innocent flowers
Harri was often alone.
Alone, yes, but not lonely.
How could she be? She had Cousin Draco, with his grey eyes and stubborn pout; she had sweet Daphne, with her button nose and delicate, trembling fingers; she had Blaise, with his knowing smirk and sly eyes; and then…then, she had Tom.
Tom, with his unnerving smile and his never ending patience.
And she had Auntie Bella. And Uncle Rodolphus. And Uncle Rabastan.
And him especially.
Uncle Regulus.
Reggie
Harri had many aunts and uncles; no parents, though.
They had been blood traitors, Auntie Bella had crooned late at night when Harri was young, determined to defile Harri’s pure blood and make it muddy. Harri had sighed, snuggling closer into her sheets, burrowing herself deeper within them. Lestrange Manor was always cold, but her sheets were specially made to keep her warm. Auntie Bella had got them for her; she loved Harri - in her own, twisted way, Harri reflects.
“Langlock.” Auntie Bella had shown it to Harri on an unfortunate house elf, “To shut up dear Draco when he chatters.”
Hari had tried it once, when Draco wouldn’t stop teasing her; she had looked at him, fury channelling through her like a torrent, and she thought the word so viciously that it had come true. Like a stoppered potions flask, Draco had choked, panic flashing through his face. He had clutched at his throat, tears springing to the corners of his eyes; he had run crying to Aunt Cissa, unable to call out her name but tripping on his feet towards the house all the same.
Tom had tilted his head, lying down on the grass, distantly noting the clouds swimming above.
“Why stick his tongue?” He had asked quietly, dark eyes tracing the swaying branches above, “You’ve let him live for less.”
Harri had pouted then, collapsing next to Tom, her fringe falling across her face. She blew it out with a loud huff, ignoring Tom’s appraising eyes on her.
For being nine-years-old, he really did act like he was ninety sometimes.
“Auntie Bella taught it to me the other day.” Harri says petulantly, leaning back on her arms to look at the sky and the whistling branches. “And Draco was really annoying.” She says with real fire in her voice, the fury exploding inside her. “He can’t treat the house elves like that! And I…” She says timidly, drawing her knees to herself, “I feel sad when he treats them badly. Uncle Reggie says that the house elves don’t deserve that. I don’t think they do, either.”
Tom hums noncommittally, tracing a cloud with his finger.
“Look.” He commands, tugging her down beside him, “Doesn’t that look like an acromantula?
Harri tilts her head, squinting her eyes. “No.” She refutes, huffing, “That’s obviously a hippogriff with a wizard hat.”
“Of course.” Tom says in a funny voice, looking at the younger girl with an even funnier look on his face, “Obviously, Harri.
He turns back to the sky, letting a comfortable silence foster.
“...Hey Tom?” Harri says after a beat, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“Yes?” He hums drowsily, the soft whistle of the wind and the lapping of Lestrange Lake calming him.
“How angry do you think Auntie Cissa will be?
Tom mulls it over. “Not much.” He says at last, leaning his head against her own, “But she’ll probably give you a big telling off about family being nice to each other. She’ll give Bella a bigger telling off, though, for teaching you the spell.
“Huh.” Harri says, yawning, “That’s not so bad, then. Does that mean I have to be nice to you, then?” She says, turning to the two-years-older boy, “Since you're family, too?
Protests bubble up Tom’s throat.
“I’m not really your family, Harri.”
“I know.” Harri says quietly, “But I like to think you are. You’re nicer than Draco.” She says at last, “And he's my cousin.”
Tom’s eyes pierce her for a moment before he huffs, turning his head away but still allowing her to rest hers on his shoulder.
“...Fine.” He says after a beat, biting the inside of his cheek, making his face look sharper than it already is at the tender age of nine.
“Promise?” Harri says, holding out a pinkie.
Tom wants to tell her that’s muggle. He wants to tell her promises are silly and that they can be broken - ripped - as easily as butterfly’s wings.
(He should know. He once spent a whole afternoon ripping the wings of the butterflies in Malfoy Manor.)
But he doesn’t.
After all, she’s only seven, and he only nine.
He’ll let her have her dreams yet, though.
“Promise.” He says softly, linking his finger with hers as they drift to sleep under the sweet summer sun.
(When they wake, Auntie Cissa does tell Harri off. But, Harri thinks smugly, she also tells the house elf to give Harri the biggest slice of cake since it’s Harri’s birthday, so that’s alright. Tom sits by her the whole while, munching his cake slowly and still twining their fingers like steadfast vines.
Harri doesn’t mind.
They’re family, after all.
Family.)