Chapter 37: Hermione
Even the Flowers
"At first things were very confusing. Everything was so entirely different from the world I had known—even the flowers." — H.G. Wells,The Time Machine
A short while earlier—
The Greenhouse, Castle Sauvan
The greenhouse was warm and smelled like freshly tilled earth. Hermione was awed as she gazed around the vast expanse—it was at least as big as a Muggle football pitch.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high, and beams of sunlight filtered through the massive glass panels above. Rows of plants stretched out as far as Hermione could see, some small in delicate green ceramic pots, others towering over her head like trees. The magical extension charm on the greenhouse made it feel like they had stepped into another world, far beyond the stone walls of Castle Sauvan.
She crouched in front of a plant with vibrant purple leaves and pulsing yellow veins that glowed softly in rhythm with her breathing. It was an Indistera, a rare plant known for its luminescent properties and often used in healing potions for energy restoration.
Malfoy was still talking to Parkinson and Theo a few strides from where she crouched. Hermione shut her eyes, indulging in the rich sound of his voice.
Malfoy had walked them through the estate's magical laboratories with ease and confidence, which she found unsettlingly attractive.
As he spoke, she was struck by how his voice deepened when he explained complex potion theory or referenced obscure magical history. She had always known Malfoy to be intelligent—he had been competitive, especially in exams—but hearing him now, after years of honing his skills and learning beyond the classroom, was entirely different.
"In terms of magical architecture," Malfoy's voice broke into her thoughts. She glanced up from the Indistera to see him standing beside a row of towering trees, their branches almost brushing the glass ceiling.
He gestured toward the triple-paned windows lining the far end of the greenhouse. "The Forbins were the first to develop these particular greenhouse designs. My grandfather, Abraxas, tried to model the ones at Malfoy Manor after this place, but the Ministry stopped it. They claimed the extension charms were too unstable for private residences. Of course, the Forbins knew what they were doing. ..."
Hermione stood, brushing the dirt from her hands, and found herself oddly mesmerized by the way Malfoy's expression softened when he spoke of his family's history. The light from the enchanted glass overhead made his pale hair and sharp features glow. He was like a nymph from mythology. Hermione inwardly chuckled, thinking Malfoy would hate being called a nymph.
Perplexing, too, was that Malfoy wasn't sneering or mocking anyone; he was talking, sharing pieces of his life. And that flutter in Hermione's stomach—the one she had been feeling since they had made eye contact by the fountain—intensified.
She turned away quickly, feigning interest in a nearby flowering vine that spiraled upward toward the ceiling. Its blossoms shifted from pink to deep red, and the flutter wouldn't stop.
What was that feeling? It was wholly inconvenient.
As Malfoy continued talking—something about the craftsmanship of the glass and how it maintained the greenhouse's temperature—Hermione focused on the steady beat of her heart, which seemed to have quickened in time with the shifting colors of the vine.
Hermione clenched her jaw and willed her inconvenient feelings to disappear. But it was impossible to ignore how her body reacted to him. Was this just a strange physical response to being in close quarters with someone she had been infuriated by for years? Or was it something else?
A sharp feminine voice pulled Hermione out of her reverie, and she almost jumped. "Granger."
Parkinson raised dark, slender eyebrows at Hermione and lightly crossed her bare arms over her waist. Hermione looked around and was surprised to see that Malfoy and Theo were nowhere to be found. "They're looking for a penis-shaped flower that Theo read about," Parkinson revealed.
Hermione blinked, her brain whirring to catch up with Parkinson's words. "Oh! Do you mean the Pernisial Flower? It's supposed to transfigure to mimic a different bloom every minute in places of high magical energy during warm months, though it goes dormant in the winter. It's the perfect time to see it."
Parkinson rolled her eyes. "How do you know that?"
"I know Theo is interested in transfiguration, and the flower is well known for its natural transfigurative properties. Very rare, but I read in my guidebook that there is a specimen here."
"Of course you did."
Hermione nodded, wondering if walking off to look for the flower herself would be rude. She started to meander down the rows of raised plant beds casually and was relieved when the other witch followed beside her without any complaint.
"That's a nice dress, Granger," Parkinson commented, her dark eyes wandering up and down the calf-length skirt of Hermione's sundress.
Hermione self-consciously ran her hand over the pleats of her skirt, though the creases were immaculate. It was one of her favorites that Lavender had packed.
"Ron's wife Lavender made it."
"Lavender Brown, right?" Parkinson inquired, clearly interested.
Hermione nodded, distracted momentarily by a shoulder-height shrub with bright turquoise berries that she did not recognize.
"And does the fabric have any magical properties? Self-adjusting hemline? Reinforcement wards on the straps?"
"Oh, er…"
Pansy Parkinson had never been on her list of people she expected to have a casual chat with—let alone discuss fashion. And yet here they were, walking together through an enchanted greenhouse like friends. It was surreal.
"I don't know the specifics."
Parkinson had her arms crossed again. "You don't know if the dress is enchanted?" she asked, her tone sharp, almost disbelieving.
Hermione, caught off guard, shook her head. "I—I think it might be. Lavender usually does something with her fabrics, but I'm not sure about the details. There are definitely extension charms on the pockets."
Parkinson rolled her eyes and made a sound of irritation. "Honestly, Granger, you're supposed to know everything. At least get a handle on the clothes you're wearing."
A little flustered, Hermione rubbed her hands against the material of her dress, feeling oddly defensive. "Clothes have never been my area of expertise," she admitted. "Lavender's been trying to get a design line going, and since I get photographed a lot—"
"I am well aware," Parkinson interjected, giving her a once-over. "You were on the cover of Witch Weekly last week in that red dress with the hot werewolf lawyer. Brown made that one, too, didn't she?"
Hermione's cheeks burned at the mention of Joseph. She hadn't expected Parkinson, of all people, to notice that particular magazine cover. "Yes," she muttered. "Lavender designed that dress, too."
Parkinson's dark eyes gleamed with something that almost resembled amusement, and she tilted her head slightly. "Did she cut it that low so that you could make the hot werewolf lawyer happy?"
Hermione sputtered, her face now thoroughly flushed. "It wasn't that low!"
Parkinson threw her head back and laughed, and to Hermione's surprise, it wasn't the cruel laugh she expected, the one that used to accompany pointed jabs in the Hogwarts corridors. This laugh was light, almost playful. "Oh, Granger," Parkinson said between chuckles, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "You are so easy to rile up."
Hermione didn't know what to make of that, so she smiled awkwardly. The two of them had made their way to the far end of the greenhouse, where enchanted ferns were swaying gently, as though a soft breeze was passing by, though the air was perfectly still. The rhythmic movement of the plants was oddly calming.
Hermione reached out her left arm to touch the soft fronds. They looked and felt Muggle, but she was almost sure that not a single plant there was mundane.
"So," Parkinson said, her voice quieter now, "how was your date with the werewolf lawyer? You looked pretty cozy in that photo."
Hermione blinked, taken aback. "That's a rather personal question, don't you think?"
The dark-haired witch shrugged, unbothered. "Please, Granger. Here's something personal: I haven't had a shag in ages. I'm living vicariously here."
Hermione swallowed hard, feeling sudden discomfort at how easily Parkinson breezed through such topics. Her stomach twisted as she considered how to respond.
"It's … new," she began hesitantly, her mind flashing back to how Joseph had kissed the sensitive skin under her jaw in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, which only made her more sheepish. "We haven't…" Her voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging awkwardly in the air.
Parkinson gave her a knowing look, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "It was just one photo, but Lord Joseph Dearborn Avery looked at you like you were a snack. And, honestly, I have to agree."
"Thank you?" Was Pansy Parkinson complimenting her?
She grinned wickedly. "Stunning. Everyone knows red suits you. A bit on the nose for the Gryffindor Princess, but classic is classic."
Before Hermione could react coherently, Pansy reached into her handbag and pulled out a small piece of parchment. With an easy flick of her wrist, she handed it to Hermione.
It was a business card, elegant in its simplicity.Parkinson Acquisitions. Rare Material Import/Export.
"Give that to Brown," Pansy told her. "I have many contacts for fabrics that hold enchantments very well, even ones of a more casual make."
Hermione stared at the card, momentarily taken aback. "I had no idea you did this," she murmured, turning it over.
Parkinson gave a small, smug smile. "I had help from my mother—startup funding—but I became profitable in only five years, which is faster than most can say."
Hermione nodded slowly. "I'll pass it along," she said, still processing that Parkinson had become a successful businesswoman. Then she felt guilty for making assumptions about another witch's ambition.
But Parkinson wasn't done. She fixed Hermione with a sharp gaze, her tone turning serious. "I meant what I said earlier, Granger—water under the bridge. Tell Brown I'm not harboring any house rivalries anymore. This is a business inquiry."
Hermione thought about her words and the way she spoke with such conviction. The Slytherin's attitude wasn't what Hermione had expected—not in the slightest. Slowly, Hermione nodded. "Sure thing," she said, slipping the card into her pocket. "You can call me Hermione, you know."
A flicker of something passed across Parkinson's face, but it was gone in a second. She gave a quick, casual nod. "Pansy works, too."
Hermione grazed her hand one last time over the fronds of the ferns, wondering whether they were Amazonian Sparking Ferns, known for reinforcing magical barriers, or Osmandian ferns from Southeast Asia, known for cleansing magical energy. The shapes were similar, but Hermione wasn't familiar enough to differentiate between them.
She did not, in fact, know everything.
Hermione turned back toward Parkinson—Pansy—who was looking at her oddly. Hermione shifted under the scrutiny, looking past the witch to see if she could spot the telltale blue roots of the Pernisial Flower.
"You want to go find the penis flower, don't you?"
Hermione frowned. "It's the Pernisial—"
"Yes, alright, let's go."
They wandered through the maze of plants, passing through shadowy passages where tall shrubbery and thick hanging vines obscured the dappled light from the glass ceiling.
They heard voices in the distance, and Pansy led them to a circular opening in the greenhouse's paths. Theo crouched over what appeared to be a large elephant ear plant with shocking pink and green leaves. Malfoy stood a few steps away, arms crossed and frowning.
"Is that a caladium?" Hermione inquired, approaching Theo. Malfoy jerked into awareness, eyes trained on Hermione as she came to a stop. "Odd to have such a Muggle plant in here."
"Even better!" Theo whispered, voice brimming with elation. He glanced up at Hermione, grinning widely. "Come here, it's almost time."
Hermione's eyes widened as she crouched down beside him. "Is this—"
"Shh!"
Hermione kept quiet, eyes trained on the caladium, at which Theo was staring feverishly.
A few moments passed, silent except for some indistinguishable muttering from Pansy and Malfoy behind them. Then, the roots of the caladium pulsed with a vibrant blue light, and Hermione gasped. Thiswasthe Pernisial Flower! She was rapt beside Theo as the light pulsed through the stems and leaves as they transformed. Hermione even reached out to clasp Theo's shoulder.
A moment later, instead of the large pink leaves of the caladium, there was a beautiful flowering yellow rosebush.
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "Did you see that?!"
"It's the Pernisial Flower!" Theo replied in an equally excited tone. He stood, bringing Hermione up with him.
"Yellow roses," Hermione pointed. "But—"
"The flower of friendship," Theo said, giving her a knowing look.
Hermione gaped. "But you—"
"I know!" He looked giddy.
"Did it—"
"I think this thing must be sentient."
"But I've never read anything—"
"Me either!"
"Disgusting," Pansy sneered from across the path. "Swots in action."
Theo smiled at Pansy with apparent indulgence. "Don't be bitter, Pansy. Come see what the flower says about you."
Pansy sniffed. "No."
"Don't be like Draco," Theo teased.
Hermione eyes whipped almost magnetically to the face beneath the blonde locks that stuck out in the verdant space of the greenhouse. Malfoy looked—it nearly made Hermione laugh. He looked like he was pouting. But then his eyes found hers, and his face went blank.
Hermione frowned.
"What's got you all in a knot?" Pansy asked Malfoy.
"Nothing."
"He got a yellow marigold," Theo said, smirking. "Just one."
"What does that mean, again? I'm so out of practice from my finishing lessons." Pansy looked up as if trying to find the answer in the air.
"Despair, grief, jealousy," Theo responded. He walked over to pat Malfoy on the shoulder, leaving Hermione to admire the yellow rosebush alone. "Cheer up, mate."
"What do you have to despair about?" Pansy frowned. "Too many galleons?"
"Too handsome?" Theo offered in mock sympathy.
"Oh, shove it," Malfoy snapped at his friends, storming across the path. Hermione watched with only a bit of horror as his movement brought him within arm's reach of her. He seemed to realize it a moment too late, and when he paused his stride, his eyes widened, and he turned to face Theo and Pansy again, clearly to avoid looking at her.
Hermione crossed her arms. Well, if he would be aloof and avoidant, so could she.
"Oh, look! It's happening again!" Theo cried, pointing toward the Pernisial Flower. Hermione turned to look, but unfortunately, the flower was positioned slightly between where she and Malfoy were standing. They angled inward toward each other and the flower, which was pulsing with blue light again.
And then, where a yellow rose bush had been moments earlier, there was now a coral rose bush. The pink-orange blossoms fanned out in full bloom.
Hermione furrowed her brow. Roses again?
"Roses again?" Pansy whined. "So boring."
"Coral roses, Pans." Hermione turned back to look at Theo. His voice was happy in an amused and mischievous way that Hermione was becoming increasingly familiar with regarding him. Her mind whirred, trying to pull up her limited knowledge of flowers. She had known yellow. Red was love. Pink was happiness. White was innocence.
Hermione huffed in frustration. What did it mean? It's not like coral was a standard color of rose.
"Coral—oh," Pansy murmured. "Oh." She broke out into a wicked grin.
"What is it?" Hermione inquired, eyes darting between Theo, Pansy, and Malfoy. Malfoy was stony-faced.
"They generally meandesire, Hermione," Theo supplied.
"Must be because I desire to leave," Malfoy quipped.
"Not that kind." Pansy's dark eyes were alight.
Hermione had no idea what sort of covert conversation the Slytherins were having with their pointed glances. They could send implicit missives toward one another with a slight head tilt.
Desire. Malfoy. Her.
Hermione felt herself blush yet again. Not the pink-tinged cheeks that happened often enough when she was excited or slightly self-conscious. No, she began to blush from her chest—a deep red sort of thing that crept up her neck and made her acutely aware of the hot and humid air of the greenhouse.
She was afraid to meet Malfoy's eyes.
"Well," Hermione tried but found her voice slightly off-pitch. She cleared her throat. "Well, this is fascinating. Theo, have you been timing the transformations? I believe the book I read said every minute, but only in the height of summer—which I suppose it is. I wonder if the presence of our magic is affecting the flower or if it transforms in a pattern based on the dew point or weather. I might have something on the subject in my bag."
Hermione rummaged around in the pocket of her dress and pulled out her beaded bag. But one of the beads snagged on her skirt's fabric, and when Hermione pulled it free, the tension caused the bag to slip from Hermione's hands.
The bag fell to the footpath between her and Malfoy, the beads clinking against the stone—followed by the thud of about a hundred books within.
"Oh no, not the books," Hermione moaned. She leaned forward and bent to pick up her now-disorganized bag, but Malfoy beat her. His hand grasped the leather straps, and they rose in unison.
And Hermione made the colossal mistake of looking at him and noticing that he was looking at her—all over her, her exposed collarbone, her chest, her shoulder. He had a perfect view as they stood from their hunched-over position. If she hadn't been blushing before, she certainly was now. His eyes were like steel.
"It's happening again!" Theo exclaimed.
And Hermione watched the flower transform again as she compartmentalized her emotions—Malfoy. Desire. Her. Roses. His breath on her lips. Steel gray.—because though she was barely holding herself together, this was a truly special magical plant, and the available documentation was quite poor. She marveled as the blue pulses of energy caused the thorny bush to warp.
Into—what?
"Is that dill?" she asked, not to anyone in particular. She resolved to find a tome on Flower Language when she returned to England. Or maybe the tiny magical neighborhood by her hotel would have a bookshop.
Hermione had asked, but there was no mistaking the form of flowering dill, the tall pinwheel-like green-yellow blooms extending off the razor-thin stems of the plant. Hermione only wished she knew what it meant because Theo and Pansy started cackling behind her.
"What is it?" Hermione demanded, itching at her lack of knowledge.
"Dill means lust." Pansy managed to say between fits of laughter.
Beside her, Malfoy sighed deeply, wearily. "You're lunatics—the both of you."
He turned toward Hermione and held out her bag. Hermione reached out to take it, brushing her fingers against Malfoy's hand. She hurried to pull away, but his grip was firm. Confused, Hermione looked up at him only to find his gaze fixed rigidly between them.
Hermione followed his eyes to her hand and outstretched arm and almost gasped.
MUDBLOOD.The glamour charm on her scar had vanished. When had that happened?
Hermione snatched her bag and pulled her arm in toward her chest. "Thanks," she muttered.
And then Malfoy looked furious. He looked like he would either set the greenhouse ablaze or scream or—Hermione fought the instinct to grab her wand, fumbling to return the bag to her pocket as a distraction. Her intention to search for a book was long forgotten.
"I have to go." Malfoy declared. He looked over at Theo and Pansy, who had stopped laughing.
Malfoy walked off at a brisk pace. Theo called after him half-heartedly, but Malfoy was out of sight before Hermione could draw two breaths.
"The fuck was that about?" Theo muttered, striding over to stand beside Hermione.
Hermione's heart was beating fast, and she didn't understand how she felt. He had seen her arm—she was sure of it. And then he had left. Why did she feel … guilty?
And then she got angry. Why wouldsheneed to feel guilty? It was her arm. But Merlin, what had happened to her charm? Her magic was usually more stable than that. Hermione looked around almost desperately at the plants around her, recalled the soil she had touched, the ferns—and glanced back toward the Pernisial Flower, which still took the form of a flowering dill. How could any basic charms withstand all of this energy?
"Shit," Hermione muttered under her breath, bringing her right hand to cover her left forearm.
"What is it?" Theo asked her, tone somber.
"Er," Hermione began, feeling uncomfortable. She searched for an innocuous excuse or a joke, but Theo's blue eyes were open with concern, and Hermione decided she didn't need to hide anything. "Well …" She lifted her left arm toward him.
Theo's eyes widened, and Pansy came over to see for herself.
"I usually have a charm on it—or sleeves. I think he saw it. Not that he hasn't seen it before. I mean—he was there when it happened. I know it's shocking. Still is even to me," and Hermione didn't know why the words were pouring out of her mouth like she had a spigot loose. Something was affecting her in this gods-forsaken greenhouse. "Unavoidable. Cursed wounds, and all." She scratched at the raw, red edge of the M.
"Don't," Theo said, grabbing Hermione's hand and rubbing her knuckles with warm fingers. "Don't mind Draco. Today has been … just—don't mind Draco."
"I'll go after him. Meet you outside!" Pansy called, and then she hastened away.
Pansy disappeared in the same direction that Malfoy had fled. A moment later the Pernisial Flower transformed again, this time into a large bush of green, lacy stems and threadlike leaves with star-shaped indigo flowers nestled into the bush. It reminded Hermione of something her grandmother had grown in her back garden.
"Love-in-a-mist," Hermione muttered, remembering. "Also called devil-in-a-bush."
"Beautiful," Theo murmured. "What an incredible specimen."
"Not going to tell me what that means?" Hermione inquired wryly. She pointed to the Pernisial.
Theo nodded slowly. "Confusion."
"Sounds about right," Hermione agreed.
"Want to get out of here?" Theo asked her, eyes still angled with concern.
"Yes … I need some air."
They wandered silently toward the exit of the greenhouse. Hermione's mind was racing through the last few hours. She was still shocked to have run into Malfoy and Theo and Pansy at all, much less having amicably toured a magical museum with them. It had all gone so strangely well, although how Malfoy affected her was … confusing.
Perhaps the Pernisial Flower knew something she didn't.
Hermione silently cursed her fickle glamour charm again. Her scar always had that effect on people—disgust, discomfort. She had accepted it long ago, but she still wished that she didn't need to be so self-conscious of the thing. It was a part of her, for better or worse.
Hermione let out a long sigh and then noticed Theo giving her a wary glance.
"What is it?" she inquired. As they approached the greenhouse's exit, the light became brighter around them.
"Are you doing okay? You look fine, but … youwerealmost killed two weeks ago." Theo's brow furrowed.
Hermione felt a twinge of affection toward Theo. They did not know each other well, but from her limited experience with him, he seemed … nice. It was odd to reconcile this new version of Theodore Nott with the quiet, brooding lackey of Malfoy's that she barely remembered from Hogwarts. She glanced over at his dark head of hair, and something pricked her mind. Her temples throbbed, and she idly brought a hand to massage them.
"Doing fine," Hermione murmured. "Maybe I am still recovering a bit."
"This holiday should help," Theo replied. They reached the heavy door, and he held it open for her. As she exited the greenhouse, a cool breeze wafted over her face, and she savored the feeling.
"I hope so," she admitted.
"What have you seen besides the lovely Castle Sauvan?" Theo asked as he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He inspected the grounds in the distance, probably looking for any sight of Draco or Pansy. They began to wander toward the main entrance where they had first encountered each other.
"Just some other estates," Hermione said.
Theo quirked a brow. "How many?"
Hermione hesitated. "Five."
"And how many days have you been here?"
Hermione cleared her throat. "Four."
Theo laughed, a deep stuttering sound Hermione knew would be infectious were they part of a larger group. He said, "That's not a holiday at all!"
"It is!" Hermione protested. "The history of these places is riveting."
"No spa day? No beaches?"
"Well, I did want to visit the seaside kelpie habitats, but I'd need to fly on a broom, and … I'm not the best flier." She had hoped that Harry or Ron would consent to take her, but she underestimated the Quidditch fervor that would overtake her best friends.
"That's not what I meant," Theo told her.
They arrived at the fountain of Cornelie Henriette at her cauldron, the wooden door visible a short distance away.
"I'm not one to idle," Hermione said, admiring the quality of the bronze sculpture.
"Relaxation is not idling. Relaxation is purposeful," Theo said as he perched on the fountain's edge.
"I suppose."
A loud knocking sounded from the wooden door. Theo stood and walked over, Hermione trailing behind. He opened the door to find an irate Pansy on the other side.
"That wanker bloody disappeared!" she exclaimed, stomping through the wall. Theo let the door click shut behind her. "I didn't even catch up to him. And then I was stuck on the other side!"
"I'm sure he just went home," Theo murmured. "I hope."
"I don't care," Pansy retorted. "Some host he turned out to be."
"Can't you two apparate back to …" Hermione trailed off as she realized she had no idea where exactly this phantom home of Malfoy's was.
"Château Malfoy," Theo supplied. "And yes, it's not too far from here. Don't be so dramatic, Pans."
"It's the principle of the thing!" Pansy snapped.
Hermione could not help but be curious. Was Château Malfoy dark and forbidding like the English Malfoy Manor? Or was it more akin to the delicately cultivated Castle Sauvan?
"Where are you staying, Granger?" Pansy asked. "Sorry—habit.Hermione."
"A hotel in the magical quarter of Aix-en-Provence," Hermione replied, ignoring the odd sensation of hearing her given name from Pansy Parkinson's lips.
"Did you apparate as well?" Theo asked.
"No," Hermione said. "I came in a Muggle car." She smiled a bit as she thought of it. The car had been an indulgence. Her parents had always preferred safe, sensible vehicles. But Hermione, feeling a bit like a child in a toy store, had gone for a sky-blue convertible at the rental facility. Driving with the top down the hour or so from Aix-en-Provence was exhilarating.
"No way!" Theo leaned in closer to Hermione and gave her a conspiratorial grin. "I've never been in a Muggle car before."
Up Next: Draco spiraling. Plus, the Quidditch Final & Gala Part I.
Flower Language:
caladium = delight
yellow marigold = grief, despair, jealousy
yellow rose = friendship
coral rose = desire
dill = lust
love-in-a-mist = perplexity