Strings of violets are all in tune

[walburgisnacht.livejournal.com]

*Walburga adores flowers and always has. Fresh and varied blooms in harmonious colors, all properly trimmed of thorns and unsightly leaves and arranged artistically in an elegant vase--that’s as close as she cares to get to the outdoors. Certainly she’s been in a lovely garden or two, but that is not at all her preferred method of delivery: she’d much rather the handsome company owls that bring twice-daily flower arrangements to 12 Grimmauld Place, one for the morning and one for the evening.

It’s due to the nobility of her name but also this quotidien extravagance that their reception at the florist is nothing short of deferential. The shop is closed for them, a delicate table already bearing tea and petit fours; Magnolia Majoribanks herself is there, with two assistants, and all bow deeply in perfect unison and greet the four of them breathlessly. As Walburga acknowledges them, she can’t help smiling beatifically. This place is simply the best. The service is just wonderful, and it’s lovely to be surrounded by the beauty of nature--which is to say, the beauty of nature neatly groomed and placed just-so in delicate vases and brought for their perusal and taken away when necessary.

Final decisions will likely be settled later, by owl or upon a second appointment or even a third. It is early in the process yet, as eager Walburga is, and it won’t do to rush such an important set of decisions. Today they are here simply to peruse, to discuss, to await inspiration at leisure. Walburga, as the resident flower-language expert and matriarch and arbiter of taste--not to mention the one at the helm of wedding preparations-- takes the lead. Delicately, she clears her throat.*

I wonder if we might like to start with the hyacinth and myrtle?

--Unless there’s something you have in mind, Victoria dear.