A/N: While I'm working on editing the next part of Turning Time, this odd little story showed up. I'm going to post it as I go, not edit a lot, and we'll just have to see where it ends up although it won't be very long.

- AA

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The First Appointment

I have never cared about my hair, but Lucius of the Luscious Locks insisted. He all but dragged me to the tiny storefront on a side street right on the edge of the magical quarters of York, put a piece of parchment in my hand and pushed me through the door. Narcissa and him had undergone a bit of a revival in recent years, of their marriage, their social status and their hair, and they both swore up, down and sideways that it was all thanks to their Hair-ologist.

The years after the War have been tough in many ways, although I had never expected any different. It was just... difficult in ways I hadn't imagined. Being in a coma for several months after the battle at Hogwarts meant I missed most of the commotion, and when I woke up it was to find my name cleared with the Wizengamot and a vial of my memories beside my bed.

I left Hogwarts. I couldn't face it any longer. Instead I opened a small apothecary on Horizont Alley, just off Diagon Alley. The location was good but as the Wizarding world was hit by a severe recession, partly due to the cost of rebuilding Hogwarts, partly due to the Ministry basically ceasing to function, with at least two thirds of its employees being let go, business dwindled to a trickle. I survived, anyway, off the occasional order for Pepper-Up and some brewing for St Mungo's, but it was far from glamorous. Not that I cared. I was finally free.

The doorbell jingles as I enter the small room. There is a counter desk near the door, some shelves by the far wall, a visitor's sofa and a chair clearly for whatever work the Hair-ologist does. The room is dark, with a couple of old-fashioned lamps giving some light but not enough to see well. Everything looks vaguely Muggle but there are hints of magic here and there, such as the wards I felt over my skin as I entered, the shimmer of a Notice-Me-Not charm over the far wall most likely hiding a door, and the sad and slightly wilting specimens of Asphodel and Dittany in the window.

I don't notice when the Hair-ologist enters but she must have while I was inspecting the room, as suddenly she is standing in front of the old-fashioned black hairdresser's chair. I can't make out her features. She is wearing drab, nondescript robes in a dark grey with hints of brown, and her face appears to be cloaked in shadows. Her hair is probably brown and stands out from her head almost like a halo, the curls almost seeming to move by themselves. I can't feel a Glamour but she must have worn one. A witch, that much was certain.

She gestures towards the chair and I take a few steps forward, stopping in front of her. She still is not looking straight at me, I can tell that much.

"Unfortunately I cannot see you, but please have a seat." Her voice is melodic and light, speaking in classic English R.P. making it impossible to make out any local accent.

Well, that explains part of it. I take another few steps and sink down in the chair which adjusts itself to my body with subtle charms, making it incredibly comfortable. There is no mirror in front of the chair. If the window had been cleaner, or clearer, one could have looked at the rather dull street while seated.

She tilts the chair back a bit and lowers it slightly to give herself better access, and soon I feel a small hand touching my head. I shiver involuntarily; it has been so long since anyone willingly touched me. She puts one hand on my forehead and lets the other trail down the back of my head to collect my hair in her hand, making me embarrassed for its perpetual state of greasiness due to the Potions fumes I always was around.

"Professor...!" she gasps, her hands still in my hair.

I freeze. I didn't recognise the witch but of course chances are I had taught her at some point, if she had gone to Hogwarts. She recognises me, though, and would obviously not want me as her customer. I can't bear it, the scorn, the disgust that was sure to follow, my reputation preceding me wherever I go. It was still an issue for my business but there I could capitalise on it, people coming to gawk at me and leaving with a couple of vials, although the amount of such customers had lessened over the years. Scowling and embarrassed I rise to leave, but she holds me back with two small but determined hands on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I don't know what came over me, I don't know anyone in this world and wouldn't know to address someone by that title anyway. Please, please don't go."

She sounds nervous, almost, and I still don't recognise her voice. Her hands have slid down a bit from my shoulders, resting on the top part of my pectorals.

"What do you mean, you don't know anyone?"

"I don't," she says slowly. "I don't know you, I don't know anyone. I think I used to, but not any more. I think I wasn't always blind, either. It is all lost to me."

"Talk sense," I snap, still on edge. "Miss...?"

I can sense her shaking her head behind me. "Enough about me, this is about you. I'm terribly sorry if I startled you, it wasn't my intention. Will you stay?"

"Tell me your name, please," I ask but relax into the chair again.

She shakes her head again. "Nothing... I am no one. Call me Cecilia or Deirdre, if you must."

I think about it. The meaning of Cecilia was blind, which obviously fit but wasn't very nice, and Deirdre was a name that implied sorrow or fear but it seemed too common, too plain for her.

"Cessair?" I offer, another Irish name meaning sorrowful.

I think she is smiling at me. "That works, as well. I shall call you Brennus. Please, relax."

She gets to work while I contemplate the name she has chosen for me. I think it is related to the word raven but there was something else niggling at the back of my mind as well regarding it. After a while I notice she has started humming while setting up a small rolling cart and a basin of water, heated with a quick wave of her hand. She has brought out several vials and bowls and put them on the cart but I don't see any labels.

"What is it you do, exactly?" I ask her.

The humming stops abruptly. "Oh... well, one could say I am a facilitator. I listen to the story your hair tells me, and try to help right any wrongs."

I snort but something about her makes me refrain from saying something scathing. Maybe it was the hand on my shoulder, close to my neck.

She has apparently finished preparing whatever it was she needed. With a hand firmly on the back of my head she lowers the back of the chair and raises the footrest, causing me to lie almost prone. I tense, I must admit. She puts a thin towel over my chest, to protect my clothes I assume.

"Lean back, I've got you," she murmurs close to my ear, and when I let my head fall back I felt the edge of the bowl supporting me. Her breath on my earlobe has given me goosebumps all the way down to my knee.

"I'll wash your hair first. Please close your eyes."

I can't stifle the groan that arises from my throat when she starts massaging my scalp, having poured warm water over my hair from a jug. It is divine. She has added something to the water, herbs and some oils of some kind, and I recognise Gingko Biloba, Fluxweed, rose oil, basil, but then the sensations of her fingers and nails dragging over my scalp take over again and I lose track, most unusual for a Potions Master. My thoughts start drifting, from Hogwarts to Albus to my mother and back via the Death Eaters. Her hands take me back to a more innocent time, where my Ma would sometimes help me wash my hair in a bucket in the kitchen or my Da would ruffle my hair and clap me over the shoulder. Before he lost his job and took it all out on us. She pours water over my head several times, sometimes warm and sometimes colder, jolting my thoughts into new paths with the sensations in my scalp.

Some time much later I surface again, when she is returning the chair to a more upright position. Had I fallen asleep? Her hand still rests on my shoulder.

"There, now I know what you need. May I trim it for you?"

I nod wordlessly, not caring what she does as long as she continues. She starts humming again as she combs my hair out, taking care to work out any snags. She begins cutting with regular scissors but I feel her magic washing over me as well, a wandless Charm I can't identify. I close my eyes again as she works and try to work out who she might be. I want to crack that, the mystery of her identity. She must be a former student but I haven't taught for well over seven years. Did the war mark her, cause her blindness? I am quite certain I haven't had a blind student that would fit the circumstances, so it must have happened after she left Hogwarts.

Her hands go still in my hair. "If you want, I could blend you a shampoo that would help you," she says quietly.

I frown. Help, how? My perpetually greasy hair? After a moment's consideration, I nod. "May I watch what you do?"

She freezes in turn and I stay still, as if trying to appease a wild animal. Calm, no sudden movements, even tone of voice.

"No..." she says finally. "I cannot, at this point. It would be ready for you tomorrow, Master Brennus. Will you come back?"

"If you allow it," I say, slightly disappointed but hopefully hiding it.

She removes the towels and raises the chair fully upright, clearly a signal for me to rise. I do so reluctantly.

"What do I owe you?" I ask, fishing for my pouch of Galleons in one of my outer robe pockets. Lucius hadn't mentioned prices, he never does, I don't think he notices what things cost. This, however, would be worth it. Another thought struck. "And how do I set up another appointment?"

She shakes her head again and starts rooting around in one of the drawers behind the counter. "That is irrelevant. Here," she says, thrusting a small round disk at me. I took it and turned it over, slightly confused to see it is just a brass disk, slightly larger than a coin. There were some runes etched near the edge of it but they didn't resolve into anything I recognised.

"Tap this with your wand and think of your request," she said, as if that explained anything. "I will notice. If the disk heats up, I will have accepted your request."

I leave a heap of Galleons on the counter, anyway, not counting them out. She disregards them.

The Hair-ologist follows me to the door. "Thank you for coming, Master Brennus."

I stumble out in a daze, into the drab November drizzle. When I turn to look I think I see her face through the window, but it is probably just a reflection.