A/N : Love to reviewers.
Sequel to " The Perils of the Craft".
Harry Potter was smushed, clothed, into a bathtub with his pseudo-arch nemesis. The one who wasn't actively trying to kill him ( anymore). The faucet was jammed into his back at a strange angle and his legs had gone wholly numb. Still, it could be worse. Snape was crammed under the sink, looking ready to hex someone.
" Pigs!" They heard Bellatrix even with the door closed. "Miserable, wretched swine!" The other women murmured in agreement and the men drew closer to one another in abject terror. The only sound was the scraping of the spoons on the sides of the Hagen-Daas container.
"How long must we stay in this stupid room? Potter's legs are crushing mine." Draco tried to get up a really good whine but found the tiny, ugly tiled loo was sapping his strength. Besides, what sort of people have WCs in the same room they bathe in?
"Was it something I did?" The author took another big bite of ice cream and the women made a feminine sound of comfort and shared rage. Lucius, whose back was to the door, reached up to make sure the door was locked. His hand, Harry noticed, shook very slightly.
" I wouldn't go out there, boy. Love might be the most powerful magic, but hormonal rage fueled by insecurity is a very high second. They'll rip you apart like maenads." Snape spoke from the voice of long experience, world weary and suffering a dreadful neck cramp.
The only happy man in the bathroom was the Pettigrew –rat. Having transformed to save space, he was happily wallowing in the sink, soaking in a mixture of pleasantly warm water and a drop of the author's sweetly scented shampoo. Ah, bliss! He lay on his back and kicked his paws, utterly satisfied.
The Dark Lord was sitting on the bog, a pensive look on his face. Harry was uncomfortable being so close to his true mortal enemy ( of whom Draco was a pale, whiny, bony kneed fraction of a shadow) but Voldemort seemed deep in thought, almost indifferent.
The door handle shook and they all jumped, prepared for a whirlwind of female energy as Lucius slowly undid the lock. Instead, the author poked her head through the door, still sniffling and began to rummage in the cabinet.
"Hello, Madea. Are you feeling any better?" Lucius used a bright, cheerful tone to cover the absolute terror of every man in the room. An enraged author was a dangerous author, the kind of author who wrote revenge fics.
"I'm okay. WHY WON"T HE CALL?" Lucius shrank back and, seeing the others had retreated, decided to bite the proverbial bullet. "Now now, I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. Perhaps he's simply…"
"Forgotten me? Founder a thinner, blonder woman--"
" Who isn't utterly mad? Why would you worry about that?" Draco couldn't take a single second more of this. He was a Malfoy, dammit! He shouldn't have to spend time with Potter's bony little legs mashing his finely turned calves, the result of his mother's Black genes.
"Shut up, Malfoy! Are you trying to get us shipped?"
The author turned, sniffling. " 'S'okay, Harry. I'm too upset to write. We're going to do hair and watch a movie."
The men sighed with relief that she wasn't on her computer and then groaned, relizing that the 'moo-vee' could take hours."
" Can't we come out and watch with you?"
She shook her head. "No, we're still having girl time."
She picked up a huge container of sparkly hair things and a metal tube of something called 'hair-spray'. From the other room, a strident voice rang out like carpet tacks on fine china " Muggle, what is taking you so long? Shall I come and assist you?"
They blanched as one. Lucius tried to close the door, but Rudolphus, hence forth napping shoulder to shoulder with Snape, called to the author. " You're actually letting my wife anywhere near your head with a hairbrush?"
The author shrugged. "Better she than Madam Malfoy.' Turning to Lucius, she said softly "Your wife is very nice but she's got a hell of an arm on her. She could play baseball with a swing like that. I'm not arming her."
The door closed and they breathed again. Lucius' voice cut the stillness. " Draco, have I ever told you what your mother was like during her pregnancy with you?"
" She spent two weeks locked in her rooms crying because I forgot Grandmother Rosier's birthday. Compared to Narcissa, this is a doddle."
Draco nodded slowly. " Yes, Father." He was utterly confused as to what one had to do with the other. " My point, Draco, is that you should consider yourself fortunate. This one is reasonably sane the majority of the time."
Draco nodded. The sounds from the other room were abating somewhat. Then, not without president, Bellatrix's voice rang out. " Let us watch the clown again, muggle. I feel it would be instructive to yourself and the mud blood."
Two hours later, the majority of the inhabitants of the necessary were freed. They cautiously fanned out, having craftily sent the two boys as an advance guard. The women were sitting in front of the TV, hair in identical nests of curls.
" Her hair doesn't actually look like that, Rudolphus?"
"The effect is quite deliberate, actually. For a while, the Dark Lord had an idea that fearsome hair would add to our image."
Lucius nodded slowly. "I suppose that explains why Narcissa had blue hair for a week or so in the early eighties."
Voldemort, overhearing this, felt as though he should chime in. "I don't remember saying that. Then again, I suppose I might have. There was a lot going on in those days."
Rudolphus, irritated to discover that his wife's strange hair wasn't so much an attempt to terrify their foes as a personal whim, exhaled loudly. " I do wish someone might have told me. I would have bought her decent shampoo."
The women ignored them. They were crashed out from the huge amount of sugar in their systems and the amount of trashing talking they had done.
The author's cell phone rang and she lazily stretched out a hand. 'H'lo?"
Her face lit up. "You forgot your charger at home and that's why you didn't call? You want to get a late supper? Alright, I can be ready in half an hour. See you then. Love you too, bye."
She leapt up giggling. " I'm going out, y'all. Be back late, don't wait up." She turned on the shower, happier than she'd been in days. Then, from the bathroom:
" Oh, and Draco?"
Draco's blood ran cold. He shivered and looked around. " Yes, Madea?"
" I plan on writing when I give back, and I think that remark you made—what the hell? Pettigrew, get out! Pervert! Someone come get Wormtail." The door flew open and a rat was unceremoniously dangled from the gap. Snape put out a hand and the damp, squirming creature was dropped into his outstretched palm.
As she stepped into the shower, careful to protect her newly curly hair, her thoughts kept flying back to what had just happened. Stepping out, she nearly fell over something on the floor.
Her bedroom slipper. A lightbulb went off, and as she began to grin.