I make it back home, I don't know how. I live above the shop and lab nowadays, having sold the apartment in Cokeworth to invest all my Galleons into the shop. Lab and workshop in the basement, then the store and storage rooms on the ground floor, then the flat above. It's small but it works.

I can still feel her hands in my scalp, on my shoulders. At some point I must have dragged my hand through my hair. The texture is… different. Silky and smooth, with none of the oily residue from brewing and no kinks or snarls. Going to the bathroom I have to hold on to the doorframe when seeing myself in the mirror. My hair looks fresh and bold and shining. The cut is even and something reflected in my face, making the harsh lines from fifteen years' worth of headaches over having to teach thoughtless dunderheads, less noticeable.

Frowning I turn away from the image, from the false promises of youth and vitality. I end up Summoning the bottle of expensive cognac I got from Lucius last Christmas, and spend way too long in my armchair by the fireplace, trying to make sense of everything.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Rising the next morning is a bit of a challenge, and it is a good thing I set my own schedule. I end up being late but don't exactly expect many customers, business has been slow lately. The recession and inept government had hit hard. Still, I have a contract to complete for St Mungo's and a few brews to check, and I spend a few hours down in the lab. It surprises me to see a few customers come in during lunch hour, asking for simple — and cheap — cough remedies, Pepper-Up and Cure for Boils. Better than the last few weeks, at any rate.

I don't usually bother with lunch but today I fix a few sandwiches and then close the shop to head to the Owl Post Office since I don't own a bird myself. For some reason several wizards nod at me as I stalk down Diagon Alley, and a couple of witches follow me with their gaze. It is disconcerting, being noticed, and even more so when no one seems hostile.

The owl is summarily dispatched to Lucius and I return to the shop. A few more customers actually show up before the end of the day, and I manage to send off the St Mungo's order.

After closing I finger the brass disk, still in my pocket, and focus on the question. Can I come over? In return the disk heats up after a moment, and I get a flash of something similar to relief through it when I hold the disk. Was it her feelings or my own? I am not sure.

No matter what, I set off, feeling a lot more invested in the trip than the last time. To my surprise the door is locked but the Hair-ologist moves to open it as soon as she notices me trying to enter.

"I have your shampoo, Master Brennus," she says and moves around the counter to take a jar from a shelf. She puts it in front of me. "Is there anything more?"

"What happened to you?" I ask, not expecting an answer.

She flinches and shies away from me. "I cannot remember," she says quietly after a long moment.

I don't understand my daring and where the words come from. They're not me. "May I see you again?"

She freezes. I still can't see her face but I would have imagined her looking up at me with wide eyes, mouth half open. "Would you?"

I nod and then feel stupid when I realise she wouldn't see it. "Yes. If I may."

She tilts her head to the side, I can tell by the way her hair moves. "Come next week, then. Use the shampoo but don't wash too often, every second day at most. Leave it in for five minutes and then rinse with colder water, not freezing, just a little colder than body temperature."

I don't manage to get her to answer any other questions that may lead to insight into her background, and after a rather awkward interaction I cut my losses and leave.

Rather than going back home, there is another location that comes to mind. I focus, and let the pull of Apparition whisk me away.

The Manor looms as it ever has beyond the long row of hedges. The white peacocks are back, the trees and hedges and lawns are immaculately sculpted, and the building itself appears pristine. Dignified, perhaps, the scars of war and strife no longer visible but clearly there, behind the surface. Not painted over but healed and changed. As if the experience has made them a better person.

I shake my head with a snort to stop this weird comparison of the Manor to a person. Still, it is noticeable. Coming here during the height of the War was a horrible experience, and it took a long time before the inhabitants were strong enough themselves to do something about it. They removed the dungeons immediately and a few of the rooms were completely redone, but the other traces lingered for longer.

I trudge up the marble stairs to the front entrance and ring the bell. A haughty-looking elf in a pristine white strip of cloth draped like a toga opens the door.

"Yes?"

"Is Lucius in?"

The elf tilts his head on the side and appears to be listening to something. "Yes. You wait in small parlour, Master of Potions. I tells Master."

I nod and head for the small parlour, down the hallway to the right. Another elf pops in with a snifter of cognac from Lucius' French estates. While I wait I wander over to the window, looking out over the flower gardens now filled with a treasure trove of rare magical flowers. Most of them had no practical purpose but a few were useful for potions, and I make a mental note to ask about them later.

The Lord of the Manor shows up a few minutes later, clad in formal powder-blue robes, his platinum blonde hair even longer than last time I saw him. When was that? I try to recall our last meeting — before him dragging me to the Hair-ologist — but fail.

"Severus, I didn't expect you."

His smile widens into a grin when he spots my hair, and I scowl reflexively.

"Spur of the moment. Did I interrupt something important?"

Lucius shrugs elegantly. "Nothing much. What brings you here? Dinner?"

Well, why not. "Well, why not. And I wanted a word with you, and perhaps with Cissy. How is Draco these days?"

Lucius smiles a bit more genuinely and gestures at me to precede him as we walk to the French dining room in the East wing. "He's well, he's headed to Paris soon. Did you hear he's planning to go into perfumes?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? No, that has passed me by. How come?"

"Oh, ever since he started going to the Hair-ologist he's become interested in perfumes, and now he feels confident enough in trying it himself. He's going to work with some of the best magical perfumers in Paris, so he's elated."

A pang of black jealousy blossoms in my chest before I get my feelings back under control, even though that doesn't make sense. Of course Draco would visit her, of course she has other customers. The Malfoys dragged me there, for Merlin's sake.

"So, tell me, what did you think? How was your appointment?"

"Oddly illuminating," I manage eventually.

He nods and gestures at the double doors to the French dining room. They open silently, and the table is already set with an extra plate for me. Narcissa is there already, and we perform the usual greetings, as one should. These two are the closest I have to friends and yet we still end up with this stilted formality. All that Pure-blood breeding needs somewhere to go, I guess.

"I see you visited our Hair-ologist," Narcissa says with a smile, eyeing my hair.

"Well, Lucius all but dragged me there, so yes. What do you know of her?"

Lucius shrugged. "Narcissa was the one to first find her, naturally, and we've been going for about three years now. She's been… Merlin, Severus, I don't know how to explain it, but she's completely overhauled both of our lives, and Draco's too. She's given us our lives back. At first it was the small things, we started taking care of ourselves better, then the Manor and our marriage, and then it even spilled over to our public relationships. She's the reason I'm back in society's good graces now, Severus. I'm just finishing the last few touches of my campaign to get back on the Hogwarts board, I got my Wizengamot seat back and business is going well."

I frown. It sounds too good to be true. "Lucius, that sounds too good to be true. Why on Earth would that be attributable to the Hair-ologist?"

Narcissa, who usually is calm, serene and collected, butts in. "Severus, it is true. She's changed our lives completely, I don't have any grey hairs any longer and am even accepted back to Augusta Longbottom's monthly afternoon teas."

My eyebrow hikes up on its own. All wizards know that the Wizarding world is actually ruled via tea invitations, much like these, not from the Ministry or the Wizengamot. Augusta Longbottom has been one of the core players for at least half a century.

"Well, that is something, for sure." I have to concede the point. If Augusta Longbottom accepted Narcissa Black Malfoy, she was most definitely out of the cold. She had been shunned after the botched Ministry raid two years before… before the beginning of the end, and that had lasted even after the end of the War. "But what can you tell me about her? The Hair-ologist?"

Lucius frowns and Narcissa looks confused.

"Well, I've never really concerned myself with that," Narcissa says. "It was actually Pansy Parkinson who gave me her name, and she in turn had heard of the Hair-ologist from the youngest Weasley, Mrs Potter now. She's very discerning, the Hair-ologist, and only accepts new customers if another vouches for them."

"You don't even know her name?"

Blank stares meet me and luckily the elves appear with dinner, excellent as usual. I lose track of the soufflés and gratins and baked fish, and we talk about other things while eating. Of course the Malfoys wouldn't bother to learn anything about the people who served them. At least I have a few more leads now, Pansy Parkinson and Ginevra Weasley Potter may be more forthcoming.

When I finally return back home I have to salvage one brew that had been left too long on the flame, and prepare two others for St Mungo's tomorrow for an emergency order that came in while I was at the Manor, and I settle in for a long night of brewing. I do bind my hair back with a leather string, feeling oddly mindful of the work she has put into it.

Even later that night a thought strikes me, just as I am about to fall asleep. The name she gave me. Brennus. The meaning of it is raven… or prince.

Thoughts of her hands through my hair lull me to sleep.