Severus shook his head to himself, then trampled upstairs, straight into his bathroom and after shedding his clothes rather quickly, stepping into the very hot shower.
.
She knew her face was tear-streaked and she knew she looked an absolute mess and she hated herself for not pulling her hair up, or away. First Mrs Callaghan, then Draco, then Snape. And what a way to make sure she felt uncomfortable and unwelcome. This was probably worse than the comment about the teeth. It was pure malice.
She stumbled into the library, wanted to bury herself beneath books, in books, and immediately stumbled over Harry, who, quite uncharacteristically, lay flat on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.
"Harry...what?"
"Hermione, what happened?" he pointed at her face. "Did the exam not go well?"
Tears, unwelcome and unbidden, sprang to her eyes again. "Do you think my hair is a ridiculous something which nobody in their right mind would call hair?" she asked, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
"Erm," he blushed slightly, "It has been a bit out of hand lately," he whispered carefully, "maybe...erm, a trim?"
Hermione stared, struck by his insensitivity (and yes, something inside of her nagged that she should have expected that), and immediately turned around again, said no single word, didn't ask why he was flat on the ground, staring at the ceiling and ran from the house. Rushed, ran, not quite blinded by her tears, and remembered a certain establishment quite close by, ran from memory, not quite seeing and pushed the door she remembered open. Pushed it open and stormed inside, didn't wait, didn't care about the weird stares and fell down a chair. She knew it was wrong, she knew she was rude and she knew that this shouldn't be done that way.
Someone, and she didn't care who or what he or she was, stepped up behind her. "Oh luv," that person said, a male voice. "What can I do for you?"
Hermione swallowed, picked up a strand of hair between her fingers and lifted it up. "Cut it off."
39. Widening
Widening: In semantic changes involving widening, the range of meanings of a word increases so that the word can be used in more contexts than were appropriate for it before the change. Changes from more concrete to more abstract meanings fit here.
(1) Dog. English dog first appeared with the more specific meaning of 'a (specific) powerful breed of dog', which generalized to include all breeds or races of dogs.
(2) Salary. Latin salarium was a soldier's allotment of salt (based on Latin sal 'salt'), which then came to mean a soldier's wages in general, then finally, as in English, wages in general, not just a soldier's pay.
(3) Cupboard. In Middle English times, cupboard meant 'a table ('board') upon which cups and other vessels were placed, a piece of furniture to display plates, a sideboard', whose meaning then became 'a closet or cabinet with shelves for keeping cups and dishes', and finally in American it changed to mean any 'small storage cabinet'. In parts of Canada, cupboard has been extended to mean also what others call a 'wardrobe' or 'clothes closet'. Spanish armario 'cupboard' was borrowed from Latin in the Middle Ages where it had to do with 'arms', 'weapons', and meant 'armoury; later its meaning widened to include present-day 'clothes closet, cupboard'. French armoire 'wardrobe, locker, cabinet' (also borrowed into English from French) has the same history.
(Campbell, 1998)
The hairdresser, who had introduced himself as Ray, fingered her hair, while she, impatiently, tapped her foot.
"Cut it off," she repeated.
"Tut, tut, luv. I'm not doing any cuttin' for the moment. Must have been a bad break-up though if you come stormin' in like that."
"Break-up?" she stared straight ahead into the mirror, up at him. His blond hair was spiky on top of his head and he had obviously plucked his eyebrows. "No break-up...just..."
"Need a change," the hairdresser called Ray said with a wink of his eye. "But you don't wanna do anything rash and I won't cut off your hair to half an inch..."
"I want it...shorter."
"We can do shorter, but not radical, luv," he ran his fingers through her hair again. "What do you use now? It's awfully dry and split ends all over the place. When was the last time you had it cut?"
Hermione stared. She hadn't planned on this going like that. She only wanted a haircut. A simple, easy to handle haircut. Not to be asked when she had her last haircut — that would have been...her own wand and a charm. Since her mother had gone, well, had been gone to Australia, nobody had made her go to the hairdresser's and it hadn't been important, really. She had other things on her mind, her NEWTs and finding the perfect Uni for herself, things were just more important. Her hair was only ever in the way and as much as she could, she kept it out of the way. She should have just kept it out of the way that day as well. Then she wouldn't have been in this...what was she doing there anyway? Okay, such a panic reaction wasn't usually like her. And to listen to such fuckwits (oh...well) when it came to her trademark, her hair, wasn't like her either.
But wasn't it always a true true fight in the mornings? Hadn't she despaired of brushing her hair? Wrestling it into a half-way decent looking style? Or at least a pony tail with which she could live a day long? And if that bloke there could do something about it, why not? She had rather expected Aideen and her to go shopping for a bit after the Ancient Runes exam, so she had put enough money in her pocket. Even for an expensive hair dresser. Oh, there was still his question to answer.
She shrugged and kept his gaze in the mirror. "It's been a while. And I use conditioner occasionally."
"Mousse? Gel? Hair wax? Anything? Deep conditioner once in a while?"
Hermione shook her head, feeling even smaller now but the hairdresser smiled brightly at her. "Okay, luv, here's what we do. We wash your hair, put some stuff on it to make it less dry and easier to handle, and then...I have an idea, we'll dye you a shade darker with a few highlights and then...I think a bob, you can style it wavy like Britney Spears did, or straighten it. A few layers...makes it easier for you to handle. Lean back," he smiled still, "and just let yourself go for a while."
She did. It wasn't long before she felt soothing fingers on her scalp, massaging and somehow, her shoulders sagged, her head cleared and she kept her eyes closed. Just kept them closed and waited.
.
Eleanor sat heavily on the sofa. Draco brought Aideen back to uni one more time to get some of her things so she could stay overnight before going down to London to her parents. She always made the same mistakes. She had made the same mistakes with her children. Never quite grasping that they were old enough to make their own mistakes, never quite grasping that they could not be influenced after a certain age, that they couldn't be pulled on the ear and be scolded.
And now, she had made the mistake with Severus. Same mistake. Yes, he had been absolutely rude and it wasn't the best of manners to pick a fight at the dinner table. What was she supposed to have done? Throw the girl out? Never let her help cooking? Tell Aideen not to bring her in the first place? It was too late for that.
She had treated him like a boy and she would have to, well apologise for that. Eleanor rubbed her eyes tiredly. She hated making mistakes like that and apologising didn't come easily but she hated even more that Severus had run out like that and that it had been her fault. She should have maybe informed him beforehand that the girl would be there, should have sent Draco over sooner, or would have at least told him that they had already made comments about the girl's hair. She shook her head to herself and got up again, feeling bone-tired and weary. But she had to fix this before she went to bed. Never again would she part with someone in a fight, would fall asleep bearing a grudge. Never again.
She picked up the leftover strew and dumplings and throwing the wrap he had bought her for Christmas over her shoulder and made her way over to his house. Along the street, not the back way. She wanted him to open the door to her, she wanted him to have a choice, but it wouldn't also be beneath her to wait for a bit on his doorstep.
She took a deep breath, and rang his doorbell, rather waiting for a long wait.
.
Harry decided to show just a little bit of the courage he had been so hailed for before. Hermione had just run out and there was no sense in staying alone at Grimmauld Place. He had, foolishly, rather thought that he would be able to discuss that party, that mystery with her but once more, Harry's plan of action, had been more like, well, open mouth, insert foot. What he did best. He knew not to comment on her hair. Comment on her hair, or on her entire appearance were always dangerous. And he just didn't have enough experience with women to know what was truly acceptable and what wasn't.
So, plucking up courage was the best and the sanest decision. He would have to do this sooner or later and now was as good a time as any, really. So he apparated. He saw his destination clearly in front of his inner eye, loads of green, fields, it was serene, rather. And maybe a bit idealistic, what he saw in his mind. He felt the familiar tug on his navel and barely a moment later, landed on his feet in the midst of those fields, the house he wanted to be in, his destination, just in front of him, almost waiting for him, looking more inviting than he remembered, and he wondered, briefly, why he had ever avoided that.
Ah yes, Ginny. Ginny whom he couldn't love anymore because Ginny loved the boy-who-lived, the saviour, the one who was famous. Ginny, he thought, never wanted to get to know Harry. Or maybe she did and he was just being unkind and unfair. Maybe Ginny, he thought, could have been someone he could have spent the rest of his life with. Such as it was, he didn't want to share his life with anyone. Hermione, yes, because she lived with him and he did want that friendship with Ron again. That easy friendship before all that cruelty of war had started. The laughter and the talking and the shared Chocolate Frog cards. That he wanted. And with his connections to the Quidditch league — hell, maybe he would have to bribe him but he wanted that friendship back. But Ron, despite everything, couldn't be bribed, he knew that. Ron had his own thick head, and...he'd try. He needed to go there and if he was using the pretext of that damned party he was supposed to throw.
With long strides, he walked towards the Burrow, feeling the wards tingle on his skin but being able to walk through without being pulled back, without being burned, without feeling anything but the tingle. He smiled happily to himself, and knocked, as he had so often done, on the door to the kitchen.
It was almost flung open and Ron, his mouth hanging wide open, stood there. "Hey Ron," said Harry, pushing the nervousness that had built in his stomach down.
.
"Wake up, luv," the hairdresser called Ray whispered in her ear. Hermione almost jumped. She had truly dozed. In a hairdresser's. Had felt so much better, only by the person called Ray focusing all her attention on her. She had felt colour being applied to her hair, she had walked, on her own, probably, to get it rinsed out. And she had somehow, far away, heard the scissors cutting, she had seen a blurry outline of herself, or not herself, in the mirror. She had seen a darker haired, highlighted image of herself in the mirror. Blurry, of course. And somehow between that and the hairdresser whispering in her ear, she must have dozed off. That had never happened. But her mind had been so clear, had been so free of all thought and she had felt so utterly relaxed...it was no surprise really. She had been so wound up about the NEWTs and about getting a decent long-distance portkey to Australia, had thought too much in the weeks before. And Harry had so often been away playing Quidditch that they had barely time to talk with one another.
But now, she felt refreshed. Just a short nap, probably, but she felt ready to go to Australia, to forget about Snape, to forget about Draco and all that.
"What do you think?" Ray asked and she, now, for the first time, took a long, good look at herself. The tips of her hair brushed her shoulders, it was wavy, not curly, it was...a dark, chocolate brown with lighter brown and golden highlights. Wavy. It looked truly pretty, really. Her hair looked pretty. She raised her hand and touched it carefully. Yes, it was her hair but it didn't feel like her hair, it was soft and glided through her fingers and waves. Not curls. Waves. Gentle, irregular waves, not one looking like the other but at the same time turning into a rather pretty complete hairstyle.
"It's...erm...wow."
Ray smiled. "I'm glad, luv. Now, what you wanna do is use conditioner. Deep conditioner once in a while, then mousse in your hair, and for heaven's sake, only brush your hair when it's wet. Never when it's dry. Let it dry naturally, or use the blow dryer but gently. Not too hot either. Pull the waves in form, do not scrunch them up, or do so but then your hair will be absolutely curly. Don't go to bed with your hair wet and do not brush your hair when it's dry. Understood?"
She nodded mutely. Not brushing hair. She would figure out a spell to dry it decently. Mousse in it. Conditioner. She looked at herself again. Not completely different. But her face wasn't dominated by the mass of hair, by the bushy something. Her face was her face and it was framed by waves and by dark brown hair. Again, she pulled on one of the waves, absolutely awestruck how her hair could look like.
.
It was Eleanor. He was sure of it. He didn't debate opening the door, he just did. The woman...well, he just felt obliged to open the door to her and to listen to what she had to say, probably apologise. And if he had told her the entire story, of Harry Potter and his two little friends, she would have probably not invited her. She would have probably discouraged the girl from staying. And what had she done? She had treated him like a child. Deep in his mind, he knew that she had raised five children. That she had some of her grandchildren around. And that rudeness on the table could not be accepted if you had so many around it, usually. He didn't like it, didn't like it one bit, but...he had seen so many people make that mistake — treating him like a child.
Dum...Dumbledore...Albus Dumbledore had his moments when he had treated Severus like a child. And Minerva McGonagall had her moments when she had treated Severus like a child. When they still saw the student, not the colleague, not the teacher, but the child who had attended Hogwarts. Professor Sprout had been rather good at ignoring that he was a fully fledged teacher. Binns, he remembered, had never even called him anything but 'Young Severus'. And she had made the same mistake. Seemed to be a universal thing. Seemed to be something people were prone to do when they saw him, despite the fact that he looked every single one of his years if the mirror didn't lie. And mirrors only rarely lied.
