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Aggressive use of Florists

Summary:

Harry is being lovesick in Neville’s flowershop after having been dumped, and Draco is very aggressively winning over ministry members by sending them fuck-you flowers. Harry is absolutely no help but learns a lot about floriography, stupid purebloods, and Draco.

OR; Harry struggles raising Teddy alone, longing for a partner and a family. His future dreams for domestic bliss have been crushed by his ex, who left him for a better looking, more ambitious, less 'damaged' model. A lot of people try to support Harry, but he is, as ever, hiding how truly bad things are going. Then, Hermione -and a few others, set Draco on him and things start developing in a direction neither really expected. Everyone sees how good Draco and Harry could be together, and with some political maneuvering from unexpected sources-and a lot of flower deliveries, they start to see it too.

Notes:

I have only some idea where this is going, and this is only my first ever fanfic, so be kind! Comments and suggestions are very much appreciated. I will try to keep writing on this in a semi-regular fashion (say, at least biweekly uploads). We'll see.

NB: I am not a native speaker, and mistakes will be inevitable. Comments pointing out mistakes, weird grammar, or flow-issues are very welcome.

EDIT: I got many nasty anonymous comments on how awful the Hermione/Draco friendship is to Ron. If you don't like/can't imagine the friendship, or don't see how Ron can respect it, or how don't see how people can change, that's okay. Just don't read, and don't comment.

Chapter 1: Purple boots and quivering poppies

Summary:

Harry has accepted Neville's offer to work in his shop after he's quit the Aurors. He's convincing himself that maybe the breakup with Marcus isn't so bad, no one needs to worry about him, and he really enjoys working with plants. If only that new customer wouldn't make his palms sweat so much...

Chapter Text

“No Teddy, don’t do the scar thing” Harry sighed, straightening Teddy’s jumper. Teddy had a penchant for metamorphing into anyone’s younger sibling. Which was, without a doubt, an absolute nightmare to keep track of when outside in public. While Teddy was good at keeping his promise and not changing his looks outside, he stubbornly wanted to mimic Harry’s scar.
“But it’s so coooooooool” the child argued, blinking shiny green puppy eyes at him. Merlin. Harry had to laugh. “If you say so, pup”, ruffling Teddy’s hair. “But it’s still a no”, he added more sternly, frowning down. Teddy stopped blinking plaintively and sighed, tugging his sweater crooked again. Harry chuckled.
“Come on pup, get your new boots on and we can go to the Burrow”. He gave Teddy a little nudge, and the pair of them bumbled down to the kitchen, where said boots were propped up on the table. Teddy’s ninth birthday had been just two days ago, and he had asked for purple boots with a gold buckle, “Just like professor Dumbledore in that painting you have, Harry”. So Harry had scoured Diagon Alley for oldfashioned wizarding boots, to no avail. And while many shopkeepers would have been “Happy to custom make something for you, Mr. Harry Potter sir,”, Harry had of course left giftshopping until the last minute, and had run out of time. Eventually Hermione had sent him a catalogue for kids’ costumes, and he had Express-Owl Ordered said boots in the nick of time. Teddy had squealed in delight, clapping his hands.
            At breakfast he had grown himself a long white beard, although matching eyebrows had proved too distracting while eating his cereal. Afterwards, they had giggled trying to comb out Colour-Changing Crispy Crups from his beard, Teddy deciding to keep it until just before tea, when he got tired.
And while Harry had of course gotten him more than the boots –like new barking-crup printed sheets, a bedside light that changed like the moon and howled in the morning, and a sparkling fireworks cake for dessert, he had still loved the boots best. He had tapdanced around the room belting at full volume “I am the realest wizard!” swinging his hips wildly yelling “Look at my swagger!!” twirling around with arms raised, beard trailing in the air behind him. Harry couldn’t just stand there, and instead had waved his wand and put on the gramophone to some ABBA –of course, Teddy’s favourite, and had awkwardly bopped along, grinning from ear to ear.
           The records were nearly all Sirius’s, but some had borne the initials of a certain R.J. Lupin and Harry had taken the lot down from under Sirius’ loose floorboards and kept them in the sitting room, where they could be used. It was something to remember the two old Marauders by, and he wanted Teddy to know this small part of his dad. While the ABBA was Sirius’, there were some excellent Bowie albums of Remus that Harry couldn’t wait to introduce Teddy to when he was a little older. Watching his godson’s elated dancing and utter original ridiculousness, he felt that perhaps he was doing some things right as a godfather.
The knot that had lodged itself in his throat since Marcus left two weeks ago lessened slightly. Perhaps he could do this thing after all, even without a partner. He swallowed quickly.
           When Teddy was finally done twirling in his new boots, brushed his teeth and combed his currently unmanageable black hair, Harry floo’d with him to the Burrow. They were greeted by Victoire, blond braids flying around as she stormed towards Teddy to congratulate him and pull him to the kitchen.
“Come see Teddy, Molly made three cakes! THREE!” she couldn’t seem to contain her baffled excitement and Teddy was pulled from Harry’s grasp, soot staining the rug in the living room. Molly bustled in, wearing an apron and her greying red hair a messy know upon her head. She smiled widely upon seeing them, and hugged Teddy on his way to the kitchen, wrangling him from Victoire and kissing him happy birthday.

“Good to see you both dears, Harry, how about breakfast?” Harry smiled back.
“No thanks Molly, I need to get going. The shop, you know.” He quickly cleaned to soot off the rug with his wand, and watched Teddy and Victoire disappear through the kitchen door, followed by more squeals of delight. “Ron and Hermione not here?”. He had expected them to help Molly prepare for Teddy's belated birthday party later that day.
Molly shook her head, “no, Hermione wasn’t feeling well this morning, apparently she got sick halfway through the floo trip. Poor dear.” Harry nodded, and resolved to call them later. “Ron will at least try to make it later, for Teddy’s proper party”, she added. “The others should be here then too, for now we should at least try to have a regular school day,”  -peals of laughter came from the kitchen, followed by a giant CRASH and SPLAT! “or at least try not to ruin all the cakes before the party”, she added dryly.
           Victoire’s accidental magic usually manifested itself in short bursts of levitation. Likely of cake, today. Teddy’s shrieks continued from behind the kitchen door. Harry had to chuckle, “Good luck with that. Ask Teddy about his boots and he’ll be dancing your arms off!”.
Molly laughed “oh, that wonderful boy” she muttered fondly. “If you’re sure about that breakfast?” she asked, sounding worried, and Harry nodded “I’m sure, I’m the only one at the shop today.”
Molly stepped forward and hugged him again “You’ll be alright dearie” she whispered in his ear, and he suddenly felt the lump in his throat return. Don't think about it, don't think about it, he chanted to himself. He cleared his throat, avoided looking at her when he let go, and turned to the floo. “Behave, Teddy!” he yelled as a goodbye to his kid, and stepped into the green flames. “Spectral Sprouts!” he called out.

Stumbling out of the floor at Neville’s flower shop, he quickly cleared the dust and then went to switch the sign on the door to ‘open’. It looked quiet on Diagon yet, and his curious eyes earned him a wave from Mrs. Picklewilly next door, and he waved back, smiling. Mrs. Picklewilly owned the shop across from Neville’s, and was a lovely elderly witch who ran a cook and crockery shop that was stacked so completely full you had to navigate it with great care. While he never asked, he was sure that Molly had at least gotten all her cookbooks, if not her pots from “Pot, Kettle, Pickle”.
Mr. Picklewilly had passed away seven years prior, but “dear old Dick” was still a regular topic of many a conversation with Mrs. Picklewilly. While always good to listen to for the latest gossip on Diagon –she was close friends with Mrs. McCarthy from ‘Eye of Newt Apothecary’ on the other end of Diagon Alley, who always had the freshest gossip, and they subsequently always knew the goings on of most of Diagon-, when she got to talking about her no-good daughter in law, or worse, “that sad business with your latest beau”, he couldn’t wait to get back in Neville’s shop.
           Neville’s shop was a small little shop at the east end of Diagon, and the smell inside was just incredible. As soon as you stepped inside you were enveloped in the scent of a wide array of flowers, herbs, and ozone. While not all that light inside the shop itself, it had a wonderful little greenhouse in the back where it was always sunny and warm. Harry took his tea breaks there. That was another perk of working in Neville’s shop; all the different tea brews he could sample, all of which were sold in the shop themselves.               
Harry never had had such a spread, and it felt like an utter luxury. The Auror breakroom never got any other tea than breakfast and earl grey, and biscuits were usually gone by Tuesday. Hannah –Neville’s wife, made biscuits every week, two kinds always; Lavender-vanilla, honey-thyme, gingerbread, all sorts. Sometimes decorated with sugary roses, or other flowers. Yes, Neville’s shop was definitely better than the DMLE. Even if he didn’t know what he was doing. Or what he was going to do to “get back on his feet”.  He had Teddy to take care of, and to be honest, money enough to spend in ten lifetimes. But he needed to feel useful. When Neville had offered that he could mind the shop so Hannah could take it easier, now being seven months pregnant, he had accepted immediately. He tried very hard to ignore the pitying look the two of them had exchanged at his enthusiasm. He was fine. Not lonely at all. 
           He had come in the next day to get a brief explanation, get decked out with chocolate pecan turtles made by Hannah, and had simply started tending the shop. Cleaning, watering, reading up on his basic herbology skills. Talking to the babbling begonia's, softly stroking the white velvet lilies. While he wasn’t able to help out much with the medicinal plants or more dangerous one –yet, Neville came in nearly every day just before closing to check up on them. Three days a week Neville assisted professor Sprout at Hogwarts, having accepted an apprenticeship with the goal to take over from her in two years. All in all, he had only had half a week to twiddle his thumbs and ignore letters from Robards. To feel the gaping hole inside him grow larger and larger. Keeping busy helped. If not for the press still harassing him when he stepped out on the street about his and Marcus’ breakup, and the sleepless nights, he could keep up the pretense that he was fine. Especially in the week of Teddy’s birthday. He just simply had to.

After turning the doorsign to 'open', he flicked his wand towards the lights to switch them on, emitting a soft glow on the shelves. He made himself a cup of fresh tea, then proceeded to the till to start on inventory. There were some new herbal scent-sachets to aid in sleep. Wryly he wondered if he should try them, although he didn’t quite fancy having a frilly pink sachet hanging over his headboard. Furthermore, since Kreacher had died Grimmauld Place sometimes showed unpredictable magic to foreign objects -especially non-magical things. It would be exactly his luck to have the house turn the pink frilly sachets into a choking pillow, or something. Generally the idea was to hang them near the bed and it would lull the user into a dreamless slumber, without the need for potions. They claimed to be a kid-safe alternative for Dreamless Sleep. According to Hannah, all the new moms had them hanging above their baby’s cribs. She figured if the witches from her maternity class would buy them, they might as well sell them.
             Having finished inventory and his cup of tea, he set to arrange them in an attractive manner on the counter. Should they be stacked? Or rather set in a neat line? No, a pyramid shape might be better, but… “Shit!”. He managed to knock about half of them off, and a few fell open on the floor, spreading their contents everywhere. The air filled with the air of lavender, rosemary, jasmine and some other herbs he couldn’t identify. Harry sighed and bent over, hoping to gather the herbs and refill the bags. While Neville wasn’t overpaying Harry by any means, and his minding the shop was really just a way to keep busy, he didn’t exactly want to ruin their business by breaking wares or ruining them.

Still on his hands and knees he heard the bell above the door jingle, announcing a new customer. Three clipped, sharp steps announced a voice.
“Good day. I would like a bouquet of severe disappointment, please”. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but most definitely annoyed and short, if not utterly polite in its words. Harry grunted and straightened himself up, hoping this new customer wouldn’t mind all the scattered dried herbs still on the floor, and all over his clothes. The smell of Neville’s magically enhanced lavender was nearly overwhelming, and he felt his nose itch.
“Welcome to Spectral Sprouts, what can I –Malfoy?!” Upon seeing his new customer his welcome faltered. A silence fell, and he was sure he was gaping.
“Potter. What are you doing here?”, Malfoy asked, before recomposing himself and adding “Never mind really, can the florist please help me compose a bouquet?”.
Harry closed his mouth, feeling wrong footed after being confronted with Malfoy of all people. And so close, all of a sudden. Which, try as he might to deny it, still made his insides squirm, and his palms sweaty.
        There was something scintillating about Malfoy, standing in front of him, swirling grey eyes intent on his, one eyebrow raised in impatient anticipation –was that a pureblood thing?- looking elegant in his slim-fitting black robes.
Harry cleared his throat “I will help you, you know” he shifted back and forth. It seemed like his magic went a bit jittery, reaching over the counter towards Malfoy, as if fascinated. Harry steeled his resolve, pulled it back, and raised his eyes to Malfoy’s.
Malfoy’s previous annoyance seemed to return. “Well then, if you must. I need flowers to convey my utter disappointment in someone”, he prompted again, his upper lip curling slightly upwards.
“Ehm,” Harry started, “don’t flowers usually mean positive things?” he asked, “Like love, or an apology, or get well soon?”. He had no clue about ‘disappointment flowers’. Did they actually exist? If Malfoy wanted to buy some sort of rotten black roses or other dramatic shit, he was not in the right place.
             Neville sold all sort of beautiful, magical and non-magical flowers, plants, and in the greenhouse in the back, magical herbs for potions and medicine.
Malfoy sighed “Of course you wouldn’t know anything about floriography” he sneered. “Never mind. Could you possibly point me towards your cut flower selection?”.
Harry nodded, and came from behind the till. “Follow me, then” he gestured, and went off to their colourful display of individual flowers.
“Thank you, Potter. I’ll come get you when I’m done.” Malfoy dismissed him, already perusing the buckets full of carnations, lilies, fanged geraniums, and dancing tulips. A bunch of ever-blooming poppies were shivering excitedly at the attention Malfoy was giving them. He smiled slightly, whispering “Yes, you’re very pretty” before continuing his search. The poppies nearly fainted in admiration. Harry snorted, hoping Malfoy couldn’t hear him or notice him watching.

After a few minutes, Malfoy nodded to himself and then swiftly gathered a bunch of violet geraniums, meadowsweet, and deep purple carnations. Harry straightened up and tried to look busy again with the still incomplete display of sleep-sachets.
“These will do, Potter”, Malfoy stated, spreading the flowers out on the counter.
“Alright then”, Harry replied, picking them up and doing his best to bind them together into a nice looking bouquet. He was silently grateful that Neville had insisted on giving him a flower-binding course last Saturday afternoon because he “wouldn’t see his delicate blooms mishandled in his typically Harry-way”. Harry had rolled his eyes at that, but was relieved when the bouquet seemed to turn out well.
            “Tell me, who are these for then?” he asked, as he added some leafy greens to buff it out a little.
Malfoy stiffened a bit “If you must know, Potter, these are for Desiderius Wilkes. We work together at the ministry.”
Harry raised his eyebrows “Why does he deserve flowers then? Are they a thank you?” he finished tying the bottom together with a string, and checked the final result.
Malfoy snorted inelegantly. “If you would have paid any attention, Potter, I wanted to express my extreme disappointment in someone. Although it looks like I might have to buy you the same bouquet”.
Harry felt his cheeks colour. “Well then, assume I’m extremely stupid. Enlighten me. Why are these the right ones?”. Harry rung up the number on the till, and Malfoy got out his Gringotts bag.
"Because, Potter, these geraniums will tell Desiderius he’s been stupid, the meadowsweet will point out his uselessness, and the carnations will convey to him that he has utterly disappointed me.” He explained gleefully. “Purple too, is the colour of hopelessness and disappointment. It will also convey that I expect better of him in the future. He’ll appreciate that’’.
Harry felt his jaw drop again. “What?! Am I selling you blackmail flowers?”.
Malfoy grinned in delight, eyes gleaming. “Better yet, Potter. Only purebloods know this stuff. They can’t complain of blackmail in this ‘new and reformed ministry’.” He winked, and Harry’s insides squirmed again. “After all, they’re only a nice bunch of flowers, aren’t they”. Leaving a galleon on the till, he picked up the bouquet and left. “Thanks, Potter!” he called out. The bell above the door jingled again, and he was gone.