#but then I had a moment of 'oh yeah actually paris was prophetized to bring about the destruction of troy. oops'

[llitchilitchi]

Odysseus arguing with Zeus in The Horse and the Infant about how surely there is no need to kill the baby, he can just be raised far away and nothing bad could possibly happen if he's just shipped off somewhere far away so he doesn't have to discover the truth! as if the whole reason Odysseus is currently in Troy and away from his wife wasn't because someone thought the very same thing about Paris

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

Da capo - part 6

Trail post part 1 to 5

Ritenuto (Italian: 'held back')

It was raining.

Harry stared out of the window of the restless night watching the sky pour down over the earthly land. He sat there on the bed, hearing faint hustling from outside in the hallway and the sound of water crashing against the window, he remained there, watching and falling in love. It was easier he realised while his mind wrote down with a quill in his head that Loving was easier, that falling in love was easier, falling out was hard and it's not because nobody tells you how to but because we all fear abandonment, and in love there isn't abandonment. He hates thinking about the night he had to leave Draco because it was easier to just not think about it and even if he hated the easy way, he never complied thinking the hard way because perhaps for once he wanted things to be easy.. Maybe that's why he didn't return, among many other reasons he doesn't know. Among many other reasons he wishes he knew.

He woke up the next morning and being done with morning routine, he realised he had nothing to do. He could visit Arthur but the ward remained close today as he heard clearly yesterday by the nurses. He thought he might go shopping but he always hated the idea of shopping alone. He could maybe take a walk but he couldn't remain on the streets all day and he didn't wanted to disturb the Weasley's anymore, he had already been enough of a trouble to them, in the past and now.

" you could come to the office with me and Ron, they'd love you down there obviously but you can just explore the visitor section"

" ministry is possibly the most boring place to be Hermione " harry rolled his eyes as he shut the last page of the daily prophet and slided the newspaper across the counter.

" it's not all bad alright. Maybe you could even try and patch things up with Ron " Hermione suggested

" I'd much rather not be murdered in his office Hermione " harry replied lazily.

" you can't Just sulk in here harry" she sighed and then just as randomly it hit her " you know what you have to do nothing..but you can help me right ?"

" help you with what ?" He asked strangely curious.

" we have got these old cold cases files that's already been done but nobody is ready to tally them to check which one's closed, which one's are still being worked on and which ones need to be worked on. You can help check them " Hermione suggested.

"I'd rather choke to death mione. I left ministry for a reason " harry rolled his eyes.

" come on-"

" fine" he dragged on " I'll come but I'll be in the visitor's section. I'd wander about and if nothing interests me I'll come back "

Hermione thought for a moment but then nodded and very much regrettably harry left with her soon enough.

Harry was absolutely right about ministry being a very boring place. Hermione was as busy as ever and Ron Definitely didn't wanted to see him, everyone's gawked at him like an old extinct species present in a museum and the visitors section was filled with mostly bunch of kids who came on a trip. Harry was more than ready to just go back home and was walking to Hermione's office when he collided with someone just before her door.

" I'm so sorry- I didn't- Draco?" Harry frowned.

" what are you doing here ?" He asked immediately.

" well- you know I like to walk around here with files and running in circles " Draco joked, harry almost did smile " I work here obviously . I didn't know you were coming "

" oh, Arthur fell sick. I had to visit " harry replied.

" oh " draco replied as though realisation stroke him just then " I heard about that. How is he doing now ?"

" fine " harry nodded.

They remained there awkwardly looking at each other when someone crashed by Harry and his eyes fell onto Hermione's office door.

" listen I - I'm sorry- I gotta go actually. I need to- well talk to Hermione, but meet me soon I guess ?" Harry Suggested.

" oh- no- sure, yeah. Meet you soon then "; harry nodded and walked past Draco, almost about to knock her door when he heard him call out.

" what ?" Harry responded.

" I'm - almost done with work. Wanna go somewhere ?" Draco asked. Harry thought about it for a moment, his mind screaming of how weird it was, how awkward it would be and how incredibly wrong it was to see your ex boyfriend just as a friend.

" sure " instead harry replied.

" wanna come in my office then. I just need to-"

" sure " harry smiled cutting him off before Draco could've even explained but then it didn't matter and they walked into Draco's office.

" potioneer then " harry nodded as he entered his office.

" yeah, I got the opportunity last year and I thought why not. Hermione suggested me. Thanks to her" Draco dismissively replied stashing his files into his bag and locking.

" so why didn't you call when you came ?" Draco asked as he wore his coat, checking his pockets one last time.

" I just came actually, a day before yesterday and things had been busy with making up- meeting everyone and- just things " harry replied pocketing his hands.

Draco understandingly nodded and walked them out of the door.

They made a few small talks as they walked out of the ministry and strolled across a few more streets.

" so- you sold the apartment ?" Harry asked curiously.

Draco looked at harry for a moment before he realised what he meant and shook his head " it's already hard enough to find apartments here, I couldn't afford losing another and I mean it's not that apartment was the reason for everything, right "

Harry understandingly nodded but somewhere they both were welcomed with the fact of how strange it was to be like this, they were pretending maybe but it wasn't easy to just forget everything and yet both were playing their parts to the best.

They walked silently a few more streets both thinking of the same thing yet none dared to bring it up again, after all they had decided that they won't be the ex's who can't be friends.

" you wanna come over to my place, for dinner, maybe ?" Draco offered.

Harry wanted to say no, even almost said no but somewhere in the back of his mind knocked the images of Ron and Hermione and their pity looks or their hesitation in being able to talk. Considering the history it should have been harder with Draco but surprisingly enough, it wasn't as hard and so he responded " sure. Not like I have any other places to be "

Draco nodded and took the turn for his apartment and in not less than 5 minutes they were there as though he had planned to take harry home. They walked up the stairs in deafening silence and didn't utter a single word even when they entered the apartment, it was a doorbell that startle them and defiantly made them talk.

" mrs. Kentucky, how are you doing ?" Draco greeted his neighbour with a huge grin.

" lovely Darling. Wanted to return the sugar I borrowed and - is that Harry ?" She peered a little more through the door to get a better view but as Draco turned around to check on Harry, he vigorously shook his head.

" no, no that's just a colleague. Not a very friendly one at that " Draco Whispered and she nodded.

" not friendly eh, so not gonna date him huh" she mischievously smiled. Draco reddened at her words and immediately took the sashe of sugar and practically Shoved her out continuously thanking her and with a loud thud closed the door.

" she just-"

" I know " harry nodded smiling knowing exactly the kind of gossip lady Mrs. Kentucky was.

" ju- just for the record- I- I didn't bring anyone so there's nothing to-"

" Draco " harry stopped him " it's fine. We're- history " he added.

Draco seemed as though he wanted to say something but didn't and followed into the living room after nodding at harry.

" this place hasn't changed at all" harry said after having glanced the place.

" I- I didn't really feel like the need to " Draco replied.

" you mind if I- change ?"

" no, no of course not " harry shook his head vigorously and turned around to head towards the couch. Draco took it as a cue to get changed fast and join him again in the living room.

Harry despite having initially planned on sitting over the couch, stepped into the balcony and let himself gawk at the view. It's been so long he last saw the beautiful view it offered. The balcony had always been a very peaceful, calm escape especially when things seemed to overweight him; he can remember endless nights he had stood on the balcony because he felt as if something is someone was choking him, like the coil around his neck only tightened and he surged for air and this place had been where he came for a breath. He never was able to understand why everything was the way it was as and when he looked for answers, he couldn't, at least from not where he was. As he stood there watching over the city of London he was hit with strong realisation of how much he actually missed being here, missed the smell of the pizza place down the road and the sound of loud TV from the apartment next door and the lights that flickered on the road by the passing cars and the sight of clock tower, he missed being able to see over such a long latitude and wonder how farther the end is and it wasn't as if he didn't like paris, but paris wasn't London. Paris didn't had that flickering lights going by down the streets or the kids running down the streets on a skateboard or the loud neighbour next door with obnoxious loud TV nor it had the clock nor Paris had that calming grey look in the sky because of the always unprecedented rain about to happen any moment. Paris just wasn't what he thought it was.

" missed this ?" He heard. Harry didn't need to turn around, he just nodded.

" paris doesn't give you this ?" He asked as he stood by next to harry.

" there's a lot of things paris doesn't have " harry mumbled wishing he could explain Draco everything but he couldn't. He waited for Draco to ask why did he leave but he never asked and this is why perhaps tonight Harry was here and not there. Perhaps this is why Harry found it easier to be with Draco because he didn't ask too many questions, because he never asked unless he knew harry wanted to asked, because he understood when Harry didn't feel like talking, because he understood harry like no one else and even when draco should be the last person to understand harry and give him another chance, he did and maybe that's why he was here tonight, in the heart of the City with the one man who's heart was just broken as Harry because he knew harry, when no one else seemed to.

" London is home-"

" and Paris isn't ?"

Harry just shook his head. Paris was everything but home.

Because in paris, there wasn't you. Because there wasn't you in your blue blowy shirt and washed jeans with open arms, there wasn't you..

Part 7

I don't know why the short chapter!!!

300 followers appreciation dialogue Prompt requests open

Angst prompts request open

[slutsofren]

Magical Mysteries / Chapter 2: Goodbyes & Promises

Summary: You’re stepping away from your home in London to follow your father on some mysterious assignment from the Ministry. There’s trouble in the air but you and your best friend, Ben Organa can’t put your finger on it. Guess that’ll be a problem for later you.

Read on AO3 here!

“Do you have to leave,” Ben whined. You gave him a short laugh as you packed your suitcase. He had come over when you sent Anubis, your cat, to deliver him a letter, telling him that you and your parents were leaving for Paris for the summer.

Ben sprawled his large body across your bed, looking over the various records you had imported from America- you were currently obsessed with Motown music. Diana Ross’ soulful voice filled your bedroom, singing of love and warm embraces. “Yes, of course I do,” you responded, albeit a little disgruntled seeing him put his feet on your bedsheets.

“Feet. Off. Now,” emphasizing with a lighthearted wack on his nice black boots. Ben let out a loud groan, adjusting his massive body. He had grown so much over the past few years, you had too but not nearly as much as him. Ben liked to joke that you were an entire foot shorter than him but that was further from the truth.

“How long will you be in Paris then?”

You stopped folding the corduroy skirt in your arms, “I’m not sure, truthfully. Father says we should pack for the entire summer just to be safe but I suspect he doesn’t wish to stay so long.”

“Good, because I will apparate there to get you and bring you home,” he lightheartedly admitted.

“Oh, hush Ben, you know you’re not allowed to apparate.”

“Actually, little Miss Fontaine, being the appointed son of the wizarding community, you should be keen on noticing that I can do whatever I want.”

You gave the dense boy a panned look, cocking an eyebrow. “You say that yet you’ve seldom gotten in trouble since I met you!” Ben grabbed one of your plushies from your bed, a black bear that you had since childhood, and tossed it in your general direction. “Hey!”

The laughter that filled your bedroom felt like literal sunlight on a depressing day, you always felt joy being around your one truest friend. “Listen, just be safe okay?” You gave him a soft grin and nodded.

“I’ll try,” you raised your hands innocently, “there’s no guarantee that trouble won’t find me.”

“Remind me why you have to leave again,” Ben whined.

You turned around and had your back to him as you went though your salves and tinctures, thinking of which ones to pack with you. “Apparently the Ministry is sending my father to Paris for some project and he’d be gone too long so my mother and I are going with him.”

“Yeah, but,” he sighed, hugging a pillow close, “Why? My mother has said nothing about sending you guys down there. It doesn’t make sense.”

You turned to face him once again, leaning against your desk. “Then, I don’t know. My father got a parcel the other day and there was a letter and some book. That’s all I know.”

“I wonder why you’re being sent to Paris then. Sounds nice but, not for that long.”

You sat next to him on your bed, your tan wool skirt crinkled around your waist. He rose to sit, facing you. A small frown was setting on his lips, “Promise me you’ll be safe?”

You let out an airy laugh, “I said I’ll try!”

He grabbed your hand. “I’m not playing around. There’s been whispers of something bad happening,” he pauses. “It’s been driving my mother and the rest of the Ministry up the walls. You’re my best friend, if anything happened to you and I couldn’t do anything to help? I’d be devastated.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise. Besides,” you assured him, “My father is the strongest wizard I know!”

Your father was the head Auror at MACUSA when your family lived in America, but since his transfer due to some unfortunate situations, your family was uprooted and he accepted a lowly title with the Ministry of Magic.

It didn’t mean much to you but you knew how strong and powerful your father was, the only thing wrong with him was loving a no-maj, a muggle. Shame was never in your vocabulary whenever it came to who your parents were, but it was something you weren’t fond of talking about, even to Ben.

“I thought I was the strongest wizard you knew!”

You stuck your tongue at him and jumped up to finish packing. Ben stayed, as he always did. Your home was the one place where he felt safe enough to let his guard down, knowing that you would never sell him out to the Daily Prophet. This was the one place he felt content.

The rest of the day felt more of the same, jovial chatting between the two of you until the moment you had to leave. Ben was given permission to temporarily move into your home while your family was gone, “No, I couldn’t allow that Mr. Fontaine.”

“Enough with the formality, Ben, you’re family to us. You know to call us by our first name. Say it with me now, Atlas and Luna.”

Faintly, you could hear your mother laughing in the next room, preparing the area in the kitchen for your portkey travels.

Ben looked at you, only mildly defeated. “Atlas, I don’t feel entirely too comfortable just moving in.”

Your mother took this to come join you all in the living room, “Here then, take this.” She handed him an old charm of hers that your father, Eric, casted a spell on back in America when the two first began dating.

The charm was in the shape of a small simple silver ring, and would allow Ben entry to their home safely and quietly whenever he pleased. “I- Thank you, Mrs- I mean, Luna. Thank you. I’ll be sure to take care of it.

Your family left, choosing to travel by portkey. As your family arrived in Paris, the sun was kissing the sky goodnight as the moon slowly rose over the eastern horizon.

The summer home was fairly nice, it was located in the Quartier de Purpliers, just off Rue Damesme. The house was two stories and looked like it was pulled out of a French Art Nouveau gallery.

The walls were decorated in dark contrasting colors depicting women of all shapes and sizes, many of which winked at you as you would walk by. You laid a hand on the stairwell railing, giving each magical portrait a polite greeting.

In your temporary bedroom, there was a framed portrait with a small plaque reading: Divan Japonaise, a lithograph by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec raised above the bed.

“Oh, hello,” you put your trunk and enchanted satchel down.

The woman in the painting looked over her shoulder and nodded at you, acknowledging your presence. Her sly smirk kind of irked you, as if she knew what your future held and wanted to bare witness silently. Your mother explained that the house was used for Ministry personnel only and therefore magical friendly so you only hoped that this was her general look, hoping others took notice of her mystery.

There was a tapping on your window, somewhat spooking you. When you approached it, you spotted Athena, Ben’s loving owl, in all her grey glory with a wax sealed letter in her beak. “Come inside, little one.”

She flew into the room and landed on the bare desk in the corner. She dropped the letter as soon as you gave her obligatory head rubs. As soon as she let out a gentle hoot, Anubis came running up the stairs, wanting to greet his dearest friend too.

You gave a small chuckle at the two getting cozy on your bed as you sat at the desk and opened the letter from none other than Ben Organa.

“Didn’t think I’d write so soon? Of course I did. Well, I forgot to mention when I left that mother dearest has to attend another gala later this summer in London. She’s bringing me along but I wanted to know if you’d want to go- as friends, you know? I’ll let you know when the date of the gala is later and you don’t have to worry about a dress or anything. I’m sure mother will have something with her people set up. Anyways, let me know, we miss you already here. Ben.”

You laughed out loud at his letter, he writes like he talks sometimes. You turned to the two furry friends on your bed, “Athena, would you mind if I sent a letter back with you? You can rest here for tonight.”

The great horned owl gave you another hoot and tucked herself back into the snuggle pile with Anubis, graciously accepting the rest period. You would send a reply with nothing short of the same humor and lightheartedness as his, accepting the invitation and looking forward to going back to London for a few days as you were positive you would be a little homesick for the city.

The letter set you brought with you contained your favorite seal, a soft purple wax and your stamp marked with a bushel of lavender. Ben gifted you this set for your first winter celebration as friends six years ago, he even got the wax enchanted so it would never run out. He always knew how to give the best gifts, they were always well thought out and items that could be useful and practical. This warmed your heart very much.

Grabbing one of your spare pens you wrote back, “I’m glad to hear from you so soon. Athena stayed the night so I hope you won’t be too worried for her, she’s enjoying some time with Anubis on the bed. To answer your question though, yes! I think it’ll be fun, just keep me informed, I’ll let my parents know. I think I have some floo powder somewhere, if not maybe see if I can get special permission from Madam Minister to apparate back home. Hint hint. Anubis and I miss you dearly. XO, Little Miss Fontaine.”

You slowly folded the letter together into a pocket, making sure to add a small snippet of lavender under the seal. It was always fun being a little extra with your snail mail. Behind you, you could hear both yours and Ben's companions resting peacefully but as for you, there was something that gnawed on the back of your mind, filling this night with restlessness.

If there was only an answer to your worries, you felt there might have been a small reprieve.

[black-is-no-colour]

a meeting of minds: john galliano, tim walker and grace coddington

Through his work for Maison Margiela, John Galliano is analysing the times we live in and inspiring an emerging generation of designers to do the same. In a special collaboration, Galliano, Tim Walker and legendary stylist Grace Coddington come together to celebrate the Maison’s spring/summer 17 Artisanal collection.

by Anders Christian Madsen, on 19 April 2017, for i-d.vice

The black Mercedes-Benz parked on the curb outside the subtle Maison Margiela building in Paris' gritty 11th arrondissement gives it away. He's in there. I'm whisked through the labyrinthine corridors of the former convent where everything is covered in white paint: an antechamber, a staircase, a room, another room, another staircase, a courtyard, through doors, around corners - and there he materialises, at the back of a great, long studio, perched on a gilded salon chair, John Galliano, smiling. "Hello," he greets me. I've always thought of him as a unicorn. The image first came to me a few years ago when I saw him on a bench in Les Marais in some majestic outfit, alone, scribbling in a notebook in all his rare magnificence. He looked so otherworldly there, in the midst of the everyday routine in pedestrian Paris. The light shines differently on John Galliano. Since he joined Maison Margiela in 2014, he's become one of the most relevant and elusive designers in fashion all at once. He's not anonymous the way Martin Margiela was, but the triumphant runway bows that once embodied his fashion royalty are now replaced with an alluring absence. He doesn't come out for a bow. His elaborate collection narratives, once so publicised, are now merely implied in third-person statements from the house. He rarely speaks to the press.

Through this transition, as fashion gawps at his enigmatic collections for Maison Margiela and seeks to uncover what he's trying to say, Galliano's voice has grown stronger than ever. As has his myth. Here, in the heart of his creative world, alive and kicking, he's still as otherworldly as ever, no statement as straightforward as his jaunty demeanour might lead you to believe. At Maison Margiela, everything is veiled in filters. It's perhaps the reason why the Instagram generation worships its legacy so much. The digital communication that's changing our social language is the premise for Galliano's spring/summer 17 Artisanal collection, the house term for haute couture, summed up this season in an avant-garde futuristic folklore. He's days away from showing it on the runway. "I think I very gaily said at the end of ready-to-wear, 'oh fuck it, let's just grab our rucksack, roll up our yoga mats, and let's all pray,'" he recounts, referring to a 2016 defined by the terror attacks that transformed the Paris he calls home. "I read somewhere that people reached out to the Dalai Lama to help find a solution, and asked would he pray to God? And he said, 'No. You made this problem. You need to sort it out.' That led me to Snapchat and how people communicate today."

Galliano speaks with the kind of prophetic clarity that makes people listen when he decides to talk. "Because," he continues, "communication is so much easier today, isn't it? Yet, I read somewhere that 50% of the population is still lonely. Can you imagine? And 49% of them are on Snapchat and social media. There's this loneliness or melancholia, if you like," he pauses. "It's like we build higher and higher and can't see the sky anymore." You get the impression he's equal parts fascinated and cautious about the social media sphere. On his personal Instagram, he takes part in the online community but his posts are infrequent and highly selective. Instead, in suitable Margiela style, he observes from behind the scenes, watching the innate digital communication of people like Paolina Russo, a Central Saint Martins student from Toronto currently on a placement at the house. She looks like a human rainbow: dressed like a Fabergé egg, she graphically paints her face in multi-colours similar to the illustrations she posts on Instagram (@calurvillade), and at 21, speaks the digital language with intrinsic fluency. "She has a relationship with a young guy in London, and they communicate in symbols and emojis," Galliano says, referring to Russo's set designer boyfriend Aidan Zamiri.

"I was talking to Paolina about the feeling and she said, 'Yeah, yeah, I can relate, he tattoos me and I tattoo him.' She's quite an amazing spirit." The feeling, as it were, refers to the collection, which employs a new technique Galliano calls decortiqué. In the background, Joan Baez is lamenting lost love on Diamonds and Rust from 1975, which is playing on repeat. He'll use it for the show soundtrack, too. "I think Joan wrote it after she split up with Bob Dylan. It's full of poetry and she communicates it so beautifully, what she's feeling," he says. "If you listen to these lyrics it's like emotions only come from memories. So often we go into things with an emotion that comes from a memory. She's quite fearless in what she's saying." He stops, dwelling on the haunting lyrics. "So we're bringing everything down to just the memory of a shirt, the memory of a coat. We call it decortiqué, which means to take a fish off the bone. You bring it right down to the essence." It's Galliano's translation of the digital language into haute couture, the tongue he's most fluent in: a multi-layering of fabric as filters, deconstructed to reconstruct new images within the single garment they make up. "When you put all these layers together you get the communication: the full picture," he explains.

Which brings us back to Russo's face illustrations. They have informed embroideries on transparent tulle; layered over the garments like a graphic Snapchat filter come to life. "Almost like a computer screen, the filters build up in an image. It's how we're all fragmenting into tribes, almost, aren't we?" Galliano pauses. "The biologic, the ecologic, the macrobiotic - in search for some kind of truth today, I think." He possesses the rare oxymoron of homespun splendour, in big knitted socks and no shoes, long shorts and an oversized chunky knit, and an artist's headband that holds back his long, tied-up hair. But Galliano still looks like the fairy-tale admiral that took those regal bows during the first part of his career, his kind eyes sparkling with supernatural glint. Next to the gilded chair is a delicate tea set, an indication of his healthy lifestyle. Back on the topic of social media, he continues: "You know, all that stuff has now scientifically been proven to produce dopamine. No one's talking about it. You've got no friends, you hook up to ten, you get ten replies and you're like, 'Great! He loves me!'" He'll occasionally break out in exuberant exclamations like that, snapping you out of the spell his hypnotising voice puts you under. "It's happening. It's a reality of today. You've got Kendall, who actually closed her account to detox," he says, referring to Jenner, who temporarily shut down her Instagram last year citing digital dependency. "How genius was that, to have millions of followers and say that to young little girls?" He speaks like no one else, in a kind of ennobled South London accent, a grand and slightly grainy bass that curls around each word and makes it his own. In the privacy Maison Margiela has given him by proxy, Galliano has become a designers' designer, much in the vein of what David Bowie, Prince or Michael Jackson represented to the music industry. Like them, he's a living substance of captivating star quality: that unicorn force, which is now marvelling a new generation of young designers and fans, who connect with his legacy of grand and often emotional fashion gestures. They're watching his old shows on YouTube, from his eponymous John Galliano collections (1989-2011) to his shows for Givenchy (1995-96) and his epic tenure at Christian Dior (1996-2011), enthralled with the opulent theatricality and storytelling he's always executed with such precision.

Galliano is now fusing his prolific haute couture with the Belgian avant-garde codes of Maison Margiela, which Martin Margiela sold to the Only The Brave group in 2002 and eventually left in 2009. "A lot of it is rooted in reality: normcore shapes reconfigured," he says of the Artisanal collection at hand, pretty much summing up the essence of the Maison. In recent years, no house has had as big an effect on emerging fashion as the ingenious codes of Margiela's legacy. New generation Paris brands like Vetements and Off-White openly appropriate Martin Margiela's deconstructivist and elevated normcore, while in London emerging designers like Charles Jeffrey and Matty Bovan identify with John Galliano's historicist and eclectic grandeur. In a sweeping turn of magic, Maison Margiela now represents the synergy of what compels the broad young guard of designers most: the mystery of Martin Margiela and the myth of John Galliano. Jeffrey and Bovan got to meet him last year when Tim Walker invited them to style a shoot with the designer for Love. "It was in a context different to him having interns, I think," Charles Jeffrey reflects when I ask him how it went. "It was more like, 'we are two people, who are heavily inspired by you and your work and what you stand for.' We were both looking really colourful - Matty is like a painting - and you could see John analysing us," he smiles.

Next to their work, the two young designers share Galliano's affinity for expressing themselves through their personal looks. Unlike the dressed-down designers, who ruled the fashion scene for much of the 2010s, these emerging creatives represent a self-staging more in touch with what Galliano has often embodied. "Meeting John was an amazing moment," Matty Bovan says. "From a young age he was a huge inspiration to me - the grand master of creativity. Just the pure vision in each collection and the way it's presented, the sensitivity to detail and the spectacle done with such a hand," he reflects. "The references always so fully researched and kind of mashed together in an amazingly instinctive, beautiful way." If London's young fashion industry loves Galliano, it's reciprocated at Maison Margiela where you'll hear a few London accents in the corridors. Back in the ateliers, Galliano's assistant - clad in the lab coat everyone wears - brings out look 24 from the Artisanal collection. 

A collaboration with Benjamin Shine, a young artist Galliano has imported from London, it's a white trench coat lined in black tulle pouring out from the inside and flowing around the coat to form a three-dimensional face made entirely in tulle, hand-crafted to the coat by Shine. A few weeks after the show, which gets rave reviews, the designer's friend Grace Coddington styles the dress in a story shot by Tim Walker for these pages, which Galliano collaborates on. It's the legendary stylist's first editorial away from US Vogue since stepping down last year from the creative director position she held at the magazine for 30 years. And it's all Galliano's spring/summer 17 Artisanal collection for Maison Margiela, an indication of the emotional bonds tied to him and his work not only by a new guard of fans, but by every generation in this industry. In late March, while working on this feature, I receive a message from him: "I would like to add," Galliano writes, "what an honour it was to work with Grace, Tim and i-D." His gesture makes me think of the statement put out by Maison Margiela in collective wording - true to house tradition - after the show in January: "This collection is about adding filters but as much about removing them," the house wrote. "Sharing is about connecting with a community, becoming part of a union, and relating through mutual emotions rooted in memories."

Taken from i-d.vice.com