The Language of Flowers

[thornyrose42]

Title: The Language of Flowers

Disclaimer: Characters owned by JKR. The meanings of the flowers found here: The Language of Flowers - What they mean

Spoilers: for all of Harry Potter

Characters: Andromeda et all

Summary: Andromeda gives flowers when she has no words.

Rating: PG 13

 

 

 

When I have no words I give flowers.

 

A clover pressed between the pages of Cissy’s Transfiguration text book before her first big test. Mint crushed beneath Mama’s pillow to keep the headaches at bay. 

 

I’m never sure if they notice. Do I imagine that Cissy’s smile to me when she gets her results is extra sweet? Or that Mama’s kisses in the morning are grateful? 

 

For Professor McGonagall a big bunch of bright, yellow daffodils on her desk the morning after she prevents dinner in the Great Hall descending into an all out brawl and gives Bella two weeks worth of detention. 

 

Sometimes I think that the language of flowers was invented so that tongue tied people could fall in love as well. Sometimes. Other times I get orange lilies from Jacob Smith and crumple slightly inside before I realise that to him they are just flowers.

 

Ted gives me daisies and I laugh as he kisses his way down my stomach. 

 

I watch Bella. I watch her and I shout myself hoarse without making a sound. I watch her until she is standing in her wedding robes and too far away to hear me anyway. I add an oleander to her bouquet, a last guilty gasp, but when I catch it later the white flower is no longer there.

 

I try to write when I leave. I try but… in the end I can’t. I leave purple hyacinths in the hall, a potted azalea on Cissy’s dressing table and, for Bella, a cyclaman. Then I go, spiderflowers in my bag, to Ted.

 

Ted, Nymph and I live in a cloud of dandelion seeds. The flowers are somehow not needed as much now. Why do I need red roses when the words “I love you” bloom on my lips when he smiles? 

 

The world turns and withers.

 

Ted runs because I convince him to. Some almost forgotten part of me wants to pile him down with blue violets, yellow zinnias, pansies, marigolds, borage, thyme and a thousand others.

 

I don’t. There is no need.