Everything was Green; Her porcelain clawfoot tub, Her plush white towels in a pile at her feet, Her centuries old, white tile floors, Her neck, Her ears, Her hands. Pansy Parkinson gripped the sides of her pedestal sink and leaned in closer toward the mirror hanging above it. A thin smile pulled at the left corner of her lips. Her hair was more than colored green, it was saturated. Every hair on her head was a rich, deep, Slytherin Green.
Those gaggling, giggling, gossiping old twits at the Ministry would have a field day.
She turned the hot water tap and started to scrub the dye off of her fingers. Sure, she could have easily charmed her hair, and probably would once the dye faded, but there was just something so cathartic about getting her hands dirty. After her nail beds were clean she scrubbed her hairline, ears, and the back of her neck. When she finished with that she set a scouring charm to the tub and floor.
Wearing only a thin camisole and cotton underwear, she stepped onto her terrace where a small, iron chair and tiled table waited. She sat down, propping her feet on the railing and picked up the pack of Muggle cigarettes from the table. As she lit up, a small breeze cut through the stale summer air. She exhaled and couldn't help but smile.