The young witch was easily cowed into silence as the seamstress busied herself in front of them once more. The witch's command was something of a blessing, perhaps, saving her from gossip getting back out of the shop itself. A Potts girl who couldn't hold her tongue, now that was something Millie really didn't care to be known for.

Still, it was hard to ignore the prodding from Mattie when the wary witch was tied up in her own fuss. While suppressing a giggle, Millie decided that a few more words couldn't hurt after all.

"Oh, I suppose I can," she relented, trying hard to keep her feet in place. Her stomach nearly did a flip on its own, as her insides bunched up with the warmth of eagerness Millie didn't want to let show. The older girl could have been asking the world from her, and she would have said yes.

Then her stomach flattened into a pancake. Before she knew what had happened, Millie found herself whispering back, "But only if you recommend one of yours."

Millie could hardly believe her own audacity. She had just made a demand of Mattie Farris, a seventh year, and a prefect to boot. Her eyes found the robes of the seamstress, begging them to turn around just to have an excuse not to talk again. Had the young witch been able to spell her own robes to size, she would have made them large enough to bury her embarrassment right then and there.

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