For round two of the 2013 Olympics FanFiction Competition on HPFC. Set in the same universe as don't ever hurt my mother, where the obsession with daisies comes from, but is six years afterwards.
I don't own Harry Potter, and I don't hate roses.
this is where the daisies grow.
There is a certain rule among the children of Shell Cottage: they must be loyal to the daisies. Always.
Victoire grew up with the word daisy on her lips, Dominique with them around her neck, and Louis watering the daisy patch in the front yard. They're simple, pretty and no one has any real reason to dislike them, so why not?
Victoire breaks this rule the day she leaves for Hogwarts.
Dominique's waiting for her on the porch, having never found the time to expand it to a full garden, and she's made a daisy chain for her sister to take to Hogwarts, as expected. She knows the flowers will wilt eventually, but she has her fingers crossed Victoire will learn a charm to keep them healthy.
The oldest Weasley child walks out into the sunlight, chin lighted high. She has her robes on, a wand in hand, and the cat she bought is at her side. Dominique feels both envious and proud of her, a feeling she's gotten used to as pretty, intelligent, older Victoire grew up with her. Pride always wins in the end.
"Here," she says, offering Victoire the daisy chain. Something flickers in her eyes for a moment, but she accepts it with a smile.
Then Dominique spots something in her sister's silvery blonde hair (Mother's hair). "Is that a rose?"
Victoire looks embarrassed for just one moment, but after all, she is Victoire. The expression is replaced with a smile. "The roses are prettier," she explains a little condescendingly. "Mother! Father!"
She leaves for Hogwarts with wilting daisies and a slack-jawed Dominique.
It's only the beginning.
this is where the daisies don't.
She writes letters to her sister all year, wanting to know every detail about Hogwarts. She wants to know if all the rumors about teachers and such are true, the spells that are being learned, and whether her sister's still wearing the daisy chain.
Victoire writes back as quickly as she can, her graceful handwriting bleeding ink so that certain words get blotted out. She signs every letter with I miss you.
It's nice to know the family's not forgotten.
Victoire talks about her friends, her teachers, her enemies, and even in a careful postscript, about her crush, who sounds adorable. Dominique sends a reply begging to know who, but her sister assures her she'll tell her at Christmas.
Louis can't write very well yet—he's only in first grade, learning "sight words." Dominique offers to help him pen his letters, but he reddens and refuses, making her wonder what secrets his still-young soul can have.
Not that she should be talking; she's only a year older.
When Victoire comes at Christmas, she wears roses instead of daisies. Again. They're in her hair, around her neck, and stitched into her robes. Dominique thinks that she's beautiful, and she's proud enough of her sister that she doesn't scold her for betraying the daisies.
In a conspiratorial whisper, Victoire tells her sister that her crush is a boy named Teddy Lupin. The family knows him; he pops in every once in a while during holidays and such.
Dominique can't deny that she doesn't find him appealing—or any boys appealing—but she's just glad Victoire is here, and she likes making her sister happy. Even if the daisies are left out.
this is where the daisies died.
When Victoire leaves, Dominique remembers she's supposed to give her a daisy chain. It just feels right for her to give it to her sister, and she wants to make one.
The daisies have died in the cold.
Dominique and her brother see the wilted flowers from the porch and stumble down, scraping a knee or two in the process. The daisies haven't died before, maybe because its owners passed on some magic to sustain it, maybe because they're just resilient like that, or maybe just because.
Dominique cries that day, holding Louis as he hugs her awkwardly, and she turns to Victoire and says, "Don't you still have that daisy chain?"
It's her only hope.
Victoire's pretty eyes are fixated on the drooping flowers, and she seems to be shaking a little as she lifts her gaze. "No," she says. "I'm sorry."
This is where the daisies were.
For the next three years, Victoire keeps bringing roses whenever she comes home. She shoots up to fourteen, gains quite a few inches, and becomes more and more beautiful and intelligent and oh so Victoire.
The envy is taking over the pride Dominique feels, and the only shame she feels for any of it is that she's ashamed she isn't ashamed of being that way. She stares bitterly at the dead patch of daisies where grass is springing up, refusing to ask her parents to revive them or plant new ones. It's a mark of shame on Victoire for not keeping the only daisies they had left.
(And it's not only that—it's the letters that don't bother to even ask, How is the family? It's the complaining about how Hogwarts doesn't skip out on changing the bed sheets every week. It's the "You should come to Hogwarts, my friend could fix up that terrible hair right away, Dominique. . .")
She holds her head high, but Dominique knows her sister well, and she can read the remorse in her sister's eyes.
Louis also considers the patch his pride and joy, even if he's old enough to know boys aren't supposed to get attached to flowers. He tells her, "To hell with what they think—won't you plant new ones with me?" She always refuses.
He won't plant any if she and Victoire don't do it with him.
On the day she leaves for Hogwarts, her brother presents her with a crown of artificial daisies he bought in a Muggle store. She looks at his face and knows that he thinks it's not good enough. It's just not the same, and she cries for them as she leaves.
Still, her heart doesn't soften.
this is where the daisies stay.
When she arrives at Hogwarts, nothing is bewildering, because sweet Victoire told her everything. The only things that catch her off guard is that yes, Teddy Lupin truly is adorable (and not in the littleboy way, either) once she takes a long look, and her sister has a clique.
Then again, maybe it doesn't catch her off guard. The only thing that does is when one of the girls clinging to Victoire laughs and comments on Dominique Weasley, who is not pretty or smart or strong, and Victoire laughs with her.
Maybe it's been happening before I arrived, Dominique thinks, walking away. Maybe it's true.
She writes to Louis, who she's become considerably closer to since Victoire decided roses are prettier than daisies (and that they don't matter). He says that although grass is still springing up to overtake the daisy patch, a lot of the wilted daisies are still there, and he asks her if he should take them out.
The answer is no. Victoire can see them forever and ever for all Dominique cares. It's a mark of every fault Victoire has, because she is not flawless.
(Is she? Is Dominique just dearly mistaken, is she just stupid and worthless and so much worse than her sister?)
When she's off to the owlery to send her letter, she finds Victoire there, her own letter in hand. Dominique strides past, not even looking at her, but she spots something.
"Hey—why is it signed 'Sincerely, Victoire?'"
Her older sister lifts her chin, wrinkling her nose at Dominique like she's just another lowly person. (That's not what she did when we were little. She smiled and her voice was soft and— Dominique swallows.) "Because it's true."
It's true that you don't miss us anymore, Dominique thinks. You're popular and perfect here and at home, you're just Victoire, who left the daisies to die.
She finds an owl, but before she sends her letter off, she takes a pen out of her pocket and crosses the signature at the bottom of the letter out. She writes, I miss you.
There should at least be someone to say so.
this is where the daisies leave.
The day Louis leaves for Hogwarts, the grass finally finishes devouring the daisies. There's nothing left but scores of green and brown stretching on forever, all the way into the sea and sunset.
It's as if the daisies never existed.
Dominique tries to rip out the grass, but Mother holds her back. She's not going to have her perfect yard ruined by a heap of grass, like one of the Muggle machines had run over the spot. What are they called? Lawn movers?
Instead, Dominique settles for racing into the house and screaming at Victoire as she perches on the couch (because just sitting isn't good enough for her) combing her hair, telling her this is all her fault. Dominique knows this is incredibly unfair, but she can't stand her sister anymore.
She sits with Louis on the train, little Louis, who is silent and shocked because he loves both his sisters so, so much, and now there's a chasm between them.
She's hurting Louis, her baby brother, and she doesn't care. It's Victoire's fault, she thinks. She can have her beautiful roses. I hope the thorns make her bleed.
She stands up and yanks the artificial daisy necklace off her neck, tearing it into pieces right in front of her brother. She registers somewhere in the background that he's trying not to cry, that he's trying not to fall apart.
Selfish, stupid me, she thinks. You aren't Victoire and you will never be Victoire. At least she tried to be happy around your brother. She's above you.
Selfish, stupid, not-Victoire Dominique.
this is where the daisies hurt.
Dominique finally realizes something.
Oh, God, I hurt my brother.
As soon as Louis finishes dinner, he runs up to his dormitory with far too much eagerness. His good-bye to Dominique sounds choked and she knows that he is still hurting.
And that's not okay.
You don't hurt Louis Weasley, innocent and adorable (very much in the little boy way), Dominique and Victoire's brother. You take his gifts and you smile for him and he returns it. You don't watch him trying to hold himself together because you've torn apart his only attempt to fix things.
This is my fault, she thinks. She doesn't argue with herself, she doesn't rant about Victoire, and she doesn't doubt that the blame lays on her. She wants desperately to go apologize to her brother, but she can't go in the boys' dormitory, so she decides to settle for something that will hopefully fix it: she'll tell Victoire she's sorry.
It's long overdue.
Dominique has the memory of the torn petals drifting to the ground still on her mind when she's hurrying to Victoire's dorm room. She remembers the mix of colors in her world—the gray of Shell Cottage, the orange of the sunset, the green-brown of the ground, and the soft blue in the sea. The white and yellow of the daisy, like an egg, is missing. This is why she doesn't notice the suitcase lying in her way and goes (falling) flying.
She wakes up in the infirmary with her sister staring in her face.
"I'm sorry," says Victoire.
this is where the daisies grow.
Dominique looks down and realizes her leg is in a cast, meaning it's probably broken. When she looks up again, Victoire is sitting by her bedside with a bunch of daisies in her hand. Louis is on the other side, looking as if he's dizzy and sad at the same time.
"I'm sorry you got hurt because you were coming to see me," Victoire says quietly. "I'm sorry you got hurt this entire time because I didn't have the courage I'm supposed to. I'm sorry that I didn't say sorry sooner." She hastily swipes at her eyes. "I'm sorry for everything."
Dominique takes the bunch of daisies from her hand, studying the orange glow the sunset washes over it. The curtains haven't been drawn, thankfully, so she can see the sun in all its splendor. She thinks orange isn't quite the egg yellow and white of a daisy, but it's okay. Even daisies can be imperfect.
"I'm sorry, too. For the same things. For more than that—for being jealous of you—"
Victoire laughs. "Jealous of me?"
Dominique looks a little startled. Even Louis has picked up on it. "You have Mother's beauty and the best grades and the best friends and—"
Victoire is silent for a moment. She doesn't look like she wants that. Dominique realizes maybe it's hard to be perfect all the time.
"And I'm sorry, Louis," she says. "For being caught up in a petty conflict between your sisters for four years. They're just flowers."
"It's okay," he replies, staring at the bunch of daisies in her hand. Victoire notices and plucks one out of the bunch, throwing a rose out of her hair and tucking in the daisy.
"When we go home," she promises, "we'll plant the daisies."
Victoire keeps this promise, and in the end, she keeps the rule: stay loyal to the daisies. She plants them with Louis and Dominique and even Mother and Father during the sunset at Christmas break. They survive through the winter, and at last, there's a real daisy chain for all of them.
Dominique walks with a slight limp, out of her cast now but still adjusting to her healed leg. She walks past the yard, into the house, and sits with her siblings by the window to watch the outdoors.
"I missed you," Victoire tells her. She returns it.
This is where the daisies grow.