It was hours later before she sought him out, hiding underneath his covers and sniffling. She was no expert in childrearing, as she was reminded of nearly every day, yet she had not been able to figure out how she'd managed to mess up this time. Harry had a friend with whom to indulge his childish urge to roll in the mud. Surely he did not expect such things out of her?
"Would you care to explain what happened today," she said and sat down on the edge of his bed.
She saw the blankets shift as he shook his head. "Harry, come out so we can talk." She forced her tone to remain even. It was ungodly frustrating how childish he acted sometimes. She tried to treat him like an adult, and that mostly worked well for them. Until situations like these. They tussled with the blanket as she tried to pry it off and Harry kept his grip firm.
"Look, kid. I don't hate you. I'm mad you spilled my tea and interrupted my reading but that doesn't mean I hate you."
"You didn't want to play with me, though!"
"Is that important to you?" she asked, confused about his thought process. "We spend several hours a day together."
"But that's always schoolwork!" Harry pulled his head free of the covers and fixed her with a truly pathetic and grim pout, his face covered in tears and snot. "You never want to do anything fun with me. 'Cuz you don't like me and you only teach me 'cuz you have to!"
Alabasandria frowned and pondered this. It was a childish deduction, but it was true she did not make extra time for him. Harry was not interested in her hobbies and so could not join her in leisure. He did enough potion brewing and reading lessons to not consider it exciting or fun. What else was there to occupy their time besides work and the occasional extracurricular grave-robbing?
"I read to you, and you help me cook dinner sometimes," she offered.
"I like it when we do that. But we've read Beedle the Bard eight times already and you always turn things into lessons. I want to do some things just for fun, and not things about corpses. The crayons I got for my birthday are great, but the only things I have to draw in are those anatomy books you gave me."
Alabasandria opened her mouth to complain. Some of those books were nearly a thousand years old and certainly not be colored in! But, Harry had cried once today. She let loose a very long lungful of air. It was fine. Who needed priceless heirlooms to be in mint condition?
"I will consider this. Have you any ideas for an activity?" She said once she'd forced her anger down.
"I'm not sure," Harry admitted, going withdrawn and shy once more. "I haven't quite figured out what children do when they aren't learning necromancy or doing chores."
"I am not certain either. Perhaps this is something we should ask the Lovegoods for help with. We'll go tomorrow and ask about appropriate leisure activities. But today you're grounded. I don't appreciate you yelling and kicking. I did not know children required fun, if you need something you should tell me with your words instead of throwing a fit. And for all that is unholy, stop coloring in my books."
"You yelled too!" Harry protested. "That means you're grounded."
Alabasandria withheld the urge to yell some more. Harry did not like it, and for all the drama the child caused, it was not worth him becoming scared of her. She'd discovered that he was a very sensitive child. She was unsure how she'd been so unlucky but Harry needed a gentle hand, something beyond difficult for her to comprehend.
"Yes, I suppose that is fair." She finally said. "We'll both go to bed without dessert, how about that? But you haven't had any dinner yet, so go do that and then it's time for bed."
...
The fading terror of a nightmare tore Harry from sleep. All that could be heard in the stillness of the night was his frantic breaths rattling his chest. Before logic returned to his exhausted, confused mind, Harry tore down the steep staircase and into the downstairs bedroom. He jumped into the bed and threw his arms around the sleeping necromancer.
"Eh, what? Harry?" She grumbled, rousing from sleep. "It's the middle of the night, what did you do now?"
Harry did not respond, he sobbed, great heaving things full of terror and snot. Now panicked, never had she seen him this upset, her arms gently pried his iron grip free and she sat up in the bed flicking a light on. Harry resettled into her lap without stopping his desperate tears.
"What has happened? Are you injured?"
"I had a dream," he wailed between gulps of air. "I heard mum, she - she was begging for my life. There was a man - I saw the flash of light -" He whined, curling up harder. Her arm draped across his back with hesitance.
"Well shit kid. Yeah I can see how that would be traumatizing. It must be the necromancy influencing your dreams." Her voice was gentler than usual and she made no move to remove him, instead gifting him a pat on the head. The nightmares of necromancers had been known to drive some mad. It was particularly cruel for the boy to have to witness his parent's deaths. "C'mon. Let's get you a calming potion and a cup of tea."
"Can I stay with you tonight?" Harry whined. His white-knuckled grip clung to her like his life depended on it. The reaction confused Alabasandria. Why would the kid want to stay here, when she had a perfectly good solution available that would ensure he could return to his bed as normal? It was a dreadful habit that he'd picked up from Luna, a desire for physical affection.
"I - I suppose? Would that help?"
Harry nodded fervently. "Please, mama. I don't want to be alone anymore."
She looked down at his tear-covered face. Oh. This wasn't some elaborate, cruel prank. He really did consider her his mum. He came to her for comfort, of all things.
"I am right here," she said, faltering over her words. Hell and Hades, what was she supposed to do? She wasn't cut out for this!
.....
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