Inspired by some of Ell Roche's late work. Not cannon. But interesting. In the same timeline/universe as "Of Dreams of Families"

What's in a Hair Style

Over the summer, the witches altered their hairstyle.

It wasn't until a transfiguration class in the third week of term that Harry realized anything had changed.

"Professor McGonagall?"

Pansy Parkinson's hand was almost never raised in any of the theoretical classes, unless she was asking to be excused to take twenty minutes to go to the bathroom.

"Yes, Ms. Parkinson." Clearly, their professor was just as surprised.

Pansy, instinctively sensing that all eyes in the room were on her, leaned forward so certain, recently developed parts of her anatomy were pressed against the desk. Next to him, Ron leaned forward with greater interest.

"Professor." Pansy raised a hand to trace along her neck. Harry was sure his weren't the only eyes to follow the path of those fingers to her hair line. "This spell is hard. Do you think that I could go to another room to practice? You see, I want to let my hair down."

These strange words were said directly and deliberately to Malfoy who just rolled his eyes and returned back to his scroll. Next to him, Ron stiffened. Further behind him, Lavender and Pavarti made a mix of scandalized gasps and choaking sounds.

Looking like she had swallowed a lemon more than usual, Professor McGonagall acquiesced.

"You may retire to the adjacent room if you require, Ms. Parkinson. Though I would suggest not making a practice of such retreats. This exercise is preliminary at best."

Pansy apparently decided not to hear her. With a swish of her robes, newly tailored Harry suddenly realized, she rose, collected her school books and sashayed into the extra study space.

"Hey, Hermione?"

His friend glanced up from the thick book she had brought to the dinner table. Hermione's reading habits had become outrageous lately. Breakfast was spent pouring over the newspaper with a red pen, occasionally circling articles with a triumphant expression. Lunch was spent reviewing the notes she had taken weeks ago for this afternoons classes and quizzing Harry and Ron on parts of lectures they had day dreamed through. Dinner was her "extra-curricular" research.

She was awe inspiring. Or terrifying. Harry couldn't decide.

"Yes, Harry?" She pushed her hair behind her shoulders. It was still as bushy as it had been as a first year, though Harry had learned to refer to it as Voluminous in conversation. Apparently, witches liked volume.

"Why are all the girls-" He gestured to where Lavender and Pavarti were deep in discussion of some article in Witch Weekly, "Why do they have their hair up?"

"What?" Hermione blinked at him.

"You know. All the girls, they have their hair up. Fancy like."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. Not all the girls do. I don't." But Hermione was glancing around the Great Hall and coming to the same realization. A frown darkened her brow as she glanced over at the Slytherin table where every girl in their year had their hair done up in elaborate coiffed. Even Pansy Parkinson had done away with her short bob and was sporting a rather nice braided knot at the base of her neck.

"And," Hermione continued after a second, "Ginny doesn't." So it's not a pure blood thing, was the unsaid context.

"Ginny doesn't what?" Ron sat down heavily next to Harry and glanced suspiciously at his younger sister. Ever since Ginny had become a fourth year, Ron had become increasingly cagy and protective of his baby sister's "virtue." It had made for some awkward moments when Harry allowed himself to be too distracted by a flash of red hair in the hallway or on the Quidditch Pitch.

"Have her hair in an updo." Hermione answered.

"Oh, well yeah. She's not a fifth year yet, is she?" Ron pulled the plate of roast beef towards him and stabbed several slices onto his plate. "She'll put it up next summer."

"What will I do?" Ginny turned from her conversation with Colin. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at someone putting a limit on any of her freedoms.

"Put your hair up." Ron gestured down the table with his fork. "Like Lavender."

Lavender, ears ever sharp for a mention of her name, glanced up with a slight blush.

"No, I won't." Ginny swung her thick strands of crimson hair behind her shoulder and raised her chin defiantly.

"Like hell you won't, Ginvera. It's a bloody tradition."

"For the Pureblood Patriarchy." Fire flashed in Ginny's eyes and Harry felt his cheeks light up in response. Especially when she leveled her gaze on him. "It's not the middle ages. I can do what I like."

"Of course you can." Hermione hastened to add, before Ron could say another word. "You're an emancipated woman. You don't need to follow backwards pureblood rituals."

"It's not a backwards Pureblood ritual-" Both Ron and Lavender broke out at the same time and then caught sight of each other and Lavender turned away with a deep blush.

"Merlin, Hermione. Not everything pureblood is tainted by the Malfoy git. There's some good things. Like Ginny and I are purebloods." Ron stabbed his steak savagely.

"I forgot." Hermione admitted.

"I know." Ron glared down at the steak and then shoved his plate away, standing up angrily.

"Ron-" Hermione half rose but he shook his head.

"Whatever. I'm not hungry anyways." He stalked out of the Great Hall. Lavender watched him go and then turned an angry and, surprising to Harry, tear filled glare on Hermione.

"Maybe next time you'll think before you talk."

Hermione looked taken aback by the sharp comment. "What-"

"Any witch worth her salt and sage knows that there is magic in unbound hair. Keeping it up after her fourth year, when her magic is gaining it's potency, is a promise. That she will keep her magic pure and contained until marriage. Then on her wedding night, her husband can undo her hair and know that no one else has seen or touched it before him."

Hermione looked as shocked as Harry felt at the revelation, but Lavender wasn't done.

"And it's not just a pureblood tradition. I'm a halfblood. So get off your high horse, Hermione. There are some things the wizards have thought of first. And maybe think about what it means that your hair is still down."

With that parting shot, she collected her own bag and stormed out of the Great Hall. Pavarti mouthed a quick sorry to Hermione and then hurried after her. Harry turned back to the table to see Ginny watching him with a stormy and unreadable expression. He dropped his eyes hurriedly to his plate.

"But that's what I'm talking about." Hermione's whisper was barely audible and slightly shaking.

"What?"

"That tradition. There's no proof that there's magic in hair. What does that even mean? And keeping it pure for their husbands? That's the same patriarchal nonsense as- as-" Hermione snapped her mouth shut and shot up. There was a light in her eye that Harry recognized. So he didn't ask where she was going when she strode out. The library was the only answer.

Looking around the now deserted table and uncomfortable under the same, unreadable gaze of Ginny, Harry vowed never to question witches' hairstyles ever again.