The evening that I unveiled the newly decorated hall and stairway to Walburga Black, she called to me from her portrait as I passed, 'Mr Potter, how long, exactly, until this Ministry Gala Dinner?'
'Four weeks today,' I answered.
'Where are your dress robes?'
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. 'What do you mean?'
'Exactly what I say, where are your dress robes?'
'Upstairs.'
'Go and put them on, I wish to see.'
I should think my eyebrows must have reached the freshly-painted white ceiling.
'I wonder if a Bombarda Maxima would work on that portrait,' I muttered to myself.
'Don't be silly, boy, you'd bring the house down.'
'I've been practicing it, in the garden, it's great for getting rid of unwanted furniture before I burn it. I'm very good at casting it non-verbally, you know. That should keep you on your toes every time I pass. Will he...? Won't he...?'
She narrowed her eyes at me. 'Stop dilly-dallying, boy. Go on. Go and put your robes on.'
I sighed heavily but did as she demanded.
'No, no, no. They won't do at all. You look like a fourteen-year-old boy.'
To be fair, they were the robes I'd worn to the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament, I'd just lengthened them a bit because I'd grown since then.
She continued, 'tomorrow, you must take yourself off to Mr Cargador on Hope and Anchor Lane in London. Tell him I sent you. Don't protest,' she looked at me sternly. 'You say you find these functions embarrassing, mortifying, and awkward, without the swearing. The first place to start is feeling good about yourself. As you have inherited my fortune, I wish you to spend some of it on a decent set of dress robes, dressing well is a form of good manners and as the saying goes, looking good isn't self-importance, it's self-respect.'
I raised an eyebrow, especially considering I'd been slumming it all day in joggers and an old t-shirt that had once belonged to Dudley.
She must have guessed my thoughts, 'yes, well, there's another saying about never wearing anything that panics the cat...'
I didn't know what she meant. 'Anymore?' I asked.
'Pardon?' she said.
'Of your little "Art of Dressing Well" quotes?'
'Plenty.'
'I shouldn't need expensive clothes to impress to these idiots, surely I've proved myself.'
'That is not what I'm saying, Mr Potter. I am simply saying you will benefit from a decent set of dress robes that suit your station in life.'
'Again, I don't need fancy over-the-top clothes, I'm not a peacock, I am who I am...'
'Only the rich man and the fool adorn themselves; the elegant man gets dressed. If you feel elegant, Mr Potter, it will help how you feel when you have to perform in front of others.'
I still didn't know what she meant.
'And buy a decent pair of shoes; it's impossible to be well-dressed in cheap shoes.'
'You speak from a very privileged perspective.'
'Mr Potter,' she sighed. 'You are a man of means. You have inherited the considerable combined fortunes of the House of Potter and the House of Black. Don't disrespect that. Do as I say. Mr Cargador will dress you in such a way that makes you feel comfortable and feel like a thousand galleons. Trust me, it will give you a surprising amount of confidence.'
That evening I Floo-called Luna and ended up arranging to meet her in central London. I decided Luna was the best option because she would listen and would understand as opposed to Hermione who might just railroad me with her opinions about everything. Besides, Luna understood without me having to say anything.
The following morning, and with a deep breath connected to mounting anxiety, I took myself off to see Mr Cargador, somewhat intrigued but also feeling completely out of my depth.
Mr Cargador greeted us with upmost politeness, though I caught him appraising my jeans with slightly narrowed eyes. He was a short man, with half-moon glasses and slicked-back black hair and an impressive moustache. He was impeccably dressed in a formal morning suit which he accessorised with highly-polished patent shoes and a tape measure about his neck.
I nervously explained our presence in his very precise and neat tailor's shop.
'Mrs Black is very right, Harry,' said Luna. 'You deserve to have nice dress robes that make you feel special but also make you feel more "Harry Potter-ish". Nice or expensive doesn't mean you have to look like Professor Lockhart. It can be quite understated.'
'Precisely,' said Mr Cargador in an even and polite tone. 'Do have a seat, Miss Lovegood.' He indicated to the large sofa positioned in the middle of the shop. 'Besides, Mr Potter, you would not find robes like Gilderoy Lockhart's in an establishment such as mine.'
Mr Cargador managed to show an incredible amount disdain in that small sentence despite his soft voice. He also put me at ease in uttering those words alone.
'Thank god,' I muttered.
Mr Cargador continued as if he'd not heard me, 'there is nothing more pathetic than a failed flamboyant. Besides, you are being fitted for evening wear and events such as the Ministry Gala Dinners are formal black tie so that a certain tone prevails. Black, and only black, for such an occasion. A man without impeccable taste who attempts to individualise this uniform—for evening wear is a uniform and its attractiveness lies precisely in its uniformity—risks looking like a snickering juvenile. As for you, Mr Potter, you are a man now and I shall take great pleasure in dressing you as such whilst imparting upon you what it is to have impeccable and unquestionable taste.'
I think my eyes must have widened considerably.
'It is permissible to have a hint of colour, and maybe in the lining too,' continued Mr Cargador, 'Slim-cut to make you look taller, to accentuate the slim waist and your broad shoulders. Because we are of the Magical fraternity, a single-breasted Prince Edward coat that is mid-thigh, though, personally, I prefer the Muggle shorter style because of its incomparable styling. Knee length or longer is wrong for you and risks swamping your frame. Single button because you need to show the dramatic contrast of the black coat against your white shirt. The lapels must not be notched, despite the current trend that is taking frock coats that way. It really doesn't make sense as a trend and is most inappropriate for traditional evening functions.'
'Not a tailcoat then?' I asked, briefly fancying myself as a reincarnation of one of those 1950s film stars.
'Not unless you want to look like a waiter, Mr Potter,' said Mr Cargador.
Luna giggled and I went off the idea very quickly.
Mr Cargador whipped his tape measure from around his neck and it began to measure me in all sorts of awkward places. When the end nudged my chin and prodded it up to make me stand straight, Luna giggled again. All the while, Mr Cargador drew out samples of black cloth and lining materials, putting them together and shaking his head, and rearranging them and pushing them around his long expensive shop counter.
Eventually, he said, 'no, no. no, this won't do at all.' And he started pulling open long narrow drawers and drawing out various coloured silk handkerchiefs.
He brought a bundle over and held them up, one at a time, next to my cheek.
'That one!' he exclaimed at a particularly subdued but rich forest-green and black paisley-flower pattern. There were occasional lime green highlights running through the patterns. 'Do you not agree, Miss Lovegood?'
'Oh yes,' she cooed. 'It suits his skin tones and brings out Harry's eyes particularly well without being too garish.'
'Exactly, Miss Lovegood, exactly,' said Mr Cargador with a distinct amount of satisfaction. 'It is a general rule, Mr Potter, that you only allow yourself one coloured accessory otherwise you will degrade your evening wear to little more than a sophomoric prom costume. That colour may be of rich, deep hues and certainly not bright red for fear you may resemble a child's cartoon of Count Dracula. You must, above all, surround the colour with black, whether the coloured item is a waistcoat, cummerbund, or pocket square. Please note, the bow tie is not included in the list of coloured accessories, despite what some may think and continue to insist on matching up with their othered coloured items. A coloured bowtie detracts from the wearer's face and is verifiably gauche. Besides, matching sets simply proceed to promote the role of colour from a simple accent to a de facto third component in what is supposed to be the two-tone scheme of the black-tie uniform. The uniformity is lost as is the impact of the stark black and white contrast.'
I could only think to say, 'oh! There's a lot of rules.'
'Indeed, Mr Potter. A veritable minefield. And introducing a jarring note such as the wrong colour calls attention to itself and is what the French call déclassé.'
'But doesn't it smack of the privilege and class superiority that I've just fought against.'
'I prefer to think of it as traditions, Mr Potter. One does not need to be wealthy or even have tailored robes to dress appropriately and reach the right tone. And it certainly doesn't matter what sort of blood you have beneath the right outfit. Traditions are important to a world like ours, they are our foundation. It is unfortunate that some mistake that for superiority. For you in particular, it just so happens that you are in a position that both courts attention and no doubt criticism if you ignore or get anything wrong when it comes to those traditions. Additionally, you are able to afford a well-tailored set of robes so you do yourself a disservice by wearing poor and ill-fitting attire. It suggests a lack of self-respect and a lack of respect for those around you because you don't care or can't be bothered. By achieving the right tone in what you wear, it means that you can be comfortable in who you are as you attend these functions and it is one less thing to worry about.'
'It's very interesting,' said Luna.
'Indeed, Miss Lovegood,' said Mr Cargador and he went back to his counter and started discarding lining materials until he found the one he wanted.
'Cummerbund or waistcoat?' Mr Cargador eventually asked after a long silence.
'Oh, Harry, I think you should wear a waistcoat. It would look very smart.'
'Indeed, Miss Lovegood. You have an impeccable eye.'
'Okay then,' I shrugged. 'What if it's really hot weather?'
'Then you sensibly chose the waistcoat so you can discard your frock coat, should etiquette allow. Or you sensibly chose the cummerbund so you wear less layers. Of course, it is advisable to have summer and winter robes. The summer robes would be of a lighter weight material.'
'I suppose I could get both,' I sighed, already fearing what seemed to be mounting to a ridiculous amount of money. I had a dreadful feeling that my dress robes were going to cost more than all of my wardrobe put together. I also had a dreadful feeling I was going to need both sets of robes.
I wandered over to the section that had a selection of subdued Scottish tartans and plaid trousers.
'Do you have any Scottish heritage, Mr Potter?' asked Mr Cargador, looking at me over the top of his half-moon glasses.
'No... I...'
'Then come away from there.'
'No patterns then?' I said.
'No tartan. Do you want a pattern?'
'Well...'
'There are more rules, Mr Potter. They should be tone-on-tone or limited to a two-colour design with one of the colours being black. But preferably adhere to tone-on-tone. If you wish for a pattern, we should discard the colour or we slip dangerously towards Lockhart's territory. We keep it simple and I would suggest that is far more suited to your modesty, Mr Potter. You must remain true to yourself in your wear.'
'Okay,' I said, slightly torn.
'Perhaps, Mr Potter, I might suggest two options. For example, the plain black with a satin collar and coloured lining for summer and I can imagine you could suit a heavier tone-on-tone, black jacquard with a velvet collar and a plain black lining for winter. Perhaps you could get away with a continental tie—'
'What's that?' I asked, giving up on hiding my absolute ignorance of the whole thing.
'A cross of satin at the neck, fastened with a small pin. But please, no elaborate pins or you begin to embody the worst excesses of the 1980s "New Wave" look.' That quiet disdain crept into his voice again.
I smiled, and decided that despite his formalities and traditions, I really liked Mr Cargador. His opinions were as entertaining as they were prescribed. But I liked that, for I knew that when I next dressed for an official function, I wouldn't be making any unsuitable faux pas that people might highlight and mock, all because I was the 'Saviour' and all that.
I said, 'perhaps just a normal black bow tie.'
'Very suitable, Mr Potter. A single, straight bowtie, please. None of this fancy double ties, you don't need to detract from the striking shape of your jaw or your handsome face, just underscore it. And not a pre-made bowtie on elastic. You are a man now; if you can defeat a Dark Wizard and save us all from his ghastly Mandarin collars, you can learn how to tie a bow tie properly.'
I laughed. 'I take it Mandarin collars are a no-no.'
'Barring a legitimate claim to the Nehru as an article of one's national dress, this style of jacket has no place at formal affairs. I would like to show you a couple of material samples for you to choose from. With the colour option, you could choose between having a waistcoat that sits slightly higher than your coat, no coloured pocket square of course. Or simply the green pocket square and lining.'
'Can I wear the coloured waistcoat with a coat with a coloured lining?' I asked with trepidation.
'I can accept that, only because the lining will remain hidden unless you chose to undo your jacket. Have you been told that the proper time to take off your jacket is either when the dancing starts or the night ends with shaking champagne bottles? However, it does downgrade your robes if you show your waistband or a creased shirt. In such circumstances, a waistcoat is preferable.'
'Perhaps I could have a plain black waistcoat and the green-patterned waistcoat,' I said, looking at a sumptuous green and black material that Mr Cargador had laid out on his counter. It matched the pocket square he had produced earlier. 'Then I can choose between several options, depending on whatever function I'm going to.'
I felt surprisingly excited by the prospect of wearing such nice clothes.
'Indeed, Mr Potter. And you wish to proceed with the black patterned jacket too—'
'Absolutely!' I said impulsively. 'I'll get both. I know I'm probably going to be invited to Merlin-knows how many of these functions. If I have two jackets and two waistcoats, I have the potential of four outfits, more if I get a cummerbund too. I can leave wearing the coloured waistcoat with the pattern for when I'm feeling brave enough.'
'Most astute, Mr Potter. Perhaps, if you can wait, we can do an initial fitting now and then I can finish it up and deliver it to you next week.'
'Yeah, that's fine. We'll browse. What else to I need?'
'A proper pleated shirt, Mr Potter, and some dress trousers. Let me just get the material cutting and I'll be out to aide you in a moment.'
Mr Cargador exited through a curtain into what I presumed was his cutting room.
'Harry, look!' said Luna, leaning over the glass top of a case built into the counter.
She was pointing at a pair of silver cufflinks. The cufflinks were fashioned to look like two conjoined dragon claws, each claw clutching an onyx ball.
'Fuck!' I said, really taken with them. 'But I still need to get bloody shoes.' I was aware of how much the bill was adding up.
It was then that Mr Cargador reappeared. 'Can I advise that the most traditional of attire for one's feet are black patent or highly-polished leather pumps. Of course, the most popular are the black patent or highly-polished Oxfords. If that really makes you uncomfortable, you could potentially get away with boots but they must be leather, of plain-toed Oxford style without the extra seam required by cap-toed versions. But with added formal evening shoelaces, either satin or velvet, depending on your collar.'
I avoided shaking my head, lost in this world. 'Did you get all that, Luna?'
'Oh yes, Harry. I shall take you to Oliver Sweeney's on Saville Row after lunch.'
'Most suitable, Miss Lovegood.'
Mr Cargador proceeded to pull out a whole other section of drawers until he found a shirt he was happy with. He then fetched a pair of straight-legged, dress trousers from the racks and pointed me in the direction of a curtained dressing room.
I exhaled deeply when I pulled on the tailored shirt, not realising until that exact point what quality actually felt like. I wondered if this was a dangerous game and whether I might end up spending my entire inheritance on nice clothing. After all those years of wearing second-hand clothes, still wearing them on occasion, and not worrying as I travelled in remote parts of the world, I suddenly wondered why I had never indulged properly before.
The trousers felt equally as good though they needed taking up and when I emerged from the changing room, feeling slightly sheepish, Mr Cargador made me stand on a box in front of a long mirror and he pinned the trousers to the right length and waved his wand so they automatically hemmed and were pressed. They felt amazing.
He nodded to himself in satisfaction. 'You need cufflinks,' he said as I pulled the loose cuffs of my sleeves together.
'How much are the dragon ones in the case?' I asked.
'Fifty galleons, Mr Potter.'
'Oh,' I said, disappointed. 'Perhaps I'll leave those for the moment.'
'Of course, Mr Potter. Regarding jewellery accessories, as always in these cases, less is more.'
'Thank you.' I looked at my battered watch that Molly had given me for my seventeenth birthday and knew, despite the scratch across the face and the small dink in the rim, I would not be replacing it with a newer alternative. The heirloom meant more than that; for me it offered a sense of belonging and history, something that was desperately missing from my childhood.
'It is a very nice watch, Mr Potter, there's no need to be ashamed of its age when there is clearly meaning behind it and it is, shall we say, a very classical piece. Shall we try the green waistcoat first?' He waved his wand and the garment flew through from the cutting room.
I think my eyebrows must have shoot up at the sheer luxuriousness of the feel of it over my shirt. I couldn't help exhaling, 'bloody hell!'
'A rather good choice, if I do say so myself,' said Mr Cargador.
Luna was smiling happily. 'It really suits you, Harry. Really suits you.'
'Can I see the coat too, is it in any state to see?' I asked excitedly as Mr Cargador was just checking the tacking on the waistcoat and pining any slight adjustments he wanted to make.
Mr Cargador waved his wand again, and this time the plain-black coat flew into his hands.
'Bloody hell,' I repeated, feeling the weight and smoothness of the coat and lining and turning this way and that to look at my reflection in the mirror.
'Exactly so,' Mr Cargador smiled.
He started tweaking the material to adjust the fit and every wave of his wand simply improved what I was seeing. I felt very self-aware. Not in an awkward way but in a way that meant I felt taller and elegant and it gave me confidence. Even with everything only tacked loosely together and with adjustments that still needed making, I felt amazing and finally understood what Walburga Black and Mr Cargador where talking about.
'Miss Lovegood, may I suggest a pale sea-green dress that would compliment Mr Potter's outfit without being vulgarly matching. Selene, across the road, have exactly the thing I have in mind in their window.'
'Oh no, Mr Cargador, Harry and I aren't—'
'Absolutely, Luna. We'll go there straight after here. You must try it on.' I spoke over her because I had immediately looked across the narrow street at the dress in the window and knew that the pale-green floor length dress would suit Luna beyond any doubt. There were layers of chiffon, ruched around the bodice before it fell to the floor in simple lines. The dress was embroidered with silver flowers and I absolutely wanted to buy it for Luna. I thought she deserved such beautiful clothes. I thought she'd embody her Fae-ancestry in it.
As the door to Mr Cargador's shop was closing behind us, I stopped and turned to her, catching her hand in mine. 'Luna,' I said gravely, 'will you come to the Ministry Gala Dinner with me?'
'But Harry, you said—'
'Shhh!' I said, putting a finger to her lips. 'I know but I'm not ready to tell the world yet. So, I meant as friends, unless, of course, you have a proper date.'
She hugged me then, tightly. 'Of course, I'd love to go with you, Harry.'
'Luna, promise me, if someone asks you properly, don't turn them down on my part but I really would be honoured to have you on my arm.'
'Harry, I like going to these things as your friend and no one will ask me anyway,' she said seriously.
'Well, they should,' I said equally as seriously. 'So long as I approve of them first. I don't want anyone mistreating you.'
'Don't be silly, Harry,' she smiled.
I bought her the dress because Mr Cargador was exactly right and it suited Luna's fair colouring perfectly. And I wanted to treat my friend who was beyond special in so many ways.
***