They chose to name her Clover because they were so lucky to have her. That was another way of saying she was an unplanned child.
She is Clover Blossom because they thought Clover wasn't enough to fit with the flower theme of this generation of Evans. She disagrees. Being the weed of the family fits her perfectly—no need to mask it with a fancy middle name.
They say otherwise, her parents, that is, they say that her middle name reflects how every day she seems to blossom in ways they did not think possible. She would like to rephrase that as they don't know how to handle an introverted child in a family of overwhelming extroverts.
Especially not one who cannot decipher dreams from reality in the slightest. One who finds herself pierced with mind splitting headaches from merely the sight of her sisters on a bad day. One who more often than not can be found alone with her thoughts rather than beside another child.
She was the problem child by all rights, but she couldn't help it.
They tried to coddle her, but it is hard to return affections when your identities and memories jumble together like a vast mass of string in your mind. With every attempt you make at untangling it, you find yourself entangled more within its pull. Names, faces, and events were all passed by in a blur of distant familiarity and total disconnect. Like a sense of Deja vu for witnessing an occasion you had never experienced first-hand but rather heard of years later as someone else had recalled it.
Mind numbingly complicated and no more comfortable to experience than it is to explain.
That is until she was eight. Mother had requested that Petunia and Lily take her along as they were going out to the park. Petunia was apprehensive because she didn't want her friends to see the young girl break out in tears again. She often does when the war inside her mind became too much.
She didn't hate her youngest sister, don't be misguided. She showed her care in other ways. The small child was often the perfect doll for her to dress up in old clothes because she was still and silent most often, unlike Lily. Even to the best of the fiery sister's abilities, the latter could not help but squirm and yap about any little thought that entered her mind.
Clover tagged along, though, because she had no other choice. Mother was going to visit a friend, and 'there would be no other children to occupy the poor thing' as if that mattered.
Still, Lily had taken the baby Evans by the hand. At breakneck speeds, as compared to the little one's typical pace, she found herself beneath a tree with thick grass and shrubbery below her palms as she reclined back beside her sister.
"I want to introduce you to my friend. His name is Severus," Lily babbled on.
The name sounded familiar. The feeling of the beginning of a headache starting to form drug the Blossom child's attention away from the feel of the summer sun, which was sure to burn her nearly translucent skin.
"I think you two would get along. You both are quiet and smart. He seems a bit odd at first, but he is really nice."
Their eyes meet vibrant evergreen to pale blue, and Clover gave her a small smile encouraging her to continue.
Lily really was a sweet child, and she took her role of elder sister very seriously. She tried to teach the youngest about the world, at least everything she knew about it from her additional year of experience. Still, more often than not, Clover tuned her out. Not necessarily by choice but because her typical information overload did nothing less than frying the younger girl's brain.
"It really is wonderful Clove, they use cauldrons to make potions, and they wear gloves made of the hyde of dragons! Dragons, Clove! Dragons with scales and wings that breathe fire!"
It seems she had missed something again. The circular motion of her middle and forefinger upon her temple ceased.
Lily was grinning brightly, looking off into the distance towards a flock of birds that Clover didn't have the background to identify. They were soaring in a frenzy, but it was like she was looking through her sister's eyes for a moment. The feathers morphed to shining viridian scales, and the beaks pushed back into a stunted snout that puffs of charcoal-grey smoke burst from with each exhale. She shot straight up into a sitting position, heart racing.
"What is it, Clove? Is it your head again? Do you need to take a nap? We can meet Severus another time. I am sure he would understand."
Her hands tightly clasped her sister's in her own, shaking them a bit as if to arouse a response.
The little Evans shut her eyes to calm her breathing, not really fancying the thought of fainting due to hyperventilating at the moment. When she cautiously peeled them back open, all she saw were the typical neighbourhood birds—no dragonesque creatures in sight.
"I'm okay, Lily. Where do the dragons stay?"
Lily's eyes roamed her sister for a second. Still, she moved on just as quickly, slipping back into innocent joy recounting about dragons and their various uses. She tells her they are held on reserves all over the world, and they can eat people, but they often don't because there are people who stop them. From potion-making to medieval fashion, she describes a fantastical world.
She rambles on, in other words, and the younger one lets her, happy to just listen to her stories, which seem to teeter on the edge of something familiar. She tries to clear her mind, though, not wishing to dull the moment with a mind splitting headache, which is the only result of trying to sort out her thoughts.
"Severus!" Lily calls out, breaking her tirade.
Clover hears the crunch of sticks underfoot to her right and, upon opening her eyes, sees the sickly pale face of a boy about Lily's age. His eyes are deep-set with irises so dark that his pupils are indistinguishable. Cheekbones are as prominent as the rest of his lean body, emphasizing the young boy's overall fragile build.
His hands play with the hem of his oversized black tunic shirt, but his facial expression gives away no hint of emotion.
Pathetic. It's meant as an observation, not an insult. Clearly, the circumstances of the child could be best summarized as unfortunate to the younger girl.
He avoided eye contact with the unfamiliar girl. Still, she held a small smile nonetheless as Lily leaped to her feet, dragging the boy by his wrist to their lounging spot under the tree.
"Clove, this is my friend Severus I have been telling you about, Severus this is my little sister Clover!"
He was now placed rigidly at her left side sandwiched between the unfamiliar sister and Lily with their backs flush against the trunk of the shady tree. The hill's perspective gave a clear view of the monotone chimney lined streets of Cokesworth without being close enough to see the repulsive litter and rusted terraces.
"Nice to meet you," the little Evans offered to receive only a nod in return.
Another introvert, she supposed, accepting his response. Eventually, she reclined back propped up with her arms behind her head and legs splayed, grateful to have been given trousers to wear today. Wanting to catch up on sleep she lost from last night's night terrors, the girl hoped that the warm summer breeze and mossy cushioning of the base of the tree would be enough to lull her to dreamland.
"Severus, look, I think I finally got the hang of it!" Lily's voice rose from the hushed whispers the two had been exchanging for the past hour or so. Clover didn't bother to open her eyes but was a bit agitated to be dragged from the brink of sleep, which she had only just entered.
However, the loud shriek and frantic rustling beside her prompted the young one to glance.
"Why would you do that?" the elder sister roared out, resembling a lion with her fiery mane of flyways in the wind.
The quiet boy seemed to shrink into himself under her gaze, letting out a barely audible apology that seemed helpful in mollifying the frustrated girl.
"It's okay, Sev. I didn't mean to yell at you," she patted the boy's arm, hoping to relieve the tenseness in his arched posture. Simultaneously, the baby Evans looked on with curious eyes perplexing as to what had just occurred. The grogginess of being awoken did little to help the young girl either. Still, within minutes the two friends were saying goodbye, and the pale boy only offered Clover a slight nod before they parted ways.
That was the last Clover would see of him for months. However, she heard about him plenty from her older sister's lips, who seemed to speak his name in nearly every other sentence. This was much to the eldest Evans chagrin, who did little to hide the loathing she held for the boy who lived at the end of Spinner's end. As to be expected, this led to quite a bit of infighting between the two elder Evans sisters.
Especially the time in early August. Lily was chatting about the Snape matriarch's ring that Severus had come to show her and about how it had been in his mother's family for generations.
"She ought to pawn it so they can wear something other than the rags they traipse around in," proclaimed Petunia carelessly.
It wasn't as if she was wrong as the Snape's would often leave the house in clothing that hung very loose along their frail bodies and were usually coated in various stains or tears. Still, it was insensitive and ill-mannered, and though mother had been quick to scold her for her unkind words, the two Evans girls had begun a cold war of sorts. Poor Clover had soon become caught in the crossfire.
"Blossom, dear, would you like me to tie your hair into French braids or Dutch braids? We wouldn't want your hair in your face on the first day of school, especially when you won't have your older sister there with you this year to watch out for you." Petunia cooed, obviously meaning this as a jab at the middle Evans, whose red fringe was currently tickling her eye as she continuously swatted it away.
However, she soon regretted the offer as she tried to wrangle the youngest's peculiarly curly dark locks into neat Dutch braids and eventually accepted the springy edges of the hairline that she would usually just smooth back with the typical pin-straight hair of the family.
"C'mon, Clove, it's time to go! Wouldn't want to be late and make a poor impression on our first day," Lily goaded. She took her sister's smaller hand just as Petunia had tied off the final ribbon. Quickly the elder rushed off to fix herself up with vigorous teasing and hairspray on her straw blonde hair.
School. Clover supposed she was good at it, but it all came very naturally to her. She found she would intuitively know the answers before the teacher would even begin the lesson. It made the long days of tutelage all the more tedious. Thankfully, after her first-year teachers had come to understand her savant status, there was less pressure for Clover to be engaged in the lessons. Instead, so long as she completed her work, they would allow her to read quietly to herself. Thus, the child devoured book after book, each growing in the complexity of the material. As a seven-year-old, she would flip through texts from subatomic particles to clinical psychology to advanced calculus.
Although this year, year four, once a week, Clover would be called down from class to meet with Mrs. Lloyd, whose peculiar cross of lanky legs but stout torso often perplexed the young Evans. She would just seemingly chat with her aimlessly for about an hour, then send her back to class.
Clover knew this wasn't the case, however. Autism was little-understood but becoming a hot topic. With her odd social aversion and advanced intellect, it was no surprise she had caught the attention of child psychologists. Still, Clover found it to be a bit of a burden to halt her reading for an hour each week to pointlessly indulge the older woman.
However, not this week, as it was mid-October, and the fighting between her sisters had now prolonged for over two months. The baby of the family knew if she did not tell someone of her frustrations, she would blow up and make the circumstances worse at home.
"How are you doing dear?" the woman crooned as Clover had finally adjusted herself on the cushion of the stiff chair of Mrs. Lloyd's office. She expected the typical 'fine' or 'good' or 'I am doing well how about you?' she would usually hear in response.
"I am at my wit's end," responded young Clover pushing behind her ear a curl that had freed from the French braid Tuney had tied up that morning.
"Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Lloyd, "and why is that?"
Quick to regain her decorum, Mrs. Lloyd stirred her tea, nudging the cup she had prepared for Clover in advance.
"My sisters are fighting and are using me to proclaim their passive-aggressive barbs without acknowledging each other. I don't want to spend time with my sisters until they talk to me, not through me!" Clover cried out, rolling her wrist with open palms up to emphasize her point.
Mrs. Lloyd brought her cup of tea up to her lips and took a slow sip breathing out as she placed it down. Her eyes roamed the girl, brain likely going haywire with the new persona the child seemed to portray.
"I see, and would you like to tell me why this bothers you?" prompted the older woman as she brushed her finger on the edge of her cup, still staring down at the child.
Clover took time to mull over the question, picked up her own cup, and took a generous swig before returning to her rant.
"My sisters are great. Amazing sisters even, but they are both so thick-headed. They both love to talk but couldn't talk to each other if they tried. I just wish one could learn to say sorry even if they both don't think it's their fault. I love being their sister, and they make me happy, but I know they aren't happy, and when they aren't happy, I can't be happy," the words tumbled out of her mouth so quick Mrs. Lloyd could barely catch it, but she had caught the gist.
"Have you tried telling them that, Ms. Evans?" her eyes searched the youngers for something.
Clover curled her toes in and out at the oncoming headache as she broke eye contact with the woman.
"No, miss," she responded.
"Would you like to tell them that?" Mrs. Lloyd continued.
"I fear they would listen to me less than they listen to each other," Clover confided.
The woman drew a pen from a cup on her desk and opened the expensive leather portfolio she had lying in front of her.
"Does this bother you, Ms. Evans?"
Clover knew she was allowing herself to be psychoanalyzed by opening herself up to this. So she allowed herself a moment of genuine introspection.
"Not usually, but in this case, it does," she offered after a pregnant pause of silence.
"And why is that Miss Evans?" Mrs. Lloyd prodded.
"It bothers me because I feel helpless. I feel like I have no way to fix this situation, and anything I say will make it worse. I don't need to be heard to feel like I am loved, but they do. They need someone to listen, and when neither of them is listening, they can't see how much they love each other, and it is driving me insane."
"You feel helpless because they won't listen to you?" asked Mrs. Lloyd, clicking the pen.
"No, to each other," Clover corrected.
"And you do not care if your sisters listen to you?"
"Of course, I would like them to, but I know how they are," responded the girl playing with her empty teacup.
Mrs. Lloyd scribbled down in her book for a few seconds before returning to the onslaught of questions that Clover attempted to answer to the best of her abilities. Yet, it was clear to both parties that this conversation was going nowhere. Clover just wanted to air her frustrations because she had already resigned to her sister's nature and accepted. She could only wait until they dealt with things on their own.
"I see. Why don't we do this dear, you tell your sisters what you told me today, and we discuss this again tomorrow?" Mrs. Lloyd declared, shutting the portfolio and capping her pen with a subdued sigh.
I would rather not, but still, Clover offered only a simple nod in response before uttering out her replies and returning to class.
That night at dinner, the only sound in the Evans house was of utensils scraping against the ceramic plates. Clover herself was pushing peas around her dish. Feeling instead of hungry on the edge of throwing up what little contents remained in her stomach. Her thoughts swirled upon different ways to air her concerns to her family.
Fed up with the uncomfortable silence, the father's voice broke through "How was school, girls?"
No one responded.
"Petunia?" Mother prompted.
"It was alright. Donna let me braid her hair during lunch. All the girls are asking me to do theirs as well tomorrow," Petunia responded, casting a glance at Lily. The latter's fiery mane had flown free these past months without Petunia's skilful hands tying it back.
"That's nice darling, how about you, Lily dear, how was your day?" Mother asked.
"It was okay. Severus said his mother was feeling unwell, so he couldn't meet me after school today," Lily told her mother. Petunia's lips pursed at the name of the boy. Lily catching the change of expression, glared at her older sister in response.
Sensing the tension, the patriarch quickly turned the conversation to his youngest, "How about you, my little blossom, how was your day?"
"I got called down to Mrs. Lloyd's to talk again today," Clover started but wasn't sure how to continue.
"Is that right? What did you talk about?" her father added.
"Lily and Petunia," the youngest stated bluntly. Suddenly all eyes were on her, and the sound of cutlery scraping ceramic halted.
"She said I should tell you what I told her. It was my assignment, and I should come back and tell her how it went tomorrow," she continued to circle, not wanting to start.
Clover's eyes wandered from the curious expressions on her sister's faces to the comforting smiles on her parents. With a large exhale, she resigned herself to finally share.
"I feel hurt when you two fight because I know you two do not want to be fighting." Clover closed her eyes.
"You want to talk to each other, but you won't, and I don't understand why." She did, but it was harder to put her frustration into words, and this would do.
"I love you, and I know you love each other. Could you please listen and forgive each other and stop this fighting?" Out popped the request, and she finally allowed herself to spare a glance at her sisters.
Their eyes showed pity for the youngest, but the tenseness of Lily's jaw and the clenching of Petunia's fist told they weren't too keen to give in to Clover's request.
Desperation ached in the young one's heart. She felt it pouring over her and out of her in waves. She thought back to all the fun times the girls had shared. From when they would play with dolls together. To when Petunia taught them how to bake biscuits when Mum was too busy. To when they would cuddle together on the loveseat at night, dozing off to the sound of the nightly news their father would watch.
Before her eyes, she watched her sisters relax, and the tenseness leave them in place of consoling smiles. They looked to each other, and still, the hostility did not return.
"I am sorry for what I said about your friend. It was uncouth," Petunia uttered first. Not claiming what she said was false but relenting as much as her fickle pride would allow.
"I am sorry for talking so much about Severus, I know you don't like him, but I feel you misjudged him. He is really nice and smart, Tuney!" Lily returned, and though Petunia was fighting back rolling her eyes, she grasped her sisters hands between her own instead.
"Sisters again?" the elder asked.
"Always," the younger responded.
The remaining Evans wore matching smiles at the sight of the war finally ending, and the youngest finally found it within herself to shovel a forkful of peas into her mouth.
Thank god that was over.