A/N: I know these are supposed to be drabbles. I just...got a little carried away.
3) Louis hates being 'just another Weasley' even more than Dom does.
For as long as Louis could remember, teachers and adults alike had referred to him as 'Weasley', because there were too many other Weasleys to bother trying to keep one of them straight. Even Teddy had fallen prey to it once in a while, when his hair was any shade of orange.
Louis hated it so much that he convinced Dom to teach him cosmetic spells, and practiced them at night in the Hufflepuff bathroom when the other boys were asleep. Third year, at the very first Hogsmeade weekend, he cast two of the many ones his sister had given him out in the alley behind Honeydukes, after divesting himself of his Hufflepuff uniform and changing it out for jeans and a zip-up jumper.
He wandered back into the street with golden blond hair and iridescent sea-green eyes.
Nobody looked twice at him.
It was the best experience Louis had ever had without family or friends being involved. It was also the most freeing thing he had ever done. Louis reveled in it, and took to casting them any place where he would be by himself.
Louis never dreamed it would be possible to make it permanent. Mum went on and on about how his hair was just the most perfect shade of red ever and Dad wasn't about to let him change it and risk Mum's ire. Louis, once he had mastered the spells, resigned himself to only being able to do it in private when he was alone.
That was until the Fateful Day, as he took to calling it.
Christmas break of his fourth year, two days after his birthday, he wandered into the Burrow's kitchen and was greeted by an explosion. He ducked and crouched, hands covering his neck, hoping it wouldn't hurt.
He was pleasantly surprised to find it was lukewarm liquid dripping down through his hair and onto his face and fingers.
"What's this?" he asked, as he uncurled from hugging his knees. "A Wheezes thing?"
"Uh…" George stared at him, and in true I-didn't-mean-to-do-it fashion, picked up his wand and slowly approached Louis from around the other side of the table. "I should be able to reverse this."
"Reverse what?"
George vanished the liquid, but was interrupted from doing anything else when Mum glided into the room and promptly, as James later termed it, 'flipped her shit, mate.' "WHAT?" he snapped. He glanced around the kitchen, and his eyes fell on the mirror above the sink.
His hair was splotched the same golden-blond shade he used as his disguise. It was still mostly red, but where the liquid had hit it on top was completely blond.
"Fix him now!" Mum screeched. "Mon chéri! Your hair!"
Louis' jaw dropped. George, perhaps sensing his imminent doom, lifted his wand and directed it at Louis' head. "Finite Incantatem!" he ordered.
His hair stayed stubbornly blond.
"Uh, Fleur, don't kill me, but that was a batch of a prototype permanent hair dye." George grinned at her, but it was merely to cover up his wince at Mum's fiery expression.
Louis ducked out of the kitchen and left his uncle to Mum, and went to find Grandma to see if she could fix it.
Grandma, after at least forty five minutes of spells, and about the same amount of time of dragging various aunts and uncles in and having them try as well, declared that it was definitely permanent.
It was also uniquely resistant to being spelled any other color.
Mum eventually threw her hands up in disgust and spelled his hair to be golden-blond all over. According to James, when Mum was ranting to Dad about it, blond was better than splotchy red, even if it did destroy his lovely red hair.
Later that afternoon, after nearly a full day of fuss and hubbub about it, Fred caught Louis out in the tree house, staring at himself with a mirror, and threw his arms around him for an uncharacteristically enthusiastic hug. "Happy late birthday, mate," he said.
"What?"
"Just don't tell your mum we planned it, she'll kill us all." Fred ruffled his hair, dodged Louis' flailing fists, and slipped down the ladder and shot across the yard.
Louis smiled to himself, and made a mental note to thank George.
Anybody willing to create a potion specifically to thwart the terrors of one of the Weasley wives deserved a medal, doubly so for even nailing the correct shade.
When Louis returned to school, one of his teachers (one of the ones infamous for calling all of them Weasley, even the girls) stopped him on his way into class and demanded to know who he was.
"Louis Weasley, ma'am," he said, delighted.
"Whatever did you do to your hair?" she asked. Louis glanced over his shoulder at the few people waiting for him to move and let them into the Muggle Studies class, and then grinned at the professor.
"Potions accident. It's irreversible." He headed to his seat, a new bounce in his step, and even though he had to field questions from nearly everybody he knew on why, exactly, he was no longer a redhead, he finally began to feel like his own person, and not just another Weasley.
It was a glorious thing, to finally be an individual.