Chapter the Sixth: In Which it is Established that This is a Hairy Situation

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to fictional characters owned by other, wealthier entities is purely unremunerated.

Warning: Warning: Ladies and gentleman, I don’t put laugh-warnings on these chapters out of some sort of comedic hubris. This is a response to comment along the lines of, ‘I spat tea all over my keyboard laughing at this.’ Please use your best judgment when reading.

These were the times that tried Severus’ soul. (Contrary to popular opinion he had one, albeit a bit worse for wear.)

Draco’s mother had been so busy having tea parties with her little darling that she rather neglected his education beyond rudimentary reading and penmanship. Aside from counting, Draco knew practically nothing of arithmetic. Severus left that particular bit of education in Wormy’s seldom-ironed hands, reasoning that any elf capable of using the term ‘space-time continuum’ in a sentence could teach addition, subtraction, the multiplication table, simple division, and fractions—arithmetic for potions-makers, as it were.

The less said about Draco’s social skills (or the qualifications of any of the adults in his life to teach same) the better. Severus’ chief acquaintances were his thestrals, his elf, his cat, and possibly some of his more sentient plants. He was still dodging the vicar, reasoning that the bit in the contract about Draco not leaving the grounds was quite firmer than that about Severus being his godfather, and viewing the occasional Christmas or Easter service through an enchanted window was better than forgetting about them altogether.

Fortunately for Severus, Draco was not—as the Potions master asserted on any number of occasions—an irredeemable dunderhead. In fact, Draco was rather clever; so it was not long before his mathematical skills caught up with his reading well enough that he could study texts, sort labeled jars, count out and measure ingredients, and perform other menial tasks. Of course, being a Malfoy, he cottoned on fairly quickly that such tasks were menial and protested accordingly.

As months turned into years, Draco grew tall enough to reach the counters with a minimum of standing on step ladders or chairs, learned the names and uses of all the bits of equipment and ingredients, and generally whined about not really DOING anything, until Severus had no further excuse to refrain from teaching him procedures. Draco also took to quite handily to these, with a particular fondness for mincing. Severus convinced himself that once he could watch the boy use a sharp object without gritting his teeth, he would allow him somewhere near an actual cauldron over open flame.

Severus even occasionally conceded that the child might not be entirely intolerable. Like most spoiled children, a part of Draco secretly yearned for a bit of structure and discipline, and Severus was more than pleased to provide that. When the child wasn’t being sullen or fragile, he could be almost flatteringly unctuous, and after token protests and excessive whining, obedient. The pointy little brat even managed to call him ‘sir’ with no apparent irony.

But for all the challenges Severus’ new ward presented, one proved especially… hairy.

The child’s hair had been growing faster and faster every month since he’d arrived. At first it needed cutting twice a month, then once a week, then three times a week. Of late, as long as Wormy gave the child a good shearing before bed each night, his hair stayed out of the cauldrons.

Then one morning, as Severus sat down to breakfast and his list of pawnshops (he had been hocking little Draco’s most obnoxious and least-played-with possessions discreetly and profitably for nearly four years) he noticed something about his breakfast was not quite right.

“Phwaugh!” He spat out a mouthful of what he’d at first imagined was shredded wheat but in fact was Draco’s hair. Said substance was twining around the chair and table legs and draping over the dishes on the table. “Wormy! Did I or did I not tell you to cut the brat’s hair last night?”

“Not a brat.” At least, that's what Severus thought he heard. It was difficult to tell, what with Draco's sulky tone and the fact that the boy was already so engulfed that he couldn't even locate his oatmeal through his fast-growing tresses.

“Wormy has cut Apprentice Draco’s hair last night and this morning,” the elf fretted. “Wormy cut Apprentice’s hair so short, Apprentice screamed bloody murder. Does Master wish Wormy to cut it again?”

Various obscenely expensive presents—including a wand, which Severus had confiscated with a remark about the silliness of wand-waving to hide a stab of raw fear at what havoc the boy might wreck—had arrived last week, signifying the vexing spawn was now aged 11 years. Severus had an unfortunate suspicion that might be connected with the current debacle.

“Get it off the table at present, Wormy,” Severus said. He tried and failed to suppress a groan. “I need to consult a certain vile bit of parchment.”

Sure enough, crowded into the fine print that Severus was quite certain had multiplied every year since the evil contract had first darkened his doorstep, he found yet another dreaded subclause in the Rescue section:

To ensure that princes attempting a rescue meet certain minimum standards of suitability, no fewer than three traditional types of obstacles must be employed to impede their efforts. Master/Godfather/Captor specified in Section 1, Paragraph 2 having stipulated to owning at least two such obstacle types (Dangerous Beasts and Obstructive Plants) only the Curse type is lacking, to be duly activated upon the child’s first signs of physical maturation or by the eleventh birthday, whichever comes first. As the usual curses (enchanted sleep, amphibiform transfiguration) would prevent the child from fulfilling the conditions of apprenticeship specified in Section 2, Paragraph 5, the Rampion Curse will take effect until the child’s hair is of sufficient length to serve as the sole means of ingress and egress to the residence (rendering it an Impregnable Tower, specified in Section 1, Paragraph 3, subheading: Definitions.) The correct password for requesting entrance to the tower must include, but need not be limited to, some combination of the child’s name and the phrase ‘let down your hair.’

After saying a great many words which Narcissa would not be at all pleased to hear, Severus returned to the dining room and surveyed the platinum flood which by now was infiltrating the kitchen and the stairs. In the absence of further instruction, Wormy had been holding the unruly locks at bay with elf magic so that young Draco could finish his strawberries. There was really only one question Severus could ask.

“Wormy, what does an elf acquainted with the space-time continuum possess in the way of plaiting skills?”