An Outing

Mrs. Dursley took the girls for haircuts in the middle of July.

"We won't take much off," she reassured Grace in the car. "It's too short for that. We'll just trim it a bit, the ends don't look very neat, and it keeps tangling …"

"The ends aren't neat because Mrs. Starling always cut our hair," Grace explained. "She's not exactly the best hair stylist in the world, you know?"

They pulled up in front of the salon. "What about styling, dear?" Mrs. Dursley asked her. "All the girls are getting their hair layered …"

"No," Grace said, lifting Sarah out of her carseat. "Plain and simple." Grammy had liked it that way. She hadn't liked all the new styles that came out. "Plain and simple works best for me," she had always said.

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"Half an inch off the bottom," Mrs. Dursley instructed the stylist.

The woman worked quickly, her long nails occasionally scratching the back of Grace's neck. They could hear Sarah crying from the opposite side of the room.

"Your little sister isn't liking this much, is she?" asked the stylist in friendly tones.

"Guess not." Grace didn't bother to correct her.

"I never realized Mrs. Dursley had daughters," the woman said a few minutes later. "Four children … She sure keeps her figure well …"

"Hmmm …"

When the stylist finished cutting Grace's hair, she pulled out a hair dryer.

"I've never blow-dried my hair before," Grace said, eyeing the machine carefully.

"Really, love? How old are you?"

"Almost eleven."

The woman looked thoughtful. "All right, not that bad then. You'll be going to Stonewall in the fall?"

"Guess so."

"All the girls at Stonewall blow-dry their hair," the woman said. "It doesn't hurt at all. You'll want to talk to your mum about that, love."

"Okay," Grace said, but her reply was drowned out by the machine's drone.

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She looked like a new person.

Her red hair was no longer curled up into frizzy tangles, but was sleek and smooth and shiny.

Grace hated it.

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Mrs. Dursley couldn't stop staring. She kept sneaking glances at her in the rear view mirror all the way home.

It was the same, if not worse, and the dinner table that night. Neither Mr. Dursley or Harry could take their eyes off her. Grace ate in silence, trying to avoid their gazes.

But there was something else in Harry's eyes … something sad …

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AN: This is very fluffy (is that a word?) and not important to the story at all, just a little side trip. I PROMISE, next up is a chapter in which Grace discovers a familiar name.

Disclaimer: The only characters that belong to me are Grace, Sarah, and the hair stylist. All the others belong to JK Rowling.