Disclaimer: I don't own HP. JK bowling does, and we saw that in DH…
A/N: My take on the "Secret Admirer" challenge by BloodyRegrets that you can find here: http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=26225 . Hope you'll enjoy this fic, I'm sure I'll enjoy writing it! And if you read, please review, it makes me happy and it just takes you few moments! *laughs* Ignores the epilogue.
The secret admirer strikes again…and raises the wooing a bit!
The Stalker
Chapter Two: Flowers
It was by now a month since the first letter had arrived, and they had become almost a routine in Hermione's life. Harry had suggested she tried tracking the owl, just to know who she was dealing with.
"You can never be too careful these days, Mione" he said her. She chuckled, and Harry raised her eyebrows at her, almost asking why she was laughing.
"You just reminded me of Moody and his "constant vigilance" policy" she said with a smile, and Ron, who was at the pub with them, started laughing too.
"Just make sure you don't come up with a wooden leg and a mad eye, mate" he said, clapping Harry on the back and taking a sip of his Butterbeer.
The raven haired wizard smiled, stirring his own drink, but said nothing. A look from Hermione and a light squeeze on his hand reassured him that his worry for her was appreciated, and he nodded slightly.
He knew Hermione was a capable witch, more than able to defend herself. After all, she had been pivotal in Voldemort's downfall, as well as Ron of course, and Harry also knew that he might be the Head of Auror Department but in a duel Hermione would be able to kick his ass if she concentrated enough on the task, which was more than he could say of most of the population of Wizarding Britain.
However, with many Death Eaters still in hiding, he didn't exactly want to take chances with one of his best friends, which was the reason of his worry.
Knowing that pushing the matter would only enrage Hermione, however, he let it go and decided to try and take it as a joke like Ron had done.
Their night out progressed nicely, and as usual the two of them had to physically drag Ron to his flat, as the redhead was thoroughly pissed. Firewhiskey tends to do that to you when you indulge too much in it, you know.
Then, Harry, being the perfect gentleman, insisted to see Hermione home himself, and she smiled at his sweetness. If she was honest with herself, the simple gesture of wanting to see her get home safe kind of made butterflies set in her belly, but she forced herself to banish the feeling.
"Goodnight, Harry" she said, kissing him on the cheek, and she was a bit pleased with herself seeing him blush.
"G-goodnight, Hermione" he then stammered, before Apparating away.
As she changed for bed, Hermione couldn't help thinking about Harry's reaction to her friendly kiss.
"Could it be…" she wondered, but stopped herself before continuing down that particular train of thought. She had to bury every kind of feeling she might have for Harry, because it was definitely not going to happen.
After all, he had never shown interest in her that way, right?
Brushing her teeth, she headed to bed, and noticed something she had been too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice before.
A single pink rose was on her bed, with the usual letter from her admirer, and after sniffing it she closed her eyes, sighing. It smelled wonderfully.
Conjuring a vase with water, she placed the flower in it and then put the vase on her drawer. Finally then, she headed to bed, and fell asleep in a couple minutes.
However, she didn't sleep much, because at four in the morning she was woken up by an emergency call from St. Mungo's. She hastily dressed and Apparated to the hospital, where she found Grant waiting for her.
"Hi Hermione" he sombrely greeted her. "It's our patients in the long term ward. They…they are dying, and we haven't been able to stabilize their conditions"
Hermione ran to the ward, and with a complex wand movement tried to see what the problem was with the three brothers. She had been the one suggesting a new approach on their infections, the previous day, and if they were going to die…
No, she wouldn't think about that. She would save them, whatever it cost.
They feverishly worked on the three young men, and finally two of them started responding to the treatment, and were soon out of danger. The third one however, the youngest, wasn't so lucky, and at eleven that morning, he died.
Hermione was devastated, and after lunch she finally crumbled.
Tears pooling in her eyes, she asked Grant what had she done wrong, why had she failed that young life.
Grant hugged her tight. "Hermione, you did nothing wrong. You were brilliant, and his brothers are finally starting to heal after months of not responding to our cures. He…well, not everyone responds the same way to a treatment" he said, from his experience. He was ten years older than her and had often been her guide when she was at a loss, due to her inexperience. Even now that she had been working there for years, he was still her rock when she had some doubts.
Patting her back, he tried to soothe her.
Finally pulling back, she gave him a watery smile.
"Thanks, I don't know what I'd do without you"
He smiled. "You'd still be the best Healer in the hospital" he said, and she gave a tiny laugh.
"Seriously though, Hermione…our duty is to save lives, but we can't save them all. Some might die, and this doesn't automatically mean it's our fault" he added then, and she nodded. She knew that, of course, but it still hurt to have one of her patients die.
That night, when she got home, it was with some sense of relief that she found another letter and a flower, this time a tulip, on her bed.
She didn't know exactly why, but the thought of someone sending her these letters and flowers felt awfully comforting, for some reason.
Hermione avidly read it, and for the first time since that morning, she felt herself truly smile. The tulip joined the rose from the previous day into the vase, and she felt giddy at the thought of receiving more of them.
And she wasn't wrong. If it had previously become an habit for her admirer to send her love letters, now he had taken the liberty to add a flower, alternating roses with other kinds, lilies, tulips, orchids, and such. He had even sent her a very rare blue rose, which Muggles were still trying to breed without much results, and of course a red one, symbol of passion. She had enlarged the vase to contain all of them and had placed it in her living room, as it had become too big for her drawer, and more than once she had stopped to look at them, a smile tugging at her lips, as she considered the order they had been sent.
Knowing everything about the meaning of flowers, which depended on their colour too, she could recognize a pattern there, starting from friendship, the pink rose, going through compliments to her eyes, the variegated tulip, and slowly growing through various steps, reaching the top with the red rose.
She would smell them and then would sigh at the fresh fragrance they released. Clearly, the mysterious man had enchanted them to not die and keep their smell as fresh as when just arrived.
Next Friday, Hermione really had to force herself to go and meet Harry and Ron at the Three Broomsticks.
She knew having some kind of fun would be good after the rough week she had had, in which the only good things were the letters and the flowers that kept coming, but she was really tired.
However, she knew all too well that Harry would never let her skip the meeting and would come and fetch her himself if she wasn't there, so she stepped into the shower and let the warm water soothe her aching muscles. Then, walking to her room in just a robe, she proceeded to choose her attire. Wanting to feel good with herself, she chose a black dress which left bare most of her back, and with a v-neck which exposed a good part of her cleavage. Luckily, it was almost summer by now so she would not be cold. Then, she Apparated away, after shrugging the feeling of someone watching her, which she had had more than once lately.
As she walked into the pub, she immediately spotted her friends and walked toward them, enjoying the stares she was receiving.
"Blimey, Hermione" Ron said. "If I weren't with Luna, I'd ask you out!" he said, winking at her to let her know it was a joke, then he seriously added, "You look smashing"
Hermione grinned, blushing a tiny bit, and then turned toward Harry, who was still staring at her with his mouth open. Finally he recomposed himself, and spoke.
"You look beautiful, Mione" he said, and the brunette felt her face grow on fire.
"Thanks" she mumbled, taking a sip of the Butterbeer they had already ordered for her.
They chatted lovely all night, drinking, and she noticed Harry stiffen considerably when she told them about the letters and flowers she kept receiving. Inwardly rolling her eyes, she feigned to have missed it, yet she was annoyed at her friend for reacting that way. Those letters were her only source of "happiness" lately, and she couldn't understand why Harry was so adamant to not like them.
After all, Ron was taking them exactly like they should be taken, with a laugh, or in her case, a warm smile and a feeling of giddiness. For a moment she wondered if Harry might be jealous, but if he was, then surely he would have said something, right?
The rest of the night went quietly, and the three friends promised to meet again in a week. Once back in her flat, Hermione noticed the underwear she had changed out of before leaving was no more on her bedroom floor where she was sure she had left it. Being too tired to think about it, she quickly changed into her nightclothes and went to sleep.
Work was becoming worse day by day. She struggled to find cures for her patients but most of them wouldn't improve, and that was making her go mad. She had never felt so much a failure in her entire life, not even when they were searching the Horcruxes and they couldn't find them. To make things worse, she had lost her favourite hairbrush, which while being a little thing, upset her quite a bit, as she had grown affectionate to it.
For all these reasons, Hermione had come to truly cherish the moments she could escape from all of that while reading her admirer's letters every night.
On the last day of the month, she was surprised to see a white rose, symbol of pure and true love, accompanying the letter. She hastily opened it, read the few lines, and couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips, plus the huge grin which spread on her face immediately after.
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