The cut of the trousers was somewhat along the lines of fifteen years before, with their peg tops and heavy cuffs.

Beneath the vest, a glowing, watermelon-pink shirt glared forth from the protection of a purple tie.
A wonderful creation was on his head, dented in four places, each separated with almost mathematical precision.

Below the cuffs of the trousers were bright, tan, bump-toed shoes.

Harry was a complete picture of sartorial elegance, according to his own dreams.

What was more, to complete it all, upon the third finger of his right hand was a diamond, bulbous and yellow and throwing off a dull radiance like the glow of a burnt-out arclight; full of flaws, it is true, off color to a great degree, but a diamond nevertheless.