She was curled into his chest, wrapped in his arms on the sofa, peering over her shoulder at the book he was reading to her from, one hand holding the book up so that he could see, the other stroking her strawberry blonde hair. She was four or five in this memory, he couldn’t quite tell, and she was in the middle of her asking him to read Charlotte’s Webb to her constantly phase (they must have finished and restarted it ten times). Harry never said no though - he wouldn’t turn down these cuddles for anything. She always cried at the end though, and so naturally Harry always cried too. This was the last time she ever asked him to read this book to her though.