rid of the grease-soaked paper that her sandwich had come in -- “Phillip sounds really so romantic.” Much more romantic than Barbara’s impressions of him had ever been, of course, but the enigma made it all the more fascinating.

Barbie’s pleading made her smile, her cheeks pinkening a little more just at the feeling of being put on the spot. She felt embarrassed, and a little uncomfortable (guilty?) to have all of the conversational focus – she made a mental note to make sure to ask Barbara more questions about her past few weeks after this – but she felt pleased, too. The embarrassment made her want to smile. It was nice that Barbie was excited. That she cared.

“Well,” she started slowly, a part of her noticing that the streets they were on was getting a little busier as they walked. “He took me to a place in Ireland where he and his family used to go when he was little,” Billie said. It felt a bit strange to be talking about it; at the time it had been such a serious, weighty, thing. Weighty because of his history, and his family situation, but weighty because of their feelings, too. She remembered wondering if the way she felt about him would just grow unspoken forever until it burst. She wondered if he felt the same way. But in this context, she decided, it was okay to talk about in this more simplified way. “He’s brought me to London a couple of times.” Billie glanced at her friend, a small smile that wanted to become a bigger one on her lips. “We saw a muggle movie.”

“Oh, of course I would, I…” Billie promptly fell quiet with a pleasant smile as Barbara gushed about going to France, and a list of places she’d need to visit. Billie really wanted to go to places in Europe, with Phillip. She’d go anywhere he wanted to, she thought privately. But if he wanted to go somewhere and she wasn’t allowed? Would she break the rules for him? Billie couldn’t honestly answer either way.

“Oh, don’t apologise,” she said quickly, watching the bit of paper fall into the bin. “Of course I’d want to share with you if anything ended up happening,” she answered, side-stepping to avoid a person hurrying in the opposite direction. After a moment, she added. “I do think he forgets sometimes that I have a curfew, and have to ask permission before I go anywhere.” The blonde looked up at some of the shops that they were walking past now, wondering where it was exactly that they were planning on going. She ran a hand over her purse again, subconsciously double checking that she still had it. The busier streets made her a little nervous, and she walked a bit closer to her friend.

Romantic? Billie thought of him like that, but of course it was difficult for her not to, given her own feelings. “He’s…” Billie paused for a moment, making sure she was saying what she wanted to. “He doesn’t speak a lot,” she glanced at her friend. “– about how he feels. But he can be very romantic, actually,” she added quietly, with a soft smile. She could have easily said more; despite not being used to the center of attention, if her friend was interested in knowing, Billie was more than happy to sing Phillip's praises. A part of her thought he might feel a little uncomfortable at the idea, but she couldn't help it; she thought so highly of him, and sharing her feelings with someone felt nice.

Barbara considered this information carefully, her lips pursed. A place of familial importance was certainly less mundane than going to London to see a movie, so she focused on that: “Wow,” she said. She didn’t know much at all about Phillip or his family (was Donnelly a pureblood name? She didn’t think so) but Billie had said it slowly, and carefully, so it was probably a big deal. “Did you meet his family? Or was it…” she hesitated, searching for a word that communicated how interesting she found it but, also, how much she disapproved. “Private?”

As they drifted back toward the busy walkways Billie stepped a little closer; Barbie threw her as reassuring a smile as she could muster. “What, doesn’t he!” she said, a little surprised. “Oh -- I suppose he’s seventeen.” Besides -- a disregard for the rules and the authorities did align much more neatly with everything she knew about Phillip Donnelly than, say, his quietly romantic side. It was a little comforting to have her judgments restored.

“Is he!” said Barbara; she’d said Phillip sounded romantic first, but it was still surprising to hear Billie agree. “Well, go on!” Barbara had talked Billie’s ears off about her own boyfriend, she was sure -- it was only fair that Billie have her turn now.

It was excitement enough that Billie had a boyfriend at all, she mused -- her friend had always been so timid. It suited, that she’d wound up with the worst conversationalist in Ravenclaw.

She pulled them to a stop in front of a shop, peering at the window -- the muggle clothes in the display were appealingly feminine, though more grown-up than Barbara thought she could wear. Still… “I like the colours,” she said, pointing out a mannequin in a robin’s-egg bubble skirt -- the mannequins creeped her out, though. Barbie had never been quite comfortable around muggle things -- they seemed so lifeless and dull in comparison to magical ones. But she screwed her courage -- “Let’s look!”

As she dug her heels slightly -- the glass door was deceptively heavy -- she said, “I’ve been writing to Killian -- he’s at that thing in America, you know -- and he said if I want trousers I should get the denim ones.” He’d also told her to shop in the children’s section; she was going to keep that to herself.

“Private,” she said definitively. Billie wanted to elaborate on it – explain the importance of the place he’d taken her – it was so rare that she had a story that was actually interesting – but it wasn’t her place to do so. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but Billie wouldn’t want her friends telling everyone that her parents were gone. Especially if they only wanted to do so as some kind of brag about how close they’d gotten to her or something.

She smiled, trying to keep the expression small and demure, but she was very readably pleased as Barbie realised that Phillip was able to do magic outside of school, and what that meant. The ability to apparate dissolved boundaries usually set by distance. Thrilling was a word that came to mind. “He bought me a necklace,” she told her, urged by Barbie’s go on! “And he wants to take me everywhere, like I said.” It felt very much like bragging at this point, so Billie was happy to look at fashion items through a window.

“I’m worried he’ll grow bored of me,” she added quietly, a thought that almost slipped away, lost in the noise and bustle of the busy street. The light blue was a nice colour, and Billie nodded, but didn’t say anything. She was only just getting used to wearing skirts that came above mid-calf, and the one they were looking at was definitely shorter than that. She smoothed her own dress over her hips self-consciously, nodding again as her friend suggested they go inside.

She followed her friend closely as they stepped through the threshold, sensing the difference between this shop and whatever its magical equivalent might be immediately. The lighting was different somehow – whiter – and the smooth, light-coloured floor made her think of a hospital, though she wasn’t sure why; Billie couldn’t remember ever having been in a hospital. It was roomy, though, and that wasn’t something that a lot of wizarding shops could claim.

“Oh, I’ve been writing to him too,” Billie said with a small smile, letting Barbie lead the charge. “Only just recently,” she added. He’d sent her a copy of the first Lord of the Rings book a week and a half ago, and they’d already written back and forth a couple of times since then. She hadn’t thought to ask him for fashion advice, though as she looked around at the brightly-lit very-muggle shop they’d just entered... She supposed he’d be the right friend to ask.

“Denim trousers?” she asked suddenly, glancing at Barbie as she processed what she’d just said, her eyebrows raised a touch. Was there anything more muggle than that? She tried to imagine either of them wearing them and couldn’t quite build the picture in her mind. “Jeans?” she added, her tone impressed. “Bold, Barbara.” She was teasing, but only partially – she smiled as she looked ahead, but the gentle pride she felt was earnest. She reached out and ran her fingers over the silky material of a long dress, but retracted her hand quickly as she noticed the large Maternity sign above it.

Billie tended to need some prodding to divulge anything good -- seemly, her mother would say, but right now the coyness was making Barbara mad with curiosity. For now, though, she thought it might not be so seemly for her to sate that curiosity -- Billie and Phillip were both very private people, and Barbara (who was a private person herself) supposed that was fair.

“Ooh, can I see?” she said, “Do you have it with you?” A necklace was quite romantic at first thought -- she wasn’t sure if Phillip had money, or a job, or elderly female relatives, so her second thought was that she ought to see it before she made any judgments in favour of him. He wants to take me everywhere, Billie added; this was something that couldn’t be construed in any way other than romantic, so Barbara sighed lightly. “He is a catch,” she decreed. This was as close to a ringing endorsement as she could bring herself to give -- he may have been a catch but he wasn’t a very personable one.

The Muggle store was foreign in an odd way, and cleaner and less dusty than a magical shop might have been. She paused by a row of plaid skirts, feeling the wooly material, but it was a dull dishwater colour -- it wouldn’t be flattering on either her or Billie -- so she moved on quickly, heading toward a more promising rack of patterned blouses. “Yeah,” she agreed, “I don’t know why I didn’t used to write to boys. They’re very…” she waved one hand to signal her inability to explain. “Killian kind of writes like he talks,” she said finally, “It’s quite funny.”

Bold, Barbara. Barbie glanced down to hide a little blush -- not just at the teasing, but at the word. How ridiculous it seemed, four years on, that she’d once wanted so badly to be in Gryffindor like Florence. (Like Mary, like Owain, like Killian…) Billie reached out for a silky dress, and Barbara hid a smile as she pulled her hand back hastily. “I don’t reckon I like the look of those,” she said. “They’re so… tight around the hips. There’s nothing left to the imagination. It suits boys alright, but…” She wrinkled her nose, headed around the display of maternity clothes to a rack of sundresses, plucked a hanger off the bar and held it to her torso.

“I’m far too short for this,” she said, and held it out to Billie. “You try.”

“Okay,” Billie replied simply. She felt a little reluctant, but only because, again, it felt strange to center herself in these kinds of conversations. She was much more used to Barbie talking about herself while Billie offered insight or supportive oohs and aahs here and there. Really, though, it felt nice to share, as if the bubble of happiness she’d been in with Phillip since… Well since Christmas, really, was finally spilling out a little.

The blonde reached under the neckline of the top she was wearing under her pinafore dress and drew out the necklace. The chain was silver and the little crescent moon and even smaller star to one side was very delicate. “Should I take it off or, is this…?” Billie tilted her chin up and looked to the side so her friend could have a look. She felt a little nervous for no reason.

When Killian’s writing came up, Billie almost laughed, feeling like she knew what her friend was trying to say before she’d finished saying it. She wouldn’t have thought to phrase it like that, but upon reflection, Barbara was exactly right. “It is, isn’t it?” Billie agreed, smiling. “Phillip writes like that too. Like he speaks, I mean.” She shook her head, wondering what either of those boys would have to say about her writing, or Barbie’s. She wondered if boys thought about things like that the way she and her friend did.

“Yellow?” Billie asked, unconvinced as she held the dress up to her body. “I only have two inches, max, on you Barbara,” she added, amused. She was glad in the moment that she wasn’t any taller though, because even though the dress wasn’t form-fitting or low-cut at all, it did come up to just above her knees. Scandalous. “Okay, I’ll try it on in a bit,” she said, folding the dress over her arm. “If we’re being bold.”

Something caught Billie’s eye and she moved past the sundresses to… Yes, it was as she’d suspected. “Jeans,” she declared, feeling a mix of disapproval and intimidation, with a little thrill in there somewhere.

“Oh,” said Barbara -- it seemed not to be an heirloom, sadly, but it suited Billie very well, and it made sense. Phillip had a good head on his shoulders, to have picked out something so fitting. “I like it,” she said definitively.

It was a bit of a comfort to hear that it wasn’t just Killian -- at least she could feel fully vindicated in the generalisations she’d made from his letters. “I don’t do that, do I?” she said, and tilted her head. “I wondered at first if it was a muggleborn thing -- you know, because muggles don’t write letters to each other as often as we do, anymore. But Killian is so well-read.”

It was a puzzle, of course, but she couldn’t deny liking it. She had a great appreciation for things, ideas, people that were more straightforward than she was. Her own letters, she thought, were less honest.

“Two entire inches,” she corrected Billie, chin dimpled with her smile. It was shorter on Billie than it would’ve been on her -- just skimming the top of her knees. “Oh, we are,” she said airily. She felt the material of a dress, very like the one she’d handed Billie, but in a fuschia so bright it hurt her eyes. Fortunately, Billie was moving on -- Barbara dropped the dress and followed.

“Well, if I try a pair, you’ve got to try one too,” said Barbara. “Just to see how it fits us! Please?” She unfolded a pair of them, let them unfurl to the ground. “We may have to roll them up at the ankles,” she predicted.

Billie shook her head. “Our tones are more… lettery, I think. Letter-appropriate. Not that I mind theirs,” she added, to clarify. She liked the way Phillip wrote – she read and reread his words a lot, and could hear them in his voice when she did. “Boys,” she said by way of explanation, a shrug and a sigh in her tone if not her actual actions.

“I don’t even own any trousers,” Billie protested. She had dresses, mostly, (soft cottons and wools fairly neutral tones) then a few skirts (the same) and a couple of winter and summer sets of robes (same again). She had one pair of hiking trousers that she never ever used, and then… Pyjamas, she supposed? She was really more of a nightie person than a flannel set person at heart, but the latter was generally more modest, a bonus while at school.

Billie moved over to the jeans section, placing her hand on one pair of pale blue jeans. Barbara was please!-ing her, so Billie knew that she’d agree, but she felt the fabric with her fingertips and wrinkled her nose to show a little distaste for good measure. Phillip wore jeans sometimes, but she didn’t have a problem with the way they looked – especially not the way they looked on him. The texture still didn’t feel right for clothes, though. She wondered how comfortable they could be, thinking that they couldn’t be very comfortable at all.

“Okay,” she said, more resolute as she read over some of the different labels. Straight-leg? Bootcut? Skinny? Definitely not those ones, she thought. “Gosh, there are a lot,” she said, checking the labels on a pair and trying to guess the sizes. “I’ll have to get a top to try on with them.” The one she had on under her dress was a little sheer. “Help me pick one and I’ll try it,” she agreed, smiling as she raised her eyebrows at her friend.

Barbara laughed -- boys! -- but didn’t press the point. What a relief to know that other girls were as bemused by them as she was. Sometimes she wondered if she was just sheltered, if she just didn’t know enough of them; she rather thought that knowing mostly dancers meant that she had just a slim understanding of quite the minority of them.

A nice minority, though; she thought of Owain’s awkward chivalrous airs and his attitudes and the way he moved sort of like a dancer when he wasn’t even thinking about it, and smiled to herself.

“None at all?” said Barbara -- though, come to think of it, she only had one pair herself, and they were a baggy, shapeless, unattractive thing she only wore backstage at dance. (Were trousers supposed to be plural even in the singular form? Surely not.) She gave Billie a wide grin: “Well, maybe you’ll leave with some!”

Probably not, though.

True to form, Billie seemed unimpressed with the texture; only years of stiff bodices and scratchy skirts could have endeared Barbie to denim, so she supposed that, being used to robes and modest dresses, Billie had no chance. Even so, she was bravely picking out a pair -- even saying she’d need to choose a top, too.

“Ooh, like a proper muggle!” said Barbie; she almost clasped her hands with enthusiasm before thinking better of it. Billie was so much more reserved than she was -- she thought it might do to emulate that. She was fifteen now, certainly too old to behave like a silly child. “I’ll do one too.”

She couldn’t hide a skip in her step as she led her friend to a nearby display of blouses, inspected the neckline on one with mock fascination. A little pink in the cheeks, she said quietly to Billie, “Muggle girls’ necklines do… swoop so,” and set it back on the rack, moved to the next. “What colour do you want?” she added, rifling through a row of pastel button-downs.

“Yes, you must,” Billie said, amused. Jeans. Merlin. After some deliberation, she picked a pair that looked to be about her size, and picked another a size up, folding them neatly over one arm so she could take them to the changing room, wherever that was. “Blue?” Billie answered, uncertain. Was that too predictable of her? “A blouse,” she added, glancing up, in case that was up for debate. After a moment, her gaze slid from the tops Barbie was looking at towards a different rack, with t-shirts and other similarly adventurous things. Hmm.

As far as she understood, t-shirts were a wardrobe staple for muggles, and many witches and wizards. She didn’t own any of those, either. It didn’t feel right to own an item of clothing that didn’t require ironing to go out in, though her sense of right and wrong when it came to fashion was admittedly very old fashioned. Her clothes were decidedly magical, and also decidedly from, like, the middle ages or something.

She moved past Barbara, running her fingers over some of the different textured clothing items. “What do you think?” she asked, plucking something very not her from the wall. The blonde wiggled the hanger a little before holding it up to her chest. “What is it – a halterneck?” she’d only heard the term used for ballgowns before, rather than cotton tops. This one was pale blue, with little pale pink diamontes attached to the neck part.

“And this one’s yours,” she added, picking a matching one in green and wiggling it at her friend, amused.

“Of course,” said Barbara -- she picked out a nice sky blue blouse and held it up; she followed her friend’s gaze toward a rack of t-shirts, folded and stacked, but -- thankfully -- Billie seemed as eager as Barbie felt to try those. At least, she thought, looking disapprovingly at the v-neck on the blouse she’d picked up, t-shirts were a little more modest around the chest.

She put the blouse back and they moved along.

She laughed at Billie’s next suggestion -- it couldn’t possibly be serious. The shirt was showy and draped; it didn’t even have sleeves. Billie gave the hanger a little twitch and the rhinestones glittered mockingly -- Barbie laughed again, a little faint with lack of breath. “Oh, no,” she gasped, “Oh, my mother would die.” Billie handed her a matching one -- a softer colour, like jade, but no less shimmery in the front. Barbie took the hanger and ran her hand down the little appliques, shuddered at the texture.

“Alright,” she said, tossing her head slightly, “Have they got a tailor in here to fit them?” Surely one couldn’t be expected to do up the buttons herself; muggles didn’t have the benefit of magic to help with such things. It had been so long since she’d been to Madam Malkin’s -- these days her mother just had new robes owled in her size, or hemmed her sister’s old ones. She stood on her tiptoes to look around -- one nice thing about the muggle store was that it was so large it’d had to set out labels on everything, Maternity or Junior or Toddler -- but there wasn’t any for a tailor.

But -- concerningly -- there was one marked Fitting rooms. Entire rooms for trying on clothes, rather than the usual setups at wizard shops, with screens and a stool. Barbara plucked at Billie’s sleeve to get her attention and pointed it out -- “Do you reckon we’ve got to go over there to be helped?”