Chapter Text
Rain was rustling against the window pains and there was a cozy lull in the shop that Talia enjoyed after the morning’s rush, both her mother and her engrossed in their pwm work in companionable silence. Time for working on her more pressing projects, time for a cup of tea, for checking her hair. Knowing full well that her mother’s stern eyes were still on her, she instead focused on her own work, though surreptitiously sewing a silver thread into the fabric of her own skirt. It would catch the light just so and show off the gentle curves of her hip and waist.
Her mother, in severe dark grey, had pursed her lips, but said nothing. It served no one to upstage the customers, she’d said, and while it was a must to be well-turned out, bright colours that were anything other than background comforters were out of place at Madam Malkin’s store for all occasions. Talia knew this, but there had to be a life outside. She’d not escaped Hogwarts a year ago to be stuck in another forbidding building in dark colours, not her.
She made sure to tug one golden brown curl out of her bun so that it’d ornament her face. A gentle cough snapped her back to the task at hand and she quickly went back to hemming the red velvet skirt, hiding her own blue dress with the silver thread underneath the yards and yards of ruby.
Another cough and Talia sat up quickly as she saw a shape approach through the rain with long, self-assured strides. The bell above the door gave a happy little jangle as the door opened and was shut sensibly against the weather. Talia looked up and stopped in her tracks.
Of course she had seen her before, Minerva McGonagall, she had been two years below her, but the last time Talia had seen her, she’d been all elbows and knees, too tall to be graceful, her face flecked with red spots as she shouted bloody murder at the person who’d knocked the bludger into her. Now, there was a newfound grace about her. The most striking thing about the woman was the sudden turn of her head as she took in the room of the shop, the piercing look as she gazed in perfect stillness, intent on whatever she had focused on, the tanned expanse of her neck a graceful arch.
Minerva stood like someone who had never apologised for anything in her life, including the inexcusable drab grey cotton monstrosity she had put on. It was clearly home-made by someone who might possibly hate her and was quite probably blind. Talia lowered her work and sat up a little straighter as her mother approached.
Minerva waited, at ease, as though she was unafraid of everything. She had the kind of face that looks most natural in a stern expression, but when her warm eyes met Talia’s, she felt a sudden lurch in her stomach, a clumsiness to her fingers, as though she had gone downstairs and missed a step. Her thin mouth curled gently into a smile of recognition. The needle escaped Talia’s grasp and she fumbled to get it back, summoning it with a quick flick of her wand. She was taller than her now and the height difference was not helped by Talia sitting down.
“And what can we do for you, dear?” her mother trilled.
Minerva turned away from Talia to address her mother and Talia hurriedly focused on her work again, the red swimming in front of her eyes. Minerva’s black leather boots were well-kept, but worn. They were boots Talia imagined you could do almost anything in, work on a farm, ride a dragon, tame a merbeast.
“Talia – Measurements,” her mother said after a while, dragging Talia out of her daydream. She stood up, immediately feeling too big for the room and worried about bumping into things, painfully aware of her own girth in comparison to the tall, strong woman in front of her.
Minerva faced her amicably and outstretched her arms. Talia obediently took the measuring tape and guided it along Minerva’s body with her shaky wand. She was more muscular than was immediately obvious, lean arms covered by the sensible sleeves of the awful dress. Kneeling at her side to measure her legs, Talia saw that they were slightly too long for her frame, but striking nonetheless.
Talia looked up at her to ask her to move her skirt so that she could make the tape snake up Minerva’s inner leg and saw that Minerva was watching her movements with intent curiosity, her every move intently with that same gentle tension she had noticed earlier. Everything about her seemed deliberate, how she held her head and limbs, every movement delicate and precise. Minerva’s eyes on her suddenly had her heart hammering. Talia forced herself to snap out of it and keep measuring, but when she accidentally brushed against her fingertips, she could feel the barely controlled magic under her skin and flinched back inadvertently.
Talia hurriedly stepped away when she was done and mumbled an excuse as she went to help her mother select the cloths or do anything than be impaled under the eyes of this fierce woman anymore. She felt even shorter and more fumbling than she usually did.
“If you are fine with something somewhat pre-fabricated and are willing to wait, we can have something ready in an hour,” Talia heard her mother say through the strain of not looking at Minerva.
“That would be lovely, thanks,” Minerva said in that lilting accent of hers. “I’ll wait in the Café next door.” Talia had seen that she looked in her direction when she said it, but suddenly did not dare to look up because everything in her was awash with a longing she did not know she possessed. She did not know what was possessing her to be quite this silly. She almost felt as though she had to—
The door had jangled shut behind her for but a moment when Talia realised she was suddenly standing up. “I’m taking a break, Mum,” she informed her mother as she followed Minerva outside as though drawn along by a string, as though summoned.