It was always a tradition for them - he would come home and bring her paper lilies. This day was different. Very late V-Day fic from me. Reposted because I stupidly deleted it by accident.
From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/1780/
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and other related companies. He’s not mine. Although this ficlet of mine is.
Author’s Note: Attack of the Plot Bunny again. Thanks to the artificial tulips that I happened to look at Saturday morning *bangs head* Anyway . . warped ficlet. You’ve been warned. “He” is Harry, “she” is Hermione.
And this goes out to Kalie, Christine, Pen, Nielle and Sandra. Just because.
He had always bought her paper lilies. Delicately made, shaped like the lovely flower itself, only made out of multicolored paper. He liked color; it brightened up life, made it more cheerful. That was his thought.
Every day he would come home, she remembered, and bring her paper lilies. Always. He knew that lilies were her favorite flower, and so would give her anything that had to do with lilies in some way or another for her birthday . . or just those “special occasions” that really weren’t occasions at all. But they were special. Very special.
And on those days, those were the most memorable of them all. For whenever he bought her paper lilies, her world just seemed a lot brighter. Especially since he made them especially for her, intricately weaving one fold onto another, shaping, molding a piece of paper with creases and wrinkles in it into a lily. Stem and all.
She always remembered the feelings that invoked whenever he gave her a bouquet of small paper lilies – it was a whole mixture of emotions awashing over her. Happiness, amazement – he never ceased to surprise her, completely amaze her.
And she would always remember them – for they were unforgettable. For the paper lilies were unforgettable. For he was unforgettable.
She looked over at them now. Simple yet wonderful, made with love and pride. With the utmost care put into making them.
They accented the house wonderfully . . they accented them, him and her beyond idealistically.
White, purple, red, pink . . all sorts of colors and shades. She mused thoughtfully that in an odd way, the paper lilies were just like him. Delicate appearance, but with a lot of strength and feeling within. A meaningful look passed over her features. So he wasn’t exactly like the paper lilies . . but there was something that reminded her of him.
The ding of the doorbell broke her thoughts. She smiled. He was home.
When she opened the door, there he was, holding out a bouquet of paper lilies and smiling adorably.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hermione,” he said.