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The Language of Flowers

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Warm-up Round Prompt: Roses/Love

Title: Bone of Contention
Rating: T
Word count: 370
Warning/Tags: Major Character Death; Grief.

It was a sunny day in May, uncharacteristically cold for this time of the year. Two people were standing at the far end of a throng of black and dreary robes, whispering amongst themselves.


Did you see the bouquet Malfoy brought? Unbelievable. 

Wreath of wrath, said the other person, laughing hollowly. 

I wonder what he thought, said the first. He must be confused, surely.

Thought? The other person snorted. I don’t think he spared anyone a thought, other than himself. 


The queue edged forward.


Well. Person One sniffled. Maybe he was touched by her. Like we all were. You know…

Don’t believe it, said Person Two. And in any case, that’s hardly the way to show it. 

Finally reaching the front, they, just like the numerous mourners before them, placed their flowers onto the casket. Person One conjured a wreath of Christmas roses. 

Oh god. Look, said Person Two under their breath, nodding towards the sepulchral arrangement. A shame, they said louder, addressing the hosts. We’re so, so sorry.

So sad, said Person One, and gave out hugs to all the teary-eyed people lining the casket like a string of black pearls. What a tragedy.

Thank you for coming, said Harry Potter thickly, pulling Ginny Weasley tightly to his side. Silent tears were dripping down her face while she kept nodding to nobody in particular, her shoulders quaking. 

Yeah, thanks, said Ron Weasley. He was hard-faced and staring at the back of the row. Hermione would’ve been so happy to see everyone united at her grave. 

Person Two snorted again which got them an elbow in the rib by Person One. They retreated, once again gaping at the simple light-brown casket, slightly elevated and buried beneath a sea of flowers. Most were white, lilies or callas, pristine and in full bloom, just like the young woman laying inside who’d barely reached her twenties — except for an enormous, deep red bouquet of thornless roses. 

Indecent, said Person Two, pursing their lips. A disgrace.

What was he thinking, Person One replied, shaking their head. Doesn’t he know the first thing about the language of flowers?

Unbelievable. Person Two nodded gravely.

They turned back, debating where to go for lunch.