Fic Prompt: Someone please write me a fic where Thranduil and Lucius Malfoy run a hair salon together and instead of doing any actual work they bitch about their customers and interfere in their sons love lives.

The door clanged as another wary customer entered, looking for a simple haircut. It was just another day at the HARRY HAIR SALON where Lucius and his best friend Thranduil ran the best godamn shop ever. The floor was polished cleanly with the blood of their enemies and a bit of hair spray. Not the musical. Nobody was singing in this fucking place.

The walls were wallpapered with vintage lily flowers and the ceiling was covered with wizard curses. It was the only way they could come to a proper compromise. It looked like someone had taken a hipster blog and a fandom blog and ate it and then threw it back up like an owl. It was an enigma wrapped in mystery. But the real mystery was as to how they actually made any income at all.

Bellatrix, sitting patiently in her seat, twirled a strand of her hair around her finger and smiled to herself. She stroked each dark strand and mused to herself. Elevator music blared in the background. Nothing is nearly as fabulous as elevator music, especially when it's smooth jazz.

"Today, I'm feeling classy," she unnecessarily informed Lucius as he stepped around a clump of cat hair and stood by her. He scowled at her. Not as classy as his hair, though. Nobody could out-fabulous that kind of shit. His hair game was strong.

He paused for a moment. "Your hair," his voice drawled, "is looking lestrange today." Jesus Christ, that was the best pun he'd ever made. The smile frozen on her face melted off as it twisted into one of absolute annoyance.

"I would like," she continued slowly, through gritted teeth, "to dye my hair sunset orange."

Thranduil cackled from across the store as he filed his nails. "Sunset orange? You're so pretentious. Shut up, it's fucking red."

Lucius wiped a tear of laughter away from his face. "You want to become a Weasley."

"I ship it," chortled Thranduil. "Molly and Bellatrix. Mollytrix. Weastrix. I could write some great fan fiction about that."

"Oh my god," Bellatrix sighed. "Just give me a sock and let me get out of here."

"So you're not going to kill the old look? I mean, it's seriously black," muttered Lucius with a sly smirk. Bellatrix stormed out of the hair salon quicker than a teenage girl who saw Benedict Cumberbatch across the street. Except, like, angrier.

"That was an excellently crafted pun," remarked Thranduil.

"Thank you," I'm quite proud, Lucius responded. The silence echoed for a moment as the elevator music filled the awkward gap.

"So get this," Thranduil laughed. "There was a customer the other day, right? He had the face of a llama and chiseled unnatural teeth and dark eyes. And he was wearing pink and orange. Not sunset orange. Like, Dragon Ball fucking orange."

"You mean Robin Thicke came to our salon?" Lucius frowned. "Ew, honey, no. Pass me the bottle of hairspray."

"What are you trying to do, make it smell like your glossy hair?"

"Yeah, my son was in here earlier so I'm trying to mask the smell of raging hormones," he answered casually. "You wouldn't believe—"

Thranduil sighed wistfully. "I bet you my stabby crown thing that I would. You don't know raging hormones until you've seen my son. First a fantastic low-class redhead and then some freaking dwarf thing," he whispered in horror as he shuddered with apprehension. "Also, I'm not sure if I should feel relieved about Tauriel pursuing a dwarf instead of him. She's like twice his height."

"What was his name again? Playdohlas? Also, the other guy is tall for a dwarf."

"Fuck off, Lucy. It's LEGOlas. And they both will kill you if you step on them." Lucius acquiesced as another awkward silence fell over them, even though he was thinking, fuck you and your eyebrows. He had considered using a spell to burn Thrandy's off but he would never let it go.

"We're going to have to start filling in these awkward silences with something big," he muttered, tapping a nail on the granite counter. "Like the obvious sexual tension between Draco and Hermione. Jesus Christ, someone smash in their godamn faces."

"Didn't your boy insult her several times?"

"I think his interpretation of love is slightly tainted." Thranduil groaned. He had to get him away from music before he harmed himself.

"No, but seriously. Whenever either I or Narcissa says, 'Draco, come', he looks like he's actually going to come."

"You do realize there are still customers in our shop, right?" Thranduil interjected.

"I know, I'm ignoring them on purpose," he waved a dismissive hand at some poor boy with a comb stuck in his hair. "Anyway, I figure that my son would be much better off if he got together with Harry, maybe. At least they'd have good looking children," he sighed, running a comb through his hair and his eyebrows. What the hell was he even doing that for?

Thranduil's eyebrows creased as he wondered how that would work. He thought the anatomy of men was actually quite similar to elvish anatomy, but who was he to argue with Lucius? He was actually somewhat curious but ignored his passionate elvish urges. Everything with him was passionate. Eat a grape? Passionate. Hair flip? Passionate. Lick a lamppost? Passionate. Stare at his son? Passionate. So maybe it was a little bit out of hand.

Thranduil's pink cellphone rang, relieving him from his intensifying thoughts (his ringtone was the theme to Cory in the House because he was hip like that). "Yello?"

"No, dad, stop," whispered Legolas. "My incredibly sensitive hearing can detect your screaming stupidity." Thranduil was offended and if he were British, he would have thrown tea at him indignantly.

All Legolas wanted to do was inform him that he would be bringing Tauriel to the hair salon later that day. But what he desired even more was to continue browsing the Internet. How men could have crafted such a fine device was beyond him.

"You've been rude ever since I pointed out that my hair is shinier than yours," spat Thranduil. "Clean up your act!" he shouted, slamming down the phone as he hung up. He sat there for a moment and sighed, tired. There had to be some way to get Legolas to respect his wishes and look at some elves worthy of his passionate desire. But at this point, he would even settle for Tauriel.

Lucius practically read his mind as a smile spread over his face. "Fine, fine, let's make a bet. Let's see if you can get my son and Draco together first, or if I can get your son and Tauriel together first."

Thranduil raised his fabulous eyebrows in concern but seemed interested. "What are the stakes?"