Thomasin Riddle.  Young.  Virginal where it came to mayhem, sane where it came to goals and efforts. Harry couldn’t hold himself back. He reached out for the paleness of Thomasin’s nearly-corporeal shade, hands grasping at firming air. His movement disturbed dust and motes of what might become flesh, streaks roiling through Thomasin’s body and a smile playing out across her face. 