Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Captain
Prompt: A character learning something new about themselves.
Ship (Team): Blaise Zabini/Harry Potter (Heroic Shadow)
List (Prompt): Su Big (Lounge Chair)
Word count: 1,815
Warning: Racism


Harry hated his hair. He detested it with all his might and it apparently detested him right back. No matter what he or Aunt Petunia did to it, it remained as frizzy, wild, and uncontrollable as it had always been. Aunt Petunia already hated him because he messed up her perfect family—both by simply being there and with his dark skin—and the addition of his unruly hair was not welcome in the slightest.

There had been a week, he remembered, where Aunt Petunia would roughly grab his head every night and shave off every last bit of hair she could find, only for it to grow back by the time morning came. Now he knew that his hair had grown back because of accidental magic, but at the time he had been utterly confused and torn between awe and hatred for how fast his hair grew. He was convinced that the only reason Aunt Petunia had given up after a week was because she was afraid he'd make the link between his hair growing incredibly fast and him possessing magic.

He knew it had to be possible to get his hair under control from the few glimpses he'd caught of other people like him before Aunt Petunia had hurried away, dragging him along and casting suspicious glances behind her. Most of the people he saw had really cool hairstyles that he wished he could convince his hair to do, but instead it just frizzed, broke, and did what it wanted to do.

Harry wondered sometimes if the people he saw would help him if Aunt Petunia let him ask. He would never find out, he knew; Aunt Petunia hated Harry interacting with any other person, let alone those who shared his skin tone and that she lumped into the same category he lived in: scum she had to pretend to like when out in public. Maybe all of the people he saw had been taught by their parents; if that was the case, Harry wouldn't be getting those lessons because no way in hell would Aunt Petunia act as a mother to him.

He had thought, when first encountering Hermione on the Hogwarts Express, that maybe he'd be able to find someone who knew how to handle his hair while at Hogwarts. If there wasn't any natural way to deal with the mess that sat atop his head, maybe there was a magical way. He soon learned, however, that Hermione had just as much trouble with her hair as he did, and even the few tricks she used to make it manageable only seemed to make his hair worse.

So now he sat in one of the various courtyards held within Hogwarts Castle, charmed sunlight shining down on him as he stared into the fountain that reflected his own face back at him. He had started out in Gryffindor Tower but the teasing of his fellow Gryffindors had eventually pushed him out of there and in search of a more secluded spot where he could try and wrangle his hair into a less messy style. While the bird's nest he called hair had apparently become his signature look, he thought it might be better to have something more controlled for the stupid Yule Ball he had to attend and be in the spotlight for.

He pulled his hairbrush roughly through his hair a few more times before checking the reflection and groaning in aggravation. Every time he brushed it, it just got worse! Wasn't brushing supposed to make hair neater? He was never going to figure this out. The Boy-Who-Lived, able to vanquish the Dark Lord Voldemort when he was a baby, defeated by his own hair.

"Sounds like you're having some trouble," a voice said, and Harry jumped, hairbrush ready to act as a wand as he located the speaker. The Black boy with a Slytherin scarf wrapped around his neck smiled in amusement and gestured to the improvised wand. "Want some help?"

Harry stared at him suspiciously. "Why would you help me?" he asked. "Your entire House hates me."

The boy shrugged and made his way over to Harry, plonking himself down onto the lounge chair next to Harry's own. "A House is just a House, it doesn't control everything. What's true for seven Slytherins might not be true for three. Besides, you seem rather low on allies nowadays, what with you being the Fourth Champion in the Triwizard Tournament."

"I didn't put my name in the Goblet," Harry automatically said, too used to people accusing him of doing just that.

"I don't particularly care whether you did or not. Blaise Zabini, at your service."

"Harry Potter."

Blaise smiled. "And here I thought you were Ronald Weasley. But the more important thing is: why are you destroying your hair?"

Harry stared at him blankly for a few moments. "What?"

"Your hair. Why are you destroying it?"

"I'm not destroying it!" Harry protested. "I'm brushing it!"

Blaise was unimpressed. "Yes. And thus you are destroying it. Brushes are a curse for the type of hair we have, haven't you got a comb to use instead?"

"Is there a difference?" Harry asked and was given a sputtering Blaise Zabini in response.

"Is—is there a difference? Is there a difference? Yes! Yes, there bloody well is a difference! You can't use a brush if you want to avoid destroying your hair!" He stopped and took a breath, closing his eyes and seeming to calm himself down. Then he opened his eyes again and glared at Harry as he declared, "You will let me teach you and I will help you fix your hair."

Harry didn't think he had much of a choice in the matter. Besides, he'd always wanted to get lessons on how to make his hair look as good as Blaise's currently did with the top part curled neatly and proudly up with the sides shaved close to his head. "Okay."

"Good." Blaise nodded in satisfaction and then pulled two combs from a pocket. One had large gaps between the teeth and the other with the teeth closer together. He held up the one with gaps. "This is a detangling comb, it's one of the best things in the world." He held up the other. "This one is a pick comb and is mainly used for styling afros and variations. Learn them, love them, they will save your life."

From there it was an hour of Blaise running his fingers and the detangling comb through Harry's hair to reverse the damage Harry had caused with his usual hairbrush. There were also frequent wettings of Harry's hair—"Never comb your hair when it's dry." —and reshuffling of his hair's positioning as Blaise worked from section to section. Despite the multitude of muttered insults towards Harry's hair, Harry's lack of care with his hair, and even the comb itself, Harry found himself enjoying the time.

It wasn't painful like all the times Aunt Petunia had taken a brush to his hair or when he desperately tried to make the brush work like it was supposed to—something he now knew was an impossible task because the brush was working like it was supposed to but his hair didn't want to take orders from a brush, it wanted a comb.

Among the insults, Blaise also filled him in on other care aspects Harry should do. Apparently Harry needed to moisturise his hair often because it was dry, he was to space out washes by at least five days but preferably a week, and he was definitely not allowed to scrub it dry with a towel after washing.

When Blaise finally deemed Harry's hair to be combed to his satisfaction, Harry could only stare in awe at his reflection. It hadn't even been styled yet but already his hair looked to be meekly tamed by Blaise's competent hands. If this was what he could have been getting since his first year at Hogwarts, Harry almost wished he'd let the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin.

"You're amazing," he told Blaise, still staring at his hair in the fountain water.

Blaise smirked. "Glad you decided to trust a Slytherin, Harry Potter?"

Harry grinned back. "If it meant you'd teach me more, I'd become a Slytherin."

"Well, as I doubt that would be allowed, you'll have to suffer remaining in Gryffindor. But I can give you this." Blaise took off his scarf and settled it loosely on Harry's shoulders. "I rather think green suits you, Harry."

Harry blushed a little and pulled the scarf tighter to his neck. While the courtyard was illuminated, it was currently winter and the enchantment didn't carry much heat, plus he'd gotten some water dripped on him while Blaise was working so the warmth from the scarf was appreciated.

"Thanks," he said, not entirely sure what, precisely, he was thanking Blaise for.

"Any time. Now, I can give you an afro similar to mine, though you'd have sides of course, or I can give you something else. Any preferences?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I wouldn't mind an afro."

Truth be told, that was the only hairstyle he knew the name of, though it was true that he wouldn't mind having a style like Blaise's. While he had seen plenty of interesting styles he'd wanted to recreate with his own hair, he had no idea what they were called. He'd been whisked away as soon as Aunt Petunia had seen a hint of dark skin that didn't belong to Harry, so there had been no time for asking what someone called their hairstyle. Blaise would probably know though, and there was no Aunt Petunia here to whisk him away from Blaise. Harry would ask him about hairstyle names later.

Blaise hummed and went to work with the picking comb, lifting bits of Harry's hair and patting them down again in a way that utterly baffled Harry but somehow had his hair behaving and taking on the form that Blaise wanted. Magic being real was nothing compared to the miracle Blaise was currently performing with Harry's stubborn and untameable hair. The untameable had become tamed.

"I expect to see you again, Harry," Blaise said as he worked. "I will not allow you to let your hair return to how it was before. I will be doing your hair until you have learned enough to care for it yourself."

Harry grinned. His hair being expertly wrangled and spending more time with Blaise? Such an offer—order, really—was not one he'd ever want to turn down. Although he'd only known Blaise for a few hours and the other boy was in Slytherin, Harry enjoyed his presence immensely. He hadn't had such a relaxing afternoon since his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, and even then he wasn't sure when he'd last enjoyed himself so much.

"As you wish."