Of Brunettes and Gingers PV Sarah Lightwood

Sarah had spent most of the weekend in the library. Having neglected a Herbology essay due first thing Monday in favour of reading ahead on Charms in all of her spare time last week, she’d been forced to compensate for lost time through lack of sleep and a social life. Not that her social life had ever really been booming. Of course, luck had never smiled down on Sarah, and upon reaching the classroom first thing, proudly holding her completed essay in hand, the students had been informed of a week-long extension for the assignment. It was safe to say that she had not been amused and had spent the rest of the day sulking about it. It’s not like I stayed up late to complete that or anything, she’d thought bitterly, as she’d chewed away at a slice of chocolate torte during dinner with a fervour more befitting of a wild animal than a supposed member of ‘high society’. Or whatever it was her father was calling it these days.

Regardless, she’d spent the day silently seething, acknowledging next to no one and speaking the bare minimum required for her to make it through her day. If asked, Sarah would no doubt blame it on fatigue after spending all her energy writing an essay – that I didn’t even need to. Her less than cooperative mood certainly had nothing to do with the letter she’d received from her father during breakfast. Of course, it didn’t.

But, if had been in any way related to said letter, it likely would have had something to do with the less than understanding words regarding a recent grade she’d gotten in History of Magic.

Seraphina,
When you failed to disclose the results of your most recent History of Magic examination, I was forced to interact with your Great Aunt Helena, something you are most aware I do not do for pleasure. She informed me of the less than adequate grade you received, and I must say I was exceedingly disappointed. I hope this has nothing to do with any of those muggle-born companions you’ve been so desperate to get involved with. Need I remind you of the conditions your schooling came with?

These events better not repeat themselves. Your mother would be ashamed.
Jacob Lightwood.

She’d been seething when she’d read it, angry that he’d spoken of her mother like that and angry at how his prejudices had managed to escape even through ink and parchment. He was bigot, and Sarah could hardly stand it any longer. Not only had her grades – which usually consisted of Os – not ever slipped before, but this time, it had only been an A. Her first A which she’d no doubt be able to make up on the next assignment.

She scowled as she made her way to the bathroom, plucking the letter out from her robe pocket with one aim in mind. I’m going to flush it, put his opinions where they deserve to be. It didn’t matter to her father that her usual grades were high, nor that the supposed ‘muggle-born companions he seemed to think she had so many of didn’t exist. She swung the bathroom door open just as a small brunette bent to retrieve something she’d seemingly dropped on the floor, muttering something to herself.

Sarah usually might have paid her no thought, continued on her mission to flush her father’s words down the toilet, but something caught her eye and caused her to hesitate. She clenched the letter tighter in her fist, uncaring if she crumpled it more as she did, and tilted her head, curious to take a closer look at what the other Slytherin was holding in her hand. She’d read enough muggle books to realise what it was, and she was immediately intrigued, her feet moving towards the girl as she made to speak. She’d never spoken to the girl before, though had seen her around the common room and in some of her classes before. She supposed a distraction from her lack of sleep and father’s unwanted opinions might do her some good.

“That colour would look amazing on you,” Sarah said, forcing more confidence into her words than she ever felt speaking to new people. Fake it until you make it, her grandmother would say. “Is that your natural colour?” She asked, tilting her head in the direction of the girl’s hair with a curious smile.

Sarah watched as the girl studied her reflection. She nodded, moving closer to the sink the girl was leaning against. “Yeah. I think it would make your eyes pop,” She said as she caught the girl’s eye in the mirror. Sarah wasn’t usually one to intrude, usually more of a people-watcher than someone who actually interacted with others. But something had drawn her closer. Perhaps it was her innate curiosity for all things muggle, or the fact that she’d always been someone intrigued by hair colouring – she’d been six when her brother had first helped her colour her hair green. Either way, she’d gotten herself involved now, she’d just have to wait to see where it went.

“I’m glad you said that, I didn’t want to seem rude,” Sarah said as Opeila introduced herself. She wasn’t great with names as it was, and she didn’t believe the pair had ever actually spoken before. It wouldn’t have been out of character for Sarah to simply pretend she knew the girls name in fear of asking for it. “I’m Sarah Lightwood,” she said, hesitating slightly at the use of her last name. The Lightwood name was known to put people off, so heavily tied to her father’s opinion of the world. She felt her hand tighten around parchment, and really hoped that wouldn’t be the case here.

Sarah watched as Opeila glanced back at the pack in her hand, before looking up at her with startling green eyes. Yes, that hair colour would certainly suit her, she thought. “No, I haven’t a clue,” Sarah admitted, wishing she had more expertise to offer the other Slytherin. “I did once hear that dying natural hair is easier than already dyed hair though,” She offered a smile which she hoped looked more assured than she actually felt. “I’d be happy to give you a hand. And if anything goes wrong, I know a few hair spells which could help,” Sarah said, having learnt both how to magically dye her hair, and how to fix it a few years ago. “Not that anything will go wrong,” She quickly added, laughing nervously.

@Opeila Winters

Sarah nodded in agreement, already more than excited to try and use the hair dye. She’d once tried to acquire a box of muggle dye herself, curious to see how it was done without magic, though her father had quickly put a stop to that particular escapade. She smiled inwardly as she remembered the moment he’d found her covered in soot and trying to floo herself to a muggle store of some kind. It had been foolish, but his disapproving look and annoyance at the mess she’d created had been worth the week of finding black soot in her ears.

“You’re right,” She said as Opeila’s words brought her back. It was true, they’d never spoken before so there was nothing to feel bad about. She forced down a blush at the comment about her hair, managing to keep the colour from her face as she offered the girl a sideways smile. Her brightly coloured hair had been a part of her for years now, though for someone to speak of it outright, she still always felt the small twinge of worry that they were judging her for it. She doubted this was the case here though. “Yeah, a hair dying spell. I’d always wanted green hair, Merlin knows why,” she paused to allow herself a small chuckle before continuing. “So my brother found this spell to dye it. The first time we attempted it, we almost burnt all of it off,” she smiled fondly at the memory, wrapping a strand of green hair around a finger.

She studied the other girl’s face, looking for any doubt she might have. Even if she was hesitant, she’d clearly made up her mind as she re-read the back of the packet. She leant slightly closer to read the instructions with Opeila, only slightly on edge, knowing that if they did make a mistake, she was confident she knew a spell to fix it. “I think we have to make sure we don’t get it on your skin,” She said after skimming the back. It seemed simple enough, and the fact that the colour wasn’t ridiculously dark made her feel better - if it does stain, it won’t be black. “Over the sink would probably be best. I think slightly damp hair is best,” She wished her words were more confident, that she knew exactly what she was doing. There were two of them figuring this out though so it would probably be fine, she assured herself. How hard can it be?