SUMMARY: At the far end of Diagon Alley, just past Ollivander's and a shop selling the most eclectic junk, sits a greenhouse. Blink and you just might miss it beneath an overgrown canopy of nature threatening to overtake it. It is within this greenhouse that Harry Potter finds his escape. From work, from the real world…and, most importantly, from his ex-boyfriend.

But, escapes never truly last forever. Harry soon finds out the hard way that running from your past does not solve it. Nor does it ever change what you may have done.


TEASER


Herbology | Cultivated Comfort

by JessicaDoom

excerpt from Part One

"Why does it bother you if Zabini finally popped the question?" Neville inquired, settling into a cross-legged position in the soft grass. In his hands, he tenderly held a small ceramic blue pot which housed what appeared to be just a few fuzzy, yellow leaves. Neville ran the pad of his pointer finger over the leaves as he continued to ruminate. "I thought you'd decided he was an alright enough bloke for Gin. You'd decided she could handle her own. Remember?"

Considering this realisation came after Ginny rather publicly called Harry out for "being unnecessarily interrogative" to her then-boyfriend (who was nothing like his mother, thank you very much) — yeah, Harry remembered it quite clearly. And, truly, he had nothing against Zabini or the relationship he had with Ginny. They were a good pair. Well-matched in nearly every way. No, it wasn't their "happily ever after" that irked Harry.

It was their need to ensure everyone around them was just as happy as they were.

"Yeah, of course. But…," Harry hesitated, closing his eyes to better focus his thoughts. He felt like he was reeling, spinning. He felt out of control and ready to go fully off the rails. That old, panicky feeling was back, buzzing in his fingertips.

"But?"

Harry flexed his fingers absently as he struggled to put the feeling into words. "But…Zabini had to go and ruin our amicable terms by asking when I was 'finally going to make an honest man out of Draco'."

Neville huffed that tell-tale sigh. The "Draco Fucking Malfoy" sigh. All of his friends had likely heard the name enough to last them a lifetime and had collectively perfected this specific noise of annoyance. Not that Harry blamed them, he was tired of ruminating on his ex-boyfriend, too, even while the wound was still quite fresh after only a few months. Then again, a wound never properly heals when the scab keeps getting ripped open. Harry himself had done most of the ripping, but somehow it hurt more when someone else took their turn.


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