Though she had been at her aunt's now for a week, Eury was not quite recovered from the arduous journey from India—at least, that was what she had tried to claim. Apparently, it was impossible for her to simply reuse her wadrobe from the previous Season this year, and while her aunt was truly generous to be furnishing her with a new parade of dresses, shoes, hats, and underthings, actually visiting the fashion house was an exhausting experience.

(The Modiste Rose or one of the other Hogsmeade shops surely would have been less arduous, but all were inundated with orders for the upcoming Hogwarts ball, she had been told.)

Eury had, it seemed, been abandoned: the seamstress had gone off to show her aunt some fabrics, leaving the ersatz debutante on the podium, the pins of her half-finished ballgown stabbing her seemingly every time she breathed, for an inordinate amount of time. After waiting longer than she cared to for their return, the blonde gave a small sigh, gathered up her skirts, and sort of... waddled her way back to the seating area. In retrospect, it was rather unwise for her to sit given the dress's state, but sit she did, an action that prompted three things in quick succession: a tear in the too-tight fabric around her hips, a sharp stab from a pin into her bosom, and a curse word of frustration leaping, surrpisingly unedited, from her tongue.