Chapter Text
Hermione is on her knees when they first meet.
He's peering down at her—all dark trousers and shiny shoes—before she realizes he's there at all, and truth be told, she's not sure how she didn't notice him in the first place. But suddenly he appears, just like that, as Hermione wipes the glimmering droplets across the window and stares into the clean reflection.
"Hello, little one," The man breathes.
Hermione twists around, pulled from the daydream she didn't even realize she was having. She's not entirely sure that he'd spoken at all, or whether it was the warm summer breeze playing tricks on her. The man wears a gentle smile, and Hermione lifts her hand to block the sun shining from behind him, trying to make out his features. She fails miserably.
"Do you work here?" The man asks, and Hermione realizes that he is the one speaking this time.
"Oh—yes," Hermione clambers up from her spot on the pavement, her knees singing with the sting that comes with pressing on cement before she brushes off the tiny bits of gravel still indented in the skin of her kneecaps. He watches as she retrieves the spray bottle of window cleaner beside her and huffs.
"Hello," She says finally. "How can I help you?"
The man, who is much taller than her, quirks his head to one side as if she is amusing to him. Hermione shifts on her feet.
"I'm inquiring about a flower arrangement," The man says, following Hermione as she awkwardly shuffles past him and into the small shop doorway. Hermione has been a florist at The Wild Willow for nearly a month now, and although she is still getting the hang of things, she feels she has enough of a grip that she can help any customer who walks through the door—even tall, aristocratic ones, such as himself.
"Okay, just one arrangement?" She asks as she rounds the counter and grabs an invoice pad and pen. She notices his gaze sweep across the plants hanging from the hooks above the till, how he takes in all the girly decorations, and how the shop's pink walls make him stand out in his all-black outfit. His eyes shine when they meet hers again. Hermione could curse herself. She is wearing pink dungarees for Merlin's sake.
"Just one," The man nods, looking amused as she tests the failing pen on a scrap piece of paper.
"Right," Hermione squeaks, finally getting the pen to work as she poises it against the pad. "Erm, first and last name, please."
"Draco Malfoy." He responds, and she scribbles across the paper, trying to keep up. "That's Draco, D-R-A-C-O. And Malfoy, M-A-L-F-O-Y."
Hermione writes it out as best she can and nods before writing down the number one in the box for quantity of arrangements. "Lovely. Draco. And what sort of arrangement are you wanting today?"
She has sweat rolling down her back. The aroma of freshly cut flowers is tickling her nose. Hermione can't explain why, but having this man's eyes on her is making her far too self-conscious. Even her handwriting is a little wobbly.
"What sort of flowers do you have at the moment?" Draco asks.
Hermione glances into the flower cooler and hums. "Well, we just got a shipment in this morning. We have a lot of carnations and a lot of roses. You can take a look if you'd like. Usually, people will tell us their budget, and we can make something very beautiful based on those limitations."
"I don't have any budget limitations," Draco answers briskly, peering in at the flowers on display in the cooler. Hermione swallows thickly.
"Right. Uh—does she have a favorite color?" Hermione asks.
"My mother likes white flowers," Draco answers, still looking in the cooler, and Hermione can't help that some small part of her sings at that. This is all for his mother.
"We have white hydrangeas," Hermione perks up, spotting them on the bottom shelf inside the cooler. "We can add some very pretty greenery into that too, like silver dollar eucalyptus and leather. We also have some trick carnations—those are the fluffy-looking green ones that almost look like bundles of moss."
"Moss," Draco nods. "That sounds great…" His eyes tumble to where a name tag would sit across Hermione's chest. When he realizes she's not wearing one, he continues. "She'll want something rather luxurious-looking. My mother is all about vanity."
It takes Hermione a second to realize he's teasing.
"A large, glass vase would be nice as well," He continues. "And no ribbons or frills, please. Does three hundred pounds sound enough to get me a large arrangement?"
Hermione keeps herself from gaping at that. She just nods and begins jabbing at the ancient tills' clacky keys, adding up his total.
"We can do that. Would you like to sit and wait while we make your arrangement or have it delivered instead?"
"I can wait," Draco answers, his gaze on her never faltering.
Hermione slides the card machine toward him and nods. "We have a four percent card fee," She whispers. "Just—so you know."
One side of Draco's mouth quirks up at that, just barely. "Thank you for letting me know."
The card machine beeps, signaling that the transaction is complete, and Draco waves off his receipt politely. After she's finished putting everything back in its spot and pointing to the small pink couch where he can wait, Draco hesitates.
"Can you also send me a photo of it once it's finished, please?" He asks. "Just so I have it."
Hermione nods, her customer service voice coming back to her with practiced ease. "Of course! My boss will be the designer of this arrangement, so I can let her know to text you a photo of it once it's complete."
"Can you send it to me instead?" Draco asks.
Hermione's eyes round in surprise. She was just about to ask if he'd like a card with it as well, but that vanishes from her brain now. "Erm… well, yes, I can if you'd like me to," She responds.
"I would," Draco confirms. "Unless you mind me having your phone number, that is ."
A small part of her thinks that this is going one step beyond customer service, but with the way Draco's eyes are patient—watchful—Hermione feels herself say yes anyway.
"I can text you a photo once it's finished," Hermione nods. Draco looks pleased once more.
Fifteen minutes later, she slips back outside to finish the windows and texts a photo to the man of the hour.
Hermione (1:15 pm): hello. this is Hermione. here is the photo you requested of your finished arrangement. thank you for shopping local at the wild willow flower shop.
The bell atop the door chimes just as Hermione crouches down to finish the bottom half of the glass once more. Draco nods at her, clearly approving of the hard work she's doing.
"Thank you for all your help," He grins. Then: "Hermione."
She blushes at the way her name sounds on his tongue.
"And—" He interjects, as if something occurs to him all at once. "You're doing a rather good job down there."
He motions toward her kneeling position. Hermione nearly shivers at the praise, despite how odd it is.
Draco leaves before she can respond, and Hermione watches him start up his sleek, gray car. It's a vintage Aston Martin DBS Volante. If she thought Draco had money before, she was in for a surprise now. That car was probably worth more than her entire college education.
He gives her one last look before slipping his sunglasses on and rolling the windows down. The hot summer breeze tousles his hair, and he unbuttons his shirt just a bit before speeding off. Hermione remains crouched on the pavement long after the Aston Martin disappears around the corner.