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Green eyes widening with outrage. Dora’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Hair dye? Hair dye! This redheaded trollop was accusing Dora of dying her gorgeous black locks?! If they were anywhere less public Dora would have grabbed the stupid witch by her own horrid hair and thrown her to floor, letting the pointed heel of her stilettos do a little damage to that impossibly pink skin of hers. It was as if Red had dived head first into a swimming pool of rouge, not realizing that a little makeup went a long way. Or maybe all the pink in her face was the remnants of poorly concealed pimples. Since she couldn’t figure out a simplistic act like moving her fat arse over so others could use the aisle, she probably didn’t know the first thing about using vanity charms. Whatever the case, a few shoe-shaped holes in her forehead ought to do the trick, Dora thought.

Controlling her emotions had never been Dora’s strong suit. In school she had received plenty of detentions, mostly for getting caught with boys in the broom cupboards but a good handful of times were because of fighting. She didn’t always get into a row to defend herself, mostly it was to defend the honor of one of her friends. Dora did not like to admit to her emotions, but they overwhelmed her all the same; she wore her heart on her sleeve and Merlin help the poor, dumb twat who insulted her friends’ honor. Age seemed to help a bit, in regard to self-control, as Dora had not yet grabbed the redhead by her stringy hair and instead she balled up her fists in an attempt to keep her from scratching the witch’s eyes out. Dora simply stood there for a moment, glaring at woman, her eyes narrowing as she sized up whether or not it would be beneficial to beat this tramp into the group. She was certainly maturing to at least consider it beforehand.

The insult seemed to fly over the woman’s head, which was humorous enough in and of itself that Dora would be laughing during her retelling of this little adventure when she saw Fin at the Starlight later that night. Damn, she had work later. She couldn’t risk showing up with any scratches on her face or clumps of hair missing from her head because of the looming cat fight. Dora used her pretty face and charming smile to woo the patrons into leaving larger tips, or to pull the more attractive ones into the storage room on her break for a little extra attention. Another reason to not swing this woman by ugly red hair. Damn this maturity! “Not a mum? Really, with those thighs? You have the baring of a weathered mum, has anyone told you that? And the atrocious style to match,” she added with a sneer, looking up and down the boring tan coat that looked like it had come from a second-hand shop after someone with a bit more money and taste decided it wasn’t worth even taking the tags off before throwing it the bin.

The giantess snapped at her and came back with what she clearly thought to be a very clever retort. Dora was unimpressed. You didn’t just get to trample through the aisles dressed like some primary school superintendent running late to a meeting with the parents association and knock about the attractive people of the world because the gods cursed you with fire crotch. Clearly this witch wasn’t very bright, though she didn’t look exactly poor she clearly didn’t have the sense of fashion Dora had. No one had Dora’s sense of fashion; she was the epitome of a fashionista, and having little money to spare hadn’t hampered her in the slightest. Anything that was no longer in fashion was repurposed into something new. Dora had begun working on her sewing charms back in school, after her father passed and the family had first been placed on a budget. She didn’t like repeating outfits very often, and while she could usually get away with dressing up a skirt with a different blouse or pairing styles with different accessories, those sorts of tricks only took you so far in high society. Dora had to get creative and being a whiz with charms she quickly learned how to pull stitches and alter garments without completely making a mess of things. The redhead looming in front of her like some humongous tree could have used with a few sewing lessons, but really Dora just wanted to burn than coat.

“Perhaps I should call you 'Glasses' instead, since you clearly need them. It’s black,” she said, sweeping her hair off her face and patting the curls back into place, “not brown.” Brunettes were so common, Dora was glad to be set apart from them naturally. Her mother also had jet black hair, but the Parkinson men, they were brunettes all the way. Her brother Theon had had a mousy sort of brown hair, but he had styled it properly and dressed well enough that he stood out from the rest of the boys his age. Her father had a lovely dark chestnut color, it had been flecked with grey around the ears and Dora remembered vividly thinking how handsome he was drinking his brandy and talking business of which Dora didn’t understand a single word. How dare this witch bring up thoughts of her daddy when she was still trying to get over his death!

Dora placed her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg as she glared at the woman who refused to get out of the way. The redhead was completely blocking the aisle. What a cow! “Is there a reason you’re still standing here? Aren’t the other quidditch mums going to be missing you at the bake sale?” All Dora had wanted was to find a new book to read at the shop lounge and lose herself in a story for a bit before the shopkeeper caught on that she wasn’t planning on making a purchase today and shooed her from the shop. She hadn’t expected to be run over by an Amazonian redhead with poor fashion sense and even poorer manners.

A cozy fire crackled in the fireplace as Dora sat curled up in a nearby chair, a book splayed open on her lap. There was a mug of hot cocoa on the floor next to her chair. Winter was Dora’s favorite season, she loved the snow and the chill in the air. Christmas had always been sort of a strained holiday for the girl, being carted carelessly around to pureblood parties and warned repeatedly by her parents not to embarrass them, only to have her mum drink a bit too much and have daddy have to pull her away from whomever she was blathering on to. Those were the good Christmases, when they could still go home from school. Dora’s latter years at Hogwarts her parents had clearly decided she and her brother Theon weren’t worth the hassle, no doubt daddy had his hands full with mummy, and they stopped permitting their children home for the winter holidays. Dora had spent much of her teenage Christmases wishing to be with her family all together, and now that wouldn’t be possible. Her father was dead. Her mother had kicked her out after selling their family home.

And then there was that Christmas…

Theon had meant the world to Dora. He was younger by nearly two years, but he offered Dora the sort of support she had needed, whenever she needed it. He was definitely her rock. She had friends, loads of friends from school, but of her family Theon had been the only one to actually be there when she needed it. Now he couldn’t be. Thick, red blood on pure white snow, it was still vivid in her mind a year later. Christmas Eve 1976, the night she found his body. The night Theon had died. Christmas really couldn’t be the same after that.

Bending forward and leaning towards the floor, Dora reached for her mug and brought it up to rest on her lap. Her eyes scanned the last sentence of the paragraph before she lifted the mug to her lips and tasted the warm, chocolatey drink. A knock at the door drew her attention away from the story. She folded the corner of the page down to mark her place and pulled her feet out from under her. Standing, Dora gently tossed the book onto her bed as she headed toward the door, pausing only a moment to set her mug on the little dining table as she passed it. There was an impatient kick at the door and Dora’s eyebrows raised. Checking the peephole, the brunette smiled at the face through the fish-eyed lense. “Oi! Don’t go kicking my door, Finathan, or you’ll be paying to have it replaced,” she called teasingly through the door as she slid the locks open and turned the knob.

Grinning at the sight of Fin with a miniature tree and a box of, presumably, ornaments, Dora stepped back and pulled the door wide for her friend to come in. She placed a hand on her hip and shifted her weight to the opposite leg. Tilting her head slightly, Dora smirked. “I do believe most blokes bring roses when they’ve come to profess their love, but a tree does seem rather fitting considering.” Dora hadn’t planned to decorate this year. There had been a tree in the lounge last year, of course that was when she was living with Fin still and he had the space and desire to put up a monstrous tree and decorate the whole mansion. It had been lovely and admittedly it did take her mind off thoughts of Theon for a bit, but there simply wasn’t the space to do anything like that in her tiny little studio flat, and unlike her wealthy friend, Dora didn’t have the servants to do it all for her. She could be rather lazy when she wanted to be.