The Life of Hadrian Black

Chapter 5- Diagon Alley

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After having visited Gringotts to extract some money from the Black Vaults, the trio head straight over to 'Mademoiselle De Noir's', an upperclass tailoring shop sat on the border between Diagon and Knockturn Alley, that sees many Lords and Ladies alike.

Harry noticed people gawking at them as they entered the shop, causing him to unconsciously walk with a perfect posture and an elegance that is not usually seen in children of four years old.

The bell tinkled, signalling their arrival, and, almost immediately, tall woman with long, black hair flowing in a glossy sheet down her back, dark, yet piercing eyes and tan skin glides over to them. She raises an eyebrow when she notices that one of her three customers was Sirius Black, the wrongly accused mass-murderer, but doesn't comment. Something, the wizard in turn, was immensely grateful for.

"My name is Ophelia De Noir, how can I help you today, gentlemen?"

"My nephew,-" Sirius places a hand on Harry's shoulder firmly, "-he is to be styled an entire new wardrobe."

If Ophelia thought that to be slightly strange, she hid it well, speaking elegantly. "Of course. Follow me, gentlemen."

Harry unconsciously lets out a quiet sigh of relief, as the Mademoiselle leads them to a small section of the shop that was namely mirrors. He didn't want people to fuss over him for something he did not care to remember, despite the fact that he could.

"Step onto the stool, please, young man." Harry does as he's told, as Ophelia claps her hands, bringing all the trailering tools on the table next to them to life. They hover around the woman's being, waiting for a command.

It takes all of Harry's will not to gape. Ophelia De Noir didn't seem like the kind of woman to appreciate such actions, as she turned her attention to his Uncle's. "What styles are we looking at, my Lords?"

Sirius launches into action, "At least ten casual outfits and casual-formal outfits each, six cloaks, a dozen sets of night clothes, a couple of leather outfits-"

"Throw in a few turtleneck jumpers."

The Black Lord nods along with his mate's suggestion, agreeing completely. "Yes, a few turtleneck jumpers, several sets of formal robes for all occasions and two or three dragon hide jackets."

As his Uncle Paddy finishes his spiel, Harry stares at him with an unreadable expression on his face. He'd never been treated to anything before, let alone piles, upon piles of incredibly expensive clothes. He didn't really know how to react to the seemingly natural action.

Ophelia De Noir looked at the young boy she was serving with a hidden surge of curiosity. She'd never seen such a blank expression on the face of a child that young before, and, admittedly, she couldn't decide if it unnerved her or intrigued her. He was a small boy, who looked much to thin for someone of his age, but was by no means feminine-looking. She wouldn't have batted an eyelid at his appearance at all, if it weren't for his eyes.

Because, oh, those eyes!

They were the most beautifully terrifying green she had ever come across, glowing with an almost inhumane hue. 'Yes', Ophelia mused silently, 'the Black Heir was meant for great things. She could see that.'

Internally snapping out of her thoughts, the Mademoiselle nods to the Black Lord's rather expensive requests that her self-writing quill had noted down. She turns to the boy. "Do you wish for any particular colours?"