I don't understand this. My hair is better, admittedly. I follow her advice and wash it every second day at most, despite my misgivings at first, and I do remember to tie it back when brewing. It still doesn't make sense. Why would such a small change make such a large difference in the rest of my life? Orders keep coming in, customers too, I should probably hire someone to man the store soon if this continues. People nod at me in the streets. I went back to Weasley a few days ago, and the cashier even smiled and thanked me for my sacrifices during the War.
I go back to her again, a week after the first appointment. It is strange. As she instructed, I use the disc to focus on my wish to see her. Not long after, it heats up.
When I try the door it is unlocked. I enter and she comes in from the back room. Somehow I get the impression she's happy to see me, but that cannot be right, can it? No one's ever been happy to see me, not even my own mother when I was a boy. Yet here she is. I still don't see her face behind the obstructing Glamour but I think she would have been smiling.
"Master Brennus, welcome back," she says. It sounds sincere.
"Thank you… Cessair," I say. The name is not right, but she needs something unusual. She's not an Anna or Marie or Susan.
She gestures for me to sit in the chair again and I comply, more willingly than the previous week. She tilts the chair back and once again begins the elaborate ritual by pouring water over my scalp. I shiver and close my eyes. As she massages shampoo into my hair I let my thoughts drift. I think about Weasley's potion ideas, the Ministry, of Miss Parkinson and her troubles, but inevitably my thoughts circle back to her, the witch currently rinsing my hair with more care than I've ever experienced. Is it a curse, that has robbed her of her memories and her sight? What happened to her, who is she?
"I'm a Potions Master," I try again. "I could help you. With the shampoo for example, mine seems to have moondew extract? Have you tried triple-distilling it under a full moon?"
Her hands still in my hair. "Well, I did think about that, but then that would negate the silverweed leaves, as they are allergic to moonlight. I tried improving the efficacy by adding ground Moly flowers, but you're right, there's something missing."
I consider the problem. "Did you try Fire Salamander blood? It would react favourably with Moly flowers."
"Oh! That might be an option, but it's rare and difficult to get. What about Ashwinder eggs?"
I shrug. That depends. "Maybe. What else did you add? Ginger, hawthorn?"
She snorts. "Can't a witch keep any secrets, here?"
I shake my head gingerly, she isn't done rinsing my hair. "Not from my nose, Cessair. I want to help you."
She is quiet, her hands stilling again. I wonder what she thinks. Slowly she starts working again, rinsing my hair, finishing up with slightly colder water, then gently wringing the excess water out with a clean cloth. "You can't help me, Master Brennus."
"I will try, if you let me."
She is silent again and lets me out of the chair without a word. I rise, reluctantly, and leave a pile of Galleons on the counter again.
"Please," she says just as I turn to leave. Nothing more, just that. A whisper, again. "Please."
I don't know what she's asking of me, if it is to stop digging, to go deeper, but it doesn't matter much. I will do all I can to find out what's going on.
For the first time in… years, probably, I have a purpose again.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
Although it goes against all of my guiding principles, I return to Grimmauld Place that same evening. The Fidelius charm is either still in place, unchanged, or lifted, as Number Twelve is clearly visible. I suppress a shiver. Coming here for Order meetings when Black was alive was torture, not only due to the man himself. The conduct of the others was almost worse. I was an outcast, a pariah, and Albus clearly kept me so on purpose, letting Black get away with everything while stepping in at the right moment to make me the villain. They never trusted me, the other Order members. Maybe Kingsley had, once, and Minerva sometimes, but then it was too late and nothing mattered anymore during that last horrid year.
Anyway. I shake off the horrid thoughts and take the final few steps up the front stairs.
Potter opens. He's clad in a shabby t-shirt and Muggle jeans, looking very far from the fancy celebrity I know he is. To make matters worse he's a good Quidditch player, too.
"Professor!" he gasps, clearly not expecting to see me. He's filled out during training, but Seekers are lean and strong rather than bulky.
I raise an eyebrow at him. "Potter. Is your wife in?"
He stands a moment with his mouth open before his mind, supposedly, catches up. "Ginny?"
Well, obviously, dunderhead. Or how many wives do you have? I do not say it but am sure he picks up on it anyway.
"Erm, well, yes, give me a minute. Come in, anyway. Kreacher! Tea please?" He turns as he talks, addressing the wily old house-elf I vaguely recall from Order meetings. He used to mutter about everyone and everything but usually treated me with respect, oddly enough. Come to think of it, it was probably because I wasn't trusted by Black or the others. He brought me tea in the evenings sometimes, when I had ensconced myself in the Black library, seeking solitude.
Potter gestures for me to head to the dining room while he goes upstairs to fetch the youngest not-Weasley-anymore. I do that, and Kreacher comes in with a cup of tea, just the way I like it. Not long after I hear steps thudding down the stairs.
Mrs Potter is tall, slim and collected. She doesn't appear as flustered as her husband, and sits down at the table opposite me. Kreacher deposits another cup of tea by her place, and one for Potter who has seated himself next to his wife.
"Professor," she says in greeting. "You look well."
I nod and wait a moment, trying to work out what to say. "Thank you for allowing me in, Mrs Potter," I say slowly. "I've come here to ask you a question, only."
"Yes?" she says, waiting. She was never really afraid of me while at Hogwarts, I know that much, and she had some skill in Potions.
"Miss Parkinson said it was you who first introduced her to the Hair-ologist in York. What can you tell me about her?"
"Who? Miss Parkinson?" Mrs Potter looks confused. "No… wait a minute. Yes, that's right. I'd nearly forgotten about that. The Hair-ologist…"
She trails off, her eyes focused on a spot near my shoulder as she thinks.
Potter looks confused, as usual. "Hold on, are you talking about the one in York?"
"Obviously, as that's what I said, Potter. Do try to keep up." I can't help it, something about him just makes my snarky side take over, more than usual that is.
Mrs Potter sighs and rolls her eyes. It is unclear if I or her husband is her target. "You're right. I went there right before my career took off, and I dragged Harry along as well. He was unhappy as an Auror, had just finished the training and only got the shittiest shifts. We went to see the Hair-ologist a couple of times before he got approached by the team to sign on as a Seeker, and well here we are. Odd, I haven't thought about her in years. Why did I forget her? I do see Pansy occasionally, you know since she works at the Prophet, and I must have said something to her at some point."
"So, you went to see her and then your career took off," I summarise. "Do you recall anything about her?"
To my surprise Potter answers. "I… got the impression she was someone I knew," he says slowly. "She had this Glamour on, obviously, so I couldn't see her face but something about her movements was really familiar. Odd that I can't remember, but I really have no idea who she was."
Mrs Potter nods. "It seemed as if she knew us, too, sometimes. She just… seemed like she wanted to join in when we chatted while we were there."
"What was your general impression of her?" I ask both of them.
Potter shrugs. "I think she must have been our age but it was hard to say. She could have been, but then if she went to Hogwarts I should have remembered her. Right?"
"Maybe she didn't go to Hogwarts," Mrs Potter comments.
Potter shakes his head. "No, I think she did. We were talking about Hagrid, remember? And the Acromantulas being removed by the Ministry and him moving to France? She was gasping and nodding along and it was as if she knew both Hagrid and the Forest. She can't have been from elsewhere, they aren't known outside Hogwarts."
I ponder this. She called me Professor so I, too, lean towards suspecting she was at Hogwarts, and that she is young enough to have had me as a teacher. "Who told you about her? How did you find her, Mrs Potter?"
The witch snorts. "Please call me Ginny, Professor. Mrs Potter sounds so stuffy. Anyway, let me see… I think it may have been from Mum? Or maybe even Mrs Longbottom. Yes, that may be it. Mum invited me to lunch when Mrs Longbottom came over as well and we must have talked about hair. It was odd, now that I think of it. Mum was very dismissive while Mrs Longbottom seemed to really want us to go see the Hair-ologist. I was curious, so I sent an owl to her later to get the address, and went a few days later. No idea what Mum had against it, she's usually quite fond of pampering. Maybe she thought it was too expensive?"
"I don't understand how we could just forget about her like this," Potter says next. "Especially since she seemed so familiar. Was she cursed?"
I nod slowly. She almost told me as much, saying she couldn't remember, that she thought she used to be able to see.
I rise to leave. "Thank you for your time, Mr Potter, Mrs Potter."
