AN: This is post-Voldemort. Summer after 6th year. Voldemort and Dumbledore both died, Voldemort defeated by Harry. Not going to focus much on that part of the story though, apologies! So this is a new story of mine. This first part is just a taste, please let me know if I should continue.
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter whatsoever.
+ Preface +
"ARE YOU MAD?" I shout, struggling to defend my manhood while also masking my fear of the girl in front of me. Said girl bounces on the balls of her feet, a big tornado of excitement and impatience. The rush of traffic to our left throws her wild hair to the wind, whipping around her head like snakes. She looks crazed, high on adrenaline as she lunges forward and grabs my hand. Her skin is warm, feverish even, considering the cool night air, but I shiver.
"Come on Malfoy, don't be a sissy," Granger whines, tugging my arm forward as she tries to trudge toward the dreaded shop.
"Granger you're delirious," I hiss, standing my ground. So the girl is mad. She stops tugging and turns to me, big brown eyes glistening with anticipation. She moves closer, closer than usual considering the past few weeks, and turns her head up toward mine.
"Please?" she half-whispers, on the edge of pleading. I stare down defiantly at her, struggling internally to get a hold on my raging emotions, not to mention hormones. The brunette sighs and takes a step back, deflated. My heart drops at the look on her face. "I just want a change…" she says, gritting her teeth and staring out at the cars rushing by. "Thought you did too," she mumbles, turning away and walking towards the shop, leaving me behind. I clench my fists with a groan. Well now I feel like shit. Isn't this what I wanted? What curse has this idiot girl put me under? Just as Granger's about to open the door of the salon I stride over. With a reluctant sigh, I touch her back lightly. The cotton of her black dress is soft under my fingers. Her head swivels to me and she fixes me with her cat eyes. My mind screams at me to remember what muggle-borns are supposed to mean to me. Years of being taught that muggles are filth are washed down the drain when I look into the Gryffindor's eyes. Lord, help me.
"You owe me," I grumble stubbornly, even though inside my stomach flips and my heart races at the sight of her expression lighting up.
"You're the best Malfoy," she grins, blinding the whole of London.
"No shit Granger," I respond, pushing the door of the salon open. She squeals with glee behind me, slapping her hands on my back in excitement. She's so strange, this girl. The smell of chemicals smothers me once we walk in, along with various noises of machinery. Upon our entrance, a tall, skinny androgynous girl approaches us, a tight smile on her high cheek boned face. I take in her bright red hair, praying to all known gods Granger isn't getting any inspiration right about now.
"Can I help you two?" the girl asks politely, taking her stand behind a sleek silver podium. Her hair color stands our immensely against the silver and white furniture of the beauty parlor, aside from a few other vivid hair colors.
"Yes, actually," Granger says professionally, stepping past me and up to the stand. "We don't have an appointment, but we're both in need of hair styling." I can practically feel the keenness coming off of her. I cringe.
"What did you have in mind?" the receptionist asks, her dark brown painted-on-eyebrow raised high. A hint of a smile touches her mouth, perhaps at my uncomfortable presence. I scowl, trying in vain to remind myself I can always fix whatever happens with magic. For some reason, it isn't a reassuring argument.
"Coloring for me if it's possible," Granger responds, and I don't understand half the girl talk coming out of her mouth. She turns her head to me, and our eyes connect, hers shining with mischief, mine with worry and apprehension. "As for him, that's for us to know and him to find out."
I struggle not to collapse on the spot. The red head grins, matching Granger in waywardness. Just great. I'm going to look like a clown. I should have admitted her to St. Mungo's while I had the chance.
"I'll get you a stylist," the receptionist tells Hermione. "One sec." Hermione nods and walks over to me.
"Would you quit worrying?" she groans, crossing her arms. "We're only going to dye your hair green."
"GRAN-"
The insufferable girl slaps her hand over my mouth, cackles heaving through her body.
"Chill out Malfoy, I'm not that insane," she chuckles. "Anyway, I thought you'd like Slytherin Green."
I turn my head away from her hand and stalk towards the waiting area. It's empty aside from a teenage boy with a nose piercing sitting in the corner, earphones in. I sit down and lay my head against the wall behind me.
"You will be the death of me Granger," I grunt, closing my eyes in fatigue. Sudden pressure on my thighs causes me to snap my head up in alarm. Granger's settled herself on my lap, her body shaking with giggles at my anxiety. Her curls bounce with her shoulders. The realization that this might be the last time I'll get to see her chestnut curls overshadows my surprise at our current position. As if with a mind of their own, my hands reach forward, fingers entangling into the curls. Granger's shoulders stop their shaking and fall, as if she let out a long breath of exhaustion. I run my fingers through the soft golden tendrils, a bit frightened that they'll be gone in a matter of seconds. The girl on my lap leans back slightly, and as if I'm a magnet reacting to her, I lean forward and place my chin on her shoulder. The scent of her hair –coconut- fills my nostrils and I sigh. "Is this the last time I'll see your hair like this?" I ask her quietly, my voice low. She gives a slight nod, as if she too is apathetic about it.
"I've gotta do it though," she replies, as if mostly to reassure herself. Then she turns her head to mine, our faces literally inches apart. Her smile is glaringly bright. "Don't worry Malfoy, I'll still be insanely gorgeous afterwards," she smirks. I roll my eyes and open my mouth to answer, but we're interrupted by someone clearing their throat.
A slender young woman stands before us, her black hair styled into a perfectly done pixie cut. Two little jewels don her left eyebrow and her lips are painted a perfect, vibrant red. She smiles warmly at us and Granger stands up in a rush, stepping forward to meet the stylist.
"Hermione," she introduces herself, extending her hand. The young woman takes it and shakes it lightly.
"Donna," she replies, and I recognize an American accent.
"And this is Draco," Granger indicates me, turning her body slightly. Donna nods at me.
"So how will I be helping you two tonight?" she asks us. Instead of answering right away, Granger does a 180 and stands before me. She lightly takes my cold hand into her warm one, all the while looking up at me. I furrow my eyebrows and gaze back. Her expression is calculating and serious now. She lifts her empty hand, her fingers skimming up my cheek and into my hair.
"You're sure?" she asks quietly, her voice hesitant as she runs her slender fingers across my head. I nod solemnly in response.
"I'll still be gorgeous anyways." I break out my trade mark smirk, just for her. Because looking down at her wide, restless brown eyes, I know; I'd do anything for this girl.
Granger grins -her gorgeous, heart stopping crooked grin. That grin is the last thing I need to confirm my suspicions. With that single smile, I know once and for all that even if she had decided on pink hair and liberty spikes, I would agree in a heartbeat –if not only for her sanity, then for mine as well.
"Mohawk," is the one word that comes out of her mouth.
You know all that stuff about how if you do a good deed it'll come back to you? It's total garbage. Here I was totally changing my way of life -and risking it- to preserve the sanity of a girl I used to loathe. And what did I get out of it? A Mohawk, a tattoo, an uncanny taste for Led Zeppelin and Blink 182, and a whole lotta trouble. Not to mention completely reckless and asinine love for the one and only Hermione Granger.