Snips and Snazzles by magpie_igraine

Rating: PG
Genres: Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 05/06/2005
Last Updated: 05/06/2005
Status: Completed

Just what every girl needs, hair-care tips from Tonks. Fluffy-fluffy response to Cherry's
'haircut' challenge. One-shot.




1. 1
----

This was a response fic to Cherry’s “Hair Cut” challenge. I remember it was supposed to involve
a bad haircut and Hermione and something else….(trails off, biting lip). Well, something about a
haircut anyway. Do I meet the criteria? Does it matter? Will Harmony happen? Read on my friends,
read on…

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. I own nothing, so don’t sue.

Snips and Snazzles


From Tonk’s POV: Excerpted from her correspondence w/ Lupin

Of course I couldn’t say ‘no’ to that watery-eyed little doll that hangs around our Harry.
What’s-her-name. The smart one. Hermes… something. Her chin was all trembly and she was whimpering
and making these pathetic little hiccupping noises, all the while begging and pleading and making
me feel like the worst kind of heel for not helping her out.

“Alright love...” I said, giving her the mandatory pat on the shoulder. “There, there. It’s, um…
it’s not that bad.”


She groaned and gave me this you-must-be-joking look.

Okay, I’ll admit the hairstyle had its problems. She’d kept the length, so it was still past her
elbows, but the ends were, I don’t know, kind of layered and crimped. Looked like someone had
uncoiled a hemp rope and thrown the bits over her shoulders.

Maybe the color wasn’t so great either (and coming from someone who’s spent her life sporting
nonconformative hairstyling, that’s something). Fried blonde-gray hair may be the norm for pixies
and Beauxbaton dropouts, but, yeah, Hermes initial reaction of oh-my-gods horror was more than
appropriate.

Of course, Hermes didn’t usually give two thoughts about clothes and boys and other such bollocks.
But for some not-so-mysterious reason, it was imperative for her to look ‘perfect’ on this
particular night. Seems a certain Boy-Who-Lived had asked a certain enamored pal-gal-Friday to be
his date. Hence the haircut. Hence the post-haircut meltdown.

She arrived early that morning at Grimmauld Place wearing one of her white knitted elf hats and
looking like the wandering nun of Belfast.

She came to me figuring I’d know a few things about abnormal hair care. It was a last resort. A
last ditch, an even ‘desperate,’ effort. I was a bold choice, no doubt. Bold but brilliant. Because
where she saw disaster, I saw potential. No, strike that. I saw opportunity.

-------

I’d learned a few things about emergency hair treatment during my tragically short stint at the
university (and no, get your mind out of the gutter. There were no mushrooms or ping-pong balls
involved). Our Hermes did end up looking rather fantastical if I do say so myself.

With a little coaxing, her hair eventually relaxed and flattened out. Next we added some glam gloss
and whatnot, so it stayed straight and shiny and fell flat against her back. Then came the color: a
super secret formula dating back to the time of Calstabana (basically I mixed house paint and horse
blood with muggle dye and presto: complete one-eighty, fashion-wise.)

Her hair came out this really rich, red color. Not red like the ever-expanding ginger-haired
Weasley clan, but a deep, rich blood red with sleek black streaks on the undersides. ‘Dangerously
sexy’ I guess you’d call it. Very Nuevo-something or other. Not overdone either. Nothing
‘Eurotrashy’ about it (yes, I know that’s what you’re thinking and trust me you’re wrong).

I even lent her one of the dresses we took during the Ganboli seizure. A long, strapless evening
dealie: red and black, princess cut, with crisscrossed ties going up the back. Really of the
non-shabby variety.

Her hair veiled her shoulders and the only makeup she wore was a dap of red lipstick and, well,
let’s say I just had to see Harry’s face when he saw my tempting little creation step onto the
dance floor.

[Sighs] Young love. Remember that Lupin? No, I suppose not. Too busy being lapdog to the Order
(oops, no pun intended).

------
Anyway…

So Hermes and I apparated back to Hogwarts. She shows me around her Head Girl dorm and we talk
about her lessons until that spacey little blonde girl glides in. You know her. Lana…something.
Anyway, Lana’s mouth drops open when she sees Hermes, and she says something about true auras and
unsigned lights and whatnot. I think it was a compliment. So they start chattering about their
dresses when we hear a knock at the door.





Everything went silent and I swear Hermes moved in slow motion as she went to answer it. She
opens it in a trembly way and breaths a sigh of relief. It’s just the Weasley boy, Ron.

So, yeah, he looks at Hermes, and does that bug-eyed thing of his. His mouth’s hanging open and,
okay, maybe it’s a good thing Harry’s the most powerful wizard of ten generations. If Hermes gets
this kind of reaction from her surrogate brother, she’s going to cause a bloody stampede in the
ballroom.

Lana stands next to him and tugs gently on his sleeve. To his credit he quickly recovers and
compliments his own date (course his eyes never leave Hermes). Lana didn’t seem to mind though.
Guess the girl was secure enough not to worry about his ogling other birds. Then again, this was
Hermes. Nowadays, she practically had Property of Potter stamped across her forehead. Nowadays?
Right. ‘Nowadays’ meaning last three years.

After a bit of banter I’m kinda getting antsy for Harry to show up. I ask Ron what’s keeping him,
and, noticing me for the first time, he waves and says something about Harry meeting them
downstairs.

Okay. Great. I can tell Hermes is a little disappointed. Informal way of starting a ball and
whatnot, but I’m doing a mental dance in Townsmen Court. Because now I get to engineer a grand
entrance for our little Hermes, and, oh man, Harry was going to flip. FLIP I TELL YOU!

Hermes and Lana take Ron’s arms and, yeah, Weasley’s about to burst with pride and other manly
juices (savor it my boy, S-A-V-O-R it) as they proceed towards the hall. I wait til they turn the
corner before apparating to the ballroom.

It was a nice set up. Really. For a school dance, anyway. Starlit ceiling, ivy wall glamour, silver
waterfalls over the fireplace. Truly not bad. So I stand under next to the great staircase, cloaked
in shadow and all stealth-like, watching Harry talk to Dumbledore. I can tell he’s distracted,
looking around for Hermes. Oh man. I thought. This is going to be so… bleeding… GOOD.

The great doors open and Ron comes in with the girls. I hit them with a starry spotlight and made
the music swell as they enter. Ron (jackass he is) puffs out his chest out and struts a bit, but
luckily Lana quietly leads him to a dark corner where she spent the rest of the evening punishing
him for being such a ginger-haired prat.

Dumbledore looks my way, wondering whose working the mojo and smiles indulgently when he catches
on. I even think he winked at me. He directs Harry’s attention to star-bright Hermes and, well… I
must say that Harry’s jaw-drop was worth a million-and-a-half Calstabana hair treatments. His big
green eyes lit up with recognition and I swear his knees-buckled as he held onto Head Table for
support.

Meanwhile, our little Hermes is standing alone at the foot of the stairs. Her moonlit eyes are full
of concern, scanning the room for Harry, who meanwhile seems glued to the spot with, I don’t know,
surprise, shock, lust, love…whatever. Point is, he’s not moving. So of course some other sod had to
ruin everything by just waltzing up and asking Hermes to, um, waltz. She politely agrees and
follows Dead-in-the-Water out onto the floor. All the while, mind you, she’s still looking around
for Harry, even when Dingleberry puts his arms around her and begins whirling them around with the
other couples.

Of course by now I'm pouting up a stormy little tempest. I expected…I don’t know. Something
Else. Certainly not this. Maybe Har and Herms gazing into each other’s eyes for a bit, or perhaps
Harry carrying her off into the sunset, or a spontaneous marriage proposal. Now that’s not
expecting too much, is it?

Anyhow… Hermes is dancing and, of course attracting gobs of attention, especially from Mr.
Stuck-to-the-Floor Potter. I’m hopping on one foot, trying to keep from shouting expletives at our
gutless, green-eyed messiah. So just imagine my reaction (my hysterical,
drop-to-my-knees-and-squeal-with-delight reaction) when Harry snaps out of his stupor and strides
over to the dancing couple.

In one Auror-inspired move, he cuts in on their dance. No, wait, ‘cuts in’ is too polite a term for
it. He simply catches Hermes’ hand and pulls her to him, ignoring her former partner’s protests and
Hermes’ own look of surprise. She hastily apologizes to what’s-his-name and motions for Harry to do
the same. Harry mutters something gruffly, his eyes never leaving Hermes, and
contestant-number-none takes the walk of shame [All the while, mind you, I’m doing a happy tap
dance in the corner]

My spastic celebration ends and I eagerly await Harry and Hermes to start their journey towards the
land of sex and babies. However, they didn’t seem to be headed that way. Or any way really; they
weren’t moving.

I remember focusing my on every blasted word that they said and not being happy with a single one.
Hermes was “upset” at Harry for being “rude,” and Harry was reminding her that she was his “date”
and needn’t be off dancing with total strangers.

“Date?” She raises her eyebrows doubtfully. "Is that what this is?"

Ouch. Harry looks a bit stricken at that before his eyes narrow. "Of course it is," he
answers in a rough whisper.

“Oh? So that means you can, what? Treat my dance partners like cattle?”

“Cattle? Hermes, I didn’t skin him and send him to market.”

“You practically pushed him off the dance floor.”

“Okay, now you’re exaggerating love.”

Hermes looks at him in this I’m-so-disappointed-in-your-thickheadedness way and takes a step out of
his arms. “Harry, I really don’t think I am. You’ve...”

“Oh For F@#&’s Sake, Why Won’t You Just F#$@#in' Dance?!” My too-familiar voice suddenly
rings out over the music.

The crowd hushes and turns towards the big-mouthed, blue-haired voyeur in the corner. I cover my
face with my hands and feel my cheeks turn warm. “Oops,” I think. “Did I say that out loud? Did I
just SHOUT that out loud?”


Everyone’s staring at me, even Ron and Lana have stopped their snogfest to glance at the
obscene-and-uncalled-for disturbance. Hermes’s eyes are wide, and Harry, bless his heart, looks
confused.

Then something happens. Something I never expected and Will Never Forget.

Hermes. Our Hermes. She just...I don’t know, puts her hand over her mouth and starts giggling.
Harry looks down at her and she shakes her head as she tries to say something. Next thing I know,
the Head Girl was doubled over with laughter, gripping Harry’s elbow for support. Hermes,
miss-perfect-model-prefet is laughing at my profanity and potential trespassing and whatnot…And.
She. Just. Keeps. Laughing.

Harry’s looking at her bemused, and well, at that point, everyone else is too. Her face is flushed
and her eyes are bright as she leans closer for support. He doesn’t offer up much resistance,
wrapping his arms around her waist and gathering her to him as she buries her head in his chest,
embarrassed that everyone's staring at her. Harry smiles indulgently at her sudden shyness and
shakes his head as he takes her hand and leads her outside to the gardens.

The doors closed behind them, and everyone turned back to me. I gave a friendly wave, and, to my
relief, the music resumed, and everyone lost interest. (Thank the gods). I went up to Dumbledore
and shook his hand, thanking him for a lovely evening. He told me I could chaperon next year if I
remembered it was a school dance and not a freakin’ race track. Like there’s a big bloody
difference.


I left the hall, managing to catch a glimpse of two figures dancing by moonlight in the courtyard
(and yes, it was Harry and Hermes, you unimaginative git). Mini told me they spent the rest of the
night out there. No doubt they were sorely missed. Sorely something else too. Sore and tired and
satisfied all over. (giggles). But, honestly, it’s adorable.

And that’s my report. As you can see, I did my good deed for the month, so you can stop sending
those four-ten memos. Try sending some flowers. Or maybe a card. You ever hear of a 'card,'
you unromantic sod? Plan to suffer for your insensitivity when I get back.

Until then….

With love,

Tonks

End