Hogwarts Garden [DISCONTINUED]

“Did you hear her, Harry?” Neville asked, an excited grin plastered onto his face. 

“Erm, no sorry, what’d professor Sprout say?” 

“Hogwarts will be getting, well creating, a garden!” Neville happily whispered (though it was a very loud whisper). He seemed more and more mature after the war, but herbology was the only thing that made Neville act like the kid he once was. The clumsy and passionate kid Harry knew a few years back. Harry was glad to see his friend have something he cared for, something he could make a career out of, something he was happy with. Harry was envious, though happy for him. 

“That’s great Neville.” Harry whispered back, then averted his attention to Sprout. 

“Please write down two or more plants you would like to add to our soon to be garden!” She boomed. The shuffling of parchment and bags opening began. With the occasional chatter Harry heard, he tried to think about the second plant he would add to the garden. The first was quite obvious, lilies. For his mother. The second took more time to figure out. He had no real connection to any flowers other than lilies. After some pondering, Harry had decided on blue roses. 

How could he have forgotten the roses? He had always been fond of the roses, receiving them almost everyday in 5th year. They were pretty, and elegant, but always wilted too fast. The person Harry got them from was unknown, and Harry never actively tried to find who was sending them to him. If they would rather be hidden, let them be hidden. Harry used to think. When Harry had asked Hermione what the meaning behind the flowers meant, she went on about unrequited love giggling and teasing Harry about his supposed ‘secret admirer’. How young they were before, laughing and teasing over simple things, brought a small smile to Harry’s lips. He never did find out who was sending him the roses though. 

At the end of the year, he received a single green rose, and then they stopped coming in. He always did wonder who they were from, and Hermione had come up with the idea that they were from Cho Chang. The roses were blue and she was in ravenclaw, it made sense. However, 5th year had proved Harry wrong. 

Class was dismissed early, giving Harry 30 minutes before Charms. 

“Harry!” Ron called, catching up with the raven haired boy, “Wanna go out for a quick quidditch match?” 

“Nah, I’m alright. A bit tired, I’m going to finish the Charms homework.” Harry excused himself and started walking towards the Castle. 

“Right, erm we’ll see ya then.” Ron waved and started towards the quidditch pitch. “Wait!” He turned, “We haven’t had Charms homework for two weeks!” He called towards where he thought Harry was, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.

Ron shook his head, knowing Harry has been this way for weeks, and headed towards the quidditch pitch with the other Gryffindor boys.

Harry had gotten to the room of requirement, upon opening the door he was met with an extremely cozy room, sofas, beanbag chairs and pillows littered the floor, the fireplace's soft crackles made the room feel so much more homey. Safer and comfortable. Making various excuses several times a week he escaped to the room. Where its contents and layout changed depending on his needs. Oh how grateful he was for magic. 

His need right now was to figure himself out. Which proved to be quite harder than he had expected. Genuinely thinking he wouldn’t live past 17 had gotten his priorities out of sorts. Being honest with himself, he knew he was a wreck. No plan for his future, no passion, nothing he truly sought. He was stuck, wasn’t unhappy, but he wasn’t happy either. Luna had suggested he’d try out being more involved with other people. Based on her tone he guessed she meant his love life, but you could never be sure with Luna. 

Harry had tried with a love life. He dated Ginny, something went on with Cho (albeit he doesn’t know specifically what went on with Cho), and went on various dates with other girls after the war, during the summer. It was hard, hard to find someone who wasn’t interested in his fame, name, or money. Going out with anyone he was friends with since he was a 1st year felt wrong, it was like they were family, They are. Harry reminded himself. 

Harry sat down in an armchair, and shut his eyes tight, rubbing them and exhaling. He was exhausted. He couldn’t get any sleep, nightmares made him feel more tired than before he lay in bed and he’d rather avoid sleep all together if that was the case. Every time he closed his eyes he re-lived something. It was always something terrible too. 

Voldemort's laugh pierced through Harry and all he could feel was blinding pain, every inch of his body felt flames.

“Shit.” Harry said, as he felt a sharp pain in his chest. “Shit, shit, shit.” He gripped the armchair, heavily breathing. 

Why does everyone look at me like I’m crazed? It’s true, PLEASE! Harry’s cry was so loud in his memory he felt like he was watching them from a pensive. ‘Just kill the spare.’ That’s what Voldemort called him. That’s what he called Cedric, A FUCKING SPARE. Don’t sit there and tell me that I imagined all of it when I can still relive it if I just close my eyes! 

Harry opened his eyes, and met with the room of requirement. “Goddamn” he breathed. Though it was only a few months since he had “died” every surreal experience came back to him in bursts of pain. Tearing his nerves to shreds each and every time. It was cold and unforgiving, but his mind played it with such confidence, so commanding to his senses, he believed it was happening before him. Even in his demented, and disordered state, that sounded strange and wrong, hasn’t he already felt this?

Harry often ignored these bursts, as unhealthy as it most likely was, he wanted to focus on the present, leave the past as it was, as it is. He didn’t want what happened to haunt him, he didn’t want to be seen as a hero, or a murderer. He hated being Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.

“Make a list of things you need to do, and things you’ve done, cross out.” Hermione said over the summer, her words coming back to Harry while his mind frantically grabbed for things to keep himself busy.

“ Isn’t that just a todo list? ” Harry had questioned. At that she had rolled her eyes and began a long lecture on the difference between a to-do list and a goal list and the importance of each, blah blah blah. Harry had tuned out the rest. Now though, he thought Hermione could’ve been right. (When was she not?)

McGonagall had said “You are sure to become a fine young man, excelling in whatever profession you choose.” At the start of the year, most likely sympathizing with Harry when he said he didn’t want to be an auror. Why would he? He’s faced enough to know he needs a break. He needs to breathe freely again, he knows that. He does but it’s so goddamn hard when every time he closes his eyes it’s like he’s 14 again. Or 15, 16, bloody hell, even 6 again.

I still wanna help people though.. I should probably take Hermione's advice. Harry thought, making a desperate attempt to change his train of thought. Taking out a spare piece of parchment, a quill, and ink, he began to make his to-do (sorry, goal) list. 

Profession to help people 

Finish this list 

Set up living accommodations 

Don’t almost die (for good) this year at Hogwarts 

Breathe easy

“Good enough.” Harry mumbled. Checking the time, he still had 20 minutes left, so he decided it would be a good idea to take a decent nap, praying he didn’t have any nightmares because Merlin knows he needs some form of rest. 

Short, it was not. 

Harry woke up to the mid-day light coming into the room. He had missed all of his classes and currently owned a splitting headache. Other than that, he felt pretty good after that nap, no nightmares were a rare occurrence and he was grateful. 

The faint sounds of tapping filled the silent room, and Harry turned his attention towards the window. There was a large, and neatly groomed owl, waiting expectantly at the window.

Harry had opened the window, inviting the dark brown feathered owl inside. It perched on the desk beside him and dropped a flower. Then it flew away just as fast as it had come, not waiting for a response to give back to its owner. 

Describing it as a singular flower was wrong, it was more like an abundance of purple flowers attached to a stem. The inside of the petals were deep velvet, melding into purple. They were beautiful, they were hyacinths.

Harry didn’t know much about flowers, but he had the slight suspicion that their sender must have been the same person who gave him roses in 3rd year. Harry knew he had no evidence, it was bizarre and surely it could’ve been from anyone, especially after his second face with Voldemort coming out victorious. But Harry hoped it was from the same person from 5th year, so it was possible that’s why Harry subconsciously decided it was from that same person.

Why not a rose? Harry thought. He knew he wouldn’t go to Hermione, she would give him that knowing smile, and provide facts that led to more facts which led to a lesson, contradictory to what she had done in 5th year. Her level of maturity had been rising since then. He just wanted to know what it meant. 

He gingerly took the flower, and went to collect his stuff. Shoving his books in his bag, something caught his eye. On the desk where the owl had once perched, was a thick book. Intrigued, Harry approached it. The cover was a deep burgundy, gold letters sprawled atop it in neat cursive. 

Lingua de Florum 

Harry wasn’t sure what the words meant, but he had a hunch that they were Latin, he recognized the language, though could never really decipher it, never having taken classes. He carefully opened the cover, the pages were old parchment. Each one was covered in a different flower, it was art yet captured the life of each flower. Color pencils and watercolors of flowers filled pages along with cursive writing under it. Harry flipped through until he found the purple flower elegantly painted on the page. The words below it wrote, 

Regret, Sorrow, Forgiveness 

-The Purple Hyacinth 

Harry took the book, and left. Placing the hyacinths in a vase that had not been on the windowsill just minutes before. Even after so many years Harry was still amazed by magic. 

By the time Harry dropped his bag off at his dorm (thrown next to his bed on the floor) it was nearly supper time. He had missed lunch, and came to breakfast late, he knew if didn’t show up for dinner Hermione would give him that pitying look and Ron would “subtly” push for Harry to eat. Ron was never subtle about things. 

As Harry made his way down to the Great Hall he passed a classroom that definitely sounded like frustration towards a giggling peeves. Without really thinking it through (Harry rarely ever thought things through) he walked into the classroom, which happened to contain several spells bouncing off the walls. 

The first thing Harry saw was peeves with a bucket of worms, Oh god worms, why worms. Harry thought. Those things never die . Harry snatched his wands from his robe, aimed it at peeves, and spoke, “Impedimantia.” The spell went straight through the poltergeist. 

“Potty!” Peeves grinned. 

“Potter, those spells don’t work on him, they go right through him. As frustrating as that is.” Malfoy glanced at Potter for a second before he ducked, worms flew over his head and exploded once they hit the wall. The stench was unbearable and the sight of worm guts made Harry sick. 

They do die, Harry thought. “Malfoy.” Harry said. Malfoy gave him an annoyed glance as he swiftly dogged more exploding worms.

“I don’t have time for your childish speculations, you blundering oaf of a poltergeist.” He spat. 

“Why not just leave?” Harry called to Malfoy from the doorway. Just as Harry said that the door behind him shut, and worms came flying his way. Harry moved out of the way, the now exploded worm remains smeared all over the door. 

“Potty! Maybe you should join Malfoy in the gardens! He’ll need some worms, and maybe a pot!” Peeves cackled, holding up a handful of worms. In Harry’s opinion, the joke was horrid.

“Oh I don’t know, why don’t you tell me Potter?” Malfoy sneered. 

“Can’t take on a Poltergeist Malfoy? Merlin.” Harry chuckled. “Confringo!” Harry’s spell was aimed at the bucket of worms, now exploding in the poltergeist face. 

“Tergeo.” Malfoy said as he stepped towards the door, the worm remains cleaned neatly off of the door, the blond stepped out. “If you hadn’t noticed, apart of my restrictions is on magic. I am not able to perform hexes, jinxes, or curses that may be harmful to anyone unless it is for educational purposes.” Malfoy said as he walked off, lacking in his normal venom, and not looking back. 

Peeves had vanished, and Harry really should be getting to the Great Hall now. Ron and Hermione would get on his case if he didn’t.