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The bell above the door to the flower shop jingled merrily as Draco stepped inside, a bitter contrast to his sour mood. It seemed as though everything had been mocking him that day, from the blinding sun to the annoyingly chipper attitudes of his co-workers. When he’d seen the colorful “Grand Opening!” painted next to a smiling sheep on the front window, he’d nearly turned around. It was only after remembering what awaited him at home that he’d pushed his way through the bright green door and into the shop.
“One moment,” Draco heard. Inside, it was a mess, the disorderly rows of plants blocking him from seeing to the end of the room. It resembled a wild jungle more than a place of business. Awkwardly, he stood in the front, unsure of where to go. After a moment, a man appeared, his face eerily familiar, though Draco had never seen him before. His white, poofy hair stood out against his olive skin, and he moved among the plants with an ease that Draco, strangely, envied. Draco suddenly felt overdressed and out of place in his suit and tie, and he shifted his briefcase between his hands uncomfortably. “Sorry about the wait,” the man said, brushing dirt off his hands. Despite the cheery decor of the shop, he radiated a calm, critical air. “What can I get you?”
“Ah, yes, could I have, um - sorry, I don’t really remember - is there such thing as an asteria flower?” It wasn’t like him to be so nervous, but there was something about the shop and the man that threw him off.
The man looked at him curiously. “No; you might be confusing that for the alstroemeria or the aster.”
“Right, yes,” Draco said, clearing his throat. “Could I have a bouquet of… asters, please?”
“I’m afraid I don’t sell those in bouquets of their own, although given enough advanced notice I could. Unfortunately, we’re mostly out of flowers for custom bouquets today. They’re usually used as accent flowers in other arrangements,” he explained. “Is there any particular reason for that choice?” The man spoke with a calm, nearly mechanical cadence, but it carried such warmth in it that Draco felt instantly soothed. His hazel eyes looked at Draco with such a knowing intensity that he averted his own before he even realized what he was doing.
“It’s for my wife,” he said, forcing himself to look into the man’s eyes and straightening his back. He saw a slight smile at the edge of the man’s mouth, although its cause was unclear. “Her name is Astoria. I thought if there was an asteria flower it would be nice to get her one, but I suppose that isn’t the case.”
“Some people say that the aster flower was created by the tears of the Greek titaness Asteria. Does your wife like roses?” the man asked abruptly, turning and heading further into the rows before Draco could respond. Hesitating, Draco followed him, carefully stepping through the plants. “If she does, this might be what you’re looking for. Red roses and white asters,” he clarified, offering Draco a bouquet. It was pretty, although Draco lacked an expertise in flower arrangement and couldn’t tell much other than that.
“I’ll take it,” he said, and the man smiled again, wordlessly leading him to the cash register. “What’s your name?” he found himself asking as he paid.
“Avalon,” he responded, gesturing to the stack of business cards on the counter. Not wanting to seem rude, Draco picked one up, tucking it into his pocket. “I should get a name tag, though. What’s yours?”
“Draco.”
“Well, I hope you come back soon, Draco,” Avalon said, and strangely enough, Draco found himself thinking that he might.
It had never exactly been a happy marriage. It hadn’t been intended to be, at least on Draco’s side. He didn’t know if Astoria had expected him to love her, but he knew that neither of them had expected something so broken from its very inception, where after one year and three months of marriage their best days were when they greeted each other apathetically across the breakfast table and didn’t interact until dinner. They had been friends once, or at least some approximation of friends, but after his parents and hers and a wedding four months after they started dating and two months after her twentieth birthday, their friendship had splintered under the weight of too many expectations and misplaced hopes. Their fight yesterday had been the worst one yet, where they had screamed at each other for hours and she had left, seething, to spend the night at her one of her friend’s homes. The guilt that he had felt paled in comparison to the blessing of an empty bed.
As the elevator stopped at the top floor of their apartment building, he braced himself, not entirely sure of what to expect when the doors opened. They lived in a penthouse in the south of London, and while he missed the countryside mansion in which he had spent his youth, he wasn’t yet prepared to go back home and start raising children of his own.
Astoria was on the couch when he entered, reading. She didn’t look up as he entered, clutching the bouquet with far more force than he suspected was good for the flowers. He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him before he could start.
“Your parents called today,” she said icily, and this, a passive-aggressive fury that would make them sidestep each other for a few weeks before it thawed into something more manageable, he knew how to handle. “They asked when we were going to start giving them grandchildren.” For a second, he forgot how to breathe, as his thoughts started racing wildly around his mind. “I told them we were waiting a half a year or so because you were very busy with work,” she continued, and his heart stuttered back to its normal pace. If there was one thing they could count on in their relationship, it was the preservation of their parents’ expectations. The thing that they had bonded over, in friendship and then in marriage, was the thin layer of half-truths that served as a barrier between them and the people who had raised them. “They also asked when we were coming out to visit them for our summer trip, and I said that we’d come by in early July.”
“I’m sorry, Tor,” he said, offering her the flowers, and she finally looked up. She knew it was a lie, or at least most of one, and he knew that she knew, but her face softened a bit and she took the bouquet anyways, walking into the kitchen to put them in a vase. He trailed after her. Most days it felt as though they were actors in a play that neither of them quite knew the lines for, where they partially understood how to act but not how to feel. “For everything. We’ll - I’ll be ready to start trying in a few months. I promise.” She knew that was a lie, too, but it was something she could hold him to, at the very least. She smiled at him, but it was just a motion, done more out of duty than true emotion.
“I have dinner with Daphne tonight, in case you’d forgotten. You’ll have to fend for yourself for dinner.”
“You look lovely tonight,” he said, truthfully.
“I’ve accepted your apology,” she replied. “You don’t have to keep trying to make it up to me.”
“You do, though.”
She smiled again, a little more genuine. “I’ll be home later,” she said, walking past him, close enough that he could reach out, stop her, kiss her, or brush his arm against hers just so she’d know he was there. He didn’t, and she didn’t either, and he stood alone in the kitchen as she left.
Two weeks later, and the emotion of their argument had been shoved somewhere deep enough inside of them that it would take another argument, a few glasses of liquor, or several hours of being alone with their thoughts to resurface. Only remnants remained; the haunting knowledge that he had promised Astoria that in five months and two weeks he was going to try to become a father, the dead flowers that still sat in the kitchen, and the business card that - inexplicably - still sat on Draco’s desk.
Avalon Arbore, Florist . He had no idea why he hadn’t just thrown the thing away, but there was something about the peculiar familiarity of the man that kept him from getting rid of it, along with the knowing way he had looked into Draco’s eyes. It had been off-putting, far too intimate for any stranger, but it was more comfortable than when he was with his wife, more comfortable than he had been with Pansy or Crabbe or Goyle or Blaise. So, for no reason other than to feel seen, Draco found himself walking into the Sword in the Snapdragon for the second time. The bell was just as annoying.
This time, Avalon appeared immediately. “Oh, Draco! What can I do for you?”
Draco opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He hadn’t thought of an excuse for being here. “I want some flowers, obviously,” he said, trying to muster up the overly confident and careless attitude he’d had in his schoolboy days. He was still like that around his friends, of course, but seeing them was rare nowadays, and the politeness expected to come with adulthood had dulled his edges into something that the world could more easily manage.
Avalon looked at him with the amusement of a friend who had spent years beside him. “You’ve come to the right place,” he replied, gesturing for Draco to follow him further into the store. “A little specificity would be helpful, though. Apple?” he offered, as they reached the counter. Next to the cash register sat a basket of fresh green apples, as well shaped and shiny as any Draco had ever seen.
“Thank you,” he replied, taking one. As Avalon began to speak, showing him the different options, he bit into it. The light, crispy texture made a loud crunch as he ate, and the taste was a perfect blend of sour and sweet. It reminded him of the apples that grew on the manor’s grounds, of which he had found no rival.
He spent almost an hour in the shop, discussing flowers with Avalon; although the topic had never interested Draco before, it seemed fascinating when it came from Avalon’s mouth. Eventually he settled on an expensive bouquet, based primarily around strangely shaped red flowers imported from abroad.
“I hope your wife enjoys them,” Avalon said, and Draco gave a small smile, knowing that not even a thousand bouquets would satisfy her, that he could never provide what she wanted. “Come back soon,” he continued, and Draco replied, “I will,” and that night, when Astoria kissed him with lips as red as heliconia flowers, when her nails left protea-pink trails down his back, he thought of Avalon.
Why he kept thinking of this man was a mystery, and it was one he was determined to solve. Okay, he was unhappy in his marriage, but that wasn’t new. And he knew why, although he wouldn’t dare speak it aloud, but imagining a man beneath him as he fucked his wife was different from imagining this man. Despite the fact that he had met him only twice, thoughts of him clung to Draco’s mind like spider webs. If only they were as easily batted away. The comfort he felt in Avalon’s presence was inexplicable, as was the way he slipped out of his usually confident demeanor into that of a stuttering child. As was the way that Avalon made him interested in flowers, of all things, which he had never even liked. Maybe it was that he needed a change, or someone who didn’t know him the way his wife or co-workers or friends did. But to find that in him? It was ridiculous.
It was bad, he decided. It would be bad for his reputation, if anyone found out - not that there was anything to find out, of course; he’d visited the florist twice to buy flowers for his wife, there was hardly anything suspicious in that. It was bad for his marriage… well, Astoria had been enjoying the flowers, so maybe not. But it was definitely bad for him, this haunting of his thoughts. He had to stop.
But in another week, he found himself once again visiting the Sword in the Snapdragon, buying another bouquet for his wife. His visits became more frequent, first once a week, then twice, and eventually three times. They talked for at least an hour each visit. The fifth time Draco visited, Avalon said “You must really love your wife,” and Draco, in an unexpected moment of truthfulness, said, “No.”
“You must really like me then, huh?” Avalon joked, and Draco felt himself blush for the first time in years. The sixth time, Avalon wrote his number on one of the business cards and slipped it into the bouquet. The eighth, he kissed Avalon behind the rows of plants, and Astoria, glowing, asked him why he kept getting her flowers before she pulled him into their bedroom, kissed him a little too hard, and fucked him into the mattress. The ninth and he stayed until closing time, and Avalon invited him upstairs to his apartment, and they talked for hours, about Draco’s life, about flowers, about the name of the shop - “I wanted a theme,” he said, “and since my name was already Avalon I figured Arthurian was the way to go.” - and the latest movies and the newest books and the future - “I’ve always wanted to go to Greece,” he said, and Draco had to stop himself from blurting out, “I’ll take you.” - and anything else that was on their minds, with the exception of family. It was the tenth when they first had sex, the eleventh when they first had a meal, and the twelfth when, as Astoria went away for the weekend, he first stayed the night. The flowers had stopped being purchases and were instead gifts, although half of the time Draco insisted on paying anyways. Their affair went on for three weeks more before Astoria reminded him that they were visiting his parents in a week, and, the night before he left, he told Avalon he would be leaving for a while but declined to tell him where. Although Avalon never seemed uncomfortable with mentioning Astoria, Draco was, and his parents were a can of worms that he definitely didn’t want to open. So, one July night, he packed their car full of luggage and began driving into the English countryside.
The first hour was blissfully silent. The next two were a discussion of what, exactly, they will be telling Draco’s parents, because the truth would disappoint them and a lie would be seen through in seconds. The final hour of their drive veered dangerously close to argument, so after half an hour they shut up and didn’t look at each other for the rest of the drive.
Soon enough, they approached a long, winding drive. In the distance, they could see the manor. Farther beyond both the manor itself and the neatly manicured lawns that followed it was a grove of trees, which from Draco’s car looked like nothing more than a green blur. He fondly remembered spending his youth among those trees, and if tonight went as he suspected it would, he’d be escaping to their familiar presence soon enough.
As they pulled into the driveway, Draco focused on the sound of his tires rolling slowly over the gravel, rather than his parents, who were standing in the doorway. His mother was smiling, but his father had a look of disdain on his face, and already Draco felt small. He cursed himself for being so weak, parked the car, and got out to greet his parents.
“Hello, mother,” he said as Narcissa embraced him. His relationship with his mother was always one with more love than his relationship with his father, but perhaps that just made his inability to live up to expectations worse; at the very least, her desire for grandchildren was one he could brush off less easily than his father’s, which hinged solely on reputation. “Hello, father.”
“Welcome home, Draco,” his father said stiffly. As Astoria greeted his mother, servants began to converge on the car, hauling their luggage into the manor. His father looked nearly unchanged from Draco’s childhood, the wrinkles that now edged his face were the only difference, and even they were overlooked when faced with his stern and assertive demeanor. Draco trailed him inside as he quizzed Draco on his life - how was work, what had he been working on, how were things with Astoria, when was he moving into the manor, has he spoken with the Goyles lately - and Draco responded in half-truths that tasted more bitter on his tongue than the knowledge of his failures. He was grateful, at least, for the elegant way Astoria fielded his mother’s questions, and the easy way she smiled. Lucius lead them to the dinner table, where they sat for a meal more decadent than one Draco had had in months. Astoria was a good cook, but she paled in comparison to the chef at the manor, and Draco hadn’t eaten at a restaurant in a while. Dinner was filled with more questions, more updates, more passive-aggressive clues and pointed reminders, and by the end of it Draco was exhausted.
“I thought I might head out and take a walk,” he said, at the first available opportunity, his insides curdling at the cold look Lucius gave him.
“I’ll join you,” his mother replied, and he had no choice but to agree. The summer sun still hovered above them, although it was quickly nearing sunset as they wandered into the woods, following the well-trodden path that lead to their apple grove. The conversation between them was easy, small talk, and the tight ball of worry that had been building in Draco’s chest unravelled as they walked.
“You know,” his mother began, “your father and I married very young, too.” Draco said nothing, unsure of how to respond. She was silent for a few moments before continuing. “Astoria and I don’t agree on everything -” and Draco thought of the man with the dark skin and the white hair and thought that maybe she didn’t agree with him, either - “but it’s not right to her. She’s your wife, Draco. She deserves better.” She looked like everything she was supposed to be, and in that moment Draco realized two things: that he would never be able to tell her the truth, and that he needed to change the subject, right now. Desperate, he looked away, his eyes scanning the ground.
“Did you cut down my tree?” he asked, in lieu of a response. While Narcissa had been pregnant with him, one of their apple trees had gotten sick; they’d cut it down immediately, digging up all remnants of its body. The day he was born, she’d had another one planted in its place, an expensive, imported seed, that the vendors had promised would stay healthy forever, and she vowed for as long as it stood he would be healthy and happy. He’d grown up with that tree, and now it was gone.
“Your tree?” she asked. “No, of course not, why would we get rid of it?” she asked, frowning, but when she approached the place where it had stood, not even a stump was left. “It’s getting dark,” she said after a moment. “Perhaps we’re just forgetting where it stood. I’ll ask your father about it.” They walked back to the manor in silence.
The next day, after breakfast, Draco headed back into the woods, circling the spot where his tree had stood. There was no trace of it, not a stump, not a stick. Narcissa would never be so malicious, Lucius couldn’t care less about that tree, and regardless, neither of them had much motivation to cut it down, much less to leave no trace of doing so. For their part, his parents seemed as though they were genuinely confused. With each trip into the forest, Draco became more distressed, and his family became more annoyed. But after a week of hunting for clues with no result, he was forced to give up. For the rest of his trip, he was on edge. When not with his family or in his room, he spent his time with other trees, but the loss of this one was so off-putting he found himself unable to relax even then. When their trip was finally over, he was more than happy to be going home.
The day after he returned, he stopped by the flower shop on his way to work. Being with Avalon felt like the only honest thing he’d done in weeks. That night, he went back, bought his wife flowers, and kissed Avalon until he was dizzy, and he slowly started to regain the routine they’d had before he’d left. One night, he said, “The only time I feel happy is when I’m with you,” not realizing it until the words had been spoken, and Avalon looked at him, smiling, and said, “Me, too.”
Every time he went to see Avalon, it was as though he became more addicted to him. But the closer they got, the more it seemed Avalon pulled away. Draco was sure there was something he was hiding, but he didn’t know what it was. But they had been dating - and it was dating, wasn’t it? - for almost four months now. He’d told Avalon things he’d never told anyone else, and, as he had unfortunately realized, Avalon was the one thing that made him happy anymore. But it wasn’t like he could change anything; it would destroy him and his family in the process. He would be fine as is, as long as he had Avalon - and each day, it seemed as though he had simultaneously less and more of him. His mind felt frayed with worry, but he was fine with it, until Avalon said, “I love you,” one day and he said it too and suddenly the not knowing was too much for him.
“Are you seeing someone?” he blurted out. “Or, or something? Because I know there’s something , and every day it seems like you’re hiding more and more, and I don’t know if I can… I don’t know.”
Avalon looked at him, and was that fear in his eyes or was it sadness? “I’m not seeing anyone, Draco, and even if I was… you’re married, love, I don’t think you’re one to talk,” and that hurt, but before Draco could respond he continued with, “It’s nothing, Draco. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I would,” he promised, but Avalon just shook his head. “Fine, then. I’m leaving.” He regretted it the moment it left his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from walking out the door. Men didn’t go back on their word or beg for forgiveness.
This would be good for him, anyways. He could get back to his work, get back to his wife, to the family he’d promised her they’d start, and stop doing things - or people - that could ruin his reputation and life so easily. It would be fine, and it would be good. But one week in and the ache of missing him was almost unbearable, and the regret that had made a home in his chest was refusing to leave. It was bad enough that Blaise, at work, had asked him if he was sick, and he’d pretended that he’d had a mild fever. Faking sickness in front of his peers; he’d truly reached a new low. It took all of his self control not to stop by the flower shop each day on his way home from work. The next two weeks felt like wading through mud, and by this point he simply wanted to stop and let the mud swallow him whole.
Astoria was waiting for him when he got home that night, which was unusual. They’d started spending a bit more time together since he’d started getting her flowers, but they still were far from the loving couple they pretended to be in public. Dinner was ready, too, and while he had been late coming home, it was still far to early to be normal.
“We have some things to discuss,” she said as he sat down.
“Children,” he responded, bluntly.
She studied his face as though looking at a particularly difficult puzzle, and he wished, not for the first time, that they just had a normal relationship.
“Yes. When we have them -” and he hated that, that it was a when instead of an if , that it was going to happen and going to happen soon - “are we moving into the Manor, or staying in London? I was thinking London for a year or so, just to finish up anything we need to, then move back to the Manor, if you have no objections.”
The thought of leaving London, of leaving Avalon…
It was better that way.
“Why wait? I think it might be better to move back to the Manor when you get pregnant. We wouldn’t want the busy city life to make the pregnancy harder.”
Astoria looked surprised. It might’ve been the most genuine emotion he’d seen on her face in months. “Well, I… yeah, okay, I’ll just need to start wrapping up what I’m doing. You know, since we’re going to start trying to get pregnant,” she added, clearly expecting him to protest.
“Okay,” he said, and that was that.
Avalon was waiting in his office the next day.
“Draco -” he began, but Draco cut him off.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed, shutting the door behind him. The walls were mostly soundproof, but there were windows. “You can’t be seen here.”
“I was just delivering some flowers. That you ordered ,” he added meaningfully, gesturing to a bouquet behind him. Okay, fine, Draco could play along.
“Look, Avalon. I appreciate your delivery. My wife is going to love them. But you can’t tell me about… what’s happening with those flowers, so after today, our - our business relationship has to end.”
“I can tell you,” he said, so earnestly that Draco just wanted to kiss him. “You won’t believe me, but I can. Just… come to my shop after work, and I will tell you… all about the flowers.” Before Draco could respond, he left, leaving Draco staring after him, thoughts swirling in his head.
Blaise poked his head around the door. “What was that about?”
Draco looked up, startled. “Oh, uh, Astoria and I have started, well, we’re trying to get pregnant. I bought her some flowers, he was just delivering them.”
“Oh, congratulations,” he said, disappearing again.
Draco knew he shouldn’t go. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t . He had a wife. They were trying to have children. And Avalon was keeping secrets.
He went anyway, and Avalon turned the store’s sign to closed and led him upstairs.
“I’m just going to say it,” he said. “I’m just going to say it! Ugh, fuck. Okay.” Avalon was pacing back and forth across the room.
“Whatever it is, just tell me, okay?”
“I’m an epimeliad,” he said, rushed.
“A what?”
“An epimeliad. Dryad. Wood nymph. Shapeshifting apple tree.”
Draco stared at him. “Look, I’m not in the mood for jokes -”
“See, I knew you wouldn’t believe me. No. Look, I’m - do you think there are any parks that are empty this time of day? No, that’s not - ugh. I’m an epimeliad, and I’ll prove it to you the next time we’re alone outside - on suitable ground, of course, but - okay, okay, that’s only part of it, actually.”
“You can’t be serious,” Draco said, but he knew that he was. “Honey, I think you should - I don’t know, see a doctor, or -”
“No! No, I can prove it to you, just, just pretend you believe me until I can, there are other things I need to tell you.” He stopped pacing, evening out his breath and closing his eyes. Draco had no idea what to do. “I grew up with you,” he said, finally.
“You…”
“I grew up with you, and I knew I had to keep myself a secret, so I did. And then you left, and I thought, okay, well maybe I can finally go home, go back to my people, you know? There weren’t - there was one dryad there, but she wasn’t an epimeliad anyway, and I just - I wanted to see Greece. I wanted to find my family. But then I remembered you. And - and at first I just wanted to find you because I just wanted to see what you were up to, but then I saw you and - I don’t know. Did you know that nymph means bride? We’re hardwired for this, I think, for falling in love, and you - you’re perfect.”
Draco felt like he was floating, or perhaps dying, or like his world was crashing down around him. It made sense, it made too much sense, the familiarity, the apples, the way his tree had been gone.
“It’s been you. The whole time, my whole life. You’re the only one…”
Avalon smiled at him, his eyes wet with tears. “Yeah.”
He shifted, leaving room beside him where he sat on the edge of the bed, and Avalon sat beside him, kissed him, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever been happier.
“Greece, then? I can take you,” he offered.
“You would..?”
“Of course,” he said. “You’re the only thing I want.”