Harry grimaced as he transfigured yet another rose. Why wasn't it working? They'd gone over transfigurations like this, last year! Yet every time he tried to transfigure a rose it was half-red!
He'd hoped to get this done tonight so he could present them to Hermione on Christmas morning.
Harry had been quite pleased with his idea originally. Everyone always got Hermione books, and while he was sure she loved them, he liked to be a bit more creative. Almost every girl liked flowers, and Hermione had never gotten any. She would appreciate the fact that he had remembered she was a girl. Plus, a bouquet of yellow roses would be nice. Something bright and happy to counteract the gloominess brought on by Umbridge's reign.
Yellow roses signify brightness and happiness. They also signify friendship and are one of the roses with the most well known meaning after red roses.
He had come up with the idea when he had stumbled across a book on the Language of Flowers in a muggle bookstore over the summer and impulsively bought it as a gift for his friend. The large tome had been more fascinating than Harry had expected, full of history and symbolism. In one of the chapters he had flipped through he'd seen that yellow roses were used as a symbol of friendship and felt sure Hermione would notice and appreciate the symbolism.
Except his flowers weren't yellow!
Sighing, he turned to one of his friends.
"Hey, Nev! Help me with something, would you?"
"Sure, Harry." Neville replied
Neville walked over and looked curiously at the large pile of bi-colored roses.
"I'm trying to transfigure Hermione some yellow roses for Christmas, but they keep turning out wrong!" groaned Harry.
Neville clucked sympathetically, "Ouch, I hate it when spells turn weird. Try transfiguring one for me?"
Harry's face twisted at the thought, but he waved his wand again, concentrating on making Neville a yellow rose. They were both shocked when it turned out perfect, long stemmed and bright yellow.
Harry spluttered, "But-but that's exactly what I've been doing this whole time!"
"Maybe your intent is muddled? That's the only reason I can think of, if you really have been doing the exact same thing this whole time." Neville said.
"Might be. Thanks, Neville."
Harry prepared to cast again, ensuring that he focused on his intent.
I need to make some perfect roses for Hermione, something to show her that I appreciate her, and am happy around her, and that I think of her. They need to be yellow for my friendship and-
Harry frowned.
"Friendship and?" That must be where his intent was breaking off, friendship and... something else. But what?
His heart sank as he looked at the red and yellow roses. The answer was really quite obvious wasn't it? Everyone knew what red roses meant. What had the book said?
Red roses indicate strong feeling of the romantic sort, burning passion and deep love. These roses are almost always given to lovers and partners.
Friendship and love.
He picked up a rose and with a wave of his wand it turned deep red. He could take his chances. Give her a bouquet of red roses and hope for the best.
His chest tightened.
What if she didn't feel the same way? What if he put her on the spot, and she panicked and things became awkward? Another passage of the book flowed through his mind.
Orange roses are half the passion of red, half the happiness of yellow. They mean friendship turning to love.
That might work. Hermione wouldn't know the meaning of orange, but she would undoubtedly look it up in her dorm first chance she got. That would give her time to think it over and hopefully reject him gently. Or, and he barely dared think it, she could accept him.
Plan made, Harry picked up a dozen roses and turned them orange, vanishing the rest. Then, he put them in a vase and went to bed, heart hammering.
Twelve roses are the most traditional romantic gift. They symbolize "be mine"
He almost abandoned his plan.
Looking at the roses in the light of the morning, heart in his throat, he had almost lost any of the hope he had had last night. But, Harry Potter wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing and despite how new the realization was, he really wanted this. He picked up the roses and wrapped book and went downstairs.
Hermione was waiting for him, wrapped in her robe and grinning happily.
"Hey, Harry!"
Harry grinned back, some of his nervousness had lessened on the sight of his best friend.
He took a deep breath, "Er- here, Hermione. I thought you might like some flowers, I charmed them to stay fresh, and the book kind of goes along with that. It tells about the Language of Flowers, see, and I thought it looked interesting. I don't know if you know anything about the Language of Flowers-"
Hermione interrupted his slightly nervous rambling by sticking out her right hand and gently taking the flowers.
"Harry, they're beautiful."
She looked up, biting her lip and seeming oddly hesitant.
"You know, I don't know much about the Language of Flowers, but, I have done some research on roses."
Harry's heart rate sped up. Oh Merlin, she knew what they meant! Would this be the moment? The moment she rejected him?
"Do you mean it?" Her eyes were wide and brown, and she seemed on the edge of tears.
Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly and replied, "Er- well- yeah, I love you, Hermione. I reckon you've always been the one for me, even if I was too blind to see it and I was hoping-," He took a deep breath, nothing for it. "-you wouldn't mind... being my girlfriend?"
"Oh Harry!" And she flung herself into his arms sobbing happily.
Harry patted her on the back, feeling dangerously hopeful.
"Does that mean yes?"
She pulled away and looked at the roses still clutched in her right hand.
"Of course, Harry"
When bouquets are used to ask a question, receiving it with the right hand means acceptance.