The shine of the golden thread stood out pleasantly sharp against the deep green fabric draped across the table. It was bold, a blinding streak of warm starlight across the plains of green that shimmered along the thick velvet with every tiny twist and turn of the needle; it was also a chore.

One long, endless road of needle work carefully poked through the fabric thick enough that it made his fingers ache with the strain of each stitch and left his hands feeling stiff and bruised from where the thimble pressed against the tips of his fingers. In the beginning he’d caved into slipping off the thimble, toughing it out against the odd prick of the needle against his skin when his mind wandered away from the work but as the minutes quickly turned to hours and the first drop of blood stained his work, he’d slowly accepted his fate with the thimble and the bruises it brought over ruined thread and fabric. It was as infuriating as it was rewarding; Elsian was not a patient boy by nature after all and every mess up and painstaking stitch weighed on his nerves when he forgot to step away and take a break.

He sighed, swallowing down the bite of pain that bloomed across his knuckles when he stretched his fingers, wiggling feeling back into them when the prick of a cramp loomed over his head. Hand cramps were possibly one of his least favorite things in the world.

Kitty crawled along the wall, hovering by the desks edge before prodding it with a leg; he stared, blinking slowly at the sight and wondering what possibly went through her little spidery mind as she slowly, carefully, as if she needed to stalk her prey, crawled onto the desks surface. Stopping for a moment before skittering up to his hands and onto the fabric. It added up. The gold thread was unbearably shiny under the light, of course she would be drawn to it.

“Oh Kitty,” he sighed, nudging her away from the pin cushion and thread, “you can’t have this one yet. I still need it.” He pet along her back, wiggling his fingers at her when she shuffled away. “Brat.” He scoffed fondly.

A knock on the door. “Yeah?” He called out, twisting in his chair to eye the door. His mother peaked in, brandishing the door open with a flourish. He could feel Kitty cease the opportunity to climb up his back and onto his head, the miscreant.

“Your father,” she said, leaning across the doorway with a dramatic droop, “has graced us with the delight of pizza for dinner~”

…

“I thought you were-”

“Ah! Tututut!” She interrupted, a single blue nail pointed at him as she slinked into the room towards him. “Pizza.” It was said with such finality, such confidence that Elsian couldn’t bear to do anything but nod.


Long fingers carded through his hair and nudged Kitty playfully from her perch as she smiled at him. “C’mon, pause your work and come eat.” So something had happened to the lasagna. Good to know. He would promptly ignore it. Pizza was their new savior apparently.

“Alright.” Part of him wanted to weasel his way into eating in his room, maybe put off eating even, but the rational, tired side of his brain said a break was good. And he liked mealtimes with his mom so-

Sitting up he slipped out of his chair, carefully cutting the thread and tying up the loose ends before scooping it up to walk towards the mannequin standing by the end of his bed. He draped it across the mannequin's back, he had to pin it up, the clasps not yet sewn onto the unfinished coat, along the models' shoulders and neck.

“Oh Elsi this is lovely!” Annelise's fingers went to the coat, gently prodding against the soft, shimmering fabric. “I adore this color, where did you get it?”

He grinned. “Aunt Matilde enchanted the color for me.” Said fabric had not always been this color, originally a rather bland blue the boy's aunt had helped enchant it to the deep shimmering green shade it now was. “She got the color from a picture I showed her.”

She hummed, plucking at the sleeves where the slivers of half finished gold embroidery stood out against the darker shade. It wasn’t finished, there was still plenty to do along the sleeves and the collar of the coat, and the clasps weren't even sewn on yet, let alone any possible edging or embroidery for the coat's bottom edges. But there was obviously headway made. It was mostly only gold for now, with hints of orange mixed in amongst the chalk outlines of his design he was following. Little embroideries of Autumn leaves and branches curled in swirls of burnt gold curled along the coat's cuffs. It was matched with the swirling designs scattered along the coats collar with the illusion of thin branches curling around the neck, peppered with the skeleton work of burnt golds, oranges and reds of fall leaves clinging scarcely to the branches, and fluttering down in uneven sways down the coats back and front to a frozen wind.

He was proud of it so far. Despite so much more needing to be done.

“Is this for you?”

He shrugged in lull of an answer. Plucking at an invisible thread as Kitty hopped onto the mannequin to hang from the fabric. It wasn’t not meant for him. But he couldn’t really envision himself wearing the thing. Not really. It felt…wrong somehow.

“I guess.”

She raised a brow at him, seemingly unimpressed with his answer as she crouched to get a better look at the bottom of the coat. “You guess?” She deadpanned.

What else could he say?

“I’m just making it to practice mum, I don’t know if I’ll finish it, let alone wear it.” He would finish it. There was little doubt about that, but what came after? He didn’t know. And frankly, he didn’t want to think about it.

“Ah-huh…this wouldn’t happen to be like the other 2 you ‘guessed’ about?” Ugh. Not this again.

“I dunno!” He insisted, quickly walking past her to the door. “Besides the pizza is gonna get cold mum! Let’s go.” He whined, pawing at the door and hovering in the hall pleadingly.

She hummed, laughter in her throat and alight in the smile she wore as she slowly followed her son. “Alright, alright…” He sighed in relief as they walked downstairs.

“But it would be nice to see the rest when they're finished. Don’t think I didn’t see the silver of that other bundle on your bed.”

“Mum!” He wailed, slinking down the stairs in the wake of his mothers smothered laughter.

It was done.

The sound of the treadle machine slowly quieted as Elsian paused, the snip of scissors against the burnt golds of the thread along the coats inner lining replacing the sound of the treadles wheel spinning as the coat was dragged away from the workspace and replaced onto the mannequin tucked in the middle of his room.

It draped heavily against the form, the coats edges swaying as he snapped the bronze clasps into place, tucking the wooden arms of the mannequins' arms into the sleeves and posing them just so. It was long, the buttons keeping it closed only going from the collar bones down to the waist despite the coat's edges going all the way to one's knees. He needed to be sure it was finished. That nothing was out of place, no threads coming undone, or embroideries half finished.

He trailed his fingers along the bronze buttons, swirls engraved in the dark metal as he lightly tugged, testing its give. Fine. He moved on inspecting the sleeves edges, the lining of the coats inside, the slightly flared collar of the deep green coat and every embroidery large or small throughout the items shimmering fabric. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It felt almost too good to be true.

Something in his chest tightened. He looked at the coat silently.

He should be proud. He’d been proud a few days ago despite the pain in his fingers, and the burn in his eyes as his nerves frayed with each mess up. He should be proud.

All he felt was a hollow type of acceptance.

Elsian dragged the mannequin to his window, dragging the green curtains open a touch too rough, the rings squealing painfully against the metal rod as the oranges and reds of the summer sunset flooded past, painting everything in a dreamy glow unlike the dull light of his room. It made the autumn colors bleeding through the green fabric positively glow.

The burnt golds, oranges and reds of the embroidered leaves shining like the last dying colors of fall on a sunny autumn day. The faint bronze glow of the brown thread making the thin, curling embroidery of branches along the coats collar and sleeves, the shifting print of leaves swirling in a frozen wind along the coats front and back and clinging to the tiny branches, the carefully crafted autumn trees edged along the bottom of the coat, a sea of reds, yellow and orange, illuminated with burn gold in and sewn large and small in an illusion of forest welcoming the coming of fall. It was the best he’d ever done. A feat of patience he’d not known was possible.

He sat heavily onto the seat of the little seating alcove in front of his windows, long fingers roughly grabbed onto the bottom edge of the coats front, tugging at it to stare down at the burnt oranges and whites of the fox he’d painstakingly sewn onto the fabric for hours. He’d pricked his fingers so many times. A leaf pile that’d left bruises on his fingers lay next to the fox, the head and tail of its friend peeking through the pile, frozen in a game of some sort between the two foxes.

The fabric hung heavily in his hand.

What was the point when no one would see it?

He let it slip from his hand like water, standing up to slip the buttons free and drag the coat off the mannequin, out of the sunlight, away from the way it lit up. Something ugly and bitter curling in his throat the longer he stared at it. He couldn’t bear to look at it.


He stuffed the coat into the trunk under his bed, dragging out the heavy box to hide the coat away under extra fabric scraps and half finished projects. It was shoved under his bed.

“Elsian!” A knock on his door and the sound of his mums voice. She was back early.

He moved to the treadle, tugging some of the cut up, ruined green fabric scraps of the coat free and quickly pinning it onto the mannequin, as if it was being measured for something. “Come in.”

She pushed the door open, lips tugged into a small smile, “ready to drag the boat out onto the lake? Perfect time to do so.” He’d totally forgotten.

“Yeah!” He agreed quickly, “let me just get shoes on.” He fumbled with the sneakers, dragging a pair out of his closet randomly and plopping himself on the floor lazily as he tugged the bloody things on roughly.

“What happened to the coat you were working on?” She asked, face pinching into one of disappointment and confusion. He looked up at her, shrugging in the wake of her worry.

“I didn’t measure properly, and it got ruined. I gotta start from scratch,” he lied.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” She muttered, dragging her fingers along the fabric. Her eyes went to the cut up patterns scattered on his bed as he stood up, his stomach swooped, he suddenly felt guilty for some reason. “Are you making those designs you had pinned to the wall?”

He shrugged again, forcing a smile as he went to the door. “Maybe.” He said.

“Maybe?” She said, brow raised with an amused smirk. “This isn’t gonna end up like all the other maybes is it? Like the coat.”

“I dunno!” He laughed, it felt like ash on his tongue.



“It’s just practice. Who knows if it'll get finished.”

He couldn't remember the last time his hands had hurt like this; fingertips bruised to the point they throbbed, like tiny pulses of sparkling pain shooting down the long digits melting with the twitches of sore pain along his knuckles and wrists. No number of breaks or thimbles would fix this. The fact of the matter was he’d bit off more than he could chew and showed no signs of stopping. The end of summer hung over his head like a looming deadline; if he didn’t finish these now then he never would.

It probably hadn’t been this bad since he first learned as a little kid and had accidentally sewn his own sleeve into the practice shirt his grandmother had been helping him with.

He rolled his wrist, flexing his fingers slowly against the cramps settling just below the skin. They were bandaged, temporarily to fight against the painful sensation of the thick interfacing and netted fabric constantly rubbing against his fingers to the point of rawness while his parents were gone. One would think sewing would be less taxing, they would be wrong. He’d forgotten how painful it could be when done in bulk and on a time crunch. He simply wasn’t used to it anymore. At Hogwarts he could only do smaller things by hand, sometimes aided by the odd enchanted item. Here? Elsian had his machine back, all his fabrics and access to the stores he liked, not to mention his desk space. Merlin, he’d missed his desk space.

A hiss under his breath as another throb of dull pain hit. It hurt. It really hurt.

It would have been a miracle had it not hurt though honestly. With the amount of sewing he’d done in the last few weeks.

Elsian sighed, slowly sitting up with a wince where he pressed his hands onto the bed. Only a few more things and he’d be done for the next few days. He’d be too busy hanging out with his friends to sew, not a bad thing, he was looking forward to it! But it did mean he had to finish sewing on a few more buttons and embroidering the odd design before calling it a night.

He looked down at the cut-out pieces of fabric patterns pinned together and strewn about the floor. Another throb of pain. He really hated deadlines.

Sighing he got up, plodding quietly against the wood floor and tiptoeing around the pinned down pieces as he went back to his desk and the mannequins. Yes, plural. He’d finally caved and gotten his grandma's old one out of storage, dragging the thing down to his room. It was older than the one Elsian had, with wooden arms meant for posing that creaked and froze from disuse, and mint green fabric fraying at the edges of the mannequin's soft torso. It’d been obviously well used, more so than the one that’d been slowly gathering dust every year when Elsian left home.

It was tucked up by the foot of his bed. Now home to the beginnings of a new item. Pattern pieces pinned neatly to the old mannequin in a series of neat, azure blue pieces. Torso, sleeves, the beginnings of the creation was set to go, the lining of certain parts already done in a warm silky blue fabric barely a few shades darker than its outside layer and the dark gray chalk outline of birds perched along thin twining branches amongst the sleeve's slender cuffs. Tiny beginnings of blooming buds amongst the branches and tiny blossoms drifting down along the invisible breeze pushing scribbled clouds along the collar of the coat. It was the beginning of something that had a bit of a way to go.

But it was undoubtedly a strong start.

And yet, this coat was not his main focus for the week.

No, it was the long, hooded coat, delicately pinned down against his own mannequin's shoulders in a cascade of shadowy darkness, as bleak and unforgiving as the darkest winter nights. He pulled at his chair, settling down a bit closer to the mannequin though he didn't have to go far, close as it already was to his desk from the previous work and went about finishing the corners edge of the cloak's bottom embroidery.

It was a far cry from the other items in the set thus far. The colors were far darker for one, even the warm inside lining of fur was hardly a shade lighter to stand out against the dark out layer. A deep blue, cold and dark like the wintery images playing along its sleeves and hood. The shape was far different from the green coat still tucked away under his bed, nor was it matched with the beginnings of the slender form of the pattern pinned to his grandmother's old sewing form. The hood for one was something new, slightly larger than a typical hood, with that same dark, night sky fur as the lining along the hood's edges. The top of the coat had been made rather neat and form fitting, with dull silver buttons that clasped further onto the right side of the torso rather than right down the middle. They’d button from collar bones down to around the waist before flaring out to let the fabric fall down to the wearer's shins freely, like that of a cloak, with the fur lining the bottom edges. Likewise, to the torso, the sleeves are tighter and slender at the top, while lightly flaring out similar to a bell shape along the wrists with the same fur trimming along the sleeve's cuffs.

From the waist down it was far more flowy, easily swaying in a gentle rhythm to the wearer's gait or strong winter winds. He’d made sure of that. Hopefully, the torso would fit just right too.

Elsian plucked at the right sleeve, following along the white outline of chalk against dark fabric in the mock design of frost. Silver thread, shining like starlight compared to the dull gray of the needle, it dug into the sleeve carefully, Elsian only lightly wincing from time to time as he worked.

He thought about how it might fit. The person in question who it would fit? He didn’t know. Or rather, he pretended not to know. In truth, Elsi could picture a few people it would suit, but none of them felt right. Things like this were only meant for particular people, a special piece of clothing that would only be perfect with the right fit. People were particular after all, and these pieces were just as particular for who they would settle for.

At least. That’s how it felt.

It was…tiring really. You could have a whole design pinned and planned out for a certain person only to have it change overnight. And suddenly, you had a design that belonged to no one. Just gathering dust less, you settle, and Elsian rarely settled.

He paused, clipping the extra thread off as he stared at the design. He tried to be careful. To be patient, but patience likely would never be his strong suit. Somehow, he made it work, however. The proof shining boldly against the sleeves edges in swirls and crests mocking frost. It spread, thicker by the sleeve's edges near the fur, growing thinner and spindlier the further you went up the sleeve before disappearing all together into the darkness of the coat. He’d stitched these frost designs all along the hood's edges too, twirling in delicate patterns among the fur's edges and bottom of the coat, the silver mixing with thread of icy blues and darker glowing grays along the hood and collar of the coat.

A sigh. “Who knew frost was so much harder than stars?”

He surely hadn’t.

He stood up, circling the mannequin to peer at the back of the item, pressing his fingers against the dark, misty design he’d stitched on. They were clouds. Dark, and curling in misty wisps with the edging of silver pressed against the inside outline in an illusion of moonlight pressing against the dark clouds. The stars and moon had been easy work, pressed behind the embroidered clouds stretching across the back of the coat in tiny bursts of silver light. The clouds had been…less easy. The trial and error of his scraps of fabric littering his desk proof of that. Still, the hardest of all had been the frost…and snowflakes. Some were smaller than others, resembling that more of a tiny spot of silver and blue frost while others were larger, detailing the small weaves of ice of snowflakes scattering down along the coats back on the illusion of a winter night's wind. No two snowflakes were alike. And they’d by far been the most infuriating, time-consuming designs of them all! And yet-

He pulled away the pins, letting the fabric hang from his fingers as he lifted it up.

It was soft. Warm.

He stared up at it silently, something like appreciation smoothing out the annoyance in his chest when the snow designs shimmered coolly in the light. The little stars blinking behind the willowy clouds and the moonlit illusion seemed to practically glow and shift with the light, it was eerie in a way. Enchanting and quiet. And a thought came to mind, the tiny dazzle of the night sky tugging at a memory.

It was far different than the others. But no less peaceful.

His arms lowered, letting the light flicker one last time before he dragged the item back onto the mannequin. The feminine cut of the garment hung heavily against the form as he cut the last piece of stray thread away.

Elsian thought that maybe. Just maybe. He had an idea of who this coat belonged to.