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Summary
Harry Potter did not know what the flower over his heart meant until one night when he was seven years old and his fat and loud cousin asked his mother what the yellow rose on his chest meant. Of course, Harry, being somewhat of their personal gardener, knew that the rose, because of its color, was symbolic of jealousy. He also knew that the purple hyacinth on his heart stood for sorrow. Aunt Petunia had sighed, and told her son the rose stood for love anyway. Harry lied to himself, just as his aunt had lied to his cousin. Harry lies to himself a lot.
Credit this AU to RayShippouUchiha, and her story Hide A Heart of War. (Thank You!)
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Bookmark Notes:
1. Harry earned more and more flowers but none could match the Zinnia's spreading from his chest to his pelvis signifying the death of Cedric, and the thickness they gained when Sirius died as well. Harry had Hyacinths gathered through every willow branch. Purple. Sorrow. Regret.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Harry was sorry and no matter how many times people told him it wasn't his fault he had a hyacinth on his heart that told him they were wrong.
The scar down his arm ripped away the willow there and was replaced by Burdock flowers. Harry realized they stood for Voldemort's touch, and was not surprised.
Harry's arms screamed sorrow, and sadness, his feet humility and happiness and his ankles pain and pleasure and disappointment. His hands said magic and his shoulders said affection and misfortune and his ear said be careful. His forehead and arm said don't touch me but his heart - his heart said "I'm sorry." His chest said death and his chest said I remember.
2. Harry feels bad that where he'd expected a tiger lily (wealth and pride) the flower over Malfoy's heart was a sprig of Ivy. Anxious to please and affection. He let Harry's eyes roam over himself, documenting the Hydrangeas (thank you for understanding) next to the Ivy, the Holly (Defense) around his shoulders, the few bunches of sorrell near his neck, where nightshade similar to Harry's grew. Orange lilies down his ribcage and Harry wondered if they were all his. Geraniums (stupidity) on his chest seemed out of place and he wondered why they were bunched together with clematis flowers. Beautiful stupidity. Harry wants to ask, but keeps looking. He takes in the cactus flowers (constancy) and the Narcissus flowers curling around petunia's up his arms, a light smattering of willow mixed in, though nowhere near as thick as Harry's.
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