two and three times

It was his eighth birthday that was celebrated for the first time.

(Like, in forever. As in eight years of living.)

This stranger—Harry had heard accidentaly about “people you didn’t know and one thousand and one reasons why you shouldn’t follow them” speech delivered by Aunt Petunia to her Dudley—had not seem really suspicious. In fact she was so nice. She had bought three cups of ice cream, just for him, when he told her he hadn’t tasted the dessert.

Her expression was horrid, mouth agape and her cerulean eyes nearly bulged out. Hence she dragged him to the nearest ice cream parlor.

Time moved so fast he didn’t realise it was evening now. She dropped him at the Dursley’s house and managed to lecture him all about manners and stuff. It was boring, but at the same time, lovely.

“Harry,” she said, eyes bright and sparkling, and he didn’t say anything. “Happy birthday, dear.”

At the end of the day, he learnt her name was Fleur.

For a prompt. Very late, I know.


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