Haircut
“Please don’t laugh.”
Draco stood awkwardly in the Floo, poised to flee. His usually impeccable locks grew wildly past his shoulders, thick tresses shining like rivers of white gold. Hermione pressed her lips closed tightly together to prevent her giggle from escaping, simply quirking a brow at him.
“Depending on what happened, I’m sure I can fix it.”
He heaved a sigh of relief before settling beside her on the couch, shucking her legs over his lap.
“I was brewing hair growth pots and was distracted when Blaise came by—”
Hermione cut him off when she leaned over and ran her fingers through the strands along the arm closest to her. “Mmm, no wonder Zabini’s product sells out so fast. Your hair looks and feels a-maaaazing.”
His adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he gulped at her touch. “—and, I, uh, neglected to seal the cover when I left. By the time I came back my lab was filled with fumes and I accidentally breathed in a bit.”
Her fingers progressed up to comb through the full length of hair, occasionally pausing to massage circles into his scalp.
“…Granger?”
“Hmmm?”
“Not that I’m complaining, that feels fucking fantastic, but care to help a bloke out?” He leaned into her ministrations with a soft growl in his voice, reminding Hermione of dear, departed Crookshanks.
“Are you sure you want to cut it? Seems a shame…you could go Lucius-style and tie it back?” Hermione whined when he tugged his hair out of her grip. He glared back at her, offended at the suggestion while simultaneously lifting his chin in a manner reminiscent of the Malfoy patriarch.
He swiftly stood, tugging her along with him down the hallway to the washroom. “If there’s one thing I’m thankful for with your time in that infernal tent with Potter and Weasel, it’s that they gave you plenty of practice on their haircuts.”
Hermione’s mouth went dry when he tugged off his shirt and displayed his chest in all its glory, lean, muscled, and dusted with light hair at the chest that led to a tantalizing trail straight down his stomach into his waistband.
“Snip, snip, Granger. Let’s get this over with.”
“Did you have to remove your shirt? I can’t focus with all that,” she exclaimed, waving at his form.
He waggled his eyebrows as he smiled a salacious grin. “I’d rather not get hair all over my clothes, and I’ll just take a shower after to clean up. You’re free to join me.”
“Don’t tempt the witch with the scissors.” She clicked the shears at him menacingly. “Now let’s see here…”