An Interference of Portraits

The Art of Dressing Well

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.'