It was only six thirty in the morning, but Dandelion had already eaten and dressed. Now her mother was braiding Dandelion’s hair. Since it was a rather typical mother-daughter scene, something rare in her life, Dandelion was reluctant to break the calm. There was a question nagging at her, though.
“Mum, why are you letting Grandpa Dudley send me off with that magician guy today?” Dandelion inquired. “I think all this is mad.”
“Are you questioning the judgment of your elders?” This question from many mothers would come across as a gentle remand, but Ella’s tone conveyed a hint of irony.
“Mum, you can’t believe all this magic stuff, can you?” Dandelion asked.
“Does it matter what I believe?” Ella replied.
“Of course!” Dandelion exclaimed. “If you realize that magic doesn’t exist, than you must know that this Harry fellow is crazy to think otherwise. You don’t want me going off with a lunatic, right? You’re my mum. You’re supposed to keep me safe.”
“Oh, my dandy girl, you argue just like I did at your age,” Ella said affectionately.
“Mu-ummm, don’t change the subject!” Dandelion wailed.
“How about I tell you everything I know about Harry Potter?” Ella offered.
“Fine,” Dandelion agreed.
“When I was about nine years old, I was looking through one of my grandmother’s photo albums,” Ella said. “There were some pictures of my grandparents, my father, and one of his friends visiting the zoo. It was really odd that they all were in the photos “ somebody should have been behind the camera, right?
“I asked my father about it when he was immersed in something. He grunted back, ‘Harry.’ When I tried to find out more, he clammed up. Finally he admitted that it was a bad birthday, but wouldn’t say more.
“A few days later, I worked up all my courage and asked grandfather who this Harry person was. It was after he’d had a few beers, so I knew I was running a risk with his volatile temper, but I also knew the alcohol would make him more likely to talk. He started on a rant about the ungrateful, abnormal boy who’d lived in his house and eaten his food for seventeen years.
“My grandmother soon quieted him down, but I had heard enough to have my interest piqued. How had my grandparents had another boy live with them for seventeen years, yet fail to ever mention him before? Shouldn’t somebody that must have been such a big part of their lives for so long also be integral in many of their family stories? What had happened to him? I never found out, though.”
“Maybe they’re repressing some really bad memories,” Dandelion suggested.
“Maybe,” Ella replied.
“Dandelion!” bellowed Grandpa Dursley from downstairs. “Get down here. When Harry arrives, I don’t want you to make a bad impression by making him wait around.”
Dandelion glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She wore a checkered white and yellow sundress with a little white sweater and white sandals as Grandpa Dudley had insisted. Her mother had put Dandelion’s hair was in pigtail braids. She carried a heart-shaped pink purse that had been a birthday gift years ago, containing a heap of money her grandfather had given her for school supplies. Looking in the mirror, she felt all of three years old.
There was no time to try to bargain with her mother and grandfather to try and get them to allow her to wear something more mature, so Dandelion rushed downstairs to the living room. When her grandfather was under stress, he was liable to have a short temper and act erratically, just like his father. When Grandpa Dudley was in one of those moods, which Ella called a “Vernon Mood,” Dandelion was always sure to obey him. Once in a while, though, she put a toe over the line.
“Grandpa, this is crazy!” she complained. “You don’t even know this guy. He could be a murderer, or a kidnapper, or…”
“Dandelion, we’ve been through this before,” Dudley replied. “Harry and I grew up together. We practically were brothers. I most certainly know him.”
“If you grew up together, why haven’t I heard about him before?” Dandelion asked.
“Dandelion, don’t question my judgment about what is and isn’t appropriate to tell you,” Dudley growled, his face beginning to turn a nasty shade of purple.
“I have to,” Dandelion said defiantly. “You’re sending me off to spend the day with a man who thinks he’s a magician and I’m a witch!”
Just then, there was a knock at the door. “That will be Harry,” Dudley said. “Now Dandelion, please don’t be as disrespectful of him as you just have been of me.”
“I won’t,” she promised. Under her breath, she added, “because I’m afraid I’ll end up chopped into a million pieces otherwise!”
Dudley opened the door, and a man who appeared to be about forty stepped in. Dudley said, “Hey, Harry, it’s been too long,” and slapped the man jovially on the back. The man “ Harry “ stiffened noticeably, almost as if he expected to be punched in the face next. He quickly recovered, though, and turned to face Dandelion.
As Dandelion had watched Harry arrive, his back had back towards her the whole time. From what she could discern from behind, the stranger looked nothing like Dudley. Where Dudley had an impressive pot belly, this man looked rather thin and angular; where Dudley’s prematurely grey hair held hints of blonde, this man’s hair was as black as night; where Dudley’s skin was normally flushed, this man’s skin, at least what was visible from his short-sleeved t-shirt, was rather pale. If Dandelion had doubted his relation to her grandfather before he arrived, she was doubly sure once he came “ until he faced her.
Dandelion wasn’t tiny and cute, like her friend Cecily, nor was she tall and striking like Lorna, a girl in her class. She found her own hair boring. Though it was blonde, it didn’t fall in ringlets, or have golden highlights that caught the sun, and its shade wasn’t white-blonde, a colour that looked like it belonged on an angel. She thought of her hair colour as more of like that of straw, and found it equally boringly straight. She’d never seen anybody with her eye colour before, though. Most people she’d met with green eyes had one that were a rather pale shade, or had flecks of brown in theirs. Hers, though, were a pure, deep green, more green than the greenest grass or leaves. Therefore, Dandelion thought her eyes were her most unique, and thus best, physical feature.
When Harry turned to greet her, the first thing that struck her was not his friendly smile, the strangely-shaped scar on his forehead, or his overall normal appearance in a t-shirt and jeans. What she first were his eyes “ her eyes.
Eyes Wide Open by sorrow_of_severus
Chapter Notes: Since J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and his story, and I am not J.K. Rowling, I only own Dandelion and Ella.
Chapter Endnotes: I greatly appreciate continuing support and beta'ing of Becca (twilightHPgirl18).