Chapter Text
It started with a single red-leaf begonia, nestled in an intricate crystal vase.
Tired after a boorish hours-long journey on the Hogwarts express, an even longer Welcome Feast to mark the commencement of their second year and yet another cryptic speech from their headmaster, Hermione Granger was distracted.
Shoulders sloping in away her mother would hate if she bore witness to it, Hermione trudged in with purpose. She knew that if she were hoping to snag the coveted window-adjacent bed, she would have to do it quickly. Extra shelf-space and a capital view of the grounds at sunrise two years in a row were perks Hermione relished but not at the cost of irate dorm mates squawking about another thing that irritated them about her when she felt a migraine coming on.
As such, while Hermione was busy transporting copies of Chaucer and Bagshot from her clunky trunk to the prized shelving in and around her reclaimed bed, Hermione barely registered the delicate oxblood flora floating in the charmed glasswork. After all, it was nestled amongst the sea of garish Gryffindor crimson that filled the tower. A small part of her mind must have dismissed it as yet another one of Lavender Brown and Parvarti Patil’s attempts to decorate their rather draconian dormitory in the girl’s tower.
“Hermione!” Lavender and Parvarti screeched, much to Hermione’s chargin. Their hands were on their hips with identical, smug smirks on their lips.
Glancing up from the haul of books she was arranging in the shelf under her bed, Hermione studied the pair quickly before clearing her throat.
“…Yes?” She said warily, eyes darting between the two girls.
“Either you have a secret admirer or someone really hates you!” Lavender gushed, rushing over to finger the petals of the oxblood flower.
She chanced a glance at Parvarti, hoping to obtain some further clarification. Parvarti simply rolled her eyes good naturedly and lifted her chin at Lavender, the apparent gatekeeper of all things flower-related.
“Er- why’s that?” Hermione asked cautiously, hoping to avoid a long winded diatribe.
Lavender gave her a flat look, as if she was the one who had lost all sense.
“A begonia?” She scoffed, further assuring Hermione that Lavender definitely believed she was dropped on the head as a child “Are you a witch or what?”
Hermione looked at her dumbly, utterly at a loss at what a begonia meant exactly. Upon seeing Hermione’s short circuit, Lavender rerouted, seemingly settling on pity.
“Every flower means something, especially in the wizarding world. Begonias, especially this dark in colour, mean to give a warning”.
“A warning? A warning about what?” Hermione managed to stutter, her mind whirling already.
Lavender launched into the foreshadowed monologue about the meaning of begonias, particularly in the Bordeaux colour of the singular floral sitting in front of them. Instead of taking in the babble regarding pureblood courting, Hermione reviewed her mind’s rolodex of the second year charms curriculum. They were set to learn the skurge charm to clean things (handy for Neville in potions she thought to herself), fortify the levitation charm from last year and at most, practice a dancing feet spell to send any opponent into a lacklustre tarantella. In fact, conjuring flowers was not on the curriculum until their NEWTS classes in sixth year.
In her stream of consciousness, Hermione did not realise that she had muttered the last part out loud.
Lavender smirked, still caressing the flower’s delicate petals “Oh, this isn’t conjured. This is the real deal”.
Hermione frowned to herself “No one would send me flowers”.
Lavender shrugged a single shoulder and gave a glum smile, as if accepting that it was entirely plausible that no one would actually send flowers to frizzy-haired, bucktoothed Granger of all people when two of the year’s most attractive pureblood girls (outside of that stuck up Daphne Greengrass) were right there.
Instead of hypothesising with a disconcerted Hermione or interacting with her any longer than she had to, Lavender bounded over to Parvarti again before squealing “Oh my gods, Parv! Did you see how Roger Davies is styling his hair this year”. Neither noticed the deep furrow of Hermione’s brow as they continued an extensive dialogue about the carefully tousled waves of the Ravenclaw’s locks for the two hours before bed.
When Hermione woke up at the crack of dawn the following morning, she saw that the sole flower - the sole warning – was still there in it’s intricate Doric vase. As the sun peaked through following her extensive shower, Hermione saw that it glowed with the subtle rose colour over the horizon and decided to place a newly-learnt stasis charm on it. She might not know it’s origin but until she figured it out, she would need to study it’s magic.
And study she did. Over the course of the first week, Hermione scoured the school’s historical tomes in the library, trying to decipher how the flower had managed to bypass the extensive gender-based warding and castle’s general protections but found nothing.
In the absence of a note or a credible explanation as to why the sentient castle would suddenly allow such an appearance, Hermione chalked it down to magical quirk: a random happenstance in a world she was still only beginning to navigate as a Muggleborn witch.
At some point or another, Hermione inwardly cursed herself for not listening to Lavender’s droning about the flower and whatever pureblood customs she parroted on about. However, she did not want to risk asking, fearing the 45-minute dressing down she would certainly endure if she asked Lavender to repeat it.
Fortunately, with the growing amount of essays assigned in the first few weeks, Hermione’s mind drifted from thoughts of the blood-red flora and questions about what it could have meant faded from her mind.
Cover and Hermione art by me - AdrienLennox
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