Harry drew a deep breath and let it out as they drew close to the lake. When they'd started out, it was still mostly dark, the sun still miles from the horizon. Snape had summoned a small ball of light that bobbed over their heads, illuminating their every breath as it ghosted in front of them. Now, walking back from the gates, the ball of light had been banished and the sky was blushing lightly, as if ashamed of the clouds that would hide the sun when it broke the horizon.

"It's going to snow soon," The Gryffindor commented idly, sipping at the dregs of his coffee.

Snape hummed. "Earlier than normal. Do you-What is that?"

Harry looked up and saw the man staring at him with mixed amusement, curiosity, and what he thought might be a touch of disdain. He looked down at himself, lifting his arms. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He looked back up.

"What?"

Green eyes followed an obscenely long finger as it moved to his chest and lightly flicked the purple flower pinned to the front of his cloak. Harry glowered at the ridiculous blossom and picked it off of his chest. Neville had given him one every morning since they'd started dating, had even put a vase on Harry's bedside table to keep them in. He'd magically pinned this one to Harry's cloak just yesterday. The Gryffindor continued to glare at the small blossom for a moment before crushing it in his hand.

"I hate petunias."

Snape smirked. "Why is that, I wonder?"

"My aunt Petunia's stupid garden," Harry growled. "It was always my job to tend the damn prize-winning patch. Did I ever get credit for it, though? No! And if something happened to it, like an unpredictable rain shower over-watering it, or Dudley's friends tramping through it, I was punished like it was my fault! Let's see you go through 16 years of that and not come out the other side hating flowers."

"You can't hate all flowers," Snape scoffed.

Harry shrugged his shoulders up over his neck. "I can, and I do." He insisted petulantly.

"Every flower?" Snape tried again, nudging him slightly.

Harry managed a half-smile as he slumped. "Alright, I don't hate all flowers. I like roses, I guess. Mrs. Figg used to cultivate Don Juans along her back fence. She wasn't always the best sitter, but she was better than my relatives. The smell of Don Juans still reminds me that my childhood wasn't all bad."

Snape continued to smirk smugly, and Harry nudged him with his elbow.

"I take it Longbottom is unaware of your preferences?"

"No, I told him," Harry said. "He just thinks that, since it's 'our special flower', I will change my mind. I don't have the heart to explain that it doesn't matter how special he thinks it is, I just think it's a damned weed." He opened his hand and let the wind carry the mangled petals and stem away.

Snape didn't respond, and they completed their walk in silence.

-Break-

The next day, Harry returned to his dorm to change for breakfast and found a gossamer black rose on his nightstand. There was no note with it, and when he picked it up the scent of a Don Juan wafted up at him. He smiled, twirling the long stem slowly in his fingers. A shiver crawled up his spine and his heart fluttered in his chest as he held the black petals to his nose. Then, Neville shifted on his bed, the first sign that he was waking, and Harry pulled the rose away guiltily. His heart was still fluttering, but he felt the cold prick of guilt. Green eyes stared at the vase on his table that held a half-dozen purple petunias. He didn't know much about relationships, but he knew enough to know that he should feel about the daily gifts from his boyfriend at least the same as he felt about the rose, if not more.

The other boys in the dorm started shifting sleepily out from under their blankets, and Harry placed the rose in amongst the flowers in his vase. He determinedly swept away his guilt. It was, after all, just a flower.

Neville rolled out of bed just as Harry moved away from his nightstand to finish dressing.

"Morning…Babe."

Harry smiled as he dug through his trunk for a clean shirt. He knew without looking that the other boy was blushing. The nickname was new, only a few days old, and Neville blushed every time he said it. It had come after an unfortunate attempt at 'Har', which Harry had immediately vetoed. Finding a shirt, he stood up and slipped it onto his shoulders.

"Morning, Nev," He said as the taller boy moved over to him.

"Morning, Har-bear," Seamus crooned from beside his own bed. This sent both him and Dean into raucous laughter. It was an even more unfortunate nickname that had come as a result of Neville's attempt to shorten his name.

Harry rolled his eyes and let Neville place a chaste kiss on his lips as he buttoned his shirt. He doubted he would ever live down the obnoxious name, but found he didn't really care. He was in too good a mood to care. Neville moved away to get his wand from under his pillow, where he had a habit of forgetting it, and paused beside Harry's nightstand.

"What's this?"

Harry looked up from buttoning his cuffs and saw his boyfriend fingering the black rose nestled amongst the purple. He shrugged.

"Dunno, found it on my table this morning. I think it's a hybrid."

"It'd have to be," Neville agreed. "Black roses don't exist naturally even in the Wizarding World. Who sent it?"

Dean appeared suddenly in the space between Harry's bed and Neville's, and Seamus clambered across Harry's mattress, disrupting the orange cat curled up at the foot. Crookshanks hissed and leapt off the bed. Seamus took no notice, and he and Dean cooed annoyingly, making Harry roll his eyes again.

"I don't know, there wasn't a note," The Wizarding Savior said, shrugging into his black school robes.

"Secret admirer?" Dean suggested, looking at the rose.

"Or a secret lover," Seamus added slyly.

Harry reached over and pushed the Scotsman off of his bed. "It's just a flower, prat."

Seamus made kissy noises as he picked himself up off the floor. "You sure?"

"Leave off," Neville said, looking self-conscious.

Harry sighed and touched his boyfriend's shoulder. "It really is just a flower, Neville. I only put it there because I didn't see the harm. It looks nice, and it probably took whoever sent it a lot of work to create. I'll put it somewhere else if it bothers you."

"I-it doesn't," Neville insisted. "It's just what Seamus said, is all. It's beautiful, next to my petunias, and you're right that it was a lot of work. Even with magic, it takes hours, and complicated potions, to grow something like this. Months, if you do it by Muggle means. It can stay, if that's where you want to keep it. Just…you really don't know who sent it?"

Harry shook his head. "No idea. But there's no magic on it, so it probably was just some secret admirer."

This wasn't exactly a lie. Harry couldn't prove his suspicions about the rose's origins, and had no idea of how it might have gotten here if he was right. They'd spent the entire morning together, and it hadn't been here when he first woke up. Neither were there any windows open for an owl to have delivered it in the short span of time they'd been apart before Harry reached his dorm. The rose was simply a mystery.

He allowed Neville a second kiss, even though this caused pretend gagging noises from their friends, and finished dressing. The rose would be joined by another and another, every morning. Soon, the vase on his table would be equally filled with purple and black. Neville never seemed to mind them, only balking nervously whenever Seamus teased Harry about his supposed secret lover. The question of their origin nagged at Harry, but this too joined many others in his 'answers will come' file at the back of his mind. He couldn't very well ask about them, because he'd only look stupid when it turned out Snape knew nothing about the flowers. Roses were a dime a dozen, and the man couldn't possibly be sending them. They probably were coming from one of his many secret admirers, note or no note. And it was such a small thing.