Chapter Text
The midday sun briefly broke through the gray clouds and shone softly through the windows, illuminating the lush, veritable jungle of greens and bright pops of colour in dreary Central London. The delicate chimes rang out above the door with the customary gust of cold air brushing through, signifying the most recent customer making their way into the shop. The shop was overcrowded with all sorts of plants, magical and non, some resting in various stands and troughs, on assorted tables, stools, and shelves. Others were hung upside down in various bouquets, drying out and filling the earthy smelling store with wafts of floral and herbal scents. Among the floor to ceiling plant clutter was a clerk's counter that held an ancient looking till, various last-minute tools, potions, and tinctures made locally from the same plants, the only spot not completely overrun was the swinging counter top that allowed for employees to go between the back room and the rest of the shop.
The air was filled with quiet whistles and creaks of various plants making their displeasure with the outside air known before the warming charms could resettle. A mindless “Welcome in!” was called out by the lone employee, sweeping dried leaves and pollen off the floor as he quietly puttered around his establishment, easily navigating the almost labyrinthine twists and turns of furniture housing the various plants. Checking the time with a wave of his hand and a mumbled tempus charm, the young shopkeep mindlessly waved his hand once more to cast a wandering sunlight spell to allow the various plants in the shop to get their necessary sunlight, ignoring the soft gasp from behind him at the display of power he still didn't quite understand the depth of.
It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon in the midst of October, so the rambunctious Hogwarts students that often ogled him from the windows weren't a staple in his daily life just yet. Settling behind the front counter as his most recent customer perused, yet still taking unsubtle glances at the local celebrity as most are still wont to do despite just over a decade passing since the war.
Harry Potter sighed through his nose before taking a moment to push his lengthy hair out of his face and adjusting his apron over his clothes. He was dressed simply today, trainers, blue jeans, and a soft, dark blue button down rolled to the elbow and thrown over a white tee, all underneath a hefty, well worn, green, canvas apron with the name ‘Wisteria’s Grove’ emblazoned on the front. He had never quite gotten used to the “Wizarding style”, and since he often ended up dirty and stained at the end of the day anyways, he thought it more reasonable to just continue wearing comfortable muggle clothes.
Audibly sighing again at his hair continuously falling in his face, he rummaged around in one of the drawers behind the counter, pulling out a lovely hair stick shaped like a stag's antler at the end, and wrapping his hair up with the hair stick. Hermione had gifted it to him for Yule a few months ago (“Really, Harry, you’re going to either break your wand or burn your hair off one day by using your wand in your hair like that,” she always griped at him), and he always felt a warmth in his chest when he used it. Harry pushed himself away from the counter to help with a few questions and a bit of gardening advice before returning to the till as the customer guiltily selected a few charmed, “to be easy care” plants. The young shop owner cheerfully checked his customer out at the till before returning to his tasks of maintaining the shop, listening once more to the basic, muggle chimes clink together musically as they left, purchase in tow.
“Come again, soon,” he called after them, wincing ever so slightly as their eyes turned hopeful, digging for some hidden meaning in his casual send off. Nonetheless, he was once more alone and free to let his mind wander as he began to go about pruning and caring for the plants around him.
Harry had settled into his life at the nursery, taking over from the previous shop owner he had met while trying to find a new outlet in life after the war. Nothing felt right, and despite going back to finish his seventh year, being a war hero and outright celebrity among the slog of court dates and hearings and appeals and speeches and dedications and charity events and trials and, and, and… a never ending deluge of constant chin wagging, politicking, and reliving the worst moments of his life over and over again. Not to even mention the ravenous and hateful press that did not give him or his loved ones a moment of peace or privacy for nearly two years after the fact.
The war had left Harry and many of his friends hollow and tired, barely able to care for himself as the nightmares plagued his sleep, and with Ron and Hermione living on their own, starting their lives together, he felt he couldn't reach out for help in quite the same way. Hermione was deep into her research at St. Mungo’s and Ron was a dedicated and happy stay at home dad, after a stint in the Auror’s for several years that didn't work out. He found it exacerbated a lot of his trauma, leading to a lot of arguments and strain in his marriage with Hermione. But with encouragement from both Harry and Hermione, he eventually sought a mind healer to work through his rage and pain.
There was a time he and Harry didn't speak, but after a while, Ron came around and they talked it out. All of it. The ugly moments, the jealousy, the hurt, everything from both sides that left the two men feeling lighter and closer after they cried and screamed for hours. In the end, they became even closer than when they were at school, and Hermione had to come babysit them during their “emotional hangovers”.
During that time, however, Hermione took notice Harry's condition, malnourished, gaunt, exhausted, and with vials upon vials of empty dreamless sleep haphazardly discarded around the flat. Ginny had been gone on a Quidditch tour for several months at that point, which allowed Harry to properly fall into the deep depression he'd been barely avoiding since the end of the war. Never enough time alone to truly fall to pieces, he had finally broken. His paranoia and paparazzi trauma kept him from seeking out help, and he had briefly lost his support system, making him isolate further and further.
Shortly after this, he started seeing a mind healer who had been sworn to secrecy on everything heard within Harry's sessions with threats from even the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt himself, to maintain discretion. From there, he began fixing up the house and even got a plant to ‘care for like he would care for himself’ as his healer suggested, which honestly did help slightly. What helped more was fixing up the mausoleum that served as his flat at number 12 Grimmauld Place, finally ripping through the dark and dank decor to make the space feel less hostile towards himself and his loved ones.
Harry and Ginny didn’t last long after the war ended, maybe three years at most. Ginny ended up going pro with Quidditch after graduating from Hogwarts while Harry found himself lost after finishing his final year. Some time between Harry’s existential home remodelling and Ginny’s long tours for matches, they both realised they felt more like roommates than partners. They had split amicably, what with the relationship not feeling authentic, more like an expectation from the world at large (and especially Mrs. Weasley) rather than actual romantic feelings.
They continued living together for about five years after that, nonetheless, neither truly uncomfortable with the other, and also both avoiding Molly Weasley's wrath being directed at Ginny if she were to move back home before she found a place she felt comfortable settling in. Ginny and Harry remained close, though, talking through dates, breakups, hookups, the crazies, and even their mutual coming out to each other. Ginny would end up moving in with both her boyfriend and girlfriend a few months later, with Harry and George cackling from the couch at Ron and Bill (visiting during the holidays) who were completely dumbstruck by the development.
After Ginny left Grimmauld Place, Harry decided to get back into something that always brought him a sense of accomplishment and even joy at times during his foul childhood.
Working in the gardens with Petunia was one of the few times she was actually more tender with Harry, teaching him how to properly tend to the gardens and care for which plants, how to know when the best time to plant things were, what to plant next to each other, how to properly plan the garden. She would be so preoccupied with her own joy in gardening that she would almost forget to be cruel with Harry. It had started small, just a potted plant or two here and there around the house, which turned into six or seven cluttering up an entire window space, until eventually an entire room was redesigned to be a sunroom for the massive forest of plants he had gathered. It got to a point that, around the holidays one year, Ron joked about decorating the monstera that took up an entire corner of the living room rather than a Christmas tree, but after a few shots of firewhiskey and a rather discordant rendition of ‘O’ Christmas Tree’ the monstera was draped in tinsel with charmed ornaments dangling in the air around it. Harry still can’t believe he let's that happen every year. Though their singing has improved, in his opinion.
However, Harry's green thumb was not satisfied with just regular nonmagical plants. Harry and Neville Longbottom became closer after the war as well, bonding over shared trauma as both being “potential chosen ones” targeted by Voldemort and his minions. They also began talking more and more about plants, Neville, having left Hogwarts only to buckle down for a mastery in herbology, would often spend hours discussing the subject with Harry on floo calls, during insomnia induced visits, and pages upon pages of discussion in letters.
Their shared love of the subject led them to Wisteria's Grove, a small shop located in an out of the way corner in Diagon Alley, run by Wisteria Groves, an elderly wix who watched two, 20-somethings looking wise beyond their years of the sorrows of life enter their shop with a look of awe and excitement that seemed to make the dark circles under the young men's eyes almost bleed away for a moment. They didn't treat the boys like celebrities, but as friends, opening their doors, their heart, and their mind to the two of them, especially young Harry, who came by much more frequently than Neville was able to in order to purchase dozens of plants over the years and pester them with questions about the care and useage of the plants they sold. In the end, Harry ended up apprenticeing under Wisteria, often working in the back rooms to care for, propegate, dry, and cure the many, many, many species of plants that made their way through the store. He had his mastery within the year.
So, when the opportunity came about to take over the shop of the retiring, elderly wix, a few months later, Harry jumped at the chance. He didn't really need to work, his funds never running dry despite how much he donates to different war relief funds and rebuilding projects. He’s even spent an almost outrageous amount on fixing up Grimmauld Place properly, removing old, cursed furniture and paintings (needing to hire out world renowned curse breakers who still took weeks to figure out how to be rid of Walburga’s sticking charms), removing old, probably actually toxic wallpaper and repainting, and redecorating. He'd set Kreacher free ages ago, leaving much of the cursed Black belongings to him despite all of his wailing and sobbing of blood traitors and filthy half breeds. Harry still shivered from time to time at how vile his vitriol often was.
Grimmauld place was actually liveable at this point, and was a place Harry enjoyed returning to at the end of every day. And now he had a purpose, a reason to get out of the house and “be an actual person” as his mind healer so gracefully put it. And that purpose was plants, apparently. And the customers that came through the door with their questions and shared love of plants.
Another soft chime at the door broke his reverie as he pruned a rather egotistical Preening Peony that was starting to dramatically wilt because a few leaves had started to brown ever so slightly. He called out a distracted,
“Welcome in!” just as an oddly familiar voice spoke up at the same time,
“Wisteria, my dearest! How I've missed you so! I swear, no one can grow better ingredients than you, not even mother nature herse–,” the strangely familiar voice suddenly cut himself off, with a weird raspy sort of croak that made Harry chuckle a bit as he slowly helped the peonies perk back up to their rightful state.
“You must have been gone some time! Wisteria left her shop to me about a year and a half ago! But she taught me just about everything she knows, so if you're looking for potions ingredients, we've still got some of the best in the Alley,” Harry called over his shoulder, before gently cooing compliments at the persnickety Peony to get its colours back to vibrant.
When no response came, he lifted his head to see who might have walked in, and what kind of awestruck “celebrity spotting” look they may have on their face with that kind of a reaction. Taking a moment to brush the shorter hair that consistently falls loose back from his eyes and adjusting his glasses to steel himself for the interaction, Harry turned away from his task to get better look. And a better view he got, as his breath stole from his lungs.
Standing in the doorway of Harry Potter's little plant nursery in a small corner of Diagon Alley was none other than Draco Malfoy. He definitely didn't stop growing after school, his tall, softly built frame filling the doorway, causing Harry to have to look up slightly into the storm gray eyes that were just as wide and shocked as his own. The sun chose an opportune moment to shine just behind Malfoy's head highlighting the halo of pale blond hair kept in a loose bun with well maintained, shaved sides. It was then that Harry noticed that it wasn't the actual sun, but rather the solar charm making its rounds around the shop. Just happenstance that it made the already stunning man literally glow.
He looked close to bolting. His already pale complexion somehow paling further, nearly green at the edges, and the tips of his ears glowing bright red.
He looked so different from when they were in school, but also…like no time had passed. It had been almost a decade since anyone had seen hide or hair of the boy, well, man at this point. He dressed casually, almost…muggle-like with a soft looking, forest green, sateen button down, unbuttoned just enough to show a little past his collarbone, the shirt was tucked into a high waisted, straight leg, charcoal coloured trouser, belted with a black, snake skin belt and resting above a pointed toe boot. He looked just as much of a pretty boy model as he always did. Harry realized he’d recognized the voice from the year he had worked in the back, often hearing the drawling tone eliciting a bright, booming cackle from Wisteria that always made Harry smile as well.
Harry realized they'd both been sat there, staring at each other for what felt like ages, but was probably only a few moments. Just as Malfoy was straightening up stiffly and turning to leave, Harry blurted out the first thing he could think of,
“We’re having a sale today!” He winced at how loud his voice was in the small space, and how instantly Malfoy flinched and froze mid turn. “That is, uh, de-depending on what you’re looking for, um, we have a few sales…going for…the season,” he trailed off, a grimace replacing the wince. Harry had so much he wanted to say to the man, but couldn't think of anything more to get him to not run for the hills the moment Harry opened his mouth.
“I doubt I'm very welcome in here, anymore,” he called over his shoulder coldly. He didn't fully turn, shoulders hunched slightly and eyes downcast. He didn't immediately leave, though, so Harry felt he'd gotten a foothold at the very least.
“The welcome in still stands, you know…any customer of Wisteria’s is a customer of mine. Unless you're mean to the peonies, it has taken so long to get them used to me and not Wisteria,” he chuckled awkwardly. Malfoy turned slightly, his brow furrowed, confused before landing on the beautifully full and vibrant peonies and smoothing his features out to softly raise his eyebrows in slight surprise.
“Oh, I…I don't think I could be, they’re…they’re stunning,” he said softly. “They're even prettier than when Wisteria cared for them…”
His voice took on a sort of wonder, brows furrowing slightly once more as his eyes scanned the peonies, flickering over to Harry as though seeing him in a new light. Harry, feeling a bit warm under such an intense stare, cleared his throat before speaking,
“Well don't act so surprised, Wisteria wouldn't trust just anyone to run the shop, would she?” Harry crossed his arms and cocked his hip, a slightly challenging smirk on his lips. Malfoy’s entire demeanour changed, his face shuttering, head down, body held stiff and close to itself.
“No, of course not. My apologies. I…I best be going,” Malfoy said so quickly that Harry didn't even have a moment to catch him before he was out the door and weaving through the lunchtime crowd. He realized he was standing there foolishly, arm still raised slightly, reaching out as though he could somehow stop him. Harry could have sworn he saw the tops of Malfoy’s cheeks turn bright pink as well as he hurried to cover his eyes with his sunglasses before he left the shop.
Conflicted, Harry decided to close the shop up for lunch a little early, hiding in his cluttered back office to hopefully clear his head before he opened back up for the evening.