Hello! I recently participated in a drabble comp over on AO3 and thought I might post my entires as a little collection. Each round is inspired by a flower and it's Victorian meanting. The challenge allowed us to use either the flower or the meaning or both. 500 word limit on each round, so they are all very bite-sized. 4 days to write and submit and no alpha or beta allowed so mistakes are a foregone conclusion lol
Warm-up round: Roses
Hermione stomps through the ministry, grumbling and all together put out. She hardly notices when Malfoy sidles up beside her and falls into step.
"Where to in such a hurry, Granger?"
"Well, not my office since it's retching up flowers at the moment."
Draco slows his step, faltering, then keeps pace one more. "That doesn't sound so terrible," he tries. "Who doesn't like flowers?"
She scoffs, but doesn't stop. "Flowers are fine enough, but the room is floor to ceiling roses, and they won't be charmed or magically removed. Some sort of counterspell or ward on them. I'm going to kill him."
"I.. wait. Kill whom? I'm afraid I'm having trouble following."
"McLaggen," she hisses out. "I know it was him. I've been turning down his advances for months. Just like him to do something this trite. Red roses?" She scoffs again, eyes rolling. "Didn't even have the imagination for a less cliche show of interest."
"Right," her colleague answers. "Of course. Absolutely worst sort of declaration."
"The living worst."
"If you'll excuse me, Granger," he says and doesn't wait for her reply before speeding toward the lifts.
By Draco's calculations, Granger has probably made it to magical maintenance by the time he reaches her office. He closes the door and begins muttering the spells to breakdown his own wards and protections. He had placed them only to ensure the flowers stayed fresh, vibrant, and healthy for as long as possible. He never imagined she would guess so poorly as to the source of the virtual garden he left for her.
Trite? He might be offended if he were not in such a panic to fix this.
Once the roses are all gone, Draco transfigures one last red rose into a small cluster of forget-me-nots and pens a short note to leave beside it.
When Hermione returns a few minutes later, her office is empty of both flowers and wizards, and she apologizes to maintenance for wasting their time. "Perhaps they were only an illusionary spell?" she offers with a small and uncomfortable laugh. They leave, and she closes the door by leaning against it, slightly weary by the frantic start to her morning.
As she approaches her desk, tossing her robes over her chair and settling in to start her day, she notices the unobtrusive blue blossoms and a square parchment in the center of her cluttered desk.
Cautiously, she lifts the note and reads, her life clicking into place.
"Too much, then? I thought I had to be loud for you to hear me. Perhaps a quieter approach…
I'll be in conference room C for an hour. Your presence or lack thereof can be your answer
Hermione Granger, who attends some of the worst meetings of her career in that particular room, has never run there so fast.