Your hair’s on fire, indeed, thought Draco caustically. He began to form a sarcastic put down along the lines of, “Of course it is!” when he realized that there were other matters that he had to attend to first.
For a moment, Draco considered going for his wand. It really wasn’t fair that he had to choose between his most useful tool and his naturally perfect platinum tresses. But how was he supposed to anticipate such a move from a man? If the stranger was a wizard, he was supposed to use Expelliarmus. If he was a Muggle than he shouldn’t know to go for the wand. He couldn’t be a Muggle anyway, seeing as how he’d managed to set Draco’s hair on fire….
Draco remembered that his hair was still on fire, and acted accordingly by screaming like a seven-year-old Muggle girl. He swatted wildly at his head a few times, achieving nothing due to the fact that he was keeping his hands well away from the flames. He began to hop up in down in distress, while shaking his head.
The unpleasant, oily smell of burning hair filled the room. The stranger muttered something that was probably an epithet and picked up the houseplant. “Are you an occult being?” he shouted. Draco didn’t answer him, being rather occupied with being hysterical. “Well, if you were some type of demonic entity, you’d probably be able to take care of your bloody hair,” reasoned the man, and angled the English Ivy at Draco’s head.
At first, nothing happened. Draco shrieked, “Crowley’s going to tear you to shreds for this, you-” and was interrupted by the fierce spray of water that hit him directly in the face. The boy choked and instinctively cast his head down.
When the fire was out, Draco was reluctant to raise his head back up. He had very little wisdom, even for his short life, but he knew without a doubt that there would be a terrible smirk on the other man’s face.
He wondered, rather hopelessly, if there was any way for him to regain the upper hand.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2005-09-30 08:15 pm (UTC)For a moment, Draco considered going for his wand. It really wasn’t fair that he had to choose between his most useful tool and his naturally perfect platinum tresses. But how was he supposed to anticipate such a move from a man? If the stranger was a wizard, he was supposed to use Expelliarmus. If he was a Muggle than he shouldn’t know to go for the wand. He couldn’t be a Muggle anyway, seeing as how he’d managed to set Draco’s hair on fire….
Draco remembered that his hair was still on fire, and acted accordingly by screaming like a seven-year-old Muggle girl. He swatted wildly at his head a few times, achieving nothing due to the fact that he was keeping his hands well away from the flames. He began to hop up in down in distress, while shaking his head.
The unpleasant, oily smell of burning hair filled the room. The stranger muttered something that was probably an epithet and picked up the houseplant. “Are you an occult being?” he shouted. Draco didn’t answer him, being rather occupied with being hysterical. “Well, if you were some type of demonic entity, you’d probably be able to take care of your bloody hair,” reasoned the man, and angled the English Ivy at Draco’s head.
At first, nothing happened. Draco shrieked, “Crowley’s going to tear you to shreds for this, you-” and was interrupted by the fierce spray of water that hit him directly in the face. The boy choked and instinctively cast his head down.
When the fire was out, Draco was reluctant to raise his head back up. He had very little wisdom, even for his short life, but he knew without a doubt that there would be a terrible smirk on the other man’s face.
He wondered, rather hopelessly, if there was any way for him to regain the upper hand.