Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, the plot excepted, is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling.
Authors' Notes: Thanks to RaistlinofMetallica and Jalee for being our first two reviewers! This chapter is for you.
***
The next morning, a piercing scream ripped through the castle.
***
Draco stared in the mirror in what can only be described as abject horror.
The mirror, to its credit, had chosen to remain quiet. Of course, it was also possible that the looking-glass was just too shocked to speak.
Instead of seeing his perfect reflection smiling back at him, Draco was met with something from only the worst nightmares.
Black hair. Uncombed, unkempt, messy, nasty black hair. Did the powers-that-be not realize that black hair does NOT go with perfectly pale skin and silvery-grey eyes?
Well, on second thought... He still looked damn good, if entirely alien. Maybe a Greek god type.
He was going to *kill* whoever did this to him.
But first, he was going to comb his hair.
***
Harry awoke to various pokes, proddings, and "Oi, Harry, what happened to you?" Groggily, the Boy Who Lived sat up, fumbled with his glasses, and found himself being stared at by all his dorm mates.
"What's wrong with you guys? Ron? Seamus? Dean??" That inquiry was answered only by Ron's finger pointing in the general direction of Harry's forehead. "What, is it my scar or something? It doesn't hurt..." Harry rushed to the bathroom mirror to check and was met by the most amazing sight: perfectly-placed blonde hair sitting atop a slightly-tanned, wide-green-eyed face. His jaw dropped as he leaned forward for a closer inspection. His first logical thoughts were that Malfoy had something to do with this sudden transformation.
He cautiously poked his new "crowning glory", thinking of the term Aunt Petunia had once used to mock his usual windswept black hair, and found that it was slightly gelled. Every slick strand of this blonde substitute had a position and violently adhered to it; that is, until Harry's hand suddenly ran through from back to front.
Harry looked in the mirror again to admire his work; he was used to dealing with a mop on his head, not a moussed shell. After a few more backward strokes, he was ready to exit the bathroom.
When he re-entered the dorm room, his mates seemed to have snapped out of their shock and were discussing the possibilities of the Chudley Cannons getting a good trade deal on a new Chaser.
Harry, in an almost-Hermione moment, nearly rolled his eyes at how Quidditch was a cure-all for the average teenaged wizard. Then again, he was also thisclose to joining in the conversation when he realized that he had the Brain of Gryffindor at his disposal. After she was properly caffeined-up, she was open to giving help and advice on mostly anything.
But a quick glance at the clock told him it would be fifteen more minutes until that useful period of Hermione's Cleverness.
And, in Harry's mind, that was fifteen minutes to talk about Quidditch.
***
Authors' Notes (okay, just the Barn's Notes): I'm posting this without talking to Oompa first (bad me, I know), but I'm hoping that some Internet use will make me drowsy and allow me to fall back to sleep.
RaistlinofMetallica- Worry not! We didn't hurt Draco... just messed with head, so to speak. ^^;
Jalee- Five points to your House for guessing that we'd give Draco messy hair! Thanks for the compliments.
Oh, by the way, Oompa says that we're review-hungry... so please let us know what you think so far! Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated, and we'll give full kudos and credit to any inspiration that you might give us. Thanks!
Authors' Notes: Thanks to RaistlinofMetallica and Jalee for being our first two reviewers! This chapter is for you.
***
The next morning, a piercing scream ripped through the castle.
***
Draco stared in the mirror in what can only be described as abject horror.
The mirror, to its credit, had chosen to remain quiet. Of course, it was also possible that the looking-glass was just too shocked to speak.
Instead of seeing his perfect reflection smiling back at him, Draco was met with something from only the worst nightmares.
Black hair. Uncombed, unkempt, messy, nasty black hair. Did the powers-that-be not realize that black hair does NOT go with perfectly pale skin and silvery-grey eyes?
Well, on second thought... He still looked damn good, if entirely alien. Maybe a Greek god type.
He was going to *kill* whoever did this to him.
But first, he was going to comb his hair.
***
Harry awoke to various pokes, proddings, and "Oi, Harry, what happened to you?" Groggily, the Boy Who Lived sat up, fumbled with his glasses, and found himself being stared at by all his dorm mates.
"What's wrong with you guys? Ron? Seamus? Dean??" That inquiry was answered only by Ron's finger pointing in the general direction of Harry's forehead. "What, is it my scar or something? It doesn't hurt..." Harry rushed to the bathroom mirror to check and was met by the most amazing sight: perfectly-placed blonde hair sitting atop a slightly-tanned, wide-green-eyed face. His jaw dropped as he leaned forward for a closer inspection. His first logical thoughts were that Malfoy had something to do with this sudden transformation.
He cautiously poked his new "crowning glory", thinking of the term Aunt Petunia had once used to mock his usual windswept black hair, and found that it was slightly gelled. Every slick strand of this blonde substitute had a position and violently adhered to it; that is, until Harry's hand suddenly ran through from back to front.
Harry looked in the mirror again to admire his work; he was used to dealing with a mop on his head, not a moussed shell. After a few more backward strokes, he was ready to exit the bathroom.
When he re-entered the dorm room, his mates seemed to have snapped out of their shock and were discussing the possibilities of the Chudley Cannons getting a good trade deal on a new Chaser.
Harry, in an almost-Hermione moment, nearly rolled his eyes at how Quidditch was a cure-all for the average teenaged wizard. Then again, he was also thisclose to joining in the conversation when he realized that he had the Brain of Gryffindor at his disposal. After she was properly caffeined-up, she was open to giving help and advice on mostly anything.
But a quick glance at the clock told him it would be fifteen more minutes until that useful period of Hermione's Cleverness.
And, in Harry's mind, that was fifteen minutes to talk about Quidditch.
***
Authors' Notes (okay, just the Barn's Notes): I'm posting this without talking to Oompa first (bad me, I know), but I'm hoping that some Internet use will make me drowsy and allow me to fall back to sleep.
RaistlinofMetallica- Worry not! We didn't hurt Draco... just messed with head, so to speak. ^^;
Jalee- Five points to your House for guessing that we'd give Draco messy hair! Thanks for the compliments.
Oh, by the way, Oompa says that we're review-hungry... so please let us know what you think so far! Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated, and we'll give full kudos and credit to any inspiration that you might give us. Thanks!