redhead
Harriet yawned once again, shifting her shoulders to sink deeper into the black coat. Her nose wrinkled, capturing the bitter smell of illness that the hospital had. Mister Snape didn't look any better either. Although his face was naturally serene, there was a certain grimace of displeasure that Harriet couldn't help but share.
Whiskers —her beloved black cat— was curled up in her lap, meowing every so often. Harriet was surprised that the little animal had been allowed into the hospital, but Mr. Snape had explained to her about magical companions.
Harriet desperately hoped that Whiskers were hers.
“Are we going to take a long time, Mr. Snape?”
“We should be called soon, Harriet,” he replied, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Do you want to have some breakfast?”
She hesitated for a few seconds, pursing her lips as she nodded shyly. He handed her some silver coins.
“These are sickles. It is the currency in our world,” Harriet counted three of those coins. “I recommend the pumpkin hot chocolate. It sounds strange, but your palate will enjoy it.”
And then he handed her two more silver coins.
“And this, sir?” Harriet asked, confused.
“Your first savings. Go.”
Harriet looked around, noticing a drinks machine in the corner of the hallway. After a quick glance at Mr. Snape —and leaving Whiskers at his side— Harriet walked to the machine.
Her eyes reviewed each word. Her fingers rose to touch, for the first time, the protruding plastic buttons. She quickly found the drink that Mr. Snape had recommended, so she placed the coins in the small opening on the side and pressed the button. The machine screen asked her to place a small styrofoam cup underneath it.
While the machine was in charge of spreading the copper-coloured liquid, loud laughter made her turn around with curiosity.
It was a family of redheads. The laughter came from two of them: lanky, freckled faces, and cheeks so red Harriet thought they might burst. There was a plump woman holding a horrified child against her.
“Mum! Fred and George turned my teddy into a spider!” He sobbed. Harriet tilted her head, curious.
On one side, a large, black, hairy spider (a tarantula, she recognized), danced back and forth, scaring the red-haired boy even more. The woman pulled her wand out, pointed it at the spider, and turned it back to normal.
“Fred! George!” The mother exclaimed. “Oh, calm down, Ron. Don’t pay attention to them.”
The pair of children continued to laugh loudly, but after a look from, who Harriet assumed, was their father, they lowered the noise. A tall boy with the same hair colour joined them. Probably another brother.
“Charlie's fine now,” he said. “They said it wasn't a serious burn.”
“Oh, thank Merlin,” the plump woman sighed. “When will they let him go?”
“Now. Ginny is watching how the healer is putting the ointment on him. She says she wants to help him.”
“There they are!” One of the red-haired twins pointed to something in the distance. The machine had already finished her drink, so she grabbed it, but she didn't leave, curious about the scene.
A boy almost as tall as the previous one arrived, his arm full of bandages that looked almost damp. It had to be Charlie, the one with the burn. Remembering the constant information that Mr. Snape taught her, Harriet assumed that he had an arm full of burn-healing paste.
At his side, a figure even smaller than her posed excitedly, holding him as if she could do something to heal his pain. Ginny, maybe. Small, red-headed, and full of freckles, with dark eyes, full of fierceness, willing to do anything for her… brother? Cousin? She assumed they were all siblings.
The plump woman approached him, peppering him with questions about his injury.
That was her signal to leave.
Before doing so, she locked eyes with the little red-haired girl. Eyes wide as she found herself trapped, Harriet felt her cheeks burn as she fled.
She took a sip as she did so, feeling the smooth, sweet taste of the pumpkin combine with the thick flavour of the chocolate. It was a strange combination, but one She strangely enjoyed.
Harriet quickly arrived to Mr. Snape's side again. She left a caress on Whiskers' back, but she didn't sit down, not wanting to disturb her little companion.
“You took too long,” Mr. Snape spoke vaguely. “Something happened?”
“There was a family,” she answered, sitting on the other side of Mr. Snape, “a huge, red-haired family. One of them suffered a burn.”
“Ah, you must be referring to the Weasleys,” he growled. “Don't mention it to Narcissa, or she'll go crazy.”
“They do not get along?” She asked, taking another sip.
“Not at all. Both families, both the Weasleys and the Malfoys, are pure blood; there are generations and generations of magicians behind them. However, they have very different ideas. The Weasleys are considered… blood traitors, due to their ideals. The Malfoys are structurally purists.”
“And you, sir?” Harriet blinked, looking at him carefully.
“I am neither on one side nor the other. However, I have more of a relationship with the Malfoys. I am considered a new blood, but I am a half blood, actually.”
“New blood?” She muttered confusedly. “Half Blood?”
“A half-blood is the child of a wizard, or witch, and a muggle, or another half-blood. The term new blood is complicated for you, perhaps. But soon you will be considered one: for them, it means abandoning status and establishing one's own: having good connections, good power, great intelligence.”
Considered one? Harriet would be almost flattered. What was she? Half blood, pure blood? She wasn't a muggle, that much was clear.
“Snape, Severus,” a voice called. A door opened, and a witch presented herself.
The man stood up, and Harriet stood with him, taking Whiskers with her.
Dear Narcissa,
The visit to the doctor has not gone well at all. I have obtained the summons to the court: they are going to check if I am capable of taking care of Harriet. However, she is not well at all. She hasn't stopped crying since the healer saw her. I was there, but I didn't look at her. I just offered my hand.
The results came back the same as Dorothea's test. They have had to heal bones that never healed well; they are healing her body from the inside. I have been entrusted with the creation of specific potions for the healing of her genitals and uterus, plus malnutrition. They have also asked for a mental healer, do you know of any?
Regulus is here. He has been day after day in his Animagus form. Harriet loves the cat very much: she named him Whiskers, and she has clung to him. I think she could do with seeing Draco, and maybe the others. Do you think you can organize a meeting for tomorrow?
It has been suggested to me that he take her to Gringotts. Since the Potters are dead, she must be officially named as the Potter heir. I wish you or Lucius could accompany us. I have never liked elves, and they don't like me very much either.
Signing,
Severus Snape.
Harriet was not a very talkative person, Pansy had to admit that. There was something beyond her magic, something beyond the intense green gaze that always took her by surprise. There was pain, and Pansy hated seeing her friends in pain.
She adjusted her skirt, holding it between her legs so the wind wouldn't move it. Blaise and Draco had taken to the air, flying across the huge Malfoy field. She, Daphne, Harriet, and Theodore had stayed under the trees.
Theo was reading, but Pansy had discovered his curious gaze turning towards Harriet, eager to discover everything about the sad-eyed girl. Daphne watched with fascinating eyes as the brooms seemed to almost scrape against the air, her own book forgotten in the grass.
Pansy, on the other hand, had asked Harriet if she could braid her hair. The girl had agreed without much complaint (completely silent and with her gaze lowered), sitting in front of her. The long cascade of her curls remained under her professional hands, letting her weave strands with strands, forming firm braids, but that wouldn't hurt as soon as she wanted to take them out of her.
Her mother, before her father died, used to braid her hair every day and night. However, that was over when her mother went into depression, and Pansy had cut her hair around her jaw.
“What do you think about the new Parisian fashion?” Pansy questioned, in an attempt to make conversation.
Ugh, that's why she always let Blaise talk.
“Totally dégoûtant,” Daphne opined. “The fact that they think that blue and orange go together makes them uncountable in fashion.”
Harriet had frowned slightly, silently wondering about that word.
“She said disgusting in French,” Theo replied. “Daphne, don't speak other languages in front of her.”
“I'm sorry, Harriet,” she spoke. “Sometimes I forget.”
“Don't worry,” the green-eyed one murmured. “I don't think blue and orange go together either.”
“That is what I am saying!” Daphne said. “Anyone understands it. Except the French.”
Pansy clicked her tongue, re-braiding the dark hair of the witch in front of her.
“Do you like to read, Harriet?” Theodore asked suddenly. She nodded shyly. “What do you read?”
“Mr. Regulus sends me many books of poetry, although they have words that I do not fully understand. I like suspense books the same way, and I find informative books interesting,” he replied. Her soft, low voice was hidden for a couple of seconds by the noise of Draco and Blaise's brooms coming down, their clothes completely unkempt.
“Is incredible! You should fly alongside us!”
“Maybe they can't handle our speed,” Blaise mocked with a charming smile.
Faithful son of Dorothea, Pansy thought.
Harriet raised her head, looking at them and then at the broom.
“If you want, they can teach you,” Daphne told her. “They pretty good professors. A little young and stupid, nothing uncommon.”
“It is dangerous?”
“A bit.”
Harriet thought about it for a few seconds, blinking deeply. However, a defiant look was planted on her face, nodding firmly. She looked up, feeling the braids of her hair almost like a call to adventure.
“Come on.”