Work Text:
The women in her family had always been susceptible, something not even her aunt had tried to deny – the disease wasn’t magical, not in the Wizarding World sense of magic, so it wasn’t freaky per se. It was something that could affect anyone, however, no matter their social standing or heritage.
Her aunt often spoke of a cousin, who had kept coughing up bluebells until the day she died, love forever unrequited. Don’t fall in love her aunt had warned her, the kindest thing she’d ever heard under the roof of 4 Privet Drive. It did explain several things about her aunt and uncle, however, how the two of them seemed at most cordial to each other – if there was no love, the love could not be unhappy.
Heather thought it must be a desperately sad life, living in so much fear of eventually being in pain that you never dared open yourself up for feelings.
Until she started coughing up dahlias, that was. She understood then, why her aunt told her to never fall in love. Not that Heather had really planned on falling in love, especially not with the aloof Slytherin not many had heard speak, much less talked to.
She had seen him, however, helping first years find their way around, helping them with their homework, consoling the homesick ones… he was a singularly kind man, and he probably didn’t know she existed in any other capacity than as Lady Heather Black-Potter, the Girl-Who-Conquered. She had nevertheless hoped for a contract from him to appear, an offer, anything to show the least bit of interest.
Sirius, as her blood-adopted father, did traditionally have the final say, but he’d told her that - while he would prefer her to go into a convent because how could any man ever deserve her - she would be the only one to accept anything from suitors. So far she hadn’t, because none of the delivered offers had been decked out in the Nott livery, and if she were to bond with anyone, it would be Heir Theodore Nott.
When that realisation had struck, that’s when she had coughed up her first dahlia petal. It was a very fitting flower she found when looking up the meaning of it – elegance and dignity. Heather had never seen any wizard as dignified as Heir Nott, never a hair out of place.