Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters in the book do not belong to me.
A/N: This fic features what I refer to as the "annoying little brat" version of Draco, whom I find particularly fun to play with. Hope you enjoy reading about him!
"Careful, you oaf," snapped the blond boy, glaring at the hair stylist in the mirror. "My looks are worth more than you make in a decade." The patient stylist ignored him and continued to snip pale golden strands of hair.
"Father," drawled the boy, "remind me again why I must put up with this ridiculous butcher with scissors." Lucius Malfoy detached himself from the wall on which he had been leaning, raising an eyebrow as he stared at his only son.
"This man is an award-winning Muggle barber—"
"Exactly, a barbarian! So why—watch those scissors, or you will sincerely regret it—must I endure this refined torture?" Draco Malfoy continued as if the stylist was deaf. "In fact, it's not even refined. For heaven's sake, Father, this man cannot even control his own hair, do you actually expect him to be able to improve mine?" He cast a loving look at his own reflection.
Lucius rolled his eyes. "The newest fashion is to have your hair disarranged—" Fortunately for his prominent Death Eater status, Lucius' habit of glancing occasionally at Narcissa's fashion magazines remained unknown to his colleagues.
"Disarranged!" Draco's eyes widened in horror and he clutched the arms of his chair convulsively, turning even paler. "Do you mean to say that this barbarian—"
"Barber," Lucius corrected.
"—barbarian will disarrange my hair? Destroy the work of a lifetime? Ruin my reputation among the Slytherins?" He paused. "Well, actually, if it gets rid of Pansy Parkinson it may well be worth it—but no! He will do no such thing to my lovely, precious—"
"Draco," his father interrupted, "all that he will do is trim it properly so that it doesn't look quite so unsophisticated. After all, neither you nor I can properly perform any type of Beautifying Spell, and it's no use asking your mother." Both Lucius and Draco winced at the thought of what the overly-sophisticated Narcissa might do to Draco's hair. He could easily end up with bright red dreadlocks.
"But still," Draco whined, "it's an insult to Malfoy Pride that I have to go to a Muggle barber just to fix my hair."
"Well, then," the stylist said calmly, speaking for the first time, "your 'Malfoy Pride' may rest in peace." He drew a wand from among the bottles and combs in one of his deep pockets. "I'm afraid, however, that your hair will not have the same privilege." Raising the wand and pointing it at Draco's head, he muttered two words, so low that neither of the Malfoys could hear him. Then, giving them a mischievous smile, he Disapparated.
Quickly recovering from his initial shock—a barbarian carrying a wand!--Draco turned to his father. "Well," he said, shrugging, "it could have been worse. At least the barbarian left my perfect hair intact." It was then that he noticed the stunned look on Lucius' face. "What?" he demanded. "What did—" He swiveled in his chair to face the mirror—and screamed.
It took all of Lucius' strength and a Full Body Bind spell to transport Draco home, and it required several tranquilizing potions and an extra strong Slumber Potion in order to keep him quiet and put him to sleep. At last, nearly three hours later, the now very disheveled and completely exhausted Lucius sank into a chair opposite his wife. Narcissa, dramatic as always, was tragically dabbing at her eyes with a silk and lace handkerchief and occasionally sobbing out phrases like "my poor baby" and "his hair, his hair," then bursting altogether into tears.
"What can we do, Lucius?" Narcissa was on the verge of hysterics. "Next week is the train to Hogwarts and he can't, no, he can't go like that. Oh, my darling boy…" and she began crying again.
Lucius was trying his best to keep Narcissa's tears from staining his cloak, but without much success. "Well, what can we do?" he snapped irritably. His nerves had been frayed enough in his battle with Draco, and Narcissa's theatrics were not comforting. "I've tried every counter-charm and healing spell I know, and none of them have had the slightest effect. He'll go to school as usual. After all, if they let that Longbottom boy attend class, considering his looks, Draco will fit right in." This only sent Narcissa into another bout of tears. At last, Lucius lost his temper. "The boy's too vain as it is, Narcissa, and you only pamper him! He will go to school as usual, and that will be the end of this discussion!" He stormed off upstairs, thinking longingly of all those tranquilizing potions he had brewed.
Needless to say, Draco was less than pleased with his parents' decision, but he obeyed them after Lucius most convincingly demonstrated the newest torture curse (taught exclusively to Death Eaters) on one of the several spiders skittering around the Malfoy Manor. Nevertheless, though the formerly blond Slytherin knew enough not to complain around his father, he continued to whimper about his misfortune to his mother. Their daily crying fests continued until the day when Lucius, disturbed during a very important meeting with Voldemort by a call from a frantic house elf, found both of them sobbing convulsively on a pile made up of several of Lucius' best cloaks. After that, Draco was locked in his room until the day that the Hogwarts Express would depart.
Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, and thanks for reading!