Work Text:
Christmas, 1994
The morning of the Yule Ball, Angelina was the only one awake in her dormitory. It was early on Christmas Day—the sun hadn’t come out yet and it was dark as night around her. She felt like a child, waking up to see what Father Christmas brought. This year, she had something else to look forward to: a magical evening surrounded by friends. She found the excitement surrounding the Yule Ball enough that she didn’t mind staying behind at the castle, rather than going home. She was eager to look her best, wear the gorgeous dress her mother had made her, and dance the night away with Fred.
As she swung her legs out from under her covers, she felt something heavy. She smiled, seeing that, at the foot of her bed, there was a sizable pile of presents from her family and friends. She’d unwrap them later, when she’d washed and conditioned her hair. Once out of bed, she reached into her trunk and got her basket for wash day, which started the night before.
While her roommates, Alicia, Fiona, and Justine spent Christmas Eve playing Exploding Snap, Angelina sat on her bed, alone, getting her hair ready. Her preparations for the Yule Ball started with gently undoing her braids. She relaxed at the feeling of having her hair loose and down. Each section was then parted neatly, spritzed with water, and conditioned with smooth, creamy coconut oil. She twisted each section, keeping the base of the twists loose, and tied them off with soft, stretchy ribbons. When she had four flawlessly conditioned, coconutty, wrapped twists, she donned her sleeping cap and tucked into bed.
It was only the first step to achieving smooth, silky locks for her desired look.
With her basket set nearby, Angelina got into the shower to start her hair’s monthly wash. As she let the hot water soak her scalp and body, she was reminded of her grandmother.
“ You don’t need to be a witch to have magic hair ,” her Muggleborn Nan had once said, when Angelina was young and complained over how much it hurt to comb through her unruly hair. But as she grew older, Angelina saw the wisdom in her grandmother’s saying. Her hair had its very own magic.
Like all magic, it had to be carefully curated and crafted to produce marvelous effects.
She worked the shampoo into her scalp, using her fingers at first. The bottle—another Muggle product—had a narrow tip, allowing her to squeeze its contents through the thickest parts of her hair. Next, she grabbed a soft, spiky scrubber, and massaged it into her scalp. This was her favorite part of the wash: the tea tree in her shampoo, when scrubbed gently, gave her a warm, pleasant tingling sensation on her skin.
She squeezed her hair under the water, making sure all the suds were gone, and put the scrubber away. With the shampooing done, she turned off the water and reached for the conditioner.
Like her other products, it was from a specialty Muggle shop. She remembered the first wash day at Hogwarts, when she was just eleven: her roommates were entranced by the routine, with the ones from wizarding families simply flabbergasted that she didn’t use Sleakeazy’s Hair Potion.
“But it says ‘for all hair types,’” Alicia had said, frowning, pulling out her own bottle of the potion. “ All hair types, Angelina.”
“ They don’t mean that,” Angelina replied. “It doesn’t work on my hair.”
Angelina remembered rolling her eyes at her new friends’ cluelessness. They’d all asked to touch her hair the first time they saw it out of braids, and Angelina sighed, saying, “ Only just this once.”
The girls understood now, and no one brought up Sleakeazy’s again.
With a towel wrapped around her body, and standing in front of a mirror, Angelina parted her hair into quadrants and tied three of them off. Working with one section at a time, she worked the conditioner into her hair until each strand felt coated. She took her paddle brush, and inch by painful inch, she detangled each section. When she was done with each quadrant, she plaited her hair, but left the ends loosely twisted, until every part was properly cared for. She gathered her hair in a cap, placed a Warming Charm on it, and put the conditioner back in the basket.
The sun’s golden rays now lit up the bathroom. Angelina heard her friends’ groggy voices. It was perfect timing: her hair wouldn’t need rinsing for an hour, so she could open Christmas presents with them.
She got the fluffy lavender bathrobe from her hook, replaced the towel with it, and returned to her dormitory, where her friends were pulling back their curtains.
“Blimey, Ang,” said Alicia, yawning. “How long have you been up?”
“Two hours,” Angelina replied, shrugging as the other girls stared at her. “It’s wash day and we’ve got the ball to get ready for.”
In the past, her dormmates hadn’t understood how arduous the process was to take care of her hair. All of them could wash their hair daily or every other day. They used to complain over how long it took to style on a daily basis, while Angelina’s braids lasted four weeks between washes. She often reminded them that she still had to wash her scalp, no matter what she did with her hair. She also had to spend several hours, at least once a month, to keep her hair healthy. It was the price she paid for occasionally easier mornings.
Opening their respective Christmas presents took only a few minutes. Angelina’s stomach started to growl, so she opened her trunk to find her stash of snacks. She’d once gone to breakfast with her hair wrapped up and too many people poked fun at her; with the Weasley twins’ genius recommendation to tickle the pear in the portrait by the Hufflepuff common room, Angelina always had snacks available for wash day and never had to go downstairs unprepared again.
“It’s Christmas,” said Alicia, elbowing Fiona in the side. “Ang, don’t eat too much just yet.”
The two of them scurried off. Justine, never one to miss out on the fun, ran behind them, leaving Angelina alone. She sat on her bed and nibbled on a Cauldron Cake while she flipped through her Charms notes. Due to the Triwizard Tournament, she hadn’t played much Quidditch. Her marks were higher than ever, which made her parents happy, but she missed the freedom of the skies.
Alicia, Fiona, and Justine returned, breathless and grinning. Fiona snatched the covers from her bed and spread them out on the floor, and moments later, a picniclike feast of sandwiches, pastries, fruit, and juices awaited them.
“Happy Christmas!” Alicia said, beaming. “C’mon, Ang! Breakfast in bed, just us girls!”
This felt like Christmas, even if she wasn’t home. After they enjoyed a hearty breakfast made livelier with Christmas crackers, it was time to return to the bathroom.
She turned on the shower and let cool water flow. Slowly, she undid each plaited tuft of hair and let the water rinse through it. She took care to keep the colder spray away from the rest of her body, having learned the hard way that rinsing with cool water under a shower would feel freezing on her warm skin. Hot water was part of her usual routine to rinse out the heavy conditioner on wash day, but with the heat she’d use for the Yule Ball style, cool water would protect it best.
With the conditioner successfully rinsed from her hair and each section free from its twists, Angelina squeezed out the water, ready for the next step: another conditioner. This one was the lightest of all. It was another ingenious Muggle product curated to protect her hair from heat. It smelled like almonds and cherries, felt like silk, and she only needed a Knut-sized amount in her palm to cover each quarter of her hair. It wasn’t something she used regularly, as she didn’t use much heat for her usual styles, but if she wanted to keep her hair healthy, it was a must.
“Angie—” Justine poked her head into the bathroom “—do you want coffee? Me and Fi are going back down.”
“That would be amazing,” Angelina replied with a yawn. “I’ll be here till the sun sets.”
“I’ll be joining you once I get coffee,” she said. “My hair takes for- ever to curl!”
Angelina threw her an empathetic smile. Justine was Vietnamese and she had long, thick, beautiful black hair. It was always straight and glossy, ready to style any way she liked, but she said she wished her hair was different, like Angelina’s. While Angelina’s hair could do almost anything (with enough time, patience, and frequently, tears), Justine’s hair liked to be straight. She’d attempt to curl it for the Yule Ball, and Angelina wondered if it would really take as long as she said it would.
With the basket at her feet, Angelina took out the next tool: a charmed brush. Muggle products worked better, but as Hogwarts lacked electricity, Angelina had to resort to her mother’s specialty, charmed tools. This one was charmed to deliver warm air as she ran it through her hair. It was like a Muggle hot air dryer, but as she applied it directly to her hair, it was never truly hot.
Justine returned with coffee for both of them. While Angelina ran her charmed brush over each section of her hair, she watched Justine spray her hair all over with a cough-inducing concoction that smelled terrible.
“It’s hairspray,” Justine explained, wheezing. She cracked open a window, blowing freezing air in, which Alicia and Fiona complained about as they got in and out of the shower.
Justine was halfway through putting hot rollers in her hair when Angelina was done drying hers. It wasn’t perfect yet. Some sections were frizzy, others poofing up in the heat of the bathroom, and yet others were dry and brittle. She thought she looked like the Weasleys’ ancient owl, Errol, whose feathers never seemed to stay in one place.
“Ang! Justine!” Alicia called from the dormitory. “We brought lunch!”
As her hair was dry and it was only one o’clock in the afternoon, Angelina took a quick break for a sandwich, but returned to the bathroom, where Justine was red-faced, with hot rollers littering the floor around her.
“They won’t stay!”
Angelina reached out for her hair. “May I?”
“You can help?” Justine pled.
“Maybe.”
Angelina ran her fingers through Justine’s thick hair, feeling how smooth and heavy it was. She scrunched an eye at her roommate and went to her basket to pull out the heavier conditioner.
“Use some of this,” said Angelina. “Your hair needs something to stick to. Also, use smaller sections for your rollers, like I do.”
“Help?”
Angelina glanced at the clock. She still had makeup to do after finishing her hair, and she was running out of time, but she didn’t want Justine’s plans to be derailed.
“All right,” she conceded. “It’ll take me a few minutes, and let me know if I pull too hard.”
Justine eyed her curiously, but Angelina got to work. Like her own hair, she separated it into quarters, then another set of quarters, and each of those in two. With each section she separated, she used her heavy conditioner to make it oilier.
“You’re going to want to wash it after the Ball,” Angelina recommended. “It’s going to feel really full.”
“That’s fine!” Justine said, smiling. “You’re a lifesaver, Angie!”
Angelina finished up with her roommate’s hair and returned to her own. The dry, brittle strands were sticking out at odd angles. Sighing deeply, she got the light, Muggle heat protectant oil and ran it through her hair again.
By now, Fiona and Alicia were inside the bathroom, beginning their own preparations. Fiona stood in front of the mirror, plucking her eyebrows. Alicia twisted her hair with ease, creating a pretty, effortless-looking chignon.
Justine’s hair was curling at last, to her delight, and with each ringlet left behind by a hot roller, she sprayed it with the awful-smelling, cough-inducing spray. Two more bathroom windows were opened to let out the nasty gas.
The last tool made its way out of Angelina’s basket. It was another one of her mother’s charmed inventions, a heavy comb that delivered substantial heat, and when coupled with her own charm work, would leave Angelina’s hair straight.
With her hair separated once more, Angelina began the last step of her preparations. The hot, charmed comb was in her left hand, which was clumsier, but she needed her right to cast the charms that would keep her hair silky and straight.
Run the comb through, cast the charm.
Run the comb through, cast the charm.
Watch your ears, that means tears.
Run the comb through, cast the charm.
Angelina had her own sing-song rhythm to the words her mother repeated, keeping her focus steady on each section of her hair. Half of Angelina’s hair was perfectly straight and smooth by the time the other girls started doing their makeup. Even Justine was done with her curls. Angelina watched as each of her roommates applied smoky eyeshadow, deep, dark eyeliner, and plumped up their lips with pink and red lipsticks. She was running out of time, but she couldn’t stop yet. There was only one more quadrant to go before her hair was the prettiest she’d ever seen it.
Angelina was finishing the last section of her hair while her roommates got dressed. She looked at them enviously, all dressed up with perfect makeup and flawless hair, while she stood with light burns on her hands and a tired, product-less face.
Fiona had a mauve gown with long, gauzy sleeves and a plunging neckline. Against her pale skin and dark hair, she looked like a sexier fairy princess from a Muggle storybook.
Alicia wore a curve-hugging, teal dress with a trumpeting skirt that made her look like a mermaid. With her olive skin and greenish-blue eyes, Angelina would’ve believed she was ready to jump into the Black Lake and join the Merpeople.
Justine wore a traditional, formal Vietnamese outfit. She called it an ao yai, but Angelina had come to learn it was spelled áo dài. It had two pieces: a silky, white pair of trousers that came up to her waist, and then a flowy, red-and-gold patterned tunic that went over it. It had long sleeves and it was split on either side so Angelina could see the top of her white trousers.
Fiona saw Angelina in the reflection of the mirror. “Angie, your hair!”
“What? Is it wrong?” Angelina replied, panicked.
“It’s gorgeous! ” Alicia gushed. “It’s so long, too!”
“Would you like our help, Angie?” Justine said, smiling softly in the mirror. “I can’t do your hair, but I reckon I can do your makeup.”
“You’ll help?”
“Of course.” Justine beamed and looked through Angelina’s basket.
“All my makeup’s in my trunk.”
“I’ll get your dress,” Fiona offered.
“I got the shoes!” Alicia called. “The silver heels, right?”
Angelina nodded and the girls scattered. Justine knew what she was doing, and in no time at all, Angelina had glowing cheeks, glittery eyelids, and rosy, pouty lips.
“Fred’s going to die when he sees you,” said Fiona. “Drop dead gorgeous, you are.”
“I’m not even dressed yet!” Angelina protested, looking at her reflection in the mirror, and failing to fight the giddy grin at how good she looked.
“The dress and heels are waiting for you,” said Alicia, with the dress in her arms.
With the help of her friends, Angelina donned the shimmery pink dress her mother ordered for her. It had a high neck, accentuating Angelina’s bare shoulders, and like Alicia’s, it hugged her curves. It had a wider skirt, allowing Angelina to move more freely, and a single slit in the skirt, showing off Angelina’s smooth leg.
“Those boys don’t stand a chance,” Alicia said, once all of them were gathered in their dormitory. They wished each other luck and exited one by one. Angelina felt nervous energy in her bones; she’d never looked anywhere near this nice in front of her classmates, and she hoped she’d catch Fred’s eye with her straight hair and sleek dress.
The reception in the common room was worth every minute in the bathroom.
Boys from all years, including the ones too young to go to the Yule Ball, whistled and cheered as the girls came downstairs. Angelina felt many eyes on her, including some of the older boys who had girlfriends.
She was definitely turning heads that night.
The girls agreed to meet their dates in the common room, and when Angelina locked eyes with Fred, little flutters invaded her belly.
“Looking good, Johnson,” Fred said, with a wink. He pulled out a rose from behind his back, making her blush.
“Not half bad yourself,” she said, as she took the rose from him.
He offered her his arm, and now that the other girls were with their dates, they went through the portrait hole to the Yule Ball.
The Great Hall was truly magical that night, and Angelina flushed with pride whenever one of her classmates gave her a second look or complimented her hair. Every waking moment since the crack of dawn was worth the way she felt, as if she was truly beautiful.
She had the most wonderful time with her friends and Fred, laughing whenever George and Lee tried to foster “international cooperation” with the girls from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. She waltzed with Fred, tangoed with Alicia, tried the foxtrot with Fiona, and by the end of the night, she could barely hold herself up.
Fred had gone to get a drink, and in his absence, George ambled over with his hands in his pockets and an uncharacteristically shy smile on his face.
“Care for a dance with the better looking twin?”
“He’s off getting drinks, actually,” Angelina teased, watching George clutch his heart in fake offense. “But I could give you a minute on the dance floor.”
George offered his hand and she took it, noticing for the first time that while both twins were stocky, George had slightly wider shoulders. She put her arms around his neck and he put his hands on her waist, swaying as the Weird Sisters played a ballad.
“I like the hair, Johnson,” George murmured, “but the braids are better.”
Angelina stopped for a moment, tilting her head at him. “Really? You like the braids better than this?”
“You look more comfortable in them.” George shrugged and turned her, spinning her around in his hand. “I like the designs you put when you do the ones like this—” He gestured to his head, running his fingers along his scalp.
“Cornrows,” she provided. “I only do that when I’ve got time. This—” she gestured to her long, silky hair, fighting a yawn. “—this took me all day. I was up before the sun.”
“Merlin’s beard,” George gasped. “What did you do? Fight a dragon for that hair?”
“I leave that sort of thing to Harry,” she answered. “This is just loads of products and patience. You’d think wizards would have something better, but I’ve got to use Muggle stuff.”
“Muggles are quite clever,” said George, placing a hand on the small of her back and lacing his fingers in her other hand. “We wizards could learn a lot from them. They don’t have magic, so they’ve got to be creative.”
“Well, if wizards could be half as clever, I could’ve spent my day having fun instead of locked in the bathroom.”
George got quiet for a moment. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“What is?”
“Nothing at all,” he said, as a grin split his face. “Just thinking about my next prank.”
“Oh Merlin, say you won’t mess with the girls’ toilets.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” George said, winking, “but come to think of it—”
“—oi, George!” Fred called. “You stole my date!”
“—steal mine! Lee’s looking fine tonight, don’t you think?”
Angelina snickered at them; six years into knowing the Weasley twins and they always knew how to rile each other up, even jokingly.
George ultimately bowed, bidding Angelina a good night, and she returned to the arms of her date, Fred.
“So what did you two talk about?”
“My hair.”
“Your hair?”
“I was telling him how long it took to make it look like this,” Angelina replied, now flush against Fred. “Took me all day!”
“Blimey, all for a ball?”
“I wanted it to look nice, you know.” She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking of what George had said. “Which do you like better? Like this or my usual braids?”
Fred pressed his lips together and raised an eyebrow at her. “What did Georgie say?”
“What do you think he said?”
“Probably like this,” Fred replied, gesturing at her perfectly neat hair. “He’s got a thing for girls with long hair.”
“And you?”
“I’ve got a thing for pretty girls.”
He grinned at her, spun her around, and when she returned to his chest, a funny sensation went through her heart.
Christmas, 2014
“MUM! DAD! IT’S CHRISTMAS!” Fred’s overenthusiastic shout interrupted Angelina’s pleasant dream. She’d dreamt of the Yule Ball, held twenty years ago, and all she remembered was the way George looked at her.
Speaking of which, her husband groaned next to her.
“PRESENTS! MUMMY! DADDY! THERE’S PRESENTS!” Roxanne came running in from her room, with her brown eyes lit mischievously and a wide, gap-toothed smile on her face.
“Mum! Dad! Get up!” Fred was next to George, poking him in the ribs.
“Whattimezit?” George croaked, turning over.
“The sun’s not up yet,” replied Angelina, yawning. “Six? Maybe six thirty?”
“Go back to sleep—”
“PRESENTS!” Roxanne shouted. “CHRISTMAS PRESENTS!”
“I think we’re overruled, my dear husband.”
Angelina got up from the bed and told her children to wait downstairs while she and George got ready. When they dashed off, she ran a hand through George’s recently-trimmed hair.
“C’mon, love. You can go back to sleep.”
“I had too much eggnog last night.”
“That sounds like it’s on you. Freddie and Roxy won’t accept that as an excuse.”
George harrumphed and sat up, reaching around to kiss Angelina good morning.
“I’ve got something for you.”
“I should hope so,” Angelina said, pressing a finger to his nose. “It’s Christmas, and I am your devoted wife.”
George snorted and stood, reaching for his bathrobe. Angelina donned hers, and the two went downstairs to their living room, where Fred and Roxanne sat, each with a pile of presents at their feet.
“All right, one at a time,” Angelina said, sitting down next to George on their sofa. “Make sure you write down which ones came from who, so you can say thank you.”
Fred was already ripping into his biggest gift. The Gryffindor second-year had begged for his own broomstick since the moment he got off the train from his first year. He’d been named a reserve Beater, with the promise he’d be a full-time Beater for his third year.
“The Comet 2200!” Fred ran his hands along the mahogany handle, staring at his parents in awe. “It’s even better than I imagined!”
“You can take it out when we see Gran and Gramps today, but not a moment sooner,” Angelina warned. She turned to Roxy, whose biggest gift was strategically wrapped for what lay within.
“IT’S A KITTY!”
The Weasleys’ last cat had passed on a few months before, and seven-year-old Roxanne was devastated. For Christmas, George and Angelina sprung for a handsome half-kneazle for their daughter.
“Does he—she—”
“—he doesn’t have a name,” George replied, smiling as Roxy held up the fluffy, auburn kitten. “You can call him anything you like.”
“Mum, you’ve got something here from dad!” Fred gave Angelina a small, neatly wrapped parcel.
“For me?”
“I don’t see another Angelina Weasley,” said George, glancing down at the gift in her hands. “I’d open it if I were you.”
Angelina unwrapped the gift, which contained a pink bottle with an even pinker label, emblazoned with the WWW logo. On the other side, she read, “Angel Hair Potion: For All Your Noodle’s Needs!” Confused, she turned to George. “What is it?”
“Do you remember—maybe you don’t, it was so long ago—” George recounted the conversation they’d had at the Yule Ball. Bothered on her behalf, and later seeing how much work it was for her and Roxanne to maintain their hair, he spent years crafting a potion to make their lives easier. After testing on Lee Jordan (with frequently disastrous attempts), George proudly explained, “You can use it for anything. If you want it straight, curled, for your braids, cornrows—it’s like Sleakeazy’s, but for you.”
Angelina looked back at him, shocked, and felt moisture welling up in her eyes.
“Do you not like it?” asked George, loosening the collar on his nightshirt. “I just thought—you and Roxy wouldn’t want to spend all day—”
Angelina launched herself into him, ignoring her children’s disgusted ewws , and planted a kiss on his lips.
“Ugh, get a room!” Fred covered his eyes, making gagging sounds.
Angelina felt the warm, familiar lips of her husband under hers, and the salty wetness from her tears of joy. George spent years working on a product just for her, over something she’d said twenty years ago.
“I love it,” said Angelina, wiping her happy tears on his shoulder. “What does it—how does it work?”
“You’ve still got to wash your hair, but this speeds up the drying process,” George said, showing her the instructions on the label. “Then you can use your comb or brush or those roly things and that’s it! You’re done!”
“Just wash, this dries it faster, and it’ll style any way I want?”
“Yup.” George grinned and wiped a tear away from her cheek with his thumb. “It’s got all those Muggle things so it stays soft and won’t break. Lee had to use Hair Regrowing Potion at least once a week for a while there.”
“You’ve been working on this for twenty years,” she murmured, reading the label. “It’s named after a pasta?”
George’s lips parted in confusion. “It’s named after you …though that might’ve been where the noodle bit came in. Lee said it was inspired.”
Angelina threw her arms around him again, feeling his warm, strong hand on the small of her back, just like she remembered from the Yule Ball.
With braids falling at her side, her husband kissing her neck, and her two children joyfully opening the rest of their gifts, Angelina felt as if she was discovering magic all over again.