Disclaimer: No, the Harry Potter characters have not become mine since yesterday.

A/N: I would not normally update this often, but I'm bored and do have quite a bit of this story written out already, so I decided to post up the second chapter. It's longer than the first chapter by a few pages, I think, and I hope you enjoy finding out just what happened to poor Draco's hair!

"Draco!"

Lucius closed his eyes in a brief moment of agony. After forcibly detaching Draco from his bedpost, to which he had magically fastened himself, and dragging him away from Narcissa, despite her hysterical pleas, he had been looking forward to a quiet send-off at the King's Cross Station. So much for his hopes.

Pansy Parkinson rocketed forward through the crowd, her muddy brown eyes alight with glee at the sight of her beloved. "Oh, Drakie," she squealed, throwing herself at his rigid body, "didn't you miss me? Why didn't you owl me? I was so worried—" She stopped short as she noticed that Draco's head was covered by a black hood which shadowed his face. "Draco, don't be a silly boy. Now, take off your hood for your darling Pansy." Her tone was sickeningly sweet, reminding Draco of the tone which he had heard Hagrid, that overgrown lump, use with the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"No." Draco's voice was muffled by the black cloth, but his answer was plain enough.

Pansy's eyes began to brim over, much to Lucius' dismay. "After all I've done for you," she began to sob, as Lucius slowly began to back away, "you can't just refuse me like that!"

Draco remained silent, though his father thought that he may have heard a snort from the depths of the hood.

"Take it off, that's a good boy," Pansy implored, batting her rather wet eyelashes for added effect.

The hooded figure didn't move.

The Slytherin girl's eyes hardened, and her chin began to stick out. "Take it off, I said!"

Lucius shrank back, but Draco stood his ground.

Pansy drooped, her shoulders slumping as she started to turn away. "Well, if you insist…"

Draco relaxed, just as she whirled and snatched off his hood—and screamed.

The formerly-blond Slytherin was bald, and slightly green-tinged bumps covered his scalp, making him look as though he had shaved his head and then dipped it in a carton of undiluted Bubotuber pus. Pansy backed away, her formerly doting face twisted in revulsion.

"What have you done?" Her exuberant voice was reduced to a barely-audible hiss.

"What have I done?" Though Draco's tone was soft, almost mocking, and a small smile played about his lips, his grey eyes narrowed and beneath his robes, one hand gripped his wand tightly. "What have I done?" he repeated, his voice rising in fury. "All I had the misfortune to do was to run afoul of a confounded Muggle barbarian—no," Draco stopped, frowning, "he wasn't a Muggle, he cursed me…perhaps a Mudblood, then—"

Lucius cut his son off as he paused for breath. "Draco," he snarled under his breath, "Malfoys do not make scenes in public. If you must explain what happened to your hair, you will do it as your family honor requires—with your back against a wall and a wand in your hand, ready to defend your word against all who doubt it. Clear?"

With that, Lucius vanished into the crowd, thanking Merlin that Draco had not recalled that incident when he had knocked out Arthur Weasley in the Flourish & Blotts Bookshop. Or when he had fired the Dark Mark into the sky at the Quidditch World Cup. Or especially that little mishap, just last year, which they had taken great care to keep out of the spotlight. It had involved two dragon eggs, a Dementor, and a charmed shower cap, though Lucius still maintained that the entire accident would have never happened if the confounded Ministry officials would stop being so paranoid about the smuggling of dragon eggs.

Muttering foul words as loud as he dared, Draco strode towards the train, having deposited his trunk in the baggage car. He could feel people's stares, hear their uneasy whispers and barely-stifled giggles, and he gritted his teeth. So this is what it's like for Potter, he thought furiously. He raised his head and swept the crowd with his best Malfoy glare, a combination of his disdainful, slightly pitying, and aren't-you-all-lucky-that-you-can-set-eyes-on-me looks. Unfortunately, with nearly everyone knowing what lay under that hood of his, it wasn't nearly as effective. In fact, if anything, the giggles grew even louder. Pretending that their laughter went unheard, Draco raised his eyebrows slightly and stepped into the train compartment closest to him, stumbling slightly on the steps leading up to it. Open laughter burst out behind him as he gathered together what shreds of dignity he had left and closed the compartment door behind him.

Just my luck, he thought desperately, freezing upon seeing who the occupants of the compartment were, Potter, the Weasel, and the Mudblood. He was all for sneaking out before they could see him, but it was too late.

"Malfoy," the Weasel leered, "Nice to see that they haven't kicked you out yet. I thought that after that little fiasco with the shower cap, you wouldn't dare show your pointy little ferret face around Hogwarts again."

Draco's mind was working fast. Apparently, Potter and his hench-creatures hadn't heard what happened to his hair yet. That was an advantage. But how in the world did the Weasel find out about the incident of the shower cap?

"My dad works for the Ministry, remember, Ferretboy?" The Weasel's grin was threatening to split his freckled face in two. "Not everyone is as tolerant of your family's…misadventures as Fudge is."

"In other words, Malfoy," the Mudblood put in, "not everyone can be bought off by the sight of gold and little else."

Draco looked down his nose at the bushy-haired girl who was now smiling very sweetly and very impudently at him. He snorted softly. Ugly as ever. She did look all right that one time during the Yule Ball, but she never followed up on it. Pity, really. "Granger, those teeth of yours aren't as perfect as you seem to think they are. If I were you, I wouldn't show them off quite as prominently."

She opened her mouth to make a smart reply—Draco had to admit it, her comebacks were pretty good—but before she could form a sentence, the youngest Weasel came rushing in.

"You'll never guess what happened to Draco Malfoy's hair!" she started enthusiastically. "It's completely gone, and—" She caught sight of Draco standing there hooded, silent, and motionless, and an evil grin that was the twin of her brother's spread over her face. "Like I was saying," she continued deliberately, the grin growing with every word, "Malfoy's hair is completely gone, and his scalp is covered with—"

Draco sighed. One of the chief rules in the Malfoy Code was to never, ever lose your composure, no matter how dire the situation. Well, he thought irately, might as well get it over with. The Weaslette might describe my head as being far worse than it actually is, and we can't have that, can we?

"Here," he said irritably, jerking off his hood. "Have a good look." The look of shock on all three of his enemies' faces made it almost worth it for a second—at least, until the Weasel started hooting, and Potter joined in. Granger covered her mouth with one hand to stifle her laughter, amusement vying with pity on her face.

"Well," Weasel finally managed to speak between his fits of gleeful laughter, "at least you won't have to worry about messing up your hair playing Quidditch anymore! That is," he added as an afterthought, "if what you do can be called playing Quidditch."

Draco bristled. "Even with my hair gone," he retorted cuttingly, "I look far better than you ever will, Weasel. Anyway," he smiled disarmingly, "at least I don't fall off my broom in the path of a Quaffle and call it 'saving a goal.'"

Weasley was on his feet, growling swear words under his breath, and Draco was beginning to feel really cheerful for the first time since his accident, when Granger—as usual—just had to ruin it. She stepped in between the two boys, grabbed the redhead's arm, and forced him back to his seat, saying, "He's not worth it, Ron, we all know that you're an awesome Keeper—"

Annoyed at being deprived of what had promised to be a very interesting fight, Draco quickly retaliated. "An awesome Keeper, Granger?" he sneered. "Indeed. Weasley's Keeping skills are about as advanced as your knowledge of beauty tips." He smirked at the faint flush that spread over her cheeks. "We all know that your looks are second only to Longbottom's."

"Well, Malfoy," she shrugged slightly, a mocking smile on her lips, "at least I still have the capability to look beautiful if I want to. With your loss," her gaze swept over his head, "I doubt you could manage to look good even with all your father's money at your disposal."

Draco was at a loss to reply. Besides, Granger had a look in her eyes that Draco recognized—it was the same look that she had worn on that day back in third year when she had slapped him. Merlin, that girl could hit hard, Mudblood or not. "Fine," he snapped, "so I may not be my former gorgeous self." He ignored the skeptical noises from the two Weasleys and Potter and continued, flashing his most confident smile. "However, I'll still be the most popular Slytherin around. Watch and see."

"Oh, I will, Malfoy." There was no longer any trace of a smile on Hermione's face. "I most definitely will."

A/N: Liked it? I'd love to hear what you think!