Title: Harry Potter and the Slytherin's Hair (1/10)
Author:
iulia_linnea
Pairing: Harry/Girl!Blaise, others
Rating: PG-13
Warning (highlight to view): For violence and character death.
Word Count: 2841 (29,608 total)
Summary: "[E]ven great wizards is not being good at everything."
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: You may find all parts of this story by clicking the
Harry Potter and the Slytherin's Hair tag.
Chapter One: That Hair of Hers
That Blaise Zabini had been made a Slytherin had not been a
concern to Harry Potter when he was
waiting to discover what his own house would be. While a First Year, he
had not paid much attention
to the skinny auburn-haired girl. In Second Year, Zabini's
hair seemed to have gotten much longer,
Harry noticed, but beyond that, he did not pay her much attention. He
did not remember seeing much
of her at all, Third Year, but one night coming out of the
Hogwarts' kitchens as Blaise was going in, that
hair of hers, he decided, was distracting. Fourth Year, he sometimes
caught a glimpse of her, her hair
whipping in the wind, as he rushed by the Slytherin bleachers during
Quidditch games. The bronze
sunglasses she wore attracting him almost as did the Golden Snitch. In
Fifth Year, Cho Chang was in
his thoughts a great deal, but Harry found himself comparing the sheen
of Blaise's hair to the gloss of
Cho's. It did not occur to him at the time that he had a
"thing" for girls with long hair, or that he
compared those girls to Zabini. In Sixth Year, a lonely, frightening
time for Harry, he spent a lot of time
in the Owlery and occasionally would find Blaise there, as well, her
glorious-for he had decided that
was the only true way to describe her tresses, which were redolent of
bergamot and something
indescribable-hair flowing over her shoulders to frame her
smooth, pretty face. They would murmur
together about general things, and then pretend as though they had
never seen each other before when
they encountered each other in the corridors; Gryffindors and
Slytherins did not mix in public, even if
they wanted to. But in Seventh Year, as Harry caught Blaise's
rich brown flashing eyes peeking out at
him through her long curtain of hair, he finally admitted to himself
that "mixing" with the girl seemed like
an excellent idea.
"Are you mad?" Ron demanded, after Harry
confessed his crush. "She's a Slytherin!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You say that as if
Zabini's a Death Eater."
"Well, she could be."
"She's not,"
Harry said emphatically, his cheeks growing hot.
"How d'you know, mate? Have you asked
her?"
"Prat," Hermione muttered, shoving her
boyfriend playfully.
The three Gryffindors were walking into Hogsmeade on a brisk
but sunny morning, the first Hogsmeade
Weekend of the term, and Harry had decided to say something about his .
. . interest in Blaise before
asking the girl out properly. I should never have said
anything.
"I'm not-really, mate, Blaise
Zabini? Why not Gi-ow!" Ron exclaimed, as Hermione
punched him.
"Well, why not Ginny?"
"Because she's not interested in
me," Harry said cautiously, hoping that Ron would not push
the issue.
"She's fancied you forever! Just ask
her. She'd go out with you."
"No, Ron, she wouldn't,"
Hermione replied after exchanging an amused glance with Harry.
"She's
involved with someone else."
"What? She never said anything about it."
"Well, she wants her privacy."
"Harry, did you know that my baby sister was dating
someone new?"
"Um . . . Hermione?"
The witch sighed. "Ron, Ginny's interested
in a Slytherin, too."
Here we go, Harry thought, moving quickly
away from Ron as the other wizard's arms flung out in
surprise.
"What? Who? I'll kill
him. Who-it's Malfoy,
isn't it? Oh, Merlin! Mum'll-who?"
"Oh, it's not Malfoy," Harry
said, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing.
"Well?" Ron demanded again of Hermione.
"I'm not really sup-"
"WHO?"
"Millicent Bulstrode, if you must know,"
Hermione replied, pursing her lips into a tight, worried line.
Ron's face reddened in outrage, and Harry thought
the boy would yell again, but then he burst out
laughing.
"Oh, good . . . one! You . . . had . . . me worried
there, for a moment! Right, my baby sister's going to
go out with a great hulking girl like Bulstrode!"
"With a girl like
Bulstrode," Hermione said, placing her hands on her hips and
staring up at her
boyfriend, waiting for the realization to dawn on him.
"You're having me on, aren't
you? Isn't she, Harry?"
"Afraid not."
"Wha-rea-no!"
"Look Ron, Ginny likes
Millicent, and I think you should try to understand."
"And my vote's for Bulstrode if you should
try to kill her," Harry added, much to Hermione's
amusement.
"Everyone's gone
mad-utterly, raving mad-this can't
be true!"
Ron was still muttering about it when they entered the Three
Broomsticks and saw the youngest
Weasley chatting over butterbeers with Bulstrode.
"Excuse me."
"Should we stop him?" Hermione asked.
"Should you have told
him?"
"Well, he did need to be prepared, and I knew
she'd be meeting her girlfriend here, so-"
"It's that
serious?"
"I'm afraid so," Hermione
replied, grinning at Harry as they slid into a booth near the back of
the pub.
"Oh, look-there's Zabini joining
them."
Harry blushed and looked down at his hands.
"You could always ask her to join us."
Before Harry could respond, Ron stormed over to the table.
"Apparently," he said, sliding into the
booth next to Hermione, "I'm not welcome at my
sister's friends' table!"
"Well, what did you expect? You were being an
ass."
"Hermione, I was being her big-"
"Brother," Harry finished for him.
"That's right."
But it was not all right, not really, because Harry could not
think of anything but the way Blaise had her
hair: it was braided and coiled upon her head like a burnished crown,
and he wanted to see it down. He
completely missed what his friends were saying as he stared across the
pub at the girl, watching how
animated she seemed as she laughed at something Ginny said, and then
starting in mortification as
Millicent turned and stared back at him.
Don't turn around, he prayed.
Blaise did not.
That, Harry decided, made it worse. What made it truly awful,
however, was when Bulstrode rose
from her table and walked to his.
"Potter, you checking out my girl?"
"What?" Ron spluttered, spitting
butterbeer over the table.
"Nice one, Weasley," Millicent said in a
dismissive way. "Potter?"
"N-no, of course not."
"Good. It wouldn't surprise me if you
were, of course, now that she's not interested,"
the Slytherin
said, before turning on her heel and joining Ginny and Blaise at the
exit.
"She's got some nerve," Ron said.
"It was a distraction," Hermione observed,
as Harry held up a folded piece of parchment.
"She tossed it to me."
"Well, what does it-"
"Excuse me," Harry interrupted, heading
toward the loo.
"-say?" Hermione finished.
Ron laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"Harry getting notes from Bulstrode, from a
Slytherin-that's funny."
"I don't think it was from Millicent,
Ron."
In the gents loo, Harry carefully unfolded the note and read:
"9:00 o'clock. The Owlery."
"Millicent wants me to meet her in the
Owlery?"
He folded the note and put it in his pocket, and then went to
rejoin his friends. "Just a death threat," he
lied. "You know, in case I look at Ginny again."
Ron snorted. "Typical Slytherin tactic."
Later that night, Harry was able to slip out of the dormitory
under the pretext-not so far-fetched now
that he was taking Advanced Potions-of going to the library.
He arrived at the Owlery at eight-thirty,
and spent some time stroking Hedwig's feathers and feeding
her treats.
"Who's your friend?" he asked
his familiar, for she was sitting on a rod near an unfamiliar gray owl,
who was turning its head all the way around to her apparent delight.
"You ruffle your feathers at him
that way, and he'll get the wrong idea."
"Oh, I think Silvio has the right one, not being as
dense as some," Blaise's soft voice spoke behind
him.
"You're not
Milli-Bulstrode," Harry said, turning.
"No, I'm not. It's good to see
that you kept up with those mental-sharpening exercises of yours over
the summer," Blaise replied, moving to greet her owl.
"Mental-sharpening exercises,"
Harry thought, suddenly suspicious. But there's no
way she could
know about my Occlumency lessons unless Snape told her, and he-
"Perhaps you didn't. My
mistake," the girl said quickly, though not sharply.
"Oh, you were insulting
me."
"And you're relieved?"
"No, well, I mean-look, why are you here?
I'm supposed to be meeting, I mean . . . ."
"You're supposed to be meeting me,
Potter. I asked Millicent to pass you that note."
Harry gawked. "Y-you did? Why?"
"I wanted to see you, you git," Blaise
replied, turning away to feed Silvio-and then
Hedwig-treats.
"Oh." Is she blushing?
She's blushing. Am I blushing?
"You're blushing, you know."
"You're not even looking at me.
How'd'you know?"
Blaise turned and regarded Harry, sweeping her gaze up and
down his body in a speaking way that
made him relieved he had worn his robes. "You always blush
when you look at me."
"I-" I do,
don't I. God, she's pretty.
"I'm sorry."
"Are you?" Blaise continued, moving her
hands to fiddle with something in her pockets.
"Sure."
"Well, you've been looking at me for a
long time, and I want to know why."
"You want to know why I look at you?"
"Very good, Potter. You can hear clearly,"
Blaise said, taking a step toward the boy.
"Yeah, so I can," Harry replied,
swallowing hard and forcing himself not to take a step backward.
"Um, Za-Blaise?"
"Yes, Po-Harry?" she mocked.
She was so close to him now that he could feel the soft press
of her breasts against his chest, which
made thinking a near impossibility. "I . . . I just . .
." really like looking at your hair.
"You just what?" the
girl whispered against his lips.
Harry thought he might pass out from the sensation of warm
breath against his mouth, from the dark
gaze that met his exactly. Oh. We're the same
height, aren't we? he asked himself, clenching his
fists
to steady himself.
"Ijustwantedtoknowwhyyouputyourhairup," he said in
a nervous rush, jumping as his
lips lightly grazed hers.
"You what?" Blaise asked, sounding
slightly vexed and taking one step back.
"Don't-I mean, you
don't have to move-I like having you, I mean, it
was nice, you standing where
you were." Idiot, idiot, idiot!
"Potter, do you fancy me?"
"I like your hair," Harry said, hoping she
would understand.
"You like my hair," the girl repeated, a
disgusted expression on her face. My hair, not me? You've
been staring at me because you. Like. My. Hair."
"Your breasts felt nice, too." NO!
You did NOT just say that!
"Millicent was right. You are an
idiot," Blaise said, turning on her heel and stalking off.
"Damn it!" Harry yelled, causing several
owls to hoot at him in protest. "Sorry you lot, I
just-damn it,"
he said more quietly, kicking at the feathers scattered across the
floor. "Why am I such an idiot? What
the hell is the matter with me?"
Stepping out of the shadows on the far side of the room,
Severus Snape answered, "If we knew that,
we'd be half-way toward curing adolescence
altogether."
"Professor!"
"Yes?"
"I didn't see you there."
"Obviously. That is for the best, it is to be
assumed. Really, Potter, 'Your breasts felt nice,
too'? You
are an idiot."
"What do you know about
it?" Harry said before he could reign in his insolence. Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
"Five points from Gryffindor for rudeness to a
professor, Potter, and five more for being so ridiculous in
the face of the fairer sex."
"You can't take points for that!"
"I believe I just did. Be thankful that I did not
take points for your having failed to take advantage of
such a splendid opportunity."
"Wh-what
opportunity-Sir?"
Snape sighed. "How is it possible that you
have no idea what almost just happened
here?"
"Why are you being nice to me?"
"'Nice', Potter? Reviewing our
discussion thus far, I see no evidence of niceness
on my part. I am
merely attempting to look out for one of my Slytherins, one of my
evidently misguided Slytherins who
appears to fancy you."
"Blaise fancies me?"
"My, you truly are not your
father, are you?"
Harry's jaw tightened. "You promised not
to talk about my dad anymore."
Snape sighed. "True. I did. I believe that I regret
my display of gratitude toward you, but no matter.
You deflected Pettigrew's hex, and I promised not to speak of
your father. I apologize."
Harry gaped at the man.
"Do not look so shocked, boy. It should be clear
enough to you by now that I honor my word."
"You just-"
"The habit of years cannot be altered in a matter of
months, Potter, and I did apologize."
"Fine. Yes, you apologized. Hey! I'm
dreaming, that's why I was such an idiot," Harry
said hopefully.
Snape closed the distance between them and pinched him.
"Ow!"
"You are not dreaming. You did
just make a complete fool of yourself. Welcome to the rest of your life
as far as matters of the . . . heart are concerned. Women are
difficult, and you, apparently, are sadly
lacking in even a rudimentary understanding of them."
"She doesn't fancy me."
"She does, and if you cannot bring yourself to form
coherent sentences in her presence, you will meet
Lord Voldemort a virgin, and most likely die one, as well."
"Thanks for that," Harry said, flushing.
"And who says I'm a-"
"Spare me your adolescent posturing, boy. Do you
want my assistance, or don't you?"
"You're offering to help me?"
Snape raised a pointed eyebrow at him.
"But why?"
"Because Miss Zabini has shown no interest in any
other boy, Potter. As much as it pains me to admit
it, she has fixed upon you as the object of her desires. I expect that
once she . . . gets to know you
better, she will realize her folly and move on."
"Great," Harry muttered.
"You're just looking to 'help'
me humiliate myself again. I should have
known."
"Typical Gryffindor pessimism," Snape
said, shaking his head. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, has it not
occurred
to you that I am simply looking to pass on the benefit of my wisdom to
you because-"
"You think I'm going to die."
"No. Because I am attempting to honor my other
promise to you."
"What?"
"Do you not remember our conversation in the wake of
the most recent Death Eater attack?"
"Sure I do. You-oh-you said
you'd stop being such a bastard."
"No, I said that I would to treat you with more
respect, given the fact that we are constantly saving
each other's lives, and you-how did you put it? Ah,
yes-felt you deserved to be treated like a man
instead of a child. If you still wish it, one man
to another," Snape continued, raising a sardonic
eyebrow, "I am in a position to offer advice that might
assist you in properly wooing a witch."
"Not to be . . . rude, but . . . ."
"Potter, did it not seem odd to you that Madame
Rosmerta was . . . as relieved as she was to find me
well after the recent incident?"
Harry considered this question. After Pettigrew had tried to
kill the professor in front of the Three
Broomsticks, the publican had cried over Snape's unconscious
body until Hermione had proved to the
older woman that he was not, in fact, dead.
"You and Ro-Madame Rosmerta?"
"Yes, Potter, for some time now."
"Woah. I had no idea," Harry said, his
admiration of Snape's conquest evident in his tone.
"Of course you did not. It's called
'discretion', something of which you are almost
entirely ignorant."
"You know," Harry replied, leaning against
one of the perches, "insulting me wasn't part of
our deal."
"Then attempt not to leave yourself open to it.
Again, do you wish my assistance, or don't you?"
"This is weird, Sir, if you'll forgive me
for saying so-scratch that-it is
weird, even if you don't."
One corner of the Potions master's mouth twitched,
but he made no other response.
"Yeah, sure-I mean, yes-if you
have anything relevant and not insulting to suggest, I'd like
to hear
it."
"It's rather simple, Potter. The next time
a young woman is pressing herself against you and breathing
into your mouth, kiss her. The next time a young woman asks you why you
are watching her, tell her
that she is beautiful-not her parts, but she,
herself-do you think you can follow these
instructions?"
"Is . . . is that how you-"
"Mr. Potter, my relationship with Madame Rosmerta is
none of your affair. You will keep it to yourself,
and, as far as how it began, you are not yet ready
for Snape's Advanced Wooing Techniques."
Harry chuckled in embarrassment. "I suppose not. But
she's mad at me, now. How do I-"
"You'll have to figure that one out on
your own. If I told you everything, how would you learn?"
Snape
said, walking to the Owlery's exit. Good night, Mr. Potter,
and good luck."
"Thanks," the boy muttered, looking at
Hedwig and Silvio, who both seemed quite content in each
other's company and were grooming each other in a
companionable sort of way. "You two behave,"
he said, as he began walking back to the Gryffindor dormitory.
Hedwig and Silvio ignored him.