the white dragon
The next morning, Harriet found that she was still in Mr. Snape's house, and that, indeed, he had not touched her. It was half past five, so Asla was not yet preparing breakfast.
She got up quickly, opening her closet so she could choose her clothes. Deciding on a gray plaid shirt with a ruffle collar —Harriet was fascinated by the ribbon details on the sleeves and collar—. On top of that, a simple black dress —who had ruffling too—, and finally some patent leather shoes.
Without waiting any longer, she ran as silently as possible towards the bathroom. She tried not to use the hot water, because she didn't know if Mr. Snape would allow it, and although her nose wrinkled and her mouth faltered, Harriet endured the freezing of the artificial rain.
She changed and made her way to the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients for breakfast. Mr. Snape had told her that her only duty was to clean her room, but he had never denied her making breakfast.
Harriet toasted the toast, cooked the eggs, bacon and sausages, served the beans and black pudding on a plate. She had noticed that, unlike at the Dursley house, Mr. Snape did not drink as much tea, and preferred black coffee —or so she thought, since Mrs. Malfoy had given him black coffee at her house—.
Quick movements startled her as she finished arranging the table. She stood upright next to the chair, lowering her head as she held her breath.
Would Mr. Snape also be bothered by the sound of her sighing?
Would he mind if the eggs were just in point? Or was he one of those who liked his food more burnt than golden? Would toast be good like this? Would he be satisfied with that meal?
“Potter,” he said surprised, looking around, “I see Asla has prepared breakfast early.”
“Asla has done nothing, sir,” the house elf appeared. “Miss Potter has taken care of breakfast.”
He turned to the food, and turned back to her. Harriet timidly raised her eyes, but she did not dare to raise her head.
Severus looked at her attire, remembering a young Narcissa dressing very similarly. His gaze shot up to her eyes, finding the green pair already staring at him. The scar from that night ran across her eyelid, extending from the beginning of her forehead to the height of her cheekbone in a white colour, protruding from her skin.
She didn't look like the girl he had seen days ago, but Severus knew better than anyone how hard it was to cope with family abuse. Her prominent cheekbones were not so normal, because with the age that Harriet was, she should have that baby fat that everyone once had. The edge of her jaw, the purple circles under her eyes, the barely healing bruises, her tense posture.
Harriet was a mere reflection of Severus. Not from Lily, not from Potter. Harriet was an abused child, just as Severus had been.
He let out a sigh, something that he had been doing more than usual.
“Potter,” he kneeled in front of her, something that he had too been doing more than usual. “You do not need to do this.”
“But I wanted too,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes away.
“If you want, you call me and I watch you. You can not use fire and knives without supervision. You are a child, Potter.”
“But I have done it all my life, sir.”
Severus watched her for a few seconds, intimidating her. Harriet sank onto her own shaft, biting her lip.
“Potter— Harriet,” she looked up, surprised to be called by her name.
No one had yet: Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Zabini called her Miss Potter, and sometimes simply addressed her by sweet nicknames, without mentioning her last name. Mr. Regulus —whom she still didn't know his last name— addressed her with Miss Potter. Mr. Snape called her Potter, simply.
“Did your uncles make you cook?”
Harriet looked him in the eye, shifting in her place. Severus sighed, already knowing the answer.
“I don't want you to get hurt,” he said, placing a hand under her chin so he could get a good look at her. Harriet salivated, but she didn't let go. “I understand that you are used to that life, but I want you to understand that it is not how you should live, and it is not how you will live here. In this house Asla cooks. If you want to cook, tell me, and I'll accompany you, but not alone. You're in a magical home, Harriet. You could be seriously hurt. Tell me, do you like to cook or do you do it because you were forced?”
“I like it, sir. It relaxes me in here.”
“What do you like to cook?” Severus stood, sitting. He pointed to the chair in front of him, making the other plate appear. Harriet sat down.
“I don't know, sir,” she mumbled. “My aunt made me do breakfast, and sometimes lunch, but she didn't like when I made dinner, and neither pastries.”
“What do you like, then?”
“Gardening,” her eyes shined.
Gardening, he reminded himself. Severus nodded.
“Be reminded, Draco. Be nice to her,” said Narcissa to her son.
“But I don't understand. What is Potter doing with uncle Sev?” asked Draco, watching his mother with squinted eyes.
“She has been taken from her relatives, but don't ask,” she warned him. “Now, behave.”
Dobby appeared in the open door of the great hall, behind him was the tall, dark shadow of his godfather. Severus Snape was an intimidating man, but Draco still didn't know that side of him.
He raised his head, trying to find Harriet Potter next to him.
“My lady,” he spoke nervously, as always, “Mr. Snape and Miss Potter have arrived.”
“Let them through, Dobby.”
Dobby moved from his spot, and the first to pass was Severus, his cloak flowing behind him. He was dressed all in black, and his face showed a softened seriousness, unlike his usual sour expression.
Then the image of Harriet Potter appeared.
Standing behind his godfather, Harriet Potter held the sleeve of his cloak, biting her lip as she avoided looking at them. She had raven hair, the purest colour of the night, and her green eyes stood out sharply against her pale skin. Her scar ran a good portion of the side of her face.
She dressed well, but that was probably because of his mother. She had a cream-coloured shirt with ruffles at the neck, neckline and sleeves, and above that a black dress that ended a few fingers above her knees, covered with long black stockings. On her feet she wore patent leather shoes.
“Harriet, sweetling!” His mother smiled at her, and after greeting Severus, she kissed the girl's cheeks. Potter blushed furiously, smiling softly. She bowed slightly, somewhat awkwardly, but completely polite.
“Good morrow, ma'am.”
“My dearest, let me present you to someone. Harriet,” his mother put a hand on her back, guiding her towards him, “this is my son, Draco.”
He extended a hand to her, smiling. Once she took it, Draco kissed her knuckles.
“A pleasure. Draco Malfoy,” he presented himself.
“Harriet Potter,” she mumbled, looking at him.
She was pretty.
“The pleasure is mine.”
“Why don't you show her the house, Draco? Maybe even play something. I need to talk with Severus.”
She looked at his godfather, and after he nodded, Harriet followed him.
He spent approximately half an hour showing her just half of his house. The Malfoys lived comfortably, in a huge mansion. Harriet didn't speak a bit on the way, but Draco noticed her curious looks, so he explained each silent doubt as best as possible.
“What do you know about magic?” He asked. Harriet looked at him.
“Almost nothing, just the basic.”
“I know a lot about magic. I have lived around it all my life,” explained Draco.
“Your mother is very nice, she made magic butterflies for me.”
Harriet spoke softly, very softly, as if she were an inveterate poet. Draco watched her for a few seconds; she reminded him of her uncle Regulus in some ways, but in a much younger and, clearly, female version.
“What do you enjoy doing?” She asked him suddenly.
“Flying,” Draco smiled. “I absolutely adore Quidditch.”
“Quidditch? What is that?”
“Oh, you have so much to learn.”
“Poor thing,” mumbled Narcissa after Severus told her about the girl's behaviour. “She is just so… lovely but so mistreated.”
“I'm afraid that I somewhat scare her,” he said.
“Has she told you that? Or show it in some way?”
“Well, no,” Severus denied, and before he could speak, Narcissa interrupted him.
“Then don't push those ideas into your head, Severus. Harriet feels the safest with you.”
Severus looked out the window, lowering his teacup to the table. It was impossible to deny Narcissa's words: the first reason was because it was true. The girl looked like a little flea that she clung to whenever she could, clinging to his sleeve. She looked at him for permission, almost as if Snape was her…
The second reason was because it was Narcissa's word, and he preferred to avoid an argument with her entirely.
“The hour is growing late,” said Narcissa. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“No, no. I promised Regulus that he could come for dinner and spend reading time with Harriet.”
“Harriet,” she repeated with a soft smile. “We should go fetch them, then.”
Narcissa got her wand out, moving without a sound. It was a location spell, Severus noticed. Quickly, Draco's location showed.
“Ah, they are in the library,” Narcissa recognized.
They walked at a leisurely pace –Narcissa walked slowly and Severus had to walk the same way– to the library. When they reached the door, they heard children's laughter.
It was the first time Severus had heard Harriet laugh. Not the first time for Draco, he laughed at everything that came his way.
Harriet's laugh was sweet, and was more like giggles than a high-pitched laugh. There was something dry behind it, probably her lack of breathing, recognizing that she would have been laughing a long time ago.
Narcissa entered with a loving smile, clasping her hands against her belly. Severus put his hands behind his back, watching the pair of children.
They were sitting on opposite sofas, with a book each on their laps. Draco's laughter was a little louder, but Harriet's wasn't far behind either, recognizing that it was silenced by the girl's palm on her mouth.
“Children,” called Narcissa, “it is time for Harriet and Severus to leave. Say goodbye.”
“Mother, can they not stay for dinner?” Draco begged. Harriet and he stood up, walking towards the adults.
“They have things to do, Draco. In another time.”
“The next time,” he corrected. Then, he turned to Harriet, smiling. “We can fly next time. I can teach you.”
Quidditch. His godson was a fanatic of it.
Harriet nodded, sharing the same smile as him. “Goodbye, Draco.”
“Goodbye, Harriet.”
Narcissa and he shared a look. First name. Not only an ally, but a friend.
Well, Harriet and Draco needed friends, after all.
Harriet held Severus's sleeve, walking in the street.
“Did you had a good day?”
“Draco was very nice to me,” she smiled. “I think we are friends.”
Severus nodded softly. Did she never have a friend before? Harriet was practically buzzing with excitement.
Spinner's end showed to them, but not only that, but a cat too. Severus recognized him immediately.
A scowl appeared on his face, but Harriet's eyes shined like diamonds. The hand on his sleeve tightened even more, smiling big.
“Can I pet him, sir? Please.” Harriet requested.
Severus resisted the urge to click his tongue, only letting out a sigh. “Go.”
Harriet almost ran towards the cat, and Severus resisted the urge to scold her not to do so. She crouched down towards him, covered by the coat Severus had brought for her.
She reached out to the cat, who quickly rubbed his head against her hand. He meowed softly, looking at Severus.
Stupid Regulus, he swore inside.
“Can we take care of him, sir?”
Stupid, fucking, Regulus Arcturus Black.