![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
walk, walk fashion baby
Series: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: The Cast, with eventual Harry/Draco, should I ever get that far
Genre Humour
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,855
Description: This fic is cracky, and does not really fit in with the Harry Potter timeline. As such. It’s really just a random Hogwarts fic. Really random. And pointless.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling, and quite possibly other people, too, but I am not one of them.
--
There are times when making a big fuss about something only worsened the problem, times when it is better to just lie low and wait for a better opportunity to arise.
This was definitely not one of those times.
"Is that so." Draco smiled sweetly. The nearby Slytherins were already slinking off--they, at least, knew an upcoming slaughter when they saw it, and none of them wanted to be among the fallen.
"Um," replied the Hufflepuff, eyeing her surroundings nervously. She was observant enough to take note of the disappearing Slytherins, and smart enough to be wary of it. "I suppose? I mean, it's just a sales' tactic, see? I only meant--"
Draco's smile became saccharine. "Of course," he said. "Of course. You only meant. But the reality is...?"
"Um. Your hair is lovely?"
"Yes. It is."
"And 100% natural?"
"I'm glad you understand."
The slowest of the Slytherins paused in his retreat, and glanced backward uncertainly. The tension seemed to be seeping out. Had the massacre been averted?
"So. Um. Is that a no to purchasing the Supreme Bleaching Cosmetic Spell (Guaranteed to Make Veelas Cry in Envy or Your Money Back!)™?"
The slow Slytherin managed to avoid the carnage by clinging to the stone walls and thinking himself as unthreatening as possible, but that violent, traumatic scene could never be unwitnessed.
Later, he would be comforted by his friends, safe in the Slytherin common room as he related the story.
"Honestly, that Malfoy," steamed one of them, hands almost gentle as she drew the word "LOSER" across the trauma victim's already heavily graffitied forehead. "Can you believe him? Of course, any of us would react badly to that kind of mortifying accusation, but he didn't need to dye the silly thing yellow. That's more punishment for us than her, anyway. That daft girl surely has no clue how ridiculous she looks, but we have to put up with it. Sometimes good taste can be such a burden."
"And what he did to her shoes!" agreed another soberly. "Absolutely ghastly, if you ask me. I can't believe those were ever in fashion." He paused in rifling through the trauma victim's book bag to shake his head sadly, but quickly brightened when he spotted a container of Optionally Unviewable Ink. "Excellent. I was running low."
"Help yourself," replied the trauma victim, swinging a little on the rope as he shifted position. "I've really gotta thank you guys for not adding the gag and the blindfold. I know it's traditional for the Stupid Enough to Get Traumatized."
The writer grabbed the victim's hair roughly to stop the motion. "Don't worry about it. After having to witness that, it's a miracle you can see at all. Though, really, with the way you keep twitching at the colour yellow, the blindfold might actually be kinder..."
The victim caught sight of a textbook adorned with gold-gilded lettering and went white. It was a few moments before he was able to recover himself enough to respond with, "M-maybe. Hey, I don't think you tied my feet tightly enough. I'm starting to slip..."
"Oh, that was intentional." The writer smiled as she delicately inked in a final stroke, before putting aside the quill, capping off the ink, and walking away with the others. "Watch your head on the way down, dear," she said, not bothering to look back.
Really, thought the trauma victim as he felt the knot come undone, I don't know what I'd do without my friends.
--
"Can you believe him?" seethed Hermione, her mass of fuzzy brown hair trembling with rage. "Do you see that poor girl? All because she had the so-called 'audacity' to accuse him of not being a natural blond."
Harry and Ron glanced disinterestedly across Great Hall, taking in the fashion atrocity with the indifferent eyes of men who were only vaguely aware of the existence of multiple clothing brands.
"I like yellow," yawned Harry, trying to affect interest in Hermione's rant, even as he scribbled another comment on the on-going dialogue he and Ron had hidden behind the History of Magic textbook they were pretending to study from. "'s bright an' cheery."
"Honestly, you two! You'd think you don't even care that Malfoy attacked a student!"
Harry was instantly charged and ready for battle. "Malfoy?" he hissed across the table, dislodging the textbook from its protective position and shoving a few plates aside as he leaned forward eagerly. "Where? What'd he do?"
Hermione stared at him, distinctly unimpressed. "Haven't you been listening at all? He turned that poor girl yellow--among... other things--for trying to sell him hair bleach!"
Harry sagged back, disappointed. "Oh," he said mournfully. Attempting to get into the Gryffindor Spirit of the thing, he added, "Don't see why, really. I think the school could do with a few more blonds."
As Hermione gave him an infuriated stare that told him he was missing the point entirely and would be Hearing About It in Great Detail, Ron penned another note on the the safely-rehidden paper.
Into blondes, are you Harry? he wrote, before turning the page of the textbook and muttering a sage, "Oh, I see."
Harry also attempted a facade of academic interest, trying to cover his internal panic. He wasn't ready for this! But the time had come--this was clearly a Sign, and Harry knew from experience how ineffectual it was to argue with destiny. With a deep breath and crossed fingers, Harry wrote back,
Um. Not as such.I'm actually Really, I prefer I'm more into blonds, see.
There was a long moment's pause while Ron processed this. Harry was just beginning to relax, thinking that the predicted explosion wasn't coming after all, when Ron screamed, "YOU'RE GAY, HARRY?"
The entire Great Hall turned to stare at them in jaw-dropped shock. Harry buried his burning face in his arms.
"You could have written that, you arsehole," he muttered.
"Sorry," said Ron, flushing as the whispering started up.
Hermione, who'd managed to catch Harry's mumbled comment, looked at the table for the referenced paper. When her eyes caught onto it, she grabbed it and, skimming it, exclaimed indignantly, "Why, you haven't been studying at all! Don't you two care about your grades? I ought to quarantine you in the library!"
Harry and Ron gladly took the excuse to grab their books and hightail it out of there, but Harry still felt the need to say--quietly, under his breath--"Now who's missing the point?"
Ron, who was running shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry in their mad dash to the library, caught the comment and grinned.
Harry stared at his friends. Ron, after his initial outburst, seemed to have moved on entirely from the whole liking-blonds-not-blondes thing; Hermione, relieved that the other two seemed to have finally understood the urgency of their academic underachievement, didn't seem to have even noticed anything out of the ordinary about a shouted declaration of Harry's sexuality taking place during breakfast.
Really, thought Harry, skidding around a corner breathlessly, I don't know what I'd do without my friends.
--
“Oh, Draco, darling, I don’t know how you were able to be so rational about this whole thing. Why, I would have come completely undone, were I in your shoes,” Pansy cooed, reaching around to fluff up his pillow.
“You know, Pansy, I’m quite certain that you would have. That Hufflepuff girl should be relieved that it was you who paid her to publicly try to sell me that disgusting and entirely unneeded product, rather than I to you.”
Pansy smirked before taking on an expression of offended innocence. “Why, Draco, the things that you accuse me of. As if I would ever think of doing such a thing. Even if you had, as a hypothetical example, chosen to inform my—ex, now, thank you for that—boyfriend about several cosmetic procedures which I certainly haven’t had done, I would never refer a hair-dye seller to you. Publicly.”
“Is that what this was about? He’s not such a big loss, anyway. And you seem to have moved on rather quickly.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. As if I were serious about him. Or any of them, really.”
“Yes; there’s not much in the way of choices in this school, is there?”
“Mmm… Tragic, but true.” Pansy stood up to leave, pausing at the doorway long enough to say, “Oh, Draco? I made an appointment for you to have a full dye done at a prominent hair salon next week. I hope you don’t mind, dear. That man seemed to be quite the gossip, though. It should be all over The Prophet by tomorrow morning.”
Pansy smirked as she left the room. Draco’s face had gone a deathly white.
“CRABBE,” he screamed. “GOYLE.”
The two came tumbling into the dormitory a moment later. No matter how screechy Draco’s voice had been, it should have been impossible for them to have heard his shout from all the way down in the common room, where they’d been hustling some first years, trying to get candy. Perhaps they’d been so shaped by their minion genes that they’d managed to become attuned to their leader’s distress, and thus knew just when to come running.
Regardless, they crowded around Draco’s bed, hoping his anger wasn’t directed at them. It was rather degrading to have to beat up one’s self.
Fortunately, Draco barely glanced at them before giving his orders, which they immediately rushed to obey.
Really, Draco thought, internally sighing as he leaned back against his fluffed-up pillow, I don’t know what I’d do without my friends.
--
“And then,” raged Hermione, “he made Crabbe and Goyle pound the life out of anyone they caught with an issue of The Daily Prophet. Can you believe him?"
“I know.” Harry shook his head, rather infuriated himself. “A dye job. Really, who can you believe in anymore? Next it’ll turn out that the Weasleys are all brunets with lifelong memberships at the local salon.”
“I wish, mate,” Ron replied morosely. “I’ve tried to dye it, myself, but it won’t hold through. This blasted red is always back in a day or two. It has Ginny half in tears. And, of course, there’s nothing that can be done about the freckles.”
Harry nodded sympathetically while Hermione stared at them, for once dumbstruck.
“And what about Parkinson?” Ron continued. “I heard she’s had some work done, if you know what I mean.”
Harry nodded again, but this time rather less enthusiastically, as the conversation was now moving beyond his personal area of interest. “What about that new Chaser for the Cannons?” he asked, deftly returning to the previous topic. “Any word on whether or not he’s natural?”
“Dunno, mate, but I heard that the Keeper for that French team actually has hair as dark as yours.”
Harry scowled. “This is unbelievable.”
Hermione eventually returned to her book, rolling her eyes. Really, she thought, I don’t know what I’d do without my friends.
Glancing at their unwritten stack of essays, she acknowledged that for one thing, she’d probably get a lot more work done.
[A/N: This was really random, and I may not bother to actually take this anywhere. I sometimes feel that the only thing school does for me is give me enough motivation to find absolutely anything to do that's not homework.]
[Fanfiction Masterlist can be found here.]
Character/Pairing: The Cast, with eventual Harry/Draco, should I ever get that far
Genre Humour
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,855
Description: This fic is cracky, and does not really fit in with the Harry Potter timeline. As such. It’s really just a random Hogwarts fic. Really random. And pointless.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling, and quite possibly other people, too, but I am not one of them.
--
There are times when making a big fuss about something only worsened the problem, times when it is better to just lie low and wait for a better opportunity to arise.
This was definitely not one of those times.
"Is that so." Draco smiled sweetly. The nearby Slytherins were already slinking off--they, at least, knew an upcoming slaughter when they saw it, and none of them wanted to be among the fallen.
"Um," replied the Hufflepuff, eyeing her surroundings nervously. She was observant enough to take note of the disappearing Slytherins, and smart enough to be wary of it. "I suppose? I mean, it's just a sales' tactic, see? I only meant--"
Draco's smile became saccharine. "Of course," he said. "Of course. You only meant. But the reality is...?"
"Um. Your hair is lovely?"
"Yes. It is."
"And 100% natural?"
"I'm glad you understand."
The slowest of the Slytherins paused in his retreat, and glanced backward uncertainly. The tension seemed to be seeping out. Had the massacre been averted?
"So. Um. Is that a no to purchasing the Supreme Bleaching Cosmetic Spell (Guaranteed to Make Veelas Cry in Envy or Your Money Back!)™?"
The slow Slytherin managed to avoid the carnage by clinging to the stone walls and thinking himself as unthreatening as possible, but that violent, traumatic scene could never be unwitnessed.
Later, he would be comforted by his friends, safe in the Slytherin common room as he related the story.
"Honestly, that Malfoy," steamed one of them, hands almost gentle as she drew the word "LOSER" across the trauma victim's already heavily graffitied forehead. "Can you believe him? Of course, any of us would react badly to that kind of mortifying accusation, but he didn't need to dye the silly thing yellow. That's more punishment for us than her, anyway. That daft girl surely has no clue how ridiculous she looks, but we have to put up with it. Sometimes good taste can be such a burden."
"And what he did to her shoes!" agreed another soberly. "Absolutely ghastly, if you ask me. I can't believe those were ever in fashion." He paused in rifling through the trauma victim's book bag to shake his head sadly, but quickly brightened when he spotted a container of Optionally Unviewable Ink. "Excellent. I was running low."
"Help yourself," replied the trauma victim, swinging a little on the rope as he shifted position. "I've really gotta thank you guys for not adding the gag and the blindfold. I know it's traditional for the Stupid Enough to Get Traumatized."
The writer grabbed the victim's hair roughly to stop the motion. "Don't worry about it. After having to witness that, it's a miracle you can see at all. Though, really, with the way you keep twitching at the colour yellow, the blindfold might actually be kinder..."
The victim caught sight of a textbook adorned with gold-gilded lettering and went white. It was a few moments before he was able to recover himself enough to respond with, "M-maybe. Hey, I don't think you tied my feet tightly enough. I'm starting to slip..."
"Oh, that was intentional." The writer smiled as she delicately inked in a final stroke, before putting aside the quill, capping off the ink, and walking away with the others. "Watch your head on the way down, dear," she said, not bothering to look back.
Really, thought the trauma victim as he felt the knot come undone, I don't know what I'd do without my friends.
--
"Can you believe him?" seethed Hermione, her mass of fuzzy brown hair trembling with rage. "Do you see that poor girl? All because she had the so-called 'audacity' to accuse him of not being a natural blond."
Harry and Ron glanced disinterestedly across Great Hall, taking in the fashion atrocity with the indifferent eyes of men who were only vaguely aware of the existence of multiple clothing brands.
"I like yellow," yawned Harry, trying to affect interest in Hermione's rant, even as he scribbled another comment on the on-going dialogue he and Ron had hidden behind the History of Magic textbook they were pretending to study from. "'s bright an' cheery."
"Honestly, you two! You'd think you don't even care that Malfoy attacked a student!"
Harry was instantly charged and ready for battle. "Malfoy?" he hissed across the table, dislodging the textbook from its protective position and shoving a few plates aside as he leaned forward eagerly. "Where? What'd he do?"
Hermione stared at him, distinctly unimpressed. "Haven't you been listening at all? He turned that poor girl yellow--among... other things--for trying to sell him hair bleach!"
Harry sagged back, disappointed. "Oh," he said mournfully. Attempting to get into the Gryffindor Spirit of the thing, he added, "Don't see why, really. I think the school could do with a few more blonds."
As Hermione gave him an infuriated stare that told him he was missing the point entirely and would be Hearing About It in Great Detail, Ron penned another note on the the safely-rehidden paper.
Into blondes, are you Harry? he wrote, before turning the page of the textbook and muttering a sage, "Oh, I see."
Harry also attempted a facade of academic interest, trying to cover his internal panic. He wasn't ready for this! But the time had come--this was clearly a Sign, and Harry knew from experience how ineffectual it was to argue with destiny. With a deep breath and crossed fingers, Harry wrote back,
Um. Not as such.
There was a long moment's pause while Ron processed this. Harry was just beginning to relax, thinking that the predicted explosion wasn't coming after all, when Ron screamed, "YOU'RE GAY, HARRY?"
The entire Great Hall turned to stare at them in jaw-dropped shock. Harry buried his burning face in his arms.
"You could have written that, you arsehole," he muttered.
"Sorry," said Ron, flushing as the whispering started up.
Hermione, who'd managed to catch Harry's mumbled comment, looked at the table for the referenced paper. When her eyes caught onto it, she grabbed it and, skimming it, exclaimed indignantly, "Why, you haven't been studying at all! Don't you two care about your grades? I ought to quarantine you in the library!"
Harry and Ron gladly took the excuse to grab their books and hightail it out of there, but Harry still felt the need to say--quietly, under his breath--"Now who's missing the point?"
Ron, who was running shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry in their mad dash to the library, caught the comment and grinned.
Harry stared at his friends. Ron, after his initial outburst, seemed to have moved on entirely from the whole liking-blonds-not-blondes thing; Hermione, relieved that the other two seemed to have finally understood the urgency of their academic underachievement, didn't seem to have even noticed anything out of the ordinary about a shouted declaration of Harry's sexuality taking place during breakfast.
Really, thought Harry, skidding around a corner breathlessly, I don't know what I'd do without my friends.
--
“Oh, Draco, darling, I don’t know how you were able to be so rational about this whole thing. Why, I would have come completely undone, were I in your shoes,” Pansy cooed, reaching around to fluff up his pillow.
“You know, Pansy, I’m quite certain that you would have. That Hufflepuff girl should be relieved that it was you who paid her to publicly try to sell me that disgusting and entirely unneeded product, rather than I to you.”
Pansy smirked before taking on an expression of offended innocence. “Why, Draco, the things that you accuse me of. As if I would ever think of doing such a thing. Even if you had, as a hypothetical example, chosen to inform my—ex, now, thank you for that—boyfriend about several cosmetic procedures which I certainly haven’t had done, I would never refer a hair-dye seller to you. Publicly.”
“Is that what this was about? He’s not such a big loss, anyway. And you seem to have moved on rather quickly.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. As if I were serious about him. Or any of them, really.”
“Yes; there’s not much in the way of choices in this school, is there?”
“Mmm… Tragic, but true.” Pansy stood up to leave, pausing at the doorway long enough to say, “Oh, Draco? I made an appointment for you to have a full dye done at a prominent hair salon next week. I hope you don’t mind, dear. That man seemed to be quite the gossip, though. It should be all over The Prophet by tomorrow morning.”
Pansy smirked as she left the room. Draco’s face had gone a deathly white.
“CRABBE,” he screamed. “GOYLE.”
The two came tumbling into the dormitory a moment later. No matter how screechy Draco’s voice had been, it should have been impossible for them to have heard his shout from all the way down in the common room, where they’d been hustling some first years, trying to get candy. Perhaps they’d been so shaped by their minion genes that they’d managed to become attuned to their leader’s distress, and thus knew just when to come running.
Regardless, they crowded around Draco’s bed, hoping his anger wasn’t directed at them. It was rather degrading to have to beat up one’s self.
Fortunately, Draco barely glanced at them before giving his orders, which they immediately rushed to obey.
Really, Draco thought, internally sighing as he leaned back against his fluffed-up pillow, I don’t know what I’d do without my friends.
--
“And then,” raged Hermione, “he made Crabbe and Goyle pound the life out of anyone they caught with an issue of The Daily Prophet. Can you believe him?"
“I know.” Harry shook his head, rather infuriated himself. “A dye job. Really, who can you believe in anymore? Next it’ll turn out that the Weasleys are all brunets with lifelong memberships at the local salon.”
“I wish, mate,” Ron replied morosely. “I’ve tried to dye it, myself, but it won’t hold through. This blasted red is always back in a day or two. It has Ginny half in tears. And, of course, there’s nothing that can be done about the freckles.”
Harry nodded sympathetically while Hermione stared at them, for once dumbstruck.
“And what about Parkinson?” Ron continued. “I heard she’s had some work done, if you know what I mean.”
Harry nodded again, but this time rather less enthusiastically, as the conversation was now moving beyond his personal area of interest. “What about that new Chaser for the Cannons?” he asked, deftly returning to the previous topic. “Any word on whether or not he’s natural?”
“Dunno, mate, but I heard that the Keeper for that French team actually has hair as dark as yours.”
Harry scowled. “This is unbelievable.”
Hermione eventually returned to her book, rolling her eyes. Really, she thought, I don’t know what I’d do without my friends.
Glancing at their unwritten stack of essays, she acknowledged that for one thing, she’d probably get a lot more work done.
[A/N: This was really random, and I may not bother to actually take this anywhere. I sometimes feel that the only thing school does for me is give me enough motivation to find absolutely anything to do that's not homework.]
[Fanfiction Masterlist can be found here.]