To her horror, Harry began to cry. Again.
"Why do you hate me?" He wailed and stormed off before she could react.
It was hours later before she sought him out, hiding underneath his covers and sniffling. She was no expert in childrearing, as she was reminded of nearly every day, yet she had not been able to figure out how she'd managed to mess up this time. Harry had a friend with whom to indulge his childish urge to roll in the mud. Surely he did not expect such things out of her?
"Would you care to explain what happened today," she said and sat down on the edge of his bed.
She saw the blankets shift as he shook his head. "Harry, come out so we can talk." She forced her tone to remain even. It was ungodly frustrating how childish he acted sometimes. She tried to treat him like an adult, and that mostly worked well for them. Until situations like these. They tussled with the blanket as she tried to pry it off and Harry kept his grip firm.
"Look, kid. I don't hate you. I'm mad you spilled my tea and interrupted my reading but that doesn't mean I hate you."
"You didn't want to play with me, though!"
"Is that important to you?" she asked, confused about his thought process. "We spend several hours a day together."
"But that's always schoolwork!" Harry pulled his head free of the covers and fixed her with a truly pathetic and grim pout, his face covered in tears and snot. "You never want to do anything fun with me. 'Cuz you don't like me and you only teach me 'cuz you have to!"
Alabasandria frowned and pondered this. It was a childish deduction, but it was true she did not make extra time for him. Harry was not interested in her hobbies and so could not join her in leisure. He did enough potion brewing and reading lessons to not consider it exciting or fun. What else was there to occupy their time besides work and the occasional extracurricular grave-robbing?
"I read to you, and you help me cook dinner sometimes," she offered.
"I like it when we do that. But we've read Beedle the Bard eight times already and you always turn things into lessons. I want to do some things just for fun, and not things about corpses. The crayons I got for my birthday are great, but the only things I have to draw in are those anatomy books you gave me."
Alabasandria opened her mouth to complain. Some of those books were nearly a thousand years old and certainly not be colored in! But, Harry had cried once today. She let loose a very long lungful of air. It was fine. Who needed priceless heirlooms to be in mint condition?
"I will consider this. Have you any ideas for an activity?" She said once she'd forced her anger down.
"I'm not sure," Harry admitted, going withdrawn and shy once more. "I haven't quite figured out what children do when they aren't learning necromancy or doing chores."
"I am not certain either. Perhaps this is something we should ask the Lovegoods for help with. We'll go tomorrow and ask about appropriate leisure activities. But today you're grounded. I don't appreciate you yelling and kicking. I did not know children required fun, if you need something you should tell me with your words instead of throwing a fit. And for all that is unholy, stop coloring in my books."
"You yelled too!" Harry protested. "That means you're grounded."
Alabasandria withheld the urge to yell some more. Harry did not like it, and for all the drama the child caused, it was not worth him becoming scared of her. She'd discovered that he was a very sensitive child. She was unsure how she'd been so unlucky but Harry needed a gentle hand, something beyond difficult for her to comprehend.
"Yes, I suppose that is fair." She finally said. "We'll both go to bed without dessert, how about that? But you haven't had any dinner yet, so go do that and then it's time for bed."