For British Hair Only by ghostofbambi

For British Hair Only

Warning: The following does not make any sense. Also, I don't own anyone or anything in the HP Universe.

“I’ve got it!” cried James Potter, a tall, hazel-eyed, black-haired young man who wore round, wire-framed spectacles, was captain and Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and only about half as handsome as he considered himself to be. “That’s the scent of natural berries!” He leaned back against the bark of the oak tree beneath which he was lolling with his friends and closed his eyes contentedly.

“How do you know which shampoo I’ve been using?” cried Peter Pettigrew confusedly. Peter Pettigrew was a small, mousy-haired, overly nervous boy with a pointed nose, who was round as a shiny penny and almost as interesting. Even at the age of seventeen, he appeared to be years younger than his friends, none of whom were older than he was. Poor, unfortunate chap. “Have you been searching through my belongings?”

“Of course I haven’t! I’m merely an extremely gifted smeller of hair,” said James arrogantly. James was wont to be arrogant. Qualities and talents he possessed by the bucket load, but sadly, the ones that did merit pride, such as his intelligence and generosity, were sometimes stupidly ignored in favor of the ones that weren’t very important at all, for example, the ability to eat three steak and kidney pies in as many minutes. This baseless self-pride would continue for another number of months, but we shan’t delve into that matter now.

“I didn’t know you could do that. That’s really cool!” said the admiring Peter, also known as Wormtail.

“Why, thank you, Wormtail. I am very much obliged,” said James, who was occasionally referred to as Prongs by his closest mates.

“What’s going on here?” said the voice of Sirius Black, a young man who was sometimes known as Padfoot, and James Potter’s best friend. Like James Potter, Sirius Black was equally tall and equally black-haired, although unlike James Potter, his eyes were gray and he was about three times as handsome as James considered him to be. Indeed, Sirius Black was far handsomer than even James Potter himself. James was not aware of this fact, but even if he was, he could at least feel consoled in the knowledge that he possessed a winning natural charm, which as all intelligent girls know, is much more likely to win the affections of eligible young ladies than a pretty face, and that Sirius did not.

“Padfoot, come join us under our tree!” said the aforementioned Chaser to the aforementioned best friend who could have played on the Quidditch team if he wanted but didn’t because he considered organized sports and rules to be a waste of his precious, angst-filled time.

“Who said it was our tree?” Completing this group of four strapping young men was a lad named Remus Lupin, also known as Moony. Although not as handsome as Sirius, and not assuming himself to be handsome as James did, sandy-haired, brown-eyed Remus was a very pleasant young man, in appearance and personality both.

“Well Sirius has pissed on it enough times. Consider it a marked tree, Moony,” said James. As Sirius could, on occasion, transform into a large, shaggy dog, this was not quite as shocking a statement as it might have been in other social groups.

“Indeed. This tree is a gift, from me to my fellow Marauders,” Sirius grinned, and dropped to the ground beside Peter.

Remus made a face which signified displeasure. “Of all the excuses you’ve ever made up to avoid buying us Christmas presents, this is the worst.” He sniffed. “And the most unhygienic.”

“Right, Moony. You run around once a month as a dirty great wolf, and you expect me to believe you’ve never pissed on a tree before?”

“Sirius, you won’t believe what James can do!” Peter cried, anxious to share the news that only he could be impressed by.

“If I ever did urinate against a tree,” Remus protested, “I wasn’t in my right mind at the time. That’s not a fair argument to make at all.”

“Minor details. You’ve pissed all over this tree, you grubby bastard.”

“Shut up, Sirius.”

“Yeah, Padfoot, shut up,” said James, feeling like it was about time that somebody paid him some attention, “and don’t move an inch!”

“Prongs, what’re you-” Sirius was cut off as James seized a fistful of his dark, elegant hair and plunged his nose into it.

“I’ve got it!” he cried, seconds later. “That’s the smell of earth, wet-dog and manliness!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sirius hissed, and glared at Peter as if this shocking turn of events was somehow his fault.

“Tell me again who my best friend is?” said the Chaser to the boy who displeased his family by getting placed in Gryffindor, but didn’t much care.

“Me.”

“Congratulations! You’ve correctly answered your own question!”

“You sniffed my hair like a fucking weirdo. That’s got nothing to do with my influence on you.”

“James is under the impression that he can identify what shampoo a person is using by smelling their hair,” Remus explained, rolling his wisdom filled eyes.

“Oh right. So I wash myself with essence of rabid dog and shit?”

“Wet dog, not rabid dog,” explained James soothingly.

“They’re one and the same, in Sirius’s case,” Remus pointed out.

“Well done, Remus!” cried James.

“Hey, he knew what shampoo I used!” said Peter, eager to promote the talents of his darling Prongs.

“That’s because he steals it on you, you twat,” said Sirius, laughing.

“What?” Peter squeaked.

“You steal Peter’s shampoo?” Remus inquired.

Everyone stared at James. Remus looked curious, Peter indignant, and Sirius merely appeared to be hungry. James went beet red, and floundered helplessly for a while.

“… It makes my hair shiny,” he eventually explained, quite defiantly.

“You’re a fucking woman, Prongs,” said Sirius.

“It never makes my hair shiny,” Peter mumbled sulkily.

“No! I’m not – it’s the oils in the shampoo or something. They work better with black hair!”

“Ooh er.”

“You could use some and all, you tosser,” James glared at his best friend in an effort to make known his hurt and displeasure at Sirius’ taunts. Sadly, it had no effect on Sirius. “You smell like a bloody tip.”

“Only because just I had to go rooting through the fucking forest in the muck for the quill you dropped yesterday!”

“You said you didn’t mind!”

“You were in the forest?” said Remus, who seemed to be of an inquisitive disposition today.

“Where do you think I’ve been for the past hour? Writing bloody poetry in the dorm like Prongs does?”

“What quill? Why did you make Sirius look for it?” said Peter, who possessed the regrettable ability to completely miss the point of every conversation. However, he was a very good cook, so it all evened out in the end.

Remus was shocked to discover that James wrote poetry. “You write poetry?!”

“He’s… got a better sense of smell than I do! Shut up! I don’t!” James grew red in the face, tried to kick his best friend in the shin, missed spectacularly and hit his toe against a rock.

“Yes you do,” continued Sirius, with all the placidity of a young man who finds relaxation in the emotional torture of his friends, no matter how dear those friends might be to him. “You write poetry about Evans.”

At the age of thirteen years, six months, two days and fifty-eight minutes, James Potter had suddenly been struck with the realization that he was hopelessly in love with a girl named Lily Grace Evans, who up until that time he could only confess himself quite attracted to. However, upon seeing young Miss Evans wipe her nose with a handkerchief, an action that would seem quite ordinary to most, it had occurred to James that Lily Evans was, in fact, the most beautiful, intelligent, and all around wonderful specimen of womanhood that he was ever likely to come across, and thus, an infatuation of years was born. However, Lily Evans, a girl with long, dark red hair, emerald green eyes and an owl with a name she had not chosen for it, had been most displeased when James had flown into a jealous rage and attacked her best friend at the time, a boy named Severus Snape, and never returned the sentiment. In fact, some would even say that she had loathed him with a passion bordering on hatred. This passionate loathing had continued for the next two years, eleven months and seven days, and although they had since begun to interact in a polite and civil manner, it would be prudent to assume that the two were not exactly the best of friends.

Nonetheless, and much to his own pain and distress, James Potter had remained faithfully under the spell of Lily Evans for three years and four months, which brings us to the present time, which also happened to the very day before Lily Evans turned seventeen. James had spent copious amounts of money on a present for her that he did not intend to give. However, he did not wish to inform his jesting friends of this fact, for he feared that they may question his masculinity.

“No I don’t!” he protested. It was a lie, as James did often hide in his dormitory and write poetry about Lily Evans. It was not very good poetry, but James was under the impression that it was.

“Yes you do, I’ve seen you. ‘Oh Evans, your hair is red and I’m filled with dread. Come shag me in my lonely bed.’”

“That’s not how it goes. Shut up,” James pouted, and rubbed his toe.

“Anyway,” Sirius continued, “the bloody git was wandering around in the forest yesterday, probably looking for inspiration for his next ode to Evans, and he lost it.”

“I still can’t believe that you write poetry,” said Remus, chortling to himself.

“You’re a fucking wanker of a best friend, Padfoot.”

“No I’m not. I have a blister on my arse the size of Hogsmeade because I accidentally walked through some nettles looking for that fucking quill. The quill that I found, by the way.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I did.” He held out the fateful quill. “Here, now Evans won’t kill you for losing it. No need to thank me.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Wait, that’s Lily’s quill?” said Remus.

“You mean you stole Lily’s quill?” said Peter, shocked to find that he had been cavorting with a criminal.

“No, I didn’t.” said James, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “She let me borrow it from her in Charms yesterday, only I lost it and I wanted to give it back before – oh piss off, Padfoot, and stop laughing at me. You’re lucky I don’t hex your balls off.”

“Speaking of piss, right? Where’d you think would be the most embarrassing place you could wet yourself?” said Sirius, who had tired of conversing about Lily Evans, whom he wasn’t very fond of. He would be, at some point in the future, but Sirius was a man who lived in the present, and maintained that this was why he’d failed his Divination O.W.L. James had gotten an O, but that was only because he’d flirted with the examiner. Boys, eh?

“Right. That’s it, I’m leaving,” said Remus, and stood up.

“Why?!” said everyone but Peter, who was busy trying to dislodge a piece of bread that was caught between his teeth.

“I’m not sitting here for the next hour talking about how awful it would be to wet yourself in public. I’ve got a brain.”

“You’re right, Moony,” agreed James, and sprang to his slightly overlarge feet. “These boys are disgusting. Where are you going?”

“Erm... into the school?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“He wants to divulge the secrets of his poetry to you, Moony,” snorted Sirius. “He wants you to hold his hand and tell him everything’s going to be alright.”

“That sounds a lot better than talking about urine, Sirius,” Remus reasoned.

“You haven’t read his poetry yet.”

Peter burst out laughing at Sirius’ amazingly funny slight.

“Oh sod off, both of you. I don’t know why you’re laughing, either,” James cried, pointing an accusing finger at the boy he called Wormtail. “You write love letters to Helena Hodge!”

“James!”

“Leave him alone, Sirius,” Remus scolded, wagging his finger at the dark, mysterious youth.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“It wasn’t a letter, it was a scathing note!” Peter persisted. Everyone ignored him.

“Apart from telling all of us that he writes poetry about Lily Evans?” Remus continued.

“SHUT UP!” James expectorated “She might hear you!”

“She’s not here, Prongs,” said Peter, wiping his friend’s saliva from his face.

“That’s not the point. He’s supposed to be my best mate, but he’s nothing but a traitor who smells of shit.”

“Better than smelling of berries,” said Sirius. “What self-respecting man smells like berries?”

“Hey!” cried Peter, insulted.

“This doesn’t include you, Peter. You’ve got no self-respect.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I already told you, it makes my hair shiny. And if you haven’t noticed yet, Sirius, people like my hair. Especially women. Women like Evans.” James smirked triumphantly and ruffled his beloved locks.

“Evans hates your hair. She’s always moaning at you to stop messing with it,” said Sirius.

“She doesn’t mean it.”

“Yes she does.”

“She doesn’t,” James whined, wallowing in his own delusion. “I know Evans, alright. She loves my hair. The moaning is just a cover. Her eyes are positively ablaze with lust whenever she sees it.”

“Maybe she’s got a sty,” suggested Peter. Sirius laughed. It was the proudest moment of young Peter’s short life.

“Right, fuck off, the both of you. Come on, Moony, we’re leaving.”

“James, you don’t honestly think that Lily’s eyes fill with lust whenever she sees your hair?” said Remus the reasonable, reasonably.

“Fine. I’ll go on my own, then. You’re all wankers. Goodbye!” He tossed his head in such a feminine way that he blushed like a poppy whenever he thought about it for two weeks afterwards, and marched off.

“You forgot the quill,” Remus called after him.

Angered, he hurried back and snatched the quill from Remus’ hand. “Give me that. Thank you. You’re all wankers. Goodbye!” He turned and dashed off towards the school.

“Oi!” cried Sirius just as his best friend reached the castle door, anxious to assist James in his affairs of the heart. “If you see Evans, tell her that her eyes are green, she looks like a queen, and when she rejects you your heart sinks like a submarine. It might give her a hernia!”

Angered by his best friend’s repeated taunts, James decided that it would be best if he informed Sirius Black of his displeasure, so upon wrenching the door open, he turned around and called out to him, politely asking the boy he sometimes called Padfoot to vacate the premises of the school.

“FUCK OFF!”

However, it was at that very moment that the very girl Sirius Black had been teasing James Potter about walked out of the castle door that he was still holding open.

“Potter?”

“WHAT N- now?” What began as an angry shout quickly transformed into a pitiable squeak as James turned back around and realized that Lily Evans, the young woman who for so many years he had been hopelessly and desperately devoted to, was right behind him. James let go of the door handle with a squeak, was immediately dismayed, and wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “Oh, Evans! Fancy meeting you here, eh?”

Many body language experts maintain that when one person is attracted to another, the body sends out signals, whether an action or a subtle change in appearance, which may indicate that person’s desire. Considering this theory, it is worth noting the change that had come over Lily Evans in the few seconds it took for James to turn around and notice her. Her pupils had dilated quite considerably. The fingers of her left hand, which had previously been lying by her side, were now threading through strands of her long, dark red hair. These were subtle changes that presumably went unnoticed by even Lily herself. What she had noticed, however, was the rapid quickening of her heart upon seeing James Potter, a change that is never undetectable, and it can be assumed that this caused her some embarrassment. It can also be assumed that, due to this embarrassment, blood from her body had rushed to her head, which in turn caused her cheeks to grow considerably redder, a process more commonly known as blushing. If James had been a body language expert, or indeed, not preoccupied by his equally rapid heartbeat and reddening cheeks, he might have noticed some of these changes and deduced, correctly, that Lily Evans was quite attracted to him.

However, James Potter was not a qualified psychologist, merely a very flustered adolescent boy, who was under the impression that Lily Evans could not be less attracted to him even if he placed a dead raccoon on his head and wore a gaudy gown.

He valiantly tried to think of a conversation topic that would not require him to flirt with Lily, as she normally became quite irritated whenever he did. The quill he had clenched in his hand would have been an excellent starting point, but in his nervousness, he had forgotten. Therefore, there came an awkward silence which seemed to last forever, although if he had counted, he would have realized that it only lasted eight and a half seconds.

“Isn’t that my quill?” she said suddenly, staring down at his hand.

“Oh, er, yeah.” His fist tightened compulsively around the quill. “Yeah. I was just going to find you and give it back. And here you are, looking as lovely as always!” He handed it back to her, inwardly berating himself for breaking the vow he had made only seconds earlier, and wondering if he was about to be reprimanded. However, instead of reacting angrily, Lily Evans looked up at him and smiled, so enthusiastically that an outside observer might have thought she was really very pleased. The smile was hurriedly dropped a moment later and replaced by a look of confusion. This was followed by another few seconds of awkward silence, made even more awkward by the fact that both James and Lily were staring into the other’s eyes.

 Seemingly unwilling to leave, Lily once again broke the silence with another question. “Are you alright, Potter?”

“Of course I’m alright. Why,” James was significantly surprised, and wondered why the girl he affectionately called Evans was asking him this question. “Why are you asking?”

“You sounded upset,” she said, shaking her hair in front of her face, almost as if something mortified her greatly and she wished to hide from him.

“I did?”

“Yes, you did. You know, about twenty seconds ago? You were shouting at your friends and telling them to-”

“Oh, you mean… that? That was nothing. They were just taking the piss out of me, you know, because of, because of, eh…” he couldn’t complete the sentence, unable to tell the girl he had so long worshipped from afar that she had inspired poetry in his heart, some of which he had written down on paper and considered to be quite good, for fear of the disdainful rejection he had so often accepted from her.

“Because of what?” she asked curiously.

James detected a genuine note of concern in her voice, and his heart, which was already beating faster than was the norm, sped up even more, so he hurriedly blurted out the first word that came to mind. “Shampoo.”

He immediately felt emasculated, almost as if his manhood, which he had once lovingly named Zorro at the age of fourteen, had been cut off and beaten into a pulp.

“Shampoo?” she repeated, and her delighted smile appeared once again.

“Yeah. Sirius was taking the piss out of me because he found this, er, berry scented shampoo that I use. Sometimes.”

“You use berry scented shampoo, Potter?”

“Infrequently, but yes. It’s not because I’m feminine, or anything. Of course I’m not. It’s the oils in the shampoo, or something. They’re good for black hair, like mine, and they make it look shiny.” James was ashamed. “I’m not ashamed!”

“I don’t see why you should be.”

“Precisely. Anyway, I only use it occasionally. Not very often at all. Never, really. I don’t even have shampoo like that. It probably doesn’t exist. It doesn’t exist. Sirius is a dirty liar. You shouldn’t listen to him when he tells you things like that.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

For the third time, a silence fell between the love-struck Chaser and the girl named Evans, who was equally infatuated with him but tried hard not to show it.

“It’s nice,” she suddenly blurted out.

“What’s nice?”

“Your hair. Your hair is really nice.”

James was overcome with happiness and unable to speak, feeling as if the moment in which Lily Evans gave him this innocent compliment was the most wonderful he had ever experienced in his life, which at this time had spanned exactly sixteen years, ten months, two days, three hours and twelve minutes. He would continue to be of this opinion for another nine weeks, four days and twenty-two hours, at which point Lily would thank him for locating her lost garnet ring and kiss his cheek. However, that is a story for another day, so let us continue.

“Yeah,” Lily continued shamefacedly, as James seemed to be, was most definitely was, incapable of speech. “You know, with the… oils, or whatever. It’s shiny, you know. It looks, it’s very…” she trailed off.

“Nice?” James suggested, ruffling up his hair. Lily’s eyes filled with lust at the sight, and James wondered if she was developing a sty.

“Yes! Exactly!” she agreed happily, as if they had simultaneously discovered electricity. She immediately appeared to regret this enthusiasm. “Well, I’m going to go. Now. Thank you for my quill, Potter.”

“Yeah, sure,” said James dazedly. “It was no-”

“Bye!” she cut him off hurriedly, and dashed down the castle steps. James watched her run away with eyes that were filled with hope and a renewed love for life. His lower lip trembled, his knees were set aquiver, and all of a sudden, the knowledge of what he must do struck him like a lightning bolt strikes a tree during a thunder storm in December.

“I think I’ll go wash my hair,” he said.