WHO: Jasper Williamson & a Knockturnian florist. WHAT: Investigations Part I. WHEN: Sunday 22 April. WHERE: Knockturn Alley. WARNINGS: None.
"Talking Venus Fly Trap," explained what seemed like a disembodied voice whispering just below Jasper's right ear. The florist's breath tickled the back of Jasper's neck and he immediately tensed, gripping the wand in his pocket at the eerie behaviour.
Jasper turned to face the florist, who had somehow gone from what seemed right behind him to several feet away. The baby-sized fly-trap, rather like it's oversized cousin from several months ago outside the Old Wizards Home, opened its mouth to snap at Jasper. He quickly stepped away; he wasn't having a repeat of that fiasco, thank you very much.
"Is there anything, in particular, I can help you with? A bouquet of bleeding begonias? A grim omen orchid?" the florist asked. She was dressed like you'd expect a Knockturn-based florist to dress: very Morticia Addams-esque. In Jasper's very biased opinion, she looked exactly like the creepy motherfuckers Zabini liked to associate with.
He pulled out the photograph of the various flowers that he'd received a few weeks ago. "I was wondering if you could help me identify any of these flowers. And if they'd come from your shop? I have—" Flick's corpse slumped against his door "—an ex I'd love to return the favour to."
Morticia the Florist examined the photos for a moment, her eyebrow raised slightly before her face restored to neutral indifference. "I'm afraid these bouquets are too ordinary, I don't carry any of these. You could find these lilies at any Muggle store." Her lip curled and her nose wrinkled at the mere idea that he would buy lilies from muggles.
"Are you an acquaintance of Noelle Zabini?"
"Oh, was she your ex?"
"Of course bloody not, do I look old enough for her?"
Morticia the Florist shrugged and picked out a long-stemmed rose. "You could send her these. The thorns are doused with a heavy sleeping potion that won't lift for a week."
Jasper was tempted, but that little voice in his head that reminded him that even if he was fired and his office didn't exist anymore, he was still an Auror piped up. He was really beginning to miss his old badge. Getting people to talk without it was more difficult than he'd thought. "That requires someone to be stupid enough to prick their finger," he replied instead.
"Mm," was all Morticia would say, as though she firmly believed he was one such specimen. "I'm afraid I can't help you, then. If you aren't planning to purchase anything, I would appreciate you leaving the premises, Mr…?"
"Avery," Jasper lied on his way out the door. "Mr. Dante Avery."