a/n: thank you to KeepSmiling1 for the beta!
WRITTEN FOR THE HOUSES COMPETITION, YEAR 7, ROUND 6
House: Ravenclaw
Class: Muggle Studies
Standard
Prompt: [Object] Water Lilies
Word Count: 1387 (google docs)
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my mother, the painter
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There is a pond at the edge of Nott Manor.
It's not the duck pond – no, that one is bigger, and Theo thinks of it as more of a lake. The pond at the edge of Nott Manor is a true pond, small enough that it doesn't take an hour to walk around. Once, the pond was Theo's favorite place to go.
Theo's mum was a painter. He reminds himself of that on the dark nights, the nights when it feels like it's been centuries since she died, instead of a mere decade – the nights when he can't remember the sound of her voice, or the way that she would smile at him.
His mum was a painter. On bright summer days, she would instruct the House-elves to pack a picnic basket, and she would Apparate Theo to the pond at the edge of the property, far away from Theo's father's tantrums. She would bring her canvases and messy box of paints, and she would paint anything that caught her eye. Theo has stacks upon stacks of her paintings hidden in an abandoned room in the Manor, paintings of Theo and of Father, of the sky and of the water lilies in the pond at the edge of Nott Manor.
The majority of the paintings are of the water lilies, by far. Theo remembers the way that they swamped the pond, with their delicately pointed petals, all the colours of the sunrise. He remembers the way his mum painted them, with bold brushstrokes, making them seem dangerous and calming by turn.
He hasn't been back to the pond in many years. Since his father died, he hasn't had much reason to escape onto the grounds, to make the long trek out to the small pond his father never knew existed.
Some days, when the sun has burned away the clouds, and there's a summer breeze floating through the air, Theo considers it. He imagines asking the elves to pack a picnic basket, imagines apparating down to the pond and seeing whether it's still the same as he remembers it. He imagines the pond looking exactly the same, water lilies covering the surface, and he wonders if that would be better or worse than it looking decrepitly different.
He puts it out of his mind, doesn't let himself stew over it for months – until Harry finds his mother's paintings.
"Theo," he says, gaping in awe at the mountains of dusty canvases Theo has hidden in this out of the way parlour. "Did you do these?"
Theo stops in the doorway.
"No."
Harry barely pays him any mind, entranced by one of the more abstract portraits of Theo. "These are amazing," he gushes, moving on through the carefully stacked pile beside him. "Who did them, then?"
He picks up a canvas off of the top, and Theo's heart stutters when he sees the familiar pinks and yellows his mother always used to paint the water lilies.
It's the first time he's thought of them in a long time. He hasn't thought of them – well, he hasn't thought of them since Harry pushed his way into Theo's life. Gone are the days when Theo moped around Nott Manor, skulking in his father's study and stewing in memories of happier days.
He clears his throat. "My mother," he says, shrugging off the doorframe.
Harry's hands still as he pages through the canvases. "Oh," he says. He knows Theo well enough by now – knows that Theo's mother is not a topic to be brought up lightly. "She was very good."
"She was," Theo says lightly. He steps closer to Harry, mesmerized by the painting in his hands. The water lily is so clear; he can practically see his mother's brushstrokes, feel the crisp petals against his fingertips. "Would you like to see?"
"See what?"
Harry lets Theo take the canvas out of his hands, lets him put it down gently on the stack. Theo stares at it with hungry eyes. Somehow, it isn't enough. The painting isn't enough – he needs to see the water lilies, needs to know they're still there, that his father didn't destroy them like he destroyed so many of his mother's favorite things after she died.
"There is a pond at the edge of Nott Manor," Theo says softly, twining his fingers through Harry's and palming his wand. "There is a pond, and there are water lilies that my mum used to paint on good days."
Harry meets his gaze steadily.
"Show me."
It takes less effort than Theo imagined it would to Apparate out to the pond. They land a few meters away, and it's hidden from sight by the grass that has grown long in this forgotten edge of the property. They begin to walk towards it, Harry following Theo's lead.
Theo's breath catches in his throat when he sees the water lilies, just as he remembered them, floating on the surface of the pond. His breath catches, and then he exhales, his shoulders relaxing.
The ghosts of happy days past shimmer in the air, and Theo feels them in every breath he takes. It's still and quiet aside from the crunching of their feet in the grass, and as they begin down the small incline that leads to the pond, Theo feels almost effervescent.
He missed this place, he finds. He missed it.
As they get closer, Theo has to physically reach out to stop Harry from walking straight onto the water. Harry lets himself be halted, but the look he turns on Theo is so patently confused that the corners of Theo's mouth twitch. If he were in a better mood, maybe he'd be laughing.
"If you want to get wet, by all means, keep walking," Theo says mildly. Harry's head swivels to stare at the pond.
"That's the - oh. It's well disguised," he coughs, taking a step back.
It is. The water lilies cover every spare inch of the pond's surface. It's a miracle they're still growing; when Theo was little, he tried to get his mum to explain to him the science of it all, and she never could. Never could explain how the lilies managed to blanket the watery surface so thoroughly, yet still live.
Theo has since concluded that it's magic.
"They're beautiful," Harry says, and when Theo drags his eyes away from the water lilies, Harry's watching him.
"They are," Theo says, Theo feels.
He can feel his mother's hand on his shoulder, as she bends over and points at the lilies. Look at the way the light hits them, Theo, she says. Look at the shadow. Aren't they beautiful?
"Theo," Harry says. "Why are your mother's paintings laying in the spare parlour?"
"Fourth spare parlour," Theo corrects him absently, automatically. "Because I haven't got anywhere to put them."
He stares avidly at the lilies, trying to commit them to memory. He doesn't know when he'll be able to visit the pond next; since he became a real adult, he's had less and less time to wallow in the past, too busy in the present.
"We just sold that awful Mieczyclaw painting your father commissioned," Harry says nonchalantly, and Theo knows he's about to be maneuvered into something that he would never admit to wanting to do. "The blank gap of wall space in the hall is almost as ugly as the painting was."
Theo hears his wordless suggestion. He imagines his mother's paintings escaping the fourth spare parlour, hanging prominently on the wall for any visitor to Nott Manor to see.
The thought doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would.
"Fine," Theo says. He squeezes Harry's hand. "Shall we put one up now?"
Harry glances at Theo, then back to the pond – then he collapses onto the ground, relaxing into the greenery. "There's time later," he says simply. "It would be a waste to come all the way out here just for a few minutes looking."
Theo thoroughly agrees. He slides to the ground much more gracefully, not letting go of his boyfriend. He knocks his cheek against Harry's shoulder before sitting up straight, watching the water lilies.
The real things are almost as good as the paintings.
His mother's water lilies look incandescent hanging in the front hall.