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Hidden Behind Silk

"Good morning, Madam Malkin!" You greet your employer with a large smile. You have always liked her more than you liked your family. This smile is genuine, as opposed to the one given to your mother just this morning, but your mother must not know that. She would not like to know that her perfect daughter is not all that perfect. You put your bag down on a chair in the back of the shop.

"Good morning, dear," your employer replies, mirroring your smile inch for inch. She tosses you your apron, the one with the never-ending pocket filled with all your various necessities. "The shop will open in ten minutes. Help me with the finishing touches on this dress robe till then, will you?"

"Sure," you respond eagerly as you walk over to the dress. It is a thing of beauty. It is deep purple silk, and its sleeves begin narrow and widen to a degree where they let only the tips of the wearer's fingers show. The bodice of the dress was tight, and yet the skirt widened considerably. The skirt came up short over one leg, and draped to the floor over the other. Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for a pin. You shake your head and steady your hand, taking a deep breath before continuing the work of narrowing the waist. You do not know what has come over you. It's just a dress! You've seen hundreds of them before. Why the sudden reaction? You shake your head and start to go back to working, but a hand on your shoulder stops you. You look up into the face of your employer.

"I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me, I'm sure I'm over it-" you begin.

But she is shaking her head. "Go put it on," she orders, concealing a smile. Your brows furrow involuntarily as you levitate the dress carefully into the changing room. You step into the dress carefully as not to tear it, then fasten it with a quick charm.

You take a deep breath as the jittery feeling you had felt when first donning it fades and step out of the room. Madam Malkin is standing right out side. Her eyes widen as she now openly smiles.

"I suspected as much, if I wasn't sure. Jennet Rosmarine Shanor, this dress was made for you!"

"But, Madam, you sewed it for Mistress –"

"I know who I intended it for, but the silk had a different notion. Come here, Gareth. Do you not agree that it was made for her?"

As the man steps forward, you grin and then quickly tuck it away. It would not be taken lightly if you were caught befriending a Mudblood. It would also not be taken lightly that you know him well enough to know he is a Mudblood. He is supposed to be just another customer.

"She does indeed look lovely. Magnificent, even. Stupendous, if she were to allow me to go so far."

You blush deeply. He does not bother to conceal his smile, though he knows the risk to his life. He must have realized that from the outside it would not look out of the ordinary for a young man to be smiling flirtatiously at young woman. Even if she did have far superior bloodline.

"No, sir. I would not tolerate such language and flattery. It really is unseemly."

"As if you could ever be unseemly, my lady," he retorts boldly. You glare at him, though he can see the pleasure in your face. You want to warn him, not upset him.

"Oh! I had better get out of this! There is work to do!" you exclaim, having forgotten that he is, after all, a customer. Otherwise, he would not have taken up showing up here. You walk back into the dressing room, undo the fastening charm and gingerly step out of the dress. You put it delicately onto a hanger, walk out of the changing room, and hand the dress to Madam Malkin. "Here, I'm sure it will serve its owner well."

Madam Malkin chuckles. "Dear, I already told you. The silk chose you. Mistress Malfoy will just have to settle for the next one I make her. She does not know of this one's existence yet. Now, put that away, and go tend to your customer."

You know better than to argue. When she gets an idea into her head, she doesn't let up on it. "Yes, Madam," you reply submissively, stowing the dress away in your bag and going to Gareth.

"Hello, my dear," he whispers so quietly even you barely hear.

"Hello, handsome," you reply, just as quiet. Out loud you say, "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Give me a kiss," he whispers. "I would like a pair of dress robes," he says, just loud enough so the customers piling in would hear.

"Right away, sir," you reply. You take out your measuring tape and as you measure the length of his arm, he slips something into your hand inconspicuously. You raise your brow and stow it away quickly, having recognized a note by touch. You would read it as soon as would be possible. You scuttle off to find him a suitable pair of dress robes, and concealed by the aisles of material, you pull out the note. You carefully unfold it, making sure not to make any noise. The inside is an invitation to a ball. A masquerade ball. Oh, how you yearn to go. If only it was possible. But the second your family found out, they would be all over it. They would kill him, if they found his name, and you would be worse than dead.

After writing a quick note and stashing it in your sleeve, you bite the inside of your lip in dread and return to your business of finding robes. You find four suitable ones and bring them back to him. You levitate them all and turn to him. "Which will it be, sir?" you ask him politely.

He raises his eyebrows and looks at them. He points at the dark blue ones. You hand them to him in order for him to try on, slipping the note into its folds. He takes them. As he passes by, he whispers, "They go with your dress, my beauty."

You blush and turn to hide it from onlookers. This was a bad day in terms of concealing, nearly slipping three times already, and it was only ten past eight! You wait patiently for him to emerge, contemplating what you wrote, and hoping he would understand. It was just too public there! You would die if he did.

He emerges in the robe, looking amazingly handsome in it. You wish you could go with him, but know it is impossible. Looking down to hide tears that are sure to fall, you catch a glimpse of his sleeves and nearly giggle.

"Come here, sir," you demand. A smile is playing at your lips despite your shining eyes. "Your sleeves must be a foot too long."

He smiles back and steps forward. He holds out his arm. You quickly start shortening it to the right degree. As your hand runs over his, you feel a note slip up your sleeve. You nod slightly in recognition, then go back to your task. When you are done, you turn your face to his. "Go take a look." You direct him to a mirror he already knew of. When he is gone you turn your back to the crowd and open the note. The note is written in a brisk handwriting.

'Of course I understand,' it says. 'But I would still like to see you in private today. As I have told you, I don't care about death. I only care about your welfare and your love. If it causes you distress, I will not, of course, press the matter. But I do have to say this. You already have a gown, and a beautiful one at that. And it's a masquerade. No one will recognize you, with the exception of Madam Malkin, as no one knows of the dress's existence. All you need is a mask. And then I will have the prettiest partner in whole world.'

You bite your lip to hold back tears as you wait for him to tell you if he likes the robe. You wonder why he has to be so damn chivalrous. It would be so much easier if he would be afraid of death. Then you could both agree on something. But as he turns and smiles, you know you are being silly. You love him so much for his chivalrous trait, not despite it.

"It is delightful, my lady. How much do I owe you?" your chivalrous knight asks.

"Fifty Galleons, sir. You may pay me after you have changed back into your regular robes," you reply evenly.

His grin widens as he nods and goes back to the changing room. You go behind the counter and grab a new scrap of parchment. You scribble hastily, and then re-read it to make sure it is legible.

'Six o'clock at the usual place. Be there.'

You fold it neatly and waited for your love as he walks up to the desk. "Fifty Galleons, my lady," he says as he puts the money down on the counter.

"Thank you," you reply evenly, wondering how you will give him the note. But he has already thought ahead, he knew you would want to say something.

"And…"He pulls out another five galleons. "This is for you. A tip," he explains. You slip the note into his palm as he hands you the gold.

"I can't accept this," you tell him, trying to hand it back. The scam is over, he should take the money back. But he shakes his head.

"You are supposed to keep the tip. Keep it." He turns around and leaves the store. You shake your head as you watch him go. But the door doesn't even manage to close all the way before a new customer walks in.

Your eyes widen and you stumble out from behind the counter. "Mother," you call, greeting her with a false smile. You pray to G-d that she can't tell how false it is, or how panicked you are to have her arrive just then.

"Jennet. I need a pair of dress robes for the masquerade this weekend. Can you organize a pair for me?"

"Right away, Mother. Can I just take your measurements? I don't remember them by heart."

"Yes, very well. I need to talk to you anyhow," your mother replies offhandedly.

"Right this way, Mother." You point her over to a distant corner, taking a deep breath before following her. You're in no mood for a confrontation now, but one is bound to happen. You can feel it. She must have caught you watching Gareth leave. "What did you want to talk about?" you ask her as you begin measuring her waist.

"Who was that man?" she asks adamantly. You wonder if she has a single subtle bone in her.

"A customer, Mother. Why?"

"You were watching him. You tell me why."

"He gave me a large tip and refused to take it back. That is all." You think back to evenings spent with him, stating quite seriously that this is not nothing. You shake away the memories, worrying your mother would catch sight of them in your eyes.

"I hope you are not lying to me. He's a mudblood, I can tell." She sniffs the air, and you have a strong impression of a dog. “With your father dead, and only one brother, it is up to you to withhold the family name. You know I will go to whatever measures to stop you from a treacherous marriage. So don’t even bother getting close with any of those…slime.�

"I'm not lying, Mother. He is just a customer who was being kind. And you do not have to threaten me yet again. I am well aware of the fact that you would roast my boyfriend alive if I ever got one. But I don’t have one, so you needn’t worry," you inform her, lying fluently. You have been doing this for a long time now. "I have your measurements. I'll go find you the most elegant dress I can find," you assure her, walking away. You search through the ready made dresses and pick two out that would suit your mother perfectly.

You return swiftly to your mother. "There are these two," you tell her, holding them out. "Or we can make you a custom made one, like Narcissa is getting. Which would you rather?" You don't care which she picks. She is in a good mood, but you want her to leave before she gets nasty.

"Oh, this ice-blue one in marvelous. I will buy it. Worst comes to worst, you can mend it for me at home. Correct?"

"Yes, Mother," you reply.

"How much is it?"

"Fifty Galleons, Mother."

“Here you go, Jennet.� She hands you the money promptly. “I will see you later at home.�

“Yes, Ma’am.�

She walks out of the store and you sigh with relief. You walk back to the counter as a new customer approaches.

~*~*~*~*~

You rub your face tiredly with your hand as you enter the dark alley and reach a wall that would have made anyone else turn back. Well, almost anyone. You walk right into it – through it, smiling as the cool illusion passes over you like a waterfall. As you reach the other side, you cherish the scene in front of you. There, in the middle of the city, lays a little piece of heaven. A weeping willow, a bench. Soft grass beneath your feet. You close your eyes and take off your shoes. Suddenly there are arms around your waist. You recognize Gareth’s arms immediately.

You lean back against your man and turn your head so it’s resting on his neck. You breathe in his scent, and it sends you into a high. He moves his head and kisses the delicate skin of your neck, sending you spinning. You turn around and meet his eager mouth with yours, kissing him deeply, an apology for the day’s cold appearance. You go deeper, making up for time lost because of your family. Then you lean your forehead against his, and stare into his deep green eyes.

“It’s a masquerade,� he whispers. “No one will know who you are. That’s what masks are for.�

“But I can’t lose you!� you cry softly. You can’t help it. You break down, and the tears flow.

“You won’t,� he replies as he wraps his rams around you and brings you close. You weep into his shoulder as he lifts you and carries you over to the bench.

“Promise?� you sob quietly.

“Promise,� he assures you.