Little Flower

~ Little Flower ~

Written by forbidden-paradise

*

Bláithnat Caldecott was unusual for a 17-year-old girl. On sunny days she frolicked around the gardens of Caerphilly, the Welsh village she lived in, her wavy brown hair streaming out behind her as she ran. Sometimes she would try to catch frogs in the river Rhymney, but they were always too quick for her, darting to another rock for safety. Other days she would sit and watch bumblebees collecting honey, her grey eyes studying them intently as they buzzed about the flowers that grew besides the old wooden footbridge. If it was too wet to go outside, Bláithnat would retreat to her cottage home and attend to material things, such as reading or writing poetry.

But these things weren't weird at all, and most people thought she was an ordinarily inquisitive, talented young woman (she played the violin brilliantly). What the village folk didn't know was that Bláithnat was interested in something else... something that was only present in olden times, when most people were sceptics. What did she believe in? Bláithnat believed in magic.

"Hullo there, little flower," Bláithnat's friend, Tom Riddle, called to her as she sat cross-legged on the river bank, her sandals tossed carelessly beside her.

"Tom, what are you doing here?" she asked as he sat down next to her. "I thought you were staying in Little Hangleton with your Uncle Morfin?"

"I was, but he got a bit crazy like, saying I should be back here and that there were strange things a happening in Little Hangleton." His short black hair was toyed playfully about by a zephyr, and this accentuated his handsome features.

"And you followed his advice? Tom, I thought he was being transported to a mental institute in London?"

"Merope won't allow it - says he's 'just a bit twp, nothing to worry about' and that he would hate it at an institute anyway. She told me to return home after that for reasons she wouldn't divulge."

Bláithnat shrugged, and said nothing. A comfortable silence proceeded, and all the while Tom sensed something was wrong. His friend was not as cheerful as she usually was, and the fact she was sitting down on a beautiful day disconcerted him. He didn't want to perturb the silence, but somehow he found himself breaking it.

"Little flower... I was just wondering, is there anything wrong? Are you in strife with your parents again?" Tom waited for her response with bated breath.

"No," Bláithnat replied quickly, and she turned away from him.

"Well then, what is it?"

"Do you believe in magic?" Bláithnat's sudden words hung in the air like a hovering dragonfly, waiting to be carried along by the wind. Before Tom could even mumble a response, Bláithnat had continued. "I mean, do you think there is something beyond this universe we don't know about yet, something unique like, something that you only hear in fairytales?"

"Are you twisting my leg?" Tom was seriously baffled by her pronouncement, and his deep brown eyes narrowed.

"I do come here often, but have you ever wondered why?"

Tom didn't have an answer to that. Ever since he and Bláithnat met at school, she had always come across as a bit too happy and carefree, almost like one of those environmentalists who wore t-shirts bearing the message, "Save the Trees". She loved the outdoors, and hated it when it rained. Tom often wondered why she was still living in Caerphilly if she hated the rain so much - she could easily move down to Southampton or Crawley, where it would be much warmer. Maybe she was too attached to the pretty little town.

Sometimes, Tom wondered why he stayed friends with Bláithnat, when all the other children treated her like an outcast. What kept him from deserting her? By pushing her away from the realms of reality into the picturesque fantasy world she had made up for herself, would that be wrong of him? Yes, but that wasn't the only reason he didn't leave. Tom was in love with her. She was a poetic flower - opening her arms to the world and hoping the world would welcome her equally with open arms. Ever since he had laid eyes on her, he had loved her. But did she love him?

"I saw a fairy the other day."

Bláithnat had yet again let something totally barbaric spill out of her mouth. This time Tom decided to play along. If she was really pulling his leg, she'd lead him over to where the "fairy" was and point and ask him if he could see it. Then he would say he could (even though there was nothing there) and then they'd laugh and that would be the end of it. On the other hand, what if she wasn't pulling his leg?

"Where'd you see it?" he asked.

"Over by there, beyond the flowers."

Bláithnat pointed to where some beautiful foxglove and forget-me-not grew by the river bank. Tom noticed that they had attracted an exquisite pale blue and yellow butterfly, and he watched it flutter around the flower quite unnaturally. Instead of landing on the flower and collecting the nectar with its proboscis, it seemed to dance upon the petals. He squinted to get a better look, and then suddenly he saw that the butterfly was not a butterfly at all... it was what he had feared - a fairy!

"Bláithnat, how are you doing that? Stop fooling with me," he said disapprovingly, looking at her seriously.

"I'm not doing anything," Bláithnat replied innocently, which irritated Tom, who turned back to stare at the fairy in bewilderment. "I saw her there yesterday, too. I think she likes the forget-me-not flower best, though; tends to leave the foxglove to its own business."

Never had Tom heard Bláithnat talk so casually about strange matters before. Perhaps he should have kept an eye on her more often. It seemed she owned the woodland or something, the way she talked about it. Sometimes Tom swore he heard her talking to the trees - but possibly he had been delirious and imagined it.

Suddenly, Tom heard a high-pitched sound. It sounded like it was coming from where the fairy had been, and both friends turned their heads to that spot. Sitting right upon one of the periwinkle blue flowers, the fairy sat, her wings fanning gently. She had the tiniest brush conceivable in her tiny hand, and was brushing her golden hair to a soft hum. She was wearing a dress of the palest blue, and little threads of yellow crisscrossed through it. Her dainty self was barefoot and clean - not a speck of dust on her. And the most astonishing thing of all was that she had started to sing:

"So small, so blue, in grassy places

My flowers raise

Their tiny faces.

By streams my bigger sisters grow

And smile in gardens,

In a row.

I've never seen a garden plot;

But though I'm small

Forget me not!"

"That's so beautiful," Tom heard himself say. It was completely unexpected. Even Bláithnat was surprised - she knew Tom was normally incredulous about such things.

"Did you know that the origin of that flower's name is based on an Austrian folk-tale? Two lovers were walking along the banks of the Danube, and the girl wanted the boy to rescue a blue flower that was about to be engulfed by the river. Of course, the dutiful boy did as he was told, but unfortunately took a tumble and fell into the river himself! He could not swim against the strong current, and so just before he drowned, threw the blue flower at his lover, and cried, 'Forget me not!' and hence its meaning is love and remembrance." Tom stared at her after this speech, and suddenly found the inner courage he was waiting for.

"I'll never forget you, little flower," he whispered, and he picked a forget-me-not that had been growing beside him, and placed it gently in Bláithnat's hair. She blushed and smiled before she felt his lips touching her own.