Unstick My Heart

Draco Malfoy was having a major crisis. His self-confidence had gradually diminished over the day and now he wasn't sure how he could have been so stupid in the first place, really, to nick some unknown substance and put it into his hair without proper analysis first. His father had taught him better, or so he liked to think.

Now he was bawling his pretty eyes out, knuckling the tears away before the salty substance could harm his baby-soft skin in any way. He was helpless. He hadn't the foggiest clue what he should do now.

At first, everything had seemed so smooth. He'd eavesdropped on Granger and Weasel's conversation, cackling silently that they didn't figure out that *he* had taken Granger's superglue thingy. He had been crowing inwardly. He was so smart! He was so clever! No one even suspected him!

Then, funny things started to happen. Small, little, tiny things that shouldn't have worried him, but managed to catch his attention anyway.

The wind had been blowing hurricane-like when they'd had to cross the grounds on their way to their Herbology lessons.

The style held.

Sprout had them work under some very hot lamps that were apparently essential for the growth of fluxweed.

The style held.

On their way back to the castle it had been bucketing down, drenching Draco to the bones.

The style held.

There wasn't a hair gel - magical or Muggle - that could make hair *that* manageable - Draco knew that much now. 'Pity I hadn't known beforehand, though,' he reflected, sniffling loudly.

After a few more minutes of wallowing in self-pity, Draco decided to get a grip on himself. He was a Malfoy, after all. For centuries they'd lived down the Family Hair Curse. What could a bit more curse in his hair do to him?

"Nothing," Draco tried to say resolutely, blinking the tears from his pale lashes. His voice still sounded croaky, his cheeks were reddened and his eyes would look puffy come next morning - he'd need some more of his lid gel, he decided absently.

"Gah, it's not that bad!" said the gruff, distinctly female voice of the mirror in the prefect bathroom. "No need crying over that pointy nose, chap. I've seen far worse, I tell you."

"What's wrong with my nose?" Draco asked, looking highly affronted. "I'll have you know that my nose is *perfect* in every way!"

"Uh, nothing's wrong with your nose," the mirror said slowly, sounding anything but earnest. "I'd be more concerned about those Dumbo ears, too, if I were you."

"What?" Draco's hands covered his ears out of reflex. Realizing he couldn't hear that way, he jerked his arms back down, scowling fiercely for all of two seconds - more would have meant too big a risk of getting premature wrinkles. "What's Dumbledore got to do with my ears?"

"Uh," said the mirror, very, *very* slowly. "You're a natural blond, aren't you?"

Draco, finally realising that he was being insulted, did the first thing that came to mind: He started bawling again. The world was just *so* not fair! Oh yeah, always against the little ones. The blonde Slytherin, in all his 1.65 metre glory, could tell you about it.

Draco's hair was hard like Muggle concrete (he had done a bit of research; Muggle substances were dangerous, after all, and he wanted to be prepared). Draco collapsed onto his knees; he was a pitiful mess. At least, the mirror left him in peace now. Nothing could be more embarrassing. Draco, in his not very foreseeing nature because he didn't take Divination, was sure of it.

Then the door to the bathroom creaked open, and Draco's self-assurance was drowned in the boy's sudden wish to bang his head against the next wall. This action wouldn't be recommendable for several reasons, though: Draco was afraid of solid surfaces rushing too fast in his direction - courtesy of the floor incident from the morning before. Draco got a headache very easily, and he was sure that a bump on his forehead wouldn't go too well with his facial complexion. And lastly, Draco wasn't sure if his hair wasn't hard enough to break the wall, and thus burying him under piles of shrapnel. Draco could do without that, thank you very much, indeed.

'No,' thought Draco, drawing in on himself as far as possible. He wouldn't physically hurt himself. And it couldn't be all that bad, anyway. This was the Hufflepuffs' bathroom, after all, and Draco was convinced that he could force them to keep quiet about this incident.

Keep quiet or face his never-ending, dooming wrath.

Then the person entered the bathroom, and Draco's mind stopped working altogether. He should have known. He should have bloody known the instant the thought crossed his mind that it couldn't possibly get any worse! It was a conspiracy; it just had to be. There was no other way to explain the presence of *Harry Sodding Potter* in the *Hufflepuff prefect bath* just when *Draco Poor-Baby Malfoy* was weeping his eyes out because he'd ruined his precious hair!

Life was not fair - that was a fact of life itself - but this situation was beyond mere unfairness. It was degrading, it was humiliating - and all Draco really wanted to do was bury himself in his cosy bed, hold Mr. Snuffy close to his heart and shut his eyes against this waking nightmare.

Nobody granted his wish, though.

Draco couldn't say he was surprised. Harry - Potter - surprised him far more upon seeing him. The dark-haired boy stopped dead in his tracks, looking quite funny with a sponge and rubber ducky in one hand and shampoo in the other.

"D-Draco?"

Said Draco could only gawp stupidly - not that he didn't try to do so dignifiedly, mind. However, there were only so many facial expressions one could wear without looking, well, stupid at least once in a while.

Why did Harry call him by his first name? They weren't that close, after all, he and Harry. Draco frowned. There it was again; Harry. Why did *he* call his green-eyed nemesis by his given name in his head? Obviously, something wasn't right in that department.

"You're bathing with a rubber ducky?" Draco asked blankly, because it was the first thing that came to mind, even if it was stupid. Well, if he had asked whether Harry bathed in the nude, *that* would have been even stupider. But why would Draco ask something like that, anyway? "Aren't you a bit too old for that?" Draco ignored the small voice in his head that reminded him that he still slept with a stuffed doggy. Talk about being too old for something, really.

Harry blushed - prettily? - and jerkily put his arms behind his back. "What are you doing here?" he asked, with a touch of suspicion to his voice, clearly avoiding Draco's question. "This is the Hufflepuff bathroom."

"It *is*?" said Draco, with great air of surprise. "My, I didn't know! Thanks for letting me in on this secret, though," he added sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes and took a step closer. Draco immediately felt trapped. So far, the other boy hadn't noticed his state - and Draco could live without the humiliation, mind you. Diversion, he needed a diversion tactic, he thought frantically. Draco's brain worked over-time, searching for the best way to get rid off Harry.

"This is a prefect bath, though," Draco said quickly, putting as much of his sneer into it as possible. "Maybe you remember that I am, indeed, a prefect, whereas you are not. So, you've less authorization to be in here than I. You can leave now. Shoo, shoo!"

"Don't you 'shoo, shoo' me!" snapped Harry irritably. "The way I see it, I've got the same rights to be here as you. So you can shoo, for all I care!" He crossed his arms over his chest, the rubber ducky squeaking as if in protest. The colour rose back into Harry's cheeks, spreading from his nose until it covered even the tips of his ears.

'Just too cute,' Draco thought before he could stop himself.

"I'm not leaving," the blond said petulantly. He didn't have anywhere else to go. And before he hadn't solved his hair dilemma, he didn't even want to imagine the dreadful results in going out into the open. It was just too cruel a picture.

"I'm not either," Harry said back, just as childishly.

"I was here first!"

"And I was second!"

"See? That's right. You'll have to leave."

"No! You were first, so you have to leave first!"

Draco frowned. He couldn't overlook the logic in that statement. He didn't have to admit it, though. "No," he said obstinately, because he didn't have any more arguments.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" Harry asked abruptly, brows forking together. If Draco hadn't known better, he'd have thought that the dark-haired boy was thinking - and rather determinedly at that. "This is a bath. Why aren't you *bathing*, then? Why are you sitting here on the ground, still wrapped in your beige bathrobe, and not washing up?"

"My robe is ochre!" replied Draco tetchily. He couldn't believe the nerve of Harry! Interrupting his bawling session and then getting cheeky with him to boot! It was unheard of! Well, okay, maybe it was heard of that Harry interrupted him and got too cheeky once in a while, but Draco didn't have to like it! "And it'll take a bit more to see me naked!"

"What? I didn't-" Harry spluttered, his face glowing bright red by now. "I don't want to see you naked!" he denied hotly, but Draco couldn't help thinking that it sounded a bit unconvincingly. How very interesting. Not that it should be of any importance now, but Draco's Inner Slytherin couldn't be switched off that easily.

"Well, if that's the case, I recommend you to leave as long as I'm still decent," Draco said, trembling hands reaching for the fastening of his large bathrobe. 'Oh Merlin, oh Merlin,' he kept chanting silently. 'How have I manoeuvred myself into this situation?!' He willed Harry to finally leave the bathroom for he hadn't a clue how he should continue.

Harry had other things in mind, though. Or maybe his mind had gone on holidays at some point within the last seconds. All Harry seemed capable of was staring wide-eyed at Draco, the rubber ducky squeaking every time his hands contracted convulsively. He looked a bit like he lost it, Draco thought uneasily. Not that he himself was any better. His fingers held tightly onto the sides of his bathrobe, not having moved in minutes. Draco didn't know what to think of this.

Suddenly, Harry threw down his bathing things and cried, "Okay! I confess! I *do* want to see you naked!"

Draco was totally thrown off-guard - and off-balance - by this confession. He gasped and tipped over backwards. Luckily, the floor didn't split as he connected with it. 'The same can't be said for my head, though,' Draco thought dizzily, colours swirling before his eyes. 'Oh my God!' he thought then. 'Harry Potter wants to see me naked!' He wasn't sure whether to blush or blanch.

"Draco!" cried Harry and rushed to the fallen boy. He skidded to a halt next to him, barely avoiding crashing down himself. He kneed down next to Draco and hesitantly lifted his head to search for possible injuries. "Are you all- What's that?" Harry's voice suddenly changed from concerned to over-alarmed as he touched Draco's hair. "What have you done to your hair?"

"Nothing!" said Draco frantically, trying to get Harry's pawing hands off him.

"Is it always that hard, then?"

The question was innocent enough. Draco's hair looked like always, after all, it was only the rock-hard consistence that had changed. Harry's face hovered over Draco, looking for all the world like he cared for Draco's well-being, like he cared for Draco. The green eyes weren't glinting in fury, nor was his face drawn tight in anger. Harry's expression was soft and coaxing as he asked once more what Draco had done and if he could help him.

That finally proved to be more than Draco could take. The tension about his whole crappy day broke, and the boy started bawling - *again* - he was having a highly emotional day. He clung to Harry like a lifeline, pressing his face into Harry's chest and crying for all he was worth. Harry tentatively put his arms around Draco's quivering shoulders.

"It's okay," he tried to soothe Draco. "It's all right, Draco. I'll help you, I promise."

"No one can help me," Draco cried dramatically, his chest heaving with each laboured breath. "It's over and even you can't change anything about it..."

+++

Harry managed to change Draco's mind. After countless assurances and soothing words, Draco finally relented to let Harry help him. Harry was, after all, the epitome of the selfless saviour. In comparison, this small hair problem shouldn't pose as a too big obstacle, then.

"What are we going to do?" Draco asked, looking very small in his oversized, though once again tightly closed, bathrobe. "I already tried every charm I know of and nothing worked..." He tried to keep the desperate edge out of his voice, though it wasn't working very well.

"Well, I've got a few ideas, love," said Harry, causing Draco to blush at the pet name. When had they become so cosy? Draco couldn't say, but he also couldn't say that he cared much. Actually - he blushed some more - he kind of liked it.

And Harry had indeed a few ideas. He tried everything he could think of: Repeatedly washing Draco's hair, accio'ing several solvents and pouring them over Draco's head, brushing Draco's hair with a bristly comb - only resulting with reddened scalp on Draco's part and shrivelled hands on Harry's. It was hopeless; there was no way they'd get the superglue out of Draco's hair.

"Draco?" asked Harry, then. "Do you still have the tube? I'd like to take a look and see if they say how to get rid of it."

Draco nodded quickly. "Sure," he said, fishing the glue tube out of his pocket. There were many confusing words he didn't recognise - definitely Muggle-origin - written all over it, and he hoped Harry might figure them out. Draco handed the tube over to Harry and waited with bated breath.

Harry squinted at the small yellow tube, making various noises, and Draco's unease began to rise again. Harry didn't look very sure of himself, now. Actually, the frown on his forehead got more prominent with every passing second and the noises his throat produced became more and more foreboding.

"What does it say?" Draco asked, wringing his hands and trying to get a closer look at the tube, even though he didn't understand a word on it. "Any helpful tips how to get it off?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry said gently, letting his arms fall to his sides. His gaze caught Draco's and his eyes were apologetic. "It's solvent-less. We won't be able to get the stuff out of your hair."

"W-what?" Draco was feeling a bit light-headed. "No. That can't be... It's Muggle. I *have* to get it out." His eyes grew round and he looked pretty confused. "You said you'd help me. You promised."

"I know. And I'm not going to break that promise. There's one more thing we can do..."

+++

Draco's lower lip was quivering. Try as he might, he couldn't stop it. Grey, teary eyes stared right back at him as Draco looked at himself in the mirror in the Hufflepuff prefect bathroom. His bathrobe was still oversized but securely tied around his small frame.

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about your nose anymore, chap," the mirror said, almost apologetic. It was a false sense of friendliness, though. "No one's going to notice it now with that hair! Hahaha!"

If Draco would have been in the right state of mind, he would have wondered why Hufflepuff, of all the houses, had to have such a nasty mirror in their prefect bathroom. Now wasn't the time, though. He was having far bigger problems. Or shorter ones, if you looked at it from his angle.

Draco's face contorted into a wretched visage. "Look at my hair!" he cried, running his fingers across his scalp. His hair was so short, army-style would have been considered long in comparison. "Just look at my hair, Harry!" And, again, he started his newly acquired hobby: bawling.

"Don't," said Harry gently, embracing the miserable blond from behind. "That was the only way; I told you, love. I'm very sorry."

"Can't buy me a wig from your sorry," Draco sobbed.

"Don't be silly," chided Harry. "You don't need a wig. This style isn't all bad. Just take a look, love. Now you won't have to use any gel at all."

Draco sniffled, shooting an unhappy glance at the mirror. Harry was right, he thought despondently, he didn't need hair gel anymore. But at what cost? He didn't have any hair left! He just should have barricaded himself into the dorm bathroom when he realized that someone had used the last of his hair gel. All of this wouldn't have happened...

"You know, I kind of like it," Harry said softly, nuzzling his face into the side of Draco's neck. He pressed a kiss to Draco's jaw, tightening his embrace. "The gel made you look all pointy. This style makes your features softer..."

"Really?" asked Draco in a small voice. "You like it?" Not that Harry's opinion was of any importance in style questions - a single look at his own hair brought one to this conclusion - but it was still nice that Harry wanted to make Draco feel better. And he sounded so earnest about it.

"Sure," Harry said, smiling at Draco through the mirror's reflection. "Gryffindor's honour."

And Gryffindors didn't lie. They didn't know the difference between beige and ochre, but they didn't lie.

-End-