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lomonaaerenTitle: Sunflowers and Roses
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Neville
Content Notes: Hogwarts “eighth year,” humor, fluff, present tense
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1100
Summary: Someone is sending Harry bouquets of flowers that apparently have special meaning in floriography. Harry enlists Neville’s help in deciphering the latest one.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Solstitial Shorts,” shorter fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. Also, some of these flower meanings are completely made up, because I can do that.
Sunflowers and Roses
“Good morning, Neville.”
“Morning, Harry.”
Harry glances at Neville in concern; he sounds a little sullen. But Neville just shakes his head as he takes his seat at the Gryffindor table next to Harry and reaches immediately for his pumpkin juice. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.”
Harry nods and refocuses on the bouquet in his hands. Like all the others, it appeared on his pillow overnight as a tiny bunch of flowers but resized to normal when he touched them. Harry turns them over, absorbed. For once, he actually recognizes both kinds of flowers that make up this bouquet, but they can have lots of different meanings.
“What’s this one?”
Neville sounds a little weary. Harry glances at him again. “You would tell me if you were tired of helping me with this, right?”
“Yeah, of course.” Neville leans over and touches the petal of the shining sunflower that looms above the rest. “What do you think this one means?”
Harry flips through the book on floriography that he got out of the library and which is now resting on the breakfast table in front of him. (Hermione will probably scold him for getting it so close to the food when she sees, but she’s not here right now). “The problem is that they can have so many different meanings.”
“They only have one.”
Neville sounds confused. Harry flashes him a smile. “A lot of them do, and you’ve been helpful in letting me decipher some of them. So thank you. But red roses could mean true love, but also just passion. So maybe whoever sent this wants to just have a passionate affair with me, instead of being in love with me.”
Neville blinks at him.
“They mean courage, too.” Harry turns another page and consults it. “So maybe whoever sent this is just taken aback at their own daring.”
“What.”
“Oh, you don’t think that’s it?”
Neville gives a sigh that seems to come from the bottom of his toes. “Harry, why don’t you just go with the most obvious meaning?”
“Love? I’d like to.” Harry strokes one of the roses. They’re arranged in a cluster around the sunflowers in the middle. “But I don’t know if I can. The other bouquets this person sent me had those more complicated meanings, remember? You helped me unravel them.”
“Harry—”
“And this book says that small sunflowers mean adoration, but tall ones mean lying and deception. Maybe even deception about money. How tall are these, exactly? Where’s the cutoff point? Is this person telling me they love me and they also love my money, or are they saying they love and adore me?”
Harry knows which one he hopes it is. It’s one reason that he’s kept accepting the bouquets instead of Banishing them from his pillow. But he also has to hang back a little, in doubt. Who is this person? How can they know they love and adore him if they don’t really know him and they’re just using magic to sneak the flowers onto his pillow?
Harry wants someone who really knows him to date and love. It’s one reason he didn’t get back together with Ginny. They don’t really know each other after their year apart, and neither one of them so far has been interested enough to try and find out.
“Harry—”
“On the other hand, the book says that pink roses mean a confession of love. Are these roses more red or pink, do you think?” Harry pauses. “Whoops, I rhymed.”
“Harry—”
“But here it says that sunflowers are sometimes substituted for other golden flowers in meaning if whoever made the bouquet can’t find those flowers. So maybe they’re a substitute for buttercups. Or daffodils. Which one do you think is more likely?”
“Harry.”
Harry turns to Neville, and blinks. Neville is leaning forwards so that he practically looms over Harry’s bouquet, and he honestly looks pissed off. Harry flushes. “Sorry. Am I making too many demands of you?”
“No. It’s just—” Neville tugs on one of the roses, hard enough to remove the petal. “Why don’t you just think of the most simple and obvious meaning?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do! But the book says they can have all sorts of complicated—”
“No,” Neville says, very slowly. “These are red and gold flowers. That would mean it’s a Gryffindor, right?”
Harry blinks at the bouquet. All right, it could mean that. He does wonder why Neville thinks it means that instead of love and adoration, though. (And part of him will be sad if it doesn’t mean love and adoration). “Well…okay. You might be right.”
“I am right.”
“But that’s still a whole House. Why did they think I could narrow it down—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Neville says, loudly enough to turn heads at the nearby tables, and leans over to grab Harry’s collar and drag him into a kiss.
Harry gasps, and that’s enough space for Neville to insert his tongue. Harry reaches up with a trembling hand and touches Neville’s face. Neville twists his head to the side and presses their mouths more firmly together.
It’s the best thing Harry’s ever tasted.
When they pull back, Harry is sure he’s dazed and flushed. Neville is flushed, too, but unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be all passion. He reaches out and shakes the bouquet hard enough to make more petals fall off.
“Twenty-nine bloody bouquets!” Neville yells. “All attempting to point you in the right direction and let you interpret how much I love you! But nooo, you never picked up on the clues even when I tried to lead you in the right direction with my interpretations, so I picked flowers I thought you couldn’t miss, and still—”
“You’re the one who told me they always had complicated meanings before!”
Neville glares at him. “How could you miss when someone is pining after you? One of your bloody roommates? How did you think the bouquets were getting on your pillow, exactly?”
“We have magic!”
“Oh, Merlin,” Neville says, looking up at the ceiling as if he thinks someone is actually going to descend and set Harry to rights, and then he gives up on it in favor of snogging Harry some more.
Harry leans back against the table as some other people begin to laugh and clap and jeer. He’s more than happy to pull Neville towards him, someone who was patient enough to send him the bouquets and brave enough to finally make an open move.
And someone who, Harry suspects, really probably did choose the sunflowers and roses for their double meaning.
Harry smiles, and kisses Neville harder.
The End.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Neville
Content Notes: Hogwarts “eighth year,” humor, fluff, present tense
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1100
Summary: Someone is sending Harry bouquets of flowers that apparently have special meaning in floriography. Harry enlists Neville’s help in deciphering the latest one.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Solstitial Shorts,” shorter fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. Also, some of these flower meanings are completely made up, because I can do that.
Sunflowers and Roses
“Good morning, Neville.”
“Morning, Harry.”
Harry glances at Neville in concern; he sounds a little sullen. But Neville just shakes his head as he takes his seat at the Gryffindor table next to Harry and reaches immediately for his pumpkin juice. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.”
Harry nods and refocuses on the bouquet in his hands. Like all the others, it appeared on his pillow overnight as a tiny bunch of flowers but resized to normal when he touched them. Harry turns them over, absorbed. For once, he actually recognizes both kinds of flowers that make up this bouquet, but they can have lots of different meanings.
“What’s this one?”
Neville sounds a little weary. Harry glances at him again. “You would tell me if you were tired of helping me with this, right?”
“Yeah, of course.” Neville leans over and touches the petal of the shining sunflower that looms above the rest. “What do you think this one means?”
Harry flips through the book on floriography that he got out of the library and which is now resting on the breakfast table in front of him. (Hermione will probably scold him for getting it so close to the food when she sees, but she’s not here right now). “The problem is that they can have so many different meanings.”
“They only have one.”
Neville sounds confused. Harry flashes him a smile. “A lot of them do, and you’ve been helpful in letting me decipher some of them. So thank you. But red roses could mean true love, but also just passion. So maybe whoever sent this wants to just have a passionate affair with me, instead of being in love with me.”
Neville blinks at him.
“They mean courage, too.” Harry turns another page and consults it. “So maybe whoever sent this is just taken aback at their own daring.”
“What.”
“Oh, you don’t think that’s it?”
Neville gives a sigh that seems to come from the bottom of his toes. “Harry, why don’t you just go with the most obvious meaning?”
“Love? I’d like to.” Harry strokes one of the roses. They’re arranged in a cluster around the sunflowers in the middle. “But I don’t know if I can. The other bouquets this person sent me had those more complicated meanings, remember? You helped me unravel them.”
“Harry—”
“And this book says that small sunflowers mean adoration, but tall ones mean lying and deception. Maybe even deception about money. How tall are these, exactly? Where’s the cutoff point? Is this person telling me they love me and they also love my money, or are they saying they love and adore me?”
Harry knows which one he hopes it is. It’s one reason that he’s kept accepting the bouquets instead of Banishing them from his pillow. But he also has to hang back a little, in doubt. Who is this person? How can they know they love and adore him if they don’t really know him and they’re just using magic to sneak the flowers onto his pillow?
Harry wants someone who really knows him to date and love. It’s one reason he didn’t get back together with Ginny. They don’t really know each other after their year apart, and neither one of them so far has been interested enough to try and find out.
“Harry—”
“On the other hand, the book says that pink roses mean a confession of love. Are these roses more red or pink, do you think?” Harry pauses. “Whoops, I rhymed.”
“Harry—”
“But here it says that sunflowers are sometimes substituted for other golden flowers in meaning if whoever made the bouquet can’t find those flowers. So maybe they’re a substitute for buttercups. Or daffodils. Which one do you think is more likely?”
“Harry.”
Harry turns to Neville, and blinks. Neville is leaning forwards so that he practically looms over Harry’s bouquet, and he honestly looks pissed off. Harry flushes. “Sorry. Am I making too many demands of you?”
“No. It’s just—” Neville tugs on one of the roses, hard enough to remove the petal. “Why don’t you just think of the most simple and obvious meaning?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do! But the book says they can have all sorts of complicated—”
“No,” Neville says, very slowly. “These are red and gold flowers. That would mean it’s a Gryffindor, right?”
Harry blinks at the bouquet. All right, it could mean that. He does wonder why Neville thinks it means that instead of love and adoration, though. (And part of him will be sad if it doesn’t mean love and adoration). “Well…okay. You might be right.”
“I am right.”
“But that’s still a whole House. Why did they think I could narrow it down—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Neville says, loudly enough to turn heads at the nearby tables, and leans over to grab Harry’s collar and drag him into a kiss.
Harry gasps, and that’s enough space for Neville to insert his tongue. Harry reaches up with a trembling hand and touches Neville’s face. Neville twists his head to the side and presses their mouths more firmly together.
It’s the best thing Harry’s ever tasted.
When they pull back, Harry is sure he’s dazed and flushed. Neville is flushed, too, but unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be all passion. He reaches out and shakes the bouquet hard enough to make more petals fall off.
“Twenty-nine bloody bouquets!” Neville yells. “All attempting to point you in the right direction and let you interpret how much I love you! But nooo, you never picked up on the clues even when I tried to lead you in the right direction with my interpretations, so I picked flowers I thought you couldn’t miss, and still—”
“You’re the one who told me they always had complicated meanings before!”
Neville glares at him. “How could you miss when someone is pining after you? One of your bloody roommates? How did you think the bouquets were getting on your pillow, exactly?”
“We have magic!”
“Oh, Merlin,” Neville says, looking up at the ceiling as if he thinks someone is actually going to descend and set Harry to rights, and then he gives up on it in favor of snogging Harry some more.
Harry leans back against the table as some other people begin to laugh and clap and jeer. He’s more than happy to pull Neville towards him, someone who was patient enough to send him the bouquets and brave enough to finally make an open move.
And someone who, Harry suspects, really probably did choose the sunflowers and roses for their double meaning.
Harry smiles, and kisses Neville harder.
The End.
