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( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖘𝖎𝖝 ) — i remember it all too well
The last thing Evangeline and Sirius needed was to be cooped up in Number Twelve Grimmauld place. If they had to spend a single second longer in that house of horrors without a break, packed into the townhouse like sardines in a can, someone was going to lose a limb.
Despite the sultry skies of summer still out out when they left Islington, a pitch-black night fell quickly, as if the clocks had been turned back. The city of London was alive with light — shops, cafes, (plus most importantly) bars and clubs threw illumination at the street like baited hooks. Office workers spilled onto the pavements, mingling with party-goers, the yellow drips of lamp washing colour from their faces as they passed beneath. From a bird's eye view, the metropolis glowed orange like a raging fire.
Evangeline's natural-born elegance and grace had only been slightly thwarted by the exchange of her usual opulent robes for a rather skimpy outfit. She herself had been content with a simple altercation to one of her existing day-dresses, but Dora wasn't having it, and ransacked a couple boutiques on her way home from Auror duty.
That was how the pure-blood witch ended up looking like this. A slinky silver top clung to her body like a second skin, hugging her slim torso and petite but perky breasts. It was made out of a mesh diamante material that was surprisingly comfortable. Paired with it were a pair of dark-wash low-rise jeans, which outlined her wide hips and substantial backside, before they flared beautifully just below her knee. Unlike her usual jewellery, the only accessory her distant family members encouraged her to wear were a plethora of cheap bracelets and simple hoop earrings.
In other words, she looked like the sixth Spice Girl.
Thankfully, most of her makeup had remained untouched from its usual state, which was naturally glamorous and dewy — for the most part. Thick cat eyeliner marked out her dark brown eyes, and sparkly silver eye shadow dusted her lids. She drew the line once Dora pulled out a red lipstick, preferring her own pink gloss.
''I cannot even begin to fathom how Muggles wear these things,'' she wondered, staring back at herself in the reflection of a car window. ''Between this and no magic, it is no wonder most of them look so miserable.''
''I don't blame them,'' Dora replied, pursing her own wine-stained pout. ''Try a twelve-hour shift and see how you look after that, too. I proposed this plan myself, but I didn't think we were going to do it today!''
