starry - eyed

their place was cleaner than it had ever been, every surface dusted and scrubbed and the floor nearly shining. it had been exhausting, but henri been bored when they decided it was the perfect time to deep clean the common areas. now, they laid on the ground, arm over their eyes to block out the overhead light. “we do, yeah. but let’s never do that again.”

valentine’s flash tattoos wasn’t a particularly original idea. it was, perhaps, the most basic idea in fact beyond the obligatory friday the 13th flash sales. but henri was nothing if not dedicated to their craft. their sketchbook, bright pink and covered in hearts and gifted to them by eliza, was filled to the brim with ideas for just that.  at that exact moment henri was rushing down diagon alley, eyes peeled for the side street that you spit them out closest to the tattoo shop, coffee in hand and sketchbook held close to their chest. they were already late, their first client of the day surely sitting down in the parlour. it was also in that exact moment when a page slipped from their sketchbook. “shit, shit, shit!” in their ensuing panic their coffee was forgotten, splattered on the ground in a mess of whip cream and caramel as they rushed to grab it. the paper, covered in red and pink and hearts and arrows, drifted in the air, past bodies of others rushing on their commutes and settled on the street. “grab that! please grab that!”

since the malfoy ball, henri had been staying at the fawley house, lucky if they didn’t end sharing their bed with eliza. but they’d come in late tonight, their last appointment of the day stretching later into the night than they hoped. the door opened with the reliable creak that it always did, and no matter how softly they tip-toed the solid, heavy sole of their boots echoed in the hall. it was barely a moment after they stepped in when they heard eliza call out. “sorry, sorry, sorry.” they rushed towards eliza, quickly pressed a kiss to her cheek. “work ran late. i visited diana over lunch so my afternoon had a late start.”

“you would look so pretty with a tattoo. maybe one of those like minimalist like taylor swift or phoebe bridgers lyrics.” henri was not a taylor swift person, and had in fact turned down a handful of tattoo requests for the exact sort of tattoo that they were proposing—considering it tacky sort of thing but a few drinks in and in front of a pretty person, they’d say anything. “or flowers! you look like a flower tattoo type of person.”

a sober henri would’ve said no to the request to give a grace moody a stick and poke tattoo at this point in the night. wrock de seine wasn’t the best place to get a tattoo, really. most of the ones they had done so far had been for people who were leaving that day—not those that would be living in the sun-soaked grime of the festival till it crawled to a close. and they had a strict rule against tattooing anyone who seemed even a little less than sober.  but the performances has come to a close earlier that night, the sun already set and henri already pleasantly buzzed when they made their way back to the tent they shared with the rest of markus scarr’s crew. by the time grace moody stumbled by and asked for a tattoo, the reason that would’ve led henri to say no had been dulled by a drink or two too many. “what do you want? like a dolphin or something? you look like a dolphin tattoo type of person.”

“do you actually know how to set up a tent?” it hadn’t even been a full day yet. in fact, the festival hadn’t yet even opened for the first day. but they’d shown up early, bags packed and shoved into a van they had paid someone else to drive for them. the tent, a large and far more elaborate than the neighboring tents around them and a gift from eliza, was unpacked and laying flat on the patch of land they rented. “because i might have lied when i said that i knew how to put a tent together.”

henri had never been a particularly athletic person. they’d been the sort of kid that got stuck in the occasional and might’ve been put on a leash if eliza was a different sort of parent. but sports, at least the sort of team sport that quidditch was, had always been a touch too regimented for them. “okay so you’re telling me i can’t just wake up tomorrow and look like that tomorrow. that sucks.” 

“it’s not even embarrassing for you!” henri grinned. they were technically talking to mr. fawley too, a family bonding night that henri had insisted on but had largely just been eliza and henri talking to each other once ezra went to bed. they turned to him then. “so it’s christmas a few years ago. i think it was the year before i graduated beauxbatons.” they turned their attention back to eliza then, seemingly done trying to make it seem like he was actually included in the converstation. “i’m carrying in the mashed potatoes and i stepped on one of ezra’s toes. i fell and the mashed potatoes went everywhere. mom was wearing them for the rest of the night, i think.”

it was a comedy of errors, really. henri stumbled, tripping over their own feet, as they walked away from the pick up counter. they steadied themself before they fell. unbeknownst to them, during the stumble some of their hot chocolate sloshed over the edge of their cup and landed on the floor in front of them. they wrote the stumble off as a close call and kept walking. they stepped in the small, unknown puddle of hot chocolate and their foot slid forward, and they hit the ground. in the stumble, the hot chocolate slipped out of their hand and flew backward—hitting one justin finch-fletchley. “shit, dude.” they sat on the ground still, not quite ready to hype themself up to stand back up, and tilted their head back to look up at justin. “i’ll pay for your dry cleaning?” 

henri was, at that moment, sprawled across the floor in the living room, a blanket their grandmother made wrapped around them. the persistent backpain and the compression gloves that they now wore in the evenings weren’t things they expected to come from their job as tattoo artist but they had. “what movie did you have in mind?” they sat up. tried to sit up, tangled up in the blanket in a way that limited their ability to do so without unwrapping themself, and ended up sitting only a quarter of the way up and awkwardly propped on their elbows. 

henri stood there for a moment, visibly buffering while they took in what keira had just said. they closed the flash portfolio that they had been showing her. “so do you want a tattoo or not?” no matter how much they wanted the money that tattooing someone promised, they wanted them to at least be confident that they wanted a tattoo. regret was bad for business. “because we can always do this later? we do flash events every few months.”

“what do you think about this one?” henri held up a rather garish potted plant. the plant itself wasn’t the issue—no it was a fairly simple plant with clusters of light purple spiky petals and multiple clusters coming off each stem. if they took a moment to read the label stuck into the soil they’d learn it was a purple variety of flossflower. and if they read further, they would realize it probably required a bit too much care for their desire to just stick something on the dining table and forget about it. of course, they didn’t, would only do so when two weeks later it was already dead. the atrocious part was the pot. it was, in theory, a witch’s hat. but it was a horribly malformed thing—the brim of the hat was stretched too wide leaving it a thin oval and the top of the hat had been opened up to allow for it to actually function as a pot. the colors were fine, a shiny black for most of it and a wide purple stripe where the brim met the base of the hat. all in all, it looked like a misshapen and oddly colored traffic cone. “i love it more than i have loved anything else.”

“mom!” henri rolled away from eliza, an unsophisticated lunge backwards and towards the edge of the bed and just about to topple off. they reached out and grabbed eliza, their grasp on their mom’s arm the only thing that saved them from a few new bruises. “i knew i should’ve just gone back to astoria’s place.” they said, phrased as if they hadn’t lived there for around a year now. the fawley house, even without childhood memories there and with no warm fuzzy feelings attached to it, was a comfort they decided not to deny themself after the attack. it was thanks to eliza more than anything else, their mother never too far away when they were tucked away in the bedroom kept for them. “don’t you dare.” they pushed themself up into a sitting position, reached for the bag of pastries. “ezra’s a nightmare when you give him caffeine.” a pause, eyes wide, before they hastily added, “not that i’ve ever given him coffee. that be so irresponsible.”

there was just one more round of questioning, at least that’s what henri had been told. they’d gotten home the night after the derby attack after answering a few questions and giving their statement after what they’d seen in the attack. a few more questions and a few pictures to look at, a chance to identify the death eater that they had kicked. they stepped onto the elevator. “oh, i was gonna just take the stairs but thanks.”