Chapter 16
Hermione arrived at work the next day in high spirits, much to the surprise of her co-workers who only the day before had thought her emotionally devastated (again). She didn't feel the need to explain anything to anyone, though, and just breezed past them all with cheery greetings, intent on reaching her office where she would then apply herself enthusiastically to her stack of overdue paperwork.
Her heart was lighter. She finally felt that she had turned a corner in her life. The specter of her relationship with Ron was no longer taking up space in her head and it left her open and free to see something new and exciting right in front of her.
She smiled as she thought of Draco and their date the night before, and so she was smiling when she opened the door to her office to find an enormous bouquet of flowers sitting on her desk. Taken aback for a brief moment, she surmised Draco must have sent them (the deduction skills of the brightest witch of the age).
Her smile widening even further, she set her bags down by the door and quickly crossed the room to take the card that was propped up against the beautifully elegant green and gold vase. It had the initials 'DM' embossed on it, but nothing else. Surprised at the lack of a more profoundly worded note (or even a 'To: HG, From: DM' for clarity), she stood back to admire the blooms.
They were unusual; a blend of magical and non-magical flora. Rather than a simple collection of beautiful flowers, there was something almost intimidating about the power and intensity of the various stalks, leaves, vines and blossoms intricately arranged together. They couldn't rightly be called lovely, but they were fascinating and held the eye.
She was staring at the vase, the card in her hand, when her assistant, Melinda, walked in through the door with the schedule for the day.
Melinda stopped short when she saw what occupied the desk space where Hermione's inbox usually was. "Oh!" she breathed, her hand over her heart. She looked over at Hermione as if asking permission to approach, and then she reverently lifted a hand to gently touch a magnolia, the movement causing a sweet fragrance to stir in the air. Melinda was quite the romantic, despite being well advanced in age (or perhaps because of it, since youngsters these days really have no concept of romance). Hermione was fond of her, thinking of her almost like a grandmother, but she had never realized she had such a soft spot for flowers.
"Such eloquence," Melinda was saying. She was peering at one flower after the next, muttering to herself, a childlike look of glee on her face. "Subtle, but sure. Determined." She gave another sigh and Hermione looked at the flowers again, trying to see what Melinda was fawning over.
Finally, Melinda looked over at her, a slightly embarrassed tinge of color on her face. "I'm sorry, it's been such a long time. It's so rare to see a pure-blood adhering to the old ways anymore." She cast a last glance at the vase and then turned to give Hermione her full attention.
She must have noticed the slightly querying look on Hermione's face, but mistook the meaning, and said, "Well, of course, most of the pure-bloods have been doing away with some of the customs. Ever since the first Wizarding War, but especially in the years since." She looked at the flowers again and shook her head. "Such a shame."
When she looked at Hermione again, there was a twinkle in her eye. "So, who is he?" she teased. "Someone with more class, clearly, than the last pure-blood you'd taken up with." She sniffed disdainfully; Melinda's opinion of Ronald Weasley had always been less than approving, but he had recently sunk even lower in her already low estimation.
Curious, Hermione asked, "How do you know he's a pure-blood?" The card that came with the vase was still in her hands, the raised letters facing inwards against her palm. For some reason, she was reluctant to tell Melinda the identity of the sender of the flowers. There were some things she was still hoping to keep to herself.
Melinda smiled, pleased as always to be of some help. "Oh, you didn't see that one?" She pointed to a flower known as Mystic Merlin. It was nestled, interestingly, among several tentacles of Flitterbloom. "A Wizard's lineage. I've never seen it paired with these before, though. It means acceptance. Pride, maybe?" She digressed, thinking to herself. "He's paired your Muggle heritage with your Wizarding one and matched them both to his own." She shook her head again, "Like I said, very eloquent." Another sigh. Her eyes shifted over to Hermione's, a questioning look on her face, "Could it be…?"
But in the silence, it was clear that Hermione was not inclined to reveal any more about the mystery man's identity. Melinda just smiled to herself and patted the blooms one last time before turning to Hermione. "Don't mind me, dearie. I'm just curious." Then she pulled out the schedule and very professionally reminded Hermione of a few things that would need her attention that morning. But she still had a smile on her face as she waved goodbye to Hermione (and possibly the flowers) and left the office.
After she'd gone, Hermione looked thoughtfully at the floral arrangement sitting on her desk. Then, she carefully pulled out a sheet of paper. After writing a quick request, she sent it to be owled right away.
It wasn't long before she had her answer. She was thinking about the case file in front of her when there was a knock on her door, and a ginger head and the top half of a bald head popped through the open doorway.
The ginger head was Ginny, of course, and Baby Jamie was strapped to his mother's chest in one of those 'confounded Muggle contraptions'. With a cheery wave, Ginny walked in, shutting the door behind her and then stopping short in front of the desk, looking the flowers up and down.
"Blimey," she said in mock awe. "So that's what you meant when you said you needed help identifying some flowers. An odd request, I thought, but since Jamie and I weren't doing anything it seemed better than sitting around the house." She jiggled Jamie in his harness, and he seemed to be a little bit irritated that he couldn't see the flowers in question, being faced in the wrong direction. "I can't help you, though," she added, setting her bag down on one of the chairs and plopping unceremoniously down in the other one. "My family's never been one for the fancy ways."
Hermione forbore to state the obvious by agreeing with her. Instead, she asked, "Do all of the flowers mean something?"
With a shrug, Ginny answered, "Probably. They don't always. A few flowers here and there give some meaning, and that's usually enough. Knowing Malfoy, though, there's probably layers upon layers. Including…" and here she got up to approach the flowers again. There was a silence as she held Jamie's head with one hand and gently pushed aside a cluster of irises with the other, examining the space behind them.
"Yup," she said, triumphantly. "Found it." Hermione came around the desk to look.
The vines and twigs in the middle of the bouquet were carefully twisted around to form a clear space in the center, where there was a single, perfect, tiny red tulip.
"What does it mean?"
"It's the heart of the message, usually. Somewhere in the center. There's a lesser message up top with the daffodils, indicating a very high regard, although it sometimes means unrequited love."
"But what does this one mean? And why is it in that little cage?"
Looking at her, Ginny said, quietly, "It means he's declared himself. It's a formal statement of courtship. Very formal, actually. Usually more suited for an engagement bouquet." She parted the flowers so Hermione could see it better, carefully watching her face, and then continued, "And I imagine it's hidden in there—possibly even shrunken since it seems awfully small—because he's willing to wait until you're ready to accept it." She let the leaves go and they rustled back into place, hiding the little flower. She turned to sit back in the chair. "Who would've thought Malfoy would be such a romantic?"
Overwhelmed, Hermione tried to digest all the things Ginny had just said. Of all the questions running through her head, one was the easiest to ask: "How did you know it was Draco?"
Ginny just rolled her eyes. "Please. As if it could be anyone else. You just called him 'Draco,' for Merlin's sake!" As Hermione still seemed stunned, Ginny asked, "How many times have you seen him, anyway?"
"Eight," Hermione answered, without hesitation.
"Well, there you go!" Ginny figured that proved her point.
In the silence that followed, while Hermione contemplated her flowers and their layers of messages, Ginny watched her. Finally, she spoke what had been weighing on her mind. "Hermione," she began, "are you sure none of this," and she waved at the looming bouquet that symbolized Hermione's new relationship, "has anything to do with Ron?"
Confused, Hermione turned to face her. "What do you mean 'anything to do with Ron'? Why would it have anything to do with Ron?"
Ginny just shrugged, looking for the right words. She and Harry had said many words the night before, but none of them seemed right today. "I just mean, I know you must be in sh—surprised," she corrected herself, "about Ron and Lavender's announcement."
Walking over to the other chair, Hermione sat on the edge of it and thought for a second before replying. "I was very upset, at first." She shook her head quickly, to deny the obvious, "Not because I was jealous and certainly not because I want him back. It just made me feel very carelessly cast aside."
"And then Draco was there," Ginny surmised, trying not to sound like she was making a point. "Making you feel not cast aside."
"Yes. But not like you think. I can be alone. In fact, I rather think I spent much of my relationship with Ron alone. I like having a friend, someone to talk to, and argue with, and Draco's good at being a friend. Well," she amended her statement, "he's good at being my friend. And if we decide to make it more than that—"
"Which you have," Ginny wryly pointed out.
"—then it's because it feels right to us. Did the timing of it have anything to do with Ron marrying Lavender? I don't think so, but it might have. Still, I never would have gone out with him if I didn't actually want to go out with him, and not just a convenient guy who happens to be showing an interest in me when I might be vulnerable."
"Him, meaning Draco Malfoy?" Ginny repeated.
"Yes, that him."
"You can see why I have my doubts, though? It is Draco Malfoy we're talking about."
Hermione made a face. "Merlin, help me, I'm in a relationship with Draco Malfoy." She silently mouthed his name once more. Then they both laughed at how absurd that statement would once have been. They laughed, and then they laughed some more, releasing the tension of the last couple of days, until Ginny felt tears pricking the backs of her eyelids. She had so hoped to be able to truly call Hermione a sister one day. That chance was gone, but as Hermione seemed lighter and even happier, Ginny would not hesitate to let that dream fade, replaced by a much stronger one where Hermione truly met her match.
She went to pick up her bag, feeling she and Jamie were about done here, but Hermione stopped her before she could leave.
"Wait! Should I reply?" She meant the flowers, of course.
Ginny thought about that. "Usually, a witch wouldn't, so I doubt he's expecting you to. But there's nothing that says you can't."
"Okay," she said, her mind already working. And then she thought of one last thing, "Oh, do you suppose I ought to tell Harry?"
Ginny laughed as she and Jamie headed out the door. "Eight times, and you think Harry doesn't know?" With that parting remark, and a gurgle from Jamie, she was gone.
ooo
It was not that long afterwards that an owl arrived at Flourish and Blotts. It was received by Mr. Bellish, and upon opening it, he called out to Mr. Peck in the sparsely populated bookshop. "Mr. Peck, it looks like we'll be wanting that book we set aside for Ms. Granger."
Mr. Peck nodded his acknowledgement and wrapped the book in paper to be sent back with the owl. "Good thing we had it in stock, then, isn't it?"
It was with a wide grin that Mr. Bellish sent it off to Hermione.
ooo
Several hours later, Hermione had made very little progress on her case files but had succeeded in identifying every single one of the plants in her bouquet, thanks to the wonderful book Efflorescent Expressions: The Wizard's Guide to Floral Symbolism for Special Occasions. She discovered that Melinda was right: Draco was very eloquent. Her mind was reeling with thoughts and flowers.
She wondered if Ginny was right about whether she was just feeling lonely and longing for attention. But when she thought of Draco, of their time together, there was a rightness to it that she didn't think was faked or exaggerated. Maybe the timing was a bit inconvenient. She was sure many others would be thinking what Ginny had wondered, and perhaps not so kindly, either.
So she would just need to be sure and think through her decisions carefully.
Beginning with which flower she would send back to Draco. She was torn between three options: the simple white clover that requested he think of her, the sprig of jonquil flowers which indicated a return of his affections or a single lovely carnation that answered his unasked questions with a yes.
She wanted to acknowledge his gift, but rightly admitted that she was not ready to send off a masterpiece of meaning such as he had had delivered to her. But perhaps just a token, so that if he was sitting somewhere feeling like he'd just made himself vulnerable, she could put his mind at ease. She knew if it was her that she'd be very anxious to see how her gift was received.
After a few more minutes of contemplation, she decided on the jonquil, a flutter going through her as she thought of how she'd be opening herself up to being hurt again by revealing even this small piece of her heart. Then she smiled as she thought of Draco and the time they had spent together, and though it might prove foolish later, she somehow felt sure she could trust him. So she owled back the little twig with no card or note. He would know, she was sure.
When it arrived at its destination, strapped to the foot of a bored Ministry owl making its last delivery, it was carefully removed. After being twirled thoughtfully through slim, aristocratic fingers for several minutes, it was carried over to a large mahogany desktop where it was then placed rather cheerily (if such a thing were possible) between two pages of a rather worn and ragged copy of Pride and Prejudice.
ooo
A/N: I've been having a little trouble being in the right mood to write their next dates, but that's what coming up next! Eventually. Sorry to make you wait.