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Pansy's Hair

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Pansy Parkinson was a cold-hearted bitch. She always introduced herself as such and acted the part perfectly. Chanel did not look good on amateurs, so she made sure to never be one. She was proud of her heritage, her clothing, her humour, and her hair.

Her hair was never one color. Well, not for long. When she emerged from her mother's vagina, screaming and redfaced, she'd had black curls. By her twelfth birthday, however, that was long gone, having given way to a bleached blonde. When she lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy in a tangle of sweaty limbs and Ax bodyspray, she'd had blonde shoulder length curls.

By the time they broke up, her roots were showing. Disgusting.

When 15 year old Pansy fucked Blaise Zabini in an empty classroom, her hair was a dark brown bob, perfectly acceptable for a Pureblood girl. Granted, shagging someone in a closet was not acceptable, but hey, at least she had the hair.

"We should do that again." Blaise had said, rebuckling his belt.

"No." Pansy had replied in a monotone. "That was wrong. Good day." And she had shut the door in his face, hair still mussed and cheeks pink.

When Pansy, 19 and recently pardoned of any war crimes, sat in a bookstore and tried desperately to find direction in words, her hair was purple and cropped almost to her scalp.

"I like it. Purple represents spiritual enlightenment. I suppose that's something you're probably looking for right now." Luna Lovegood sat next to her and gazed at her with massive blue eyes. Pansy returned the look.

Later, after they had both finished and were lying on Luna's vibrant green couch, Pansy held her hand.

"I'm sorry." Pansy whispered before leaving the other girl sleeping.

Ginny Weasley was very different. Pansy, 21 and angry, sat in a bar in Germany, hair completely gone. She had shaved her head in a fit of anger, tears streaming down her cheeks and a crack in the mirror from where she'd hit it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ginny sat next to her, fury on her face. Pansy sized her up. The little weasel girl had grown up.

"The Harpies are in the middle of their worst season yet." Pansy stated, tossing back a shot. Ginny flushed and Pansy smirked.

"Care for a drink?" She slid a vodka over the counter to the redhead. Ginny looked at her, then drank it.

"You're on."

Pansy had never fucked a ginger before. She guessed she could cross that off her bucket list.

When Harry Potter forgives her in a grocery store in Ireland, Pansy is 23, has a messy green pixie cut and a small emerald nose piercing.

All that's in her shopping cart is a pack of organic cigarettes, vodka, and precisely 3 green apples.

"I forgive you." was exactly what he said, green eyes staring into her blue, uncomfortably keen.

"Fuck off." is how she replies, though on the inside she's reeling.

Typically, they would have exchanged words, then shagged in the back of the coffee shop next door. However, Harry Potter is not typical. He asks her to dinner. To talk. She doesn't go.

One month later, she agrees to get coffee. Her hair is chin length and grey.

His is spiky black, like her coffee, she manages to joke. He looks momentarily surprised, having been wary through the rest of the 'date', through their life stories and favorite colors.

Then he smiles.

Three months later, she kisses him for the first time. He stops her before they get to the best part- just to tell her that he likes her hair. It's a bright red bob, messy, like his.

She shuts him up on her knees.

It's the sixth month when he gives her a key to his place and she actually accepts it.

"This doesn't mean anything." She insists, pink hair in a bun as she tossed an ash tray into the trash.

"Sure." He agrees, snaking an arm around her waist.

By the twelfth month, her hair is black. To match her soul, she says. Harry just smiles.

"I love it."