"Those robes look marvelous on you."
Harry fidgeted as Mrs. Malfoy looked at him with a beaming smile on her face. He was glad that she was so happy, but honestly, over robes?
And they did not look marvelous on him. They were like the robes that the Malfoys had filled his cupboard with since he came to the Manor for the summer, all tight and uncomfortable and formal. And they all had silver on them somewhere, like silver trim, or they were just made of silver cloth. Harry didn't know why the Malfoys were obsessed with silver, but he didn't like it.
Mrs. Malfoy stepped in front of him, and abruptly stopped smiling. Harry looked at her warily. They were in the middle of a wizarding tailor's called The Right Fit, and behind her was a huge expanse of red and green and blue silk formal robes that Harry hoped he never had to wear. They looked like he would trip over them if he took a step.
"Oh, Henry." Mrs. Malfoy reached out to cup his cheek, and Harry found himself leaning into her hand without thinking about it. He did like spending time alone with her. He just didn't like the way they were spending it. "You're unhappy. What is it? The robes? The color?"
"Both," Harry said, and ducked his head a little when he saw how stricken she looked. He didn't like causing his mother pain like that. He didn't like causing anyone pain. "I just—they're too tight, and I don't like them, and I think they wash me out."
"On that last, you're wrong," Mrs. Malfoy responded gently. "They go with your coloration. Draco wears robes like that all the time."
"And we're identical twins, so what looks good on him has to look good on me. I know." Harry sighed. "Forget I said anything."
"No, I will not." Mrs. Malfoy's voice was quiet. "I want to know what you would like, Henry. What can I do for you? What kind of robes you would prefer to buy?"
Harry swallowed. She sounded like she meant it. And she wasn't Aunt Petunia, who would pretend sometimes when he was really little that she was going to buy something just for Harry and then laugh at him for believing her.
No. Mrs. Malfoy just abuses house-elves.
Harry put aside those thoughts for a second, because he didn't think they would help. He took a deep breath and said, "Just casual robes, like the ones that we wear at school. Can we do that? I don't really care that much about the color, as long as they don't have silver or gold everywhere. It—it makes me feel like I'm galloping around being royal or something. I hate it."
"Malfoys are not royal, but we do have the money to buy you anything that you want, Henry. You have only to ask."
"School robes and casual robes are different things," added the tailor, Farthingale, abruptly appearing around a corner. He was a tall man with white hair and golden eyes who probably would have made a good Malfoy, Harry thought. "But we can certainly introduce the young master to a selection of casual robes, if that would work for both of you, Mrs. Malfoy."
"It works very well for me." Mrs. Malfoy's voice was quiet. "What about for you, Henry?"
Harry nodded hesitantly a second later. It seemed that he might get rid of the horrible silver robes after all, and look more like a normal person. Even if nothing about his life had ever been or would ever be normal.
At least his clothes would be.
And the way Mrs. Malfoy smiled when she saw him smiling outdid all the beaming looks that she'd ever given him before.
....
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