Falling For

Turning through the streets of Diagon Alley, I found myself humming with a pure bliss that had been echoing through my mind for the past few weeks. I may have been slightly intoxicated and over-emotional, but when I woke up the morning after the ‘secret-proposal’, I could not stop smiling. I made breakfast and greeted him with a kiss, turning pancakes with something of a new life brightening in front of me. I hadn’t stopped since that morning, and I didn’t mind the new light that blossomed every time I exhaled.

With a pocket full of muggle money, I was rearing to get out into London – bracing myself to quickly visit the boyfriend and his brother before I fled the wizard world for the afternoon. I wanted to go visit a dog park, and maybe even a grocery store. Since no one was as interested as I was in Muggles (bar George’s father, who was in fact working full-time, and it would have been a tiny bit weird if I spent the day with him) I went alone. It wasn’t a bad idea, per se, but I just wish someone had told me what to expect.

It was cold, yes, but the snow was melting and the street was stuck with dirty, foot-printed brown mush. I’d never actually wandered outside of the wizarding world before, and so I hid my wand and stared at everyone in some sort of odd wonder that I now assume would have labelled me as a serial killer. I laugh about it now, but at the time it was the most breathtaking thing.

I drifted through the crowds of people who were gelling the walkway almost snobbishly, not talking loudly or shrieking like Diagon Alley partakers did, but mumbling into their mobile phones and avoiding puddles with their obnoxiously tall high-heel shoes. I must have looked odd in just a dress, stockings and a coat (loaded with a heating spell, I assure. It was the fashion for young witches to dress absolutely ludicrous) but I obviously didn’t notice. I pulled out my muggle mobile phone and tapped the buttons a bit, trying to fit in like a clueless puppy at a cat show.

I wandered the streets aimlessly, staring up at Big Ben and slipping into awkward alleyways

Bumping into someone, I squeaked and apologised before skimming off to the side, brushing against a slick glass. I looked up and read the sign - ‘Scissor Snip-Its’ it read in big, green neon letters. Taking a quick glance around, I noted my tiny, dank street location and pursed my lips. Lost; so quickly too… almost upsetting, but in my mind it seemed much worse than it was. I forced myself into the store and pressed my back flat against the glass that now incased me.

It was so odd, having everyone stare at me like I was some sort of flaming imbecile, so I blushed.

“Um, where am I?” I asked the skinny looking woman with a dangerous looking contraption in her hand. The woman that was sitting in the chair below her shot me an odd look.

“London.” She snivelled, waving the object at me. I flinched away, worried as to what it was. “Can I help you?”

"That's funny." I laughed awkwardly. "But seriously, where am I?"

“It’s a hair salon. We cut hair here.” She let her thin brows rise at my odd state, my chest heaving in some sort of reluctance to accept this weird muggle custom.

“Wait," I began to slowly piece things together, "you cut hair here?” I brightened. “What are they?” I pointed at the silver tool in her hand and she snorted.

“Scissors…” She mocked me. “Listen, is this some stupid prank, or has the loony bin actually decided to take its residents out for a walk today?”

“I want a hair cut.” I was praying for the full muggle experience. Even if I was young and naïve and slightly afraid of the so-called ‘scissors’, I was determined to get a haircut. I had spent so long growing my hair, as it was now down to my waist and I supposed with the new proposal it was time for a new start.

“Would your supervisor allow that?” She sneered at me and I sighed, pulling out a fifty-pound note (not knowing the currency all that well) before holding it out.

“Listen, I have money, okay? I just want a haircut. A nice one.”

Her eyes bulged at the note before turning to look at the woman in the chair. She, in turn, blinked back. I stared at the note for a second, pointing to the woman so clearly pasted on the front.

“Is this your Queen?” I grinned cheekily and the girl bit her lip.

“What planet are you from?”



“Surprise!”

“Oh Merlin!" He jumped, removing my cold fingers from the waistband of his slacks. "Mignon, I’m Fred, you probably shouldn’t be so friendly while George is just out the back.”

“Ah, sorry.” I bounced back on my heel as he turned again, nearly dropping his mug of tea.

“Your hair!”

“I know, right!” I grinned at him, puffing up the ends with the palms of my hands. “I went into London and got a haircut.”

“It’s so…” He started with an odd smile, almost chuckling like an old man. I was lucky that their father was such a muggle-lover, or else they probably would have gotten rid of me by then.

“I know, right?” I laughed, “George!” I called, brushing past him to toddle into the back staffroom that George had converted into his bookwork lounge. They were just closing up for the day, their dragon-skin jackets thrown over the back of the single chair they had sitting at a little desk in the corner. The rest of the room was filled with so many pranks and gifts and stock that it almost seemed ridiculous. But then again, it was the Weasley twins and they pulled off almost anything with such ease it was envious.

“Hey Min, you’re home early.” He turned, smiling at me before suddenly sputtering. “Oh Merlin’s knickers, your hair!”

“Don’t you like it?” I reeled, touching it defensively. The scissors had gotten rid of my hair so easily it was like a crime. If you wanted a haircut in the wizarding world people just generally got others to sever the ends of it off with their wand. In the muggle world, it was like art.

“No, I love it.” He smiled softly. “You were just gone for three hours and this has happened. Give me a moment to adjust.” He leant on the chair, dropping his quill to beckon me over with his finger. I slid up next to him, letting him run his fingers through my new, short hair that hung slick and straight onto my shoulders – a big change from my long, wavy mess that I had grown up with.

“She straightened it for me.” I beamed at him. “She was really lovely, the haircutter person, I mean. She called me a loon at first, but when she realised I had money she was all over the chance to use her scissors to cut my hair!”

“Her what to cut your hair?”

“I know, right? Muggles are so lovely! I didn’t expect them to be so interesting, George, I’m thinking I could drop out of society and become a muggle.”

“Please don’t.” He snorted at me, pulling me in and kissing my new straight fringe with lips twitching in slight humour. “I don’t think I could deal with a muggle street urchin hanging around the store. It’d be bad for business.”

“You’d miss me.” I smiled at him as his arm went around my waist, pulling me in to kiss me gently before sighing into my jaw, resting his forehead on mine.

“Can I take you out to a muggle movie tonight? Or are you all muggled out?” He breathed into my skin and I hugged him, massaging my fingers through his longing red hair.

“I think you need a haircut.” I mumbled and he laughed, straightening out before kissing my forehead.

“C’mon then, you creepy muggle girl, put on a nice dress and I’ll take you out for dinner too.” He slapped me on the bum and stretched his tall body out as I trotted up the stairs in some sort of luxurious bliss that had coated every inch of my carefree self. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been so simply happy in my life after that moment.

The night was spent drinking weird-tasting muggle beer and laughing over something called a television, screaming at the people who lived in the wide-cinema screen even though they couldn’t hear us, and opening the brick-way back into Diagon; staggering home to crawl into bed and giggle about the future we had already planned.