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HP445- Pair of Flowers
🕑 Added 2025-06-11 13:11:42 +0000 UTCSusan was waiting in the greenhouse behind Sprout’s office, the one with the heated floor and better light, usually used for sensitive seedlings. Today though, it had been cleared out... long table at the centre, two chairs, a stack of parchment, and a small collection of wrapped sweets arranged in symmetrical rows.
“I hope you are not allergic to honesty,” she said as he walked in.
Harry shut the door behind him. “Only if it comes with guilt trips.”
She smiled. “Then we will get along fine.”
He shrugged off his coat and took the seat opposite her. The sweets weren’t from Honeydukes. These had wrapping spells Harry recognised from the Bones pantry... hand-enchanted stuff, spells layered with detail.
“Did you make all of this?”
Susan nodded, pulling the chair in. “Well, Hannah helped a bit. But the charms are mine.”
He picked up one of the wrapped pieces, turned it over between his fingers. “You do know this looks like a bribe.”
She raised a brow. “And if it is?”
He smirked. “Then it is working.”
They sat like that for a bit, the snow tapping lightly against the greenhouse glass. Inside, it was warm, comfortably so, and quiet enough that the shifting of parchment actually made a sound.
“I didn’t plan a speech,” she said eventually.
“Good,” Harry replied, unwrapping the sweet. “I’ve had enough lately to fill a bloody theatre.”
Susan leaned back slightly, watching him. “I wanted time. Just... time with you, where I am not fitting between plots or shields or some brewing emergency.”
He popped the sweet into his mouth. “You mean I can’t offer you a cursed object to decode?”
She gave him a look. “That was one time. And you said it was just dusty.”
“It was dusty. Also cursed.”
Susan sighed, then smiled despite herself. “This isn’t a competition, Harry. You don’t have to prove anything today.”
He studied her face for a second. “I am not trying to.”
She nodded. “Good. Because I’m not here to be managed, you know.”
That got a proper chuckle out of him. “I would have to be mad to think I could manage you.”
“Exactly,” she said, sitting forward. “So I thought we could just... sit. Eat sweets. Be awkward for a bit. See what happens.”
Harry considered that. Then picked up another sweet. “Alright. But only if you tell me what this one does before I eat it.”
“Turns your teeth green for seven minutes.”
He paused.
“Also tastes like cinnamon.”
He ate it.
They stayed like that a while... chatting, pausing, drifting from topic to topic without needing to anchor any of it to something larger. The stack of parchment never got touched. The sweets slowly disappeared.
Eventually, Susan pulled a small, square box from under the table. “It is not a gift. It is a backup plan.”
Harry opened it. Inside was a tiny vial of blood-red potion, sealed with three wax runes.
“Emergency memory wipe?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Focus draught. For the next time you try to do seventeen things at once and nearly blow your eyebrows off.”
Harry laughed softly. “Thoughtful.”
Susan shrugged. “I live in your blast radius. I plan ahead.”
He closed the box. “You always do.”
She hesitated, just a beat. Then reached across the table and took his hand.
“I don’t need declarations,” she said quietly. “I just want to keep being in the room when it counts.”
Harry squeezed her hand. “You already are.”
Susan leaned over the table then and kissed him... quick, to the point, exactly like the rest of her. Straightforward. Smart. No performance.
When she pulled back, she tapped the top of the box.
“Take it. You will thank me later.”
Harry slipped it into his pocket. “Already do.”
They stood, lingered at the door.
Harry gave her one last look, smiled faintly, and disappeared into the snow.
Hannah wasn’t far off. Harry found her in one of the quieter greenhouses, hands already deep in soil. The door creaked as he stepped in, and she glanced up without surprise.
“Here,” she said, tossing him a pair of gloves. “I wanted to work you a bit, if you don’t mind.”
Harry caught them and tugged them on without protest. “Free labour on Valentine’s. Classy.”
“Don’t whinge,” she replied, already crouching beside a bed of seedlings. “You didn’t even bring flowers.”
He joined her, settling on the other side of the planter. “You’ve already got more here than a whole florist. Thought I’d just blend in.”
Hannah smirked and brushed a bit of dirt off her cheek with the back of her hand. “Fair.”
They fell into rhythm quickly... Harry trimming back the edges of an overgrown vine, Hannah adjusting the soil levels. It wasn’t complicated work.
Hannah wanted to cultivate together... plants, sure, but also time. A bit of quiet with hands in the dirt, no explosions, no brewing deadlines, no mad dashes to dodge hexes. It suited her. And Harry didn’t mind. He actually liked this sort of thing with her. In a life where every hour felt like a sprint, Hannah gave him a reason to sit still without going mad.
They worked in steady rhythm, neither needing to speak much. Harry passed her the shears without being asked; she nudged the compost bag closer with her foot when he shifted. That kind of ease.
"Bet you didn’t think Valentine’s would end elbow-deep in fertiliser," she said, patting down the roots of a young creeping fig.
“Beats dodging floating cherubs,” Harry replied, trimming a vine with his wand. “One tried to shoot me outside the library earlier.”
“Serves you right,” she said, tossing a weed over her shoulder. “You’ve been walking around like a blooming prince all week. Thought you could hide in the greenhouses?”
He gave a half-smile. “Was hoping the vines would shield me.”
They paused to water the row they’d just planted. Hannah flicked her wand, guiding the stream carefully between rows, while Harry levitated the next seed tray over.
She gave a small smile. “You’re not too bad at this.”
“Gardening?”
“Being with people,” she said, not looking up.
He didn’t reply straightaway. Instead, he picked up the last seedling, settled it in place, and finally said, “Maybe I just needed the right ones.”
“Cheesy,” she muttered.
“True,” he said.
They stood, brushing dirt from their robes. Hannah peeled off her gloves and looked up at him.
“I don’t want to be in a competition.”
“You are not,” Harry said.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me. Daphne’s got her spreadsheets, Tracey’s out here bribing with desserts, Luna’s building magical swan armies.”
“Yeah, but none of them asked me to dig up vines with them.”
He shed the gloves, brushing his hands off against his jumper before reaching up to hold her face... thumbs resting light at her cheekbones.
“I know this is mad,” Harry said, meeting her eyes, “the whole thing. Nine girls, one idiot.”
Hannah didn’t look away.
“I am not pretending it’s normal,” he went on. “But I am not pretending it is nothing either. I get how lucky I am. And I am not about to start picking favourites like it is some Quidditch bracket.”
Her brow arched faintly, like she was weighing how much of that was just charm. Harry didn’t flinch.
“I mean it,” he said. “I am not asking any of you to fight for space. Or pretend it doesn’t bother you some days. I just want you to know... I will give my best to all of you. Not scraps. Not leftovers. What I can give, I will.”
Hannah reached up, fingers lightly tapping his wrist. “That is a lot of words for someone who usually dodges feelings like they’re hexes.”
“Yeah, well,” Harry muttered. “Valentine’s. Makes people soft in the head.”
She gave a small snort but didn’t pull away. “You are not wrong.”
They didn’t move. Let the moment settle on its own, dirt still clinging to the sleeves of her jumper, a stray vine brushing Harry’s elbow. Then Hannah leaned up and kissed him. When she stepped back, she gave him a look that could have come straight from Sprout after a perfectly potted mandrake. “Alright. You’ve earned tea. Real tea, not that rubbish they serve in the Great Hall.”
Harry raised a brow. “You bribing me now?”
“I am bribing you with peace and silence. And a decent chair.”
“Sold.”
They left the greenhouse side by side, mud still on their boots, not bothering with the pretense of elegance. Just warmth of the moment.
