Title: Growth

Pairings: Harry/Draco

Summary: After struggling to cope with the aftermath of the war, Harry takes Neville's advice and turns to Herbology for relaxation and makes a career from his work. His life is calm, ordered and just the way he likes it: until Draco Malfoy turns up at his shop, demanding payment of his life debt in the form of the growth a very difficult plant… HPDM.

Warnings: Nothing too much really – obviously its slash, as a Harry/Draco pairing, but no sex. Potential light swearing/kissing in later chapters. Nothing too offensive!

Authors note: I don't know how this story will really turn out, if I'm honest, it was just an idea that sort of.. Introduced itself to me! The herbology details may be a little sketchy – the plant in the story is completely of my own fiction, although it is a real Latin word I looked up. I have no idea how long it will be – though it will be a short story, so probably no more than 5 chapters – and I'll update at least weekly. Hope you all enjoy and please, as always, review.

Growth

Chapter One

Life-debt

Harry smiled at the feeling of the moist, thick soil under his palms as he dug by hand to make a hole for his newest seedling. Instead of wearing gloves to shield the dirt, he revelled in the feeling of soil working its way beneath his fingernails, of the ground moving beneath his skin. The feeling relaxed him and, when the earth had been worked and Harry was satisfied, he turned to the crate of bulbs behind him to tenderly free one from the wooden box and return it to its rightful home beneath the earth.

Neville had introduced Harry to Herbology after the war, insisting it would help him find peace. Harry had, at first, thought him crazy. He had spent countless hours breaking his back, tending to Aunt Petunia's garden in the roasting summer holidays. He had studied Herbology at Hogwarts and that had assured him that even magical plants held only marginally more excitement. He had no reason to believe that working with Neville would change his beliefs. But his friend has persisted and, after the worried glances Hermione and Ron exchanged for the fiftieth time as Harry told them again that no, he didn't want to be an Auror, and yes, he knew he once had, but he had changed. And that change wasn't a bad thing.

Except he knew it was. He was tortured each night by memories of the battle, of dark curses, Death Eaters and - worst of all - the dead haunting him. That was why he no longer wanted to be an Auror. He had once dreamed of fighting, of being the hero he was pitched to be. But the horrors of the war had changed him. He wanted peace, and calm, and life.

That had been exactly what Neville offered him. The plants he shared with Harry, their growth from seed to blossom had been healing for Harry in ways he couldn't describe for, in all honesty, he didn't really understand them himself. The growth of the plants he tended helped the growth of his soul; the earth beneath his fingers helped him move past the haunting nightmares of the dead, the need to tend to a fragile seedling helped him move past his uncertainty over his relationship with Ginny and watching the blossoms burst into flower helped him to accept the sexuality leaving Ginny allowed him to recognise. They had started with a small greenhouse, a tiny business which had expanded to a store right in the heart of Diagon Alley. Neville had, in September, taken Professor Sprouts retirement as a chance to become a Herbology professor at Hogwarts. Now Harry ran their business alone - well, Neville's name remained on the business deeds and so it would, when Harry still needed his advice with some of the trickier aspects of Herbology - and he couldn't be happier. His life was calm, peaceful and full of order. It may seem dull to some but, after the pain and uncertainty of the war - after years living with the insecurity that he may not even have a life to live – dull was exactly the way Harry liked it.

Sweat dripped down his brow, and he snapped from his thoughts as a faint tinkle of a bell sounded from the shops front. His greenhouses were magically connected to the store in Diagon Alley so - in quieter days such as this - Harry could tend to both his plants and the store without requiring extra staff. He wiped his dirty hands on his apron, cast a hurried cooling charm at the perspiration on his brow, and apparated away with a simple twist.

He popped into his shop, right behind the counter as he always did, and launched into his usual greeting;

"Good afternoon, may I ask what you're -" Harry stopped dead when he made eye contact with the customer gracing his shop, blinking in disbelief. "Malfoy?" He asked, although he wouldn't mistake the man anywhere. He had seen him little in the past few years, unless you counted the social pages of the Daily Prophet as he partied and swooned and charmed the politicians, celebrities and influential names of the time. The last time he had seen him in the flesh had been after the trials, after Harry and spoken for him and returned his wand. Their meeting had been strained, with many unspoken words and unacknowledged life debts hanging in the air between them.

So that was why Harry was more than a little surprised to see him standing in his store. There were plenty more Herbologists around, that was for sure. Many of those were more than likely more... Harry glanced at Malfoy's fine grey - almost silver, when the light graced it - cloak, polished boots and slick hair and then at his own dirty overalls, scruffy trainers and flyaway locks. Yes, many other businesses were more suitable for shoppers such as Malfoy. So what was he doing here?

"Hello Potter." Malfoy greeted, giving a curt nod as he cast his gaze around the barrels of roots and pots of seedlings.

"Can I help you?" Harry asked when it became apparent that Malfoy would not speak further for himself. He felt uncomfortable and he wasn't sure why; he wished desperately he had more presentable clothes on, at the very least a robe, and resisted the urge to try and flatten his hair as the dirt he could feel packed beneath his fingernails would doubtless only make the situation worse. He dismissed the urges as quickly as they came - why in Merlin's name did he care about how he looked? He was working - and focused back on the man in front of him.

"I had heard that you turned to Herbology." The blonde noted, sweeping his cool, grey gaze to Harry as it finished assessing the shop.

Harry nodded, more than a little confused. "I'm sure you did. We've been here for several years now." Harry said, gesturing vaguely to the shop around him. The press attention their store got when it opened had been the one and only time Harry had been glad of the attention his name commanded - it had been excellent for business.

"We? I thought Longbottom had moved to Hogwarts?" Malfoy appeared to tense as he asked the question, his pupils dilating as his eyes widened and flickered around the shop front.

Harry nodded again, not taking his eyes from Malfoy's. His edgy movements at the thought of Neville confused Harry (yes, they had never liked each other and true, Malfoy had relentlessly bullied Neville at school - but why would that bother him now?) and made him all the more uneasy. Convinced his uneasiness came because - despite fighting for his innocence - he didn't trust him, was reluctant to let him from his sight, even for a second. "He has. He still owns half of this place though; I just run it alone now."

Malfoy instantly appeared to relax, he nodded, and settled his gaze back on Harry. Once again he said nothing for long moments and Harry met him eye for eye. Harry had no time for any games the blonde might want to play; he had no interest in wrestles of power or politics, which was why he had stepped away from the Ministry many years ago.

"So can I help you?" Harry repeated; he would press the request from Malfoy, dismiss whatever crazy notion had brought him here and return to planting his batch of goosegrass bulbs; St Mungo's had been warned of a rise in a rare skin ailment affecting young children in France and wanted to ensure they had the ingredients required to brew the remedy if required. Harry had been only too happy to offer his assistance – not only was it a way he could continue to help people, but the price tag attached to the project meant he and Neville could afford to expand into another greenhouse.

"I'm here on private business." Malfoy said, shifting his eyes from the door through which he had entered, to the door behind the counter where Harry stood. "Perhaps, a private discussion?" He asked, inclining his head toward the door behind Harry. Harry shook his head – the door would reveal nothing but a toilet. The main hub of the business, the greenhouses and storerooms, were reached through apparition, as they required much larger land than Diagon Alley offered. "Very well." Malfoy said, curling his lip in annoyance and flicking his wand toward the entrance. Harry heard the familiar click of a locking charm and saw a faint, blue glow which he vaguely recognised as being some sort of warding charm; he was about to open his mouth to protest to both – it was the middle of the day, and although Diagon Alley was quiet at the start of November, business could call at any moment – when Malfoy spoke.

"I am here, Potter, to claim a life debt." He spoke with a cool, detached tone as if he were reading an article on the weather from the back pages of the Prophet. His cool voice suggested calm, but Harry watched the way his eyes glittered with apprehension; he may have been raised by muggles, but he knew the importance pure bloods weighed on life debts. "During the war, when you were brought to the Manor-"

"You could have turned me in, but you didn't. I know." Harry interrupted; yes, he was much calmer than he had been in the years directly after the war, but he didn't particularly want to relive the memories of that year any more than he needed to. "I'm aware, as I said as much at your trial. As you are aware that I saved your life in return, from the fiend-"

"I know." It was Malfoy's turn to interrupt, although he bowed his head as he did so. Harry swallowed uncomfortably as he did so, realising Malfoy must be relieving the death of one of his closest friends in those flames, feeling sympathy swell in his chest until it was washed away by anger when he remembered Malfoy was the one who turned up at his door and started the conversation in the first place. He clamped his lips firmly closed to avoid words of either emotion spilling from them and waited.

Eventually – be it seconds or minutes, although it seemed like hours, Harry wasn't foolish enough to believe such time could have passed – Malfoy raised his eyes. They still glittered, but the apprehension was gone, a fierce determination in its wake. "I understand that. I understand you could ask anything of me in return, and I would be required to oblige. That must illustrate the severity of the debt I am here to claim."

Harry nodded faintly, both his sympathy and anger fading to curiosity – Harry had, in the years since the war, taken a step away from the limelight. He no longer held the political power, the adoration that he once had. Yes, of course, many witches and wizards still respected him and they always would. But Malfoy had worked to regain the power of his family name and, what was more, he had succeeded. Surely there was nothing he could want from Harry?

"My mother was hit by a curse shortly after the trials. Its effects were long delayed and the symptoms are beginning to show. We can ignore it no longer, she needs-"

"Have you been to St Mungo's?" Harry interrupted; he felt guilty for doing so, knowing the pain Malfoy must be feeling if his mother was so unwell, and Harry himself respected Narcissa for the way she too had saved his life. Still, that didn't mean Harry would listen to Malfoy's speech and pretend he could do anything to help. He wasn't a healer.

"And have them treat us the same way the Auror's did when we called them, when the curse was first cast?" Malfoy's cool tone turned to a sneer and his entire demeanour changed; his guard was raised, his expression was curled and taught into a look of disgust. "Abandon her without thought? Claim there is nothing they can do?" His questions were like challenges, as if Harry was to blame for the way they had been treated in the past. "Worse, claim they can help her, only to bring her to the end by their own hand?"

"I –" Harry began and then fell silent. He had no idea what to say; he had assumed the Malfoy's had been protected by the freedom the Wizengamot had granted them, respected as Malfoy rose within the ranks of society again. But as he looked at Malfoy, the hard look in his grey eyes, the fixed sneer on his face, he knew his assumptions were wrong.

"The Manor has an extensive Dark Arts library." Malfoy said without shame, and Harry resisted the urge to curl his fists; he wasn't an Auror, it wasn't his job to care. "I found the curse and the potion that counters it. It requires an extremely rare ingredient."

"Illegal?" Harry asked, more sharply than he intended, his words snapping like a whip.

"In some forms." Malfoy replied, pressing forward and swallowing Harry's protests with his next words. "Neither the seed nor the whole plant, the ones you would be in contact with, are illegal forms. It is, because of the uses of its individual parts when correctly treated, restricted. It is also notoriously difficult to grow… Numerous sellers I am aware of claim to be able to lay their hands on the whole plant, yet I cannot trust their words in this case. I have acquired a seed and I need someone I can trust to bring it to life."

All of Harry's protests, from its restricted status to its difficulty to grow, were silence with Malfoy's final words. "You think you can trust me?"

"I trust the life debt." Came Malfoy's reply, to which Harry nodded. His mind whirled with the conversation as all the strands of the revelations that had been made attempted to settle themselves in his mind. He felt his muscles begin to stiffen, tension begin to build, and the urge to sink his hands into the reassuring, solid earth that would soothe him. He pushed the thoughts away, instead focusing back on Malfoy, and asked, "Its name? The plant?"

"Salutaris" Malfoy replied and Harry knew a look of confusion passed over his face. He knew for two reasons; firstly, because he knew he wasn't good at masking his emotions behind a poker face and secondly, because Malfoy began to explain. "It means wholesome, or healthful, in Latin. There is an irony in the name, because although used in its whole form as I intend to it can restore health, its separate parts in isolation can have deadly consequences."

Harry shivered at the description of the plant, wondering if he wanted anything to do with such a thing. It was a life debt, yes, but as Malfoy pointed out, he owed Harry one in return. Harry was sure he could use his to counter Malfoy's; but then again, Narcissa had too saved Harry's life and – if she were well enough – surely she would come herself, using the debt owed to her for the same request? The thoughts stewed in Harry's mind, and the more he thought, the more one glittering, tempting jewel stood out in his mind. 'Notoriously difficult to grow' Malfoy had said; a challenge. A chance for Harry to prove to himself that he was as good with his hands, as good at growing plants, as good at coaxing life from seed, as he desired to be. The challenge tempted him, he couldn't deny it.

The moments stretched out before both of them before Harry nodded.

"I'll do it." He said, and the relief in Malfoy's eyes – however briefly it flickered before he hid it beneath his mask – was as bright as the full moon on a clear summer's night.

Harry yawned, disturbed from his sleep by a persistent tapping at the window. He slowly sat up, arching his back in an attempt to stretch out a painful crick in his neck and opened his eyes. He blinked around the room in confusion, before realising the reason for his discomfort. He had, after Malfoy's request, closed the shop early (he had come late in the afternoon and Harry had only been due to stay open another hour, at most) and returned home to research the seed. He had sat up late, pouring over the combined books that Neville had gifted to him, those he had bought himself with his rising interests, and those he had brought from the Black library at Number 12. He had made several scribbled notes on parchment and had found nothing of much substance. He had only found the description of the plant that Malfoy had already given; its restricted nature, due to the danger of the separated parts of the plant. It gave little information on growing it, only that it originated in the tropical rainforests of the Amazon. From that, Harry could deduce that it needed hot, humid temperatures to thrive, but little else. Such temperatures were uncomfortable to work in, but entirely replicable with rather simple herbology charms, so for it to be as difficult to grow as Malfoy claimed, Harry knew there had to be more.

He had quite clearly fallen asleep searching for it.

Remembering that he had, indeed, been asleep and that a tapping had awoken him, he turned to his window to see a grand Eagle owl at his window. It hovered in mid-air, a letter and a large package tied to it. It didn't waver under the weight, showing its strength as it merely waited, tapping the window occasionally, for Harry to let it inside. He did so and the owl swooped with grace to the table. Harry cast several charms over the package – although he knew his wards wouldn't have let if through if it were dangerous – and untied the letter first. The script was short, slightly slanted yet impossibly neat.

Potter,

This is the copy of the book in which I discovered the curse and its counter potion. The potion itself is on page 423, but the details of the seed growth are under pages 647 to 648. Most of it refers to how to prepare the final plant for several dark brews but I believe it gives enough detail for you to be able to raise it from a seed.

Malfoy

Harry then untied the brown paper from the parcel and ran his hand over the thick, leather spine of the book that was revealed. He went straight to page 647 – he had no need to look up the potion – and glanced down at the passage which described the plant.

Salutaris

The Salutaris plant can offer those who acquire it many formidable uses. Whole, it can be used as a counter to several Dark curses, but it's true glory comes in the separation of its parts. Its petals, when crushed, can form part of a powerful elixir which can enslave the free wills of the strongest men. Its stem, when finely chopped, can be used in a brew that can kill an enemy through the realisation of their worst nightmares, driving them to destruct themselves through desperation.

Harry rolled his eyes as he read – only a Dark Arts book could describe slavery and death as being more glorious than healing. He skipped through the rest of the passage, until his eyes rested on the section which would tell him how to grow the plant.

The Salutaris plant originated in rainforests; any wizard trying to grow the plant, therefore, should ensure a hot, humid environment is replicated. Once the seed is acquired it should be planted in a bed of soil 3 feet deep. The roots of the plant grow at an alarming rate, even with little growth above the ground. The plant should be given nothing for the first three days and then it should be tended hourly with water. As the plant begins to grow…

Harry read on, scribbling notes as his eyes darted across the page. It was, as Malfoy told him, an extremely difficult plant to grow. The conditions it required were simple enough, but the attention it required to grow away from its natural habitat were extreme. Harry nibbled his bottom lip as he cast his gaze down the notes he had made, wondering if he did, after all, have the skills to grow such a plant.

Well, he told himself, it wasn't as if he had a choice. He sighed as he finished the passage – after exactly 31 days, the writer said, the plant was at its most potent, and should be harvested. The passage then began to devote itself with passion to the many ways to prepare the plants for its more glorious uses.

He cast a brief tempus charm and the time told him that he may as well stay awake. He closed the books he had been reading and pocketed his notes, then pulled a clean shaft of parchment from the desk drawer.

Malfoy he wrote.

I have read the passage you indicated and, despite the difficulty involved, believe I will be able to grow the plant as you require. It will take a day or two for me to have a greenhouse to the exact requirements, so you can bring the seed to me then.

Harry Potter

Harry stood, rolling up the parchment and sliding the quill away, leaving the room in search of his owl when a low hoot made him jump. The eagle owl he had let in had remained perched at the open window; Harry had assumed, given his leaving the window open, the bird would have left when its delivery was made.

"He made you wait for a reply, huh?" Harry asked the owl, rolling his eyes as he tied the note to its leg. Once the note was in place the owl hooted once more and took off into the morning sky. Harry watched it go for a moment, admiring the fine, strong lines of its wings as it beat against the breeze, before he closed the window and turned into his study. Breakfast first, then a shower, he decided before making his way to the kitchen.

Harry was fed, washed and dressed when a tapping on the window alerted him again. The eagle owl had returned once again and Harry let it in, this time opening its letter without casting his wand.

Which is it, Potter? A day or two?

The note was short and unsigned, although Harry didn't need the signature to read the note in the sneering voice of its owner. He rolled his eyes and cast a summoning charm that brought a quill toward him.

Two. Be at my shop at 8:30 on Sunday.

He scribbled his response at the foot of the note and reached out to tie it back to the foot of the waiting bird. Once the window was once again closed he pocketed his wand, turned on the spot, and disappeared to his greenhouse.