(anthophile)
(A n t h o p h i l e)
a lover of flower; someone who appreciates flowers
An endless blue stretched across the sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds that drifted lazily in the gentle breeze.
Tiny specs of dust danced in the shaft of afternoon sunlight that slanted through the window, bathing the kitchen in a soft glow.
Harry hummed a low melody while doing the dishes and keeping an eye on Teddy. The little rascal was happily playing outside and getting dirt all over — and probably also inside of — him, when a sudden sharp, pained cry cut through the air and shattered the peaceful atmosphere.
Setting the bowl he’d been drying on the counter, Harry hurried through the house and out the back door; he reached for the crying babe before his knees even hit the grassy ground.
As expected, the toddler was covered with mud from head to toe, but Harry did not care at the moment.
Harry shushed Teddy’s uncontrollable sobbing with practices ease; he ran his hand through is bright blue hair and cuddled him close, rocking back and forth. His warm, big thumbs wiped away the fat tears that rolled down Teddy’s soft cheeks.
Soothingly, he resumed humming the quiet melody; he knew from experience that it would calm Teddy almost as good as immediately. Harry couldn’t bear his godson’s heartbreaking sobs — even though he had to hear them more often than he’d like to think about.
‘Oh Teddy, not again,’ he thought exasperated every time it happened. And it did happened. Again and again and again.
Finally Teddy’s heavy sobs trailed off into tiny sniffles and hiccups. His eyelids dropped in exhaustion after such a tolling experience. The little boy’s energy was all spent.
Still humming softly, Hadrian made sure Teddy was comfortable and safe in his hold, before taking a hold of Teddy’s little hand and carefully prying his tiny fingers off of the cause of his pain.
Even now — all spent and tired — he still held on tightly to the rose, thorns digging into his tender flesh and drawing blood.
(Whoever said children learnt through experience and pain obviously hadn’t met Teddy. This boy was relentless.)
Finally, the pretty, ferocious flower was freed from the toddlers grip. Teddy’s magic was already making the blood stop and, with a bit help from Harry, the thorn marks were soon nothing but pink, new skin.
By now, Teddy’s breathing had evened out; he’d fallen asleep in his godfather’s warm embrace, pain and panic forgotten.
Sighing, Harry sat back on his heels and eyed the plucked-apart flower bed with exasperation.
It didn’t matter how often all different kinds of flowers made Teddy hurt and bleed, how often he’d already gotten sick because he had to chew on some pretty — poisonous — flower, or how he, Draco, and Andromeda told him not to — the child simply didn’t stop.
It was getting ridiculous.
They’d hoped that he’d grow out of his little fixation, that he was only drawn to flowers because of all their vibrant colours, but… well… considering the state of Andromeda’s once lovely garden and living room, flowers were still pretty much on Teddy’s list of favourite things to look at. And pull. And touch. And smell. And eat. And decorate the house with.
Shaking his head in fond despair, Harry stood up. Teddy fussed at bit at the sudden movements and his green eyes blinked up at Harry sleepily.
Tightening his hold, Harry started singing the song he’d been humming before — a beautiful piece he’d heard in the depths of the Amazon forest — and walked to Teddy’s nursery. Before long, Teddy’s eyes shut again and a little, mud-addled thumb found its way into his mouth.
Harry smiled softly. A warmth he’d come to love and cherish spread through his body, all because of this little bundle of joy and exasperation and frustration and desperation and sleepless nights, currently sleeping in his arms.
He’d never felt anything like this before, and he would do everything to keep this; this feeling and this little boy. That Harry knew with the same certainty as he knew that grass was green and the sky blue.
There was nothing in this world he would give this up for.
Nothing.
Absolutely, irrevocably nothing.
Later, after he’d put Teddy in his crib and cleaned up his mess in the living room and garden — and his own mess in the kitchen — he sat down on Andromeda’s well-loved couch. Various random items were laid out on the coffee table in fron of him: a few tissues, some rocks, an old lone sock, and some more.
The next few hours he spent alternating despairing over his younger self’s rather lacklustre attitude when it came to studying, and transfiguring the items into all kinds of flowers.
So what if his dandelion was hot pink — and somehow getting even pinker — and his tulip made of stone. It was still a flower. A relatively… somehow… questionable… flower. And definitely vibrant. At least vibrant enough to hold a child’s attention. Hopefully.
Harry rather doubted Teddy would agree with him there, but hey, practice makes perfect… very much practice, that is.
xXxXxXx
With a gentle tap of Harry’s wand, the crooked twig his excited godson brought him turned into a beautiful red lily.
Just as awed as the first time Teddy had seen this — and every time that came after — he touched the soft petals reverently.
“That’s a lily,” Harry told him, softly. “Just like my mother, she was also called Lily.”
That made Teddy look up, his red eyes sparkling with the wonder only a child could have.
“Can you make my momma and dada in flowers?” And yeah, that hit a nerve.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that Teddy could never meet his parents, and it wasn’t fair that Harry couldn’t make them into flowers.
Oh, if he could, he would do it in a heartbeat, but —
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but there are no flowers called Remus or Tonks. Or Nymphadora.”
His little boy visibly deflated. His head sunk and the lovely smile Harry loved so much grew smaller.
Still, Teddy nodded.
His little fingers, more gentle than Harry would have expected of a child — but hey, this is Remus’ son — traced the pattern on the lily.
Harry couldn’t possibly leave him like this. With his precious heart broken.
It only broke Harry’s heart too.
“But,” Harry started, various flowers he’d learnt about the last few months running through his head. There had to be one that fit, there simply couldn’t— “you know what?”
Looking up with a hopeful look in his eyes — as though he already knew that Harry could do it, could make his parents into his beloved flowers — Teddy shook his head.
Harry boop’ed his nose. “We can take any flower you like the most, and that can be your parents’ flower, okay?”
Harry was rewarded with a thousand watt smile — bright and unburdened.
“Yaaa!” Teddy screamed excitedly, grabbing Harry’s fingers and dragging him off to, presumably, get the book on flowers and their meaning he’d gotten from his grandmother last Yule.
“Look, look!” Teddy pointed to a beautiful flower with a different color in each of the pictures, depending on the acidity of the soil used. “It’s just like my momma and me!”
“You’re right. And it’s just as pretty as you,” Harry agreed. “Do you want this to be your mommy’s flower? Or the one that looks like a star?”
Teddy thought very hard about this. His little face scrunched up in thought and his hair turned a deep purple.
Then he nodded once.
“I want this one,” he declared.
Smiling, Harry took out his wand, studied the pictures once more, concentrated on what exactly he wanted, and spoke the long internalised incantation.
Teddy’s excited squeal told Harry that his result was more than enough.
Happily, the little boy picked up the colourful Hortensia, his other hand already clutching his recently transfigured — non-poisonous — Wolfsbane.
Then, with a big hug, Teddy ran off to — “show papa and grandma ‘Dromeda my parents’ flowers.”
xXxXxXx
“Hey you,” Draco said quietly and even though they were the only ones here, his voice did not rise above a whisper in the silence of the night.
Harry adored him like this — with his normally immaculate hair still tussled and imprint from the sheets on his face.
He smiled tiredly as he draped himself half over Harry, watching his boyfriend flick his wand again and again. Each time he didn’t seem to get the results he wanted, Harry grew more curt, more frustrated.
Ultimately, after what could have been seconds or minutes, Harry let his hands fall with a defeated sigh. His head lolled to the side and came to rest against Draco’s shoulder.
Harry wiped a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. “Why are you up?” He asked Draco quietly. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I could ask the same of you.” At Harry’s weary sigh, Draco hummed. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Mhm.” Harry mumbled something else Draco couldn’t quite make out and let his eyes fall shut. He was tired. So, so tired. Still, sleep eluded him.
Turning his head as Draco’s comforting weight left him, Harry watched him with lidded eyes as he stretched and pressed a kiss into his hair, before ambling into the kitchen.
The kettle was quickly turned on and tea leaves put into two mugs.
“What are you trying to do?” Draco’s voice carried easily, the soft sounds of chopping vegetables and sizzling pans filling in the otherwise empty space.
“Do you remember that illusionist in Norway? The one who could spin her magic to tell stories. She could make figures appear and act as though real — almost like a memory or movie —, with nothing but her magic and imagination. Or a model, if you had a picture or something.”
Draco nodded, he did remember her. It was quite a wondrous sight.
This, however, didn’t explain why his lover was despairing over the spell — if it even was a spell — in the early hours of the morning. Except —
“You’re trying to figure out how she did it, don’t you? Without knowing anything about the concept or structure of the whole thing.”
A loud whine was his only answer. But Draco wouldn’t even have needed that to know he’d hit the nail on its head.
The whistle of the kettle disrupted the silence that had settled.
Silently, Draco readied the tea and left it to steep while dropping the cut vegetables and egg into the hot pan.
For a while, neither of them said anything, simply letting the soothing clanking of kitchen utensils wash over them. The mixture of smells — homemade food, Draco’s favourite blend of tea mixing with Harry’s — filled the living space.
Harry could feel his eyes grow heavy, exhaustion tugging at his every cell.
He was tired, oh so tired, yet he could not rest. Draco did not force him to bed, did not force him to lay down and relive the war, moment for moment, death after death after death.
“You want an omelette?” Draco asked instead.
Both of them had days like this; nightmares still plagued their dreams and a restlessness that didn’t seem to want to go away, even though it’s been years since the war’s ended. It were days such as these where they simply couldn’t — and wouldn’t — sleep, no matter what.
“Please,” came Harry’s quiet answer.
A look into the living room showed Harry still leaned back on the couch, eyes closed and wand abandoned on the coffee table.
Draco let him be. He turned back to the pans and made sure nothing burnt, before loading their plates and levitating them into the living room.
The steaming tea cups clacked softly when Draco placed them on the table in front of Harry, their aroma already wafting around the room.
Tired eyes blinked open. Gratefully, Harry took the plate Draco offered him and leaned against his partner the moment he settled down next to him.
“What have you got some far?” Draco asked after a little while, already much more awake than Harry.
He had an early shift at the hospital today, but he still had enough time for this.
Harry sighed. “Nothing much,” he admitted, pushing his breakfast around without really eating any of it. “Neither transfiguration nor any charms I’ve tried so far work. At least as long as there’s nothing for me to work with. I also tried tweaking the lumos to take on different forms. This works, really good I mean, it’d be a nice nightlight or something, but that’s not really what I was trying to achieve.”
Draco nodded along, furrowing his brows in the way he always did when concentrating on a problem.
Swallowing his mouthful, Draco leaned back slightly.
“You said you tried transfiguration and charms, probably also a combination of both and a few runes, right? Nothing happened.” Harry nodded. “That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
A frown worked itself onto Harry’s face and he opened his mouth to tell Draco that it really didn’t. The spells he tried were easy, they should have worked at least partly, but they didn’t and he couldn’t understand why.
It didn’t make sense.
Draco, however, didn’t even let him get out more than a gush of air.
“Harry,” he laughed softly, “those were one of the first things we learnt. You can’t transfigure nothing. Well, you can, but it’d still be nothing — you can’t turn it into something. The same with charms. I’m sure you did everything right and all, but there simply wasn’t anything to charm.”
Well, now that was just embarrassing. And maybe a sign that he should seriously get at least a little bit of sleep. But —
“Then how did the illusionist do it?” He did not whine, but it was a damn near thing. It was just so bloody frustrating. Fascinating, yes, but frustrating. “You saw her — all she had was her wand, nothing else.”
That was true. So somehow it had to be possible to create something out of nothing. How though…
Draco sat up straight, his eyes finding Harry’s slumped form.
“Remember that theory you told be about a few months ago? The one from the Aztecs, where they believe magic to be sentient and everywhere at all times, helping us without us ever knowing?”
“Of course, it’s much more probable than wizards and witches having an extra organ which makes the magic we need whenever we need it.
“‘Cause if that were the case wouldn’t Muggles already have found it? You know, when Muggleborns are sick or go to the Doctor for a check-up; they would have noticed something was up. And it also doesn’t explain magical creatures.”
Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Probably. Most likely someone just wanted an answer and that was the easiest one which would also set us apart from the Muggles.” Harry chuckled. “But, we’ve come slightly off topic. What I actually meant was that if the Aztec’s view of magic had merit, and our magic truly is moving fluently and constantly, surrounding us at all times, that means when we work a spell, the flow of our magic simply changes. It doesn’t get created for a specific purpose.”
“So what you’re saying is that magic is like an invisible something?” Asked Harry, wrinkling his nose in thought. “How would that help me? … And then why is every spell so colourful if magic is invisible?”
“For aesthetics? I’ve got no idea,” Draco laughed, seeing his cup down not to spill anything. “But you can use this. Spells make magic visible for whatever reasons, in all possible colours and forms. You simply have to do the same: make a part of your Magic visible and have it take on whatever form you want.”
It sounded… well… good. Logical. But Harry had absolutely no idea where he should even start.
‘Make your magic visible’ yeah, great idea. One question: how?!
Still, “I like a challenge.” Harry grinned, finally taking a proper bite from his omelette.
“It’s also given me another idea.” Harry eagerly explained further when Draco motioned him to. “Magic is not the only invisible thing, you know. We are not surrounded by nothing. We are surrounded by air, air that is made up by atoms, just like everything else. So why wouldn’t I be able to make something out of this?”
Forgetting to swallow, Draco felt his mouth drop open He wanted to say something, anything, but was unable to.
“What — how — why did no-one ever think of that?!” It made so much sense, how could it be that it wasn’t done? It was like… like creating something out of nothing, but not really.
It went against a law of magic that had been said to be absolute.
Floundering, Draco finally snapped his mouth shut. “Fuck,” he breathed out incredulously, throwing decorum in the wind.
His boyfriend was a bloody genius.
And obviously Muggles raised; why would wizards care about atoms? They had no need of such specific knowledge to be able to work whatever spell they wanted.
They needed words, movements and incantations, clear visions of what they wanted to create — magic would do the rest.
Atoms.
Shaking his head, Draco drank the rest of his tea and stood up. If he didn’t want to be late he would have to go now. Harry was going to be distracted anyway; he’d probably not even notice him leaving, not with a new challenge taking up all his attention span.
A few minutes later, when Draco kissed Harry’s cheek as he left and reminded him to "remember to wake Teddy up at seven," all he received was, as predicted, a distracted hum of approval.
xXxXxXx
Exhilarated children’s laughter welcomed Draco the moment he came home.
“Papa!” Teddy came laughing, bouncing up and down as he latched into his trousers. “Daddy is all glowing, papa! Like a pretty light!”
Chuckling at his son’s antics, Draco shed his coat, letting himself be pulled along by the excitable, decidedly green-skinned child.
Indeed, sitting in the floor on their living room, was a green glowing… something that might — with a lot of fantasy — be a person.
Infected by Teddy’s renewed, loud giggling, Draco couldn’t hold his own snickers back.
The humanoid lamp moved. “Yeah,” came Harry’s flat — very much amused — voice. “Very funny, hilarious even. Now can you help me?”
In lieu of an answer, Draco poked Harry where he thought his cheek was.
The light show felt like — nothing. Draco’s finger went through without problems. It was neither warm nor cold nor did it seem to have any mass. Harry felt normal, just like he always did. And the green glow also didn’t extent to Draco or anything of the sort, it stayed firmly with Harry.
Though, what was weird was that the moment Draco’s finger got near, the glow seemed to reach for him. It didn’t seem to hesitate or be wary of him — as Draco would have expected should it be sentient. Rather, it seemed almost… eager, in a way, yearning for Draco to be closer. And when Draco drew back again, the glow appeared to want to hold on to him.
Draco couldn’t feel anything different, though.
And the same happened to Teddy. He got close — the glow reached for him, he held onto Harry (clingy child that he was) — he was enveloped, he left — the tendrils tried to hold on.
It was fascinating. Unlike anything Draco had ever seen before.
He leaned in closer, his eyes staring intensely at the green and suddenly — the light rippled. The more Draco looked, the more he thought it looked like it was in constant motion; rippling and swirling and tightening and circling, all around Harry. Never once did it leave him though.
Draco’s eyes snapped up when suddenly a large tendril of the mass detached itself from the rest and hovered in the air, still attached by— oh. Harry was simply holding out his arm. Whoops.
Still, on the hand Harry held up, tendrils reached up, growing and falling, melting together and forming… a flower? It could be a flower—
Draco gasped.
“I know, right?” Harry said, his voice holding the same amazement Draco expected to show on his face. “The Aztecs were right. Magic really is everywhere. And so much more than we ever knew”
“But that’s… that’s…—”
“Papi, papi, look! I glow! Just like daddy!” And—
Yeah, Teddy really did. Fantastic.
Now, “you have no idea how to end this, do you?”
Harry laughed bright and joyful. It was a beautiful sound.
“No.”
xXxXxXx
“You can make the flowers, daddy,” Teddy said decidedly while he heaved the relatively large book from the shelf. But, seeing as he was a big boy now, he could do it himself and didn’t need any help.
Smiling amused, Harry relaxed against the sofa. “All right,” he agreed easily. “But only if you read it to me.”
Rolling his eyes, Teddy hauled the book on flowers and their meaning over. “Yes, daddy,” the little boy huffed exasperated. “But you have to help me. Some words are just sooohard.”
“But of course.”
Satisfied, Teddy opened the book and immediately face planted into the book in order to read it. It wasn’t even the beginning he started at, just a random page in the middle of the book.
Huffing out a quiet laugh, Harry leaned a bit closer to also get a look instead of just seeing Teddy’s bright hair.
His litter finger placed underneath what he was trying to read, Teddy started promptly. “Pee-oh-nyy,” he read. “Mee-a-ni-ng lo-ve, h-ho-nor, happ-py-ne-ss, be-au-ty, pass-i-on.”
Grinning, Harry ruffled his son’s hair. “That was great. You’re getting really good.” Teddy beamed proudly and looked at him expectantly.
And so, with an exaggerated expression of concentration on his face, Harry drew on his magic like he’d been meticulously practicing. Soon enough, the faint outline of a peony, just like the one in Teddy’s book, was hovering over his hand.
Though, no matter how much he tried, Harry was unable to make it more solid or colourful. For now, the flower remained a shining, white outline.
Now and then the magic would melt together to form a proper shade. Still, the colour was missing. Looking at Teddy’s delighted face, however, Harry didn’t think it was bothering him much.
With new vigour, Teddy turned back to his book, chose another random page and started reading once more, his words underlined with enthusiasm.
“I-ris. In ge-ner-all mee-a-ni-ng fai-th, ho-pe, coo— cu—“
“Courage,” Harry helped out and Teddy dutifully repeated.
“Courage, wis-dom and ad-mi-ra-ti-on. The co-lo-r fu-r-ther spe-ci-fii-s the mee-a-ni-ng of the in-di-vi-du-al flo-wer-s.”
Teddy smiled self-satisfied by managing to read out all the long, complicated words, and Harry had absolutely no problem praising him for doing so well.
He would never be like the people who’d been around him growing up. He would always be proud of his little boy, no matter what. And he would definitely make sure Teddy knew it.
And that’s how they spent the rest of the morning until Andromeda came to visit; Teddy reading and Harry doing his best to create these beautiful creations of nature.
“Ma-ri-gold. Mee-a-ni-ng di-vi-ni-ty and the co— con-nect-ti-on bet-ween li-fee and de-a-th. —”
xXxXxXx
The walls of Teddy’s bedroom were painted in soft tones. Toys and clothes were strewn through out, the chaos mirroring the whirlwind living within. Flowers — wether drawn or photos or books on their meanings and even fresh out of the garden — could be seen in every nook and cranny.
Teddy simply adored these beautiful, fragile creations of nature.
He could spent hours just sitting in their garden looking at them, playing with their petals and softly petting them. He had never grown out of his fascination with them.
It was lovely.
In contrast to their fragile beings, loud, stamping footsteps were Harry’s only warning before his little whirlwind rushed past him onto the bed, jumping up and down.
“Daddy! Daddy! Can you make my parents’ flowers tonight? Pretty pretty please!”
No-one should be allowed to be this cute. How was Harry ever supposed to say no to him? Merlin, Teddy would be spoiled.
Harry laughed; Teddy’s enthusiasm with such simple requests infectious.
“A Wolfsbane and Hortensia?” At Teddy’s nod, Harry concentrated on the wished flowers and swished his wand.
The wondrous feeling of his magic flowing out and coming together surged through him and left him with a warm feeling in his chest and a tingle in his wand hand.
As always, both godfather and godson watched enraptured. Beautiful golden light grew out of Harry’s fingers. It moved among his wand and danced at its tip.
There it flowed together, it swirled around and created a magnificent web of magic, raw and pure.
The strands combined, they blended and divided until there were two small, white flowers, twirling above Harry wand.
A Wolfsbane.
A Hortensia.
Remus.
Tonks.
A little hand reached for them, with oh — so much wonder and care. It never ceased to amaze Harry.
Gentle fingers traced each petal and leaf, traced the tiny wisps of golden magic, before taking ahold of the blossoms.
Teddy smiled at Harry, bright and happy, his eyes already dropping shut.
“There you go, little one,” said Harry softly. He laid Teddy down on his bed and tucked his blanket around him securely, taking a seat the edge of the mattress.
“Now sleep, your parents will watch over you and keep you safe.” He ruffled Teddy’s pearl white hair, delighting in the little giggle his son let out.
Harry grinned.
Bending down , he kissed his forehead, then his nose. “I love you, Teddy.”
“Love you, daddy. Love papa, too,” the child mumbled sleepily, barely managing to keep his eyes open. “Good night, daddy.”
With that, Teddy brought his flowers to his chest and cuddled into the blanket, closing his eyes contently.
Harry ran his fingers through his son’s hair once more before reluctantly standing up, smiling down at the child.
When he eventually left the room, Teddy was sleeping peacefully, clutching two beautiful blue flowers to his chest.