If The Walls Could Speak...

If The Walls Could Speak

Rating: Let’s say…U.

Disclaimer: This is the part where I splurge on how much I’d love to own everything you see in this one time fic then regretfully say that I own diddly squat. And that’s exactly what I just did.

Spoilers: None really.

Pairing (if any): H/Hr

Author’s Notes: ‘This came to me in a dream…’ Ha! Not likely. I was just sitting in my room and thought I felt someone watching me and the only thing I could see that looked remotely suspicious was the (blank) sat on my window sill.

Summary: How many of you have sat in your bedroom and wondered whether or not something or someone is watching you? Kind of like Big Brother. Enjoy!

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The plant in the corner of Harry’s bedroom looked confused. Well, it couldn’t actually ‘look’ confused but if it could, it would have an expression of complete confusion upon its leafy brow, if it had a brow.

In the last few days, the poor plant had seen the slow decline of sanity within the boy known as Harry Potter. On several occasions, the plant had seen Harry wander into his bedroom clutching his head and wondering aloud to himself, with little patience to see that the plant sitting in the corner could hear him. The plant could always hear Harry muttering to himself and pointing at himself in the mirror.

Strangely enough, the only time that the plant had seen Harry Potter wander into his room moderately sane was when a young woman was following him, usually biting her bottom lip and looking very nervous to be inside the lair of Harry Potter. The plant thought that it was funny how the girl would take a few steps into Harry’s room then do a full-fledged leap onto Harry’s bed with a book in her hand. She would then start to read.

The plant seemed to like this girl because she was the only one who took the time to water it. Of course, the plant didn’t hold anything against Harry Potter for watering it and thought that it was very generous of his little friend to water it occasionally, always muttering about Harry not doing so well in Herbology.

Ah, how the plant missed the confines of the greenhouses downstairs. The warm air and sun glistening down from the planes of clear glass up above. There was nothing like that.

The plant had just started to wonder whether anyone was going to come into Harry Potter’s bedroom today. Harry hadn’t arrived home that night. Well, he could’ve and got up really early that morning because plants have to sleep as well. It was most liking catching up on some green-dream time if Harry came back that night or left that morning. But it was most likely that Harry Potter hadn’t stayed in his bed overnight.

But if he hadn’t, where had he been?

For a moment, the plant was afraid. It was afraid that the spectacled boy had been injured in some way and was staying over in the Hospital Wing again. Mother of all plants knew what was wrong with him. The plant doubted that Harry would send for it, it was living in a dream world if it even thought of that. Who would have their plant brought to them if they were on death’s door?

But, just as the plant was wondering whether or not there was a heaven for plants, the door to the bedroom opened and Harry Potter entered, looking rather straggled. His shirt was open and his hair was a mess, more spiky than usual. His tie was hanging for the robe that he threw onto his bed. The only part of him that looked at all tidy were his trousers, which were still clean with the ironed crease down the centre of each leg.

Harry emitted a sigh and sank onto his bed, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. The plant thought that Harry must’ve had a nice night because of the goofy expression present on his face. It looked like the sort of goofy expression that the freckled boy had on his face when wondering into the bedroom in the middle of the night trying to wake Harry up then proceeded to tell him about extending the goal posts for his attempt at a hat-trick. That statement had always made the plant wonder a little about the freckled boy’s sanity, if he had some. Plants didn’t have sanity.

Just as Harry was settling down and the plant was feeling happy that Harry was safe in his bedroom again, the door opened and in burst the young girl with bushy hair whom always watered it. Harry jumped to his feet when he saw the girl and smiled. From the previous days, the plant knew that the girl was called Hermione. She was the plant’s favourite girl and the only girl he’d seen so far apart from the old lady who’d tended to him in the greenhouse.

The girl had the same goofy expression as Harry and she also looked a mess, although not as much of a mess as Harry. The girl let out a small laugh when she saw Harry then, unexpectedly for the plant; she jumped at Harry, throwing her arms around his neck. The started to kiss and, in the plant’s opinion, it was quite sweet. It’d seen the freckled boy call kissing ‘gross’ but that was a few years ago.

Harry and Hermione kissed for a while longer until they broke apart, presumably for lack of oxygen. Every living being needed it, even the plant.

The two just stared at each other, looking like they wanted to eat each other’s faces again but restrained. Instead, Hermione held up Harry’s book bag and dropped it on the floor next to his bed.

"You left it in my room," she said. "Just thought I’d bring it over."

Likely story, the plant would’ve thought if the plant could think. Even the plant could see that she just wanted an excuse to enter his lair and kiss him again until the goofy grin was a permanent fixture on his face.

Harry thanked Hermione and kissed her again before she left through the door, leaving the plant and Harry alone once again. The plant would’ve give Harry ‘the talk’, man to plant, about sex and what have you. But seeing as the plant could neither talk nor have any clue on human physiology whatsoever, the plant decided against it. Instead, it just stood there looking green while Harry rooted through his book bag.

After a few seconds, the plant heard Harry taking something out of his bag. It was a book and because the plant couldn’t read, trying to see what was written on the side was useless. What use could reading be to a plant? It knew the smell of the insecticide; it didn’t need to read the label first.

Harry turned the book over in his hands and opened the front cover. With a rather devious look on his face, he said to himself,

"Hermione’s book. Better return it."

And with that, Harry Potter had left his bedroom, closing the door behind him. In some small way, the plant knew that Harry Potter would re-enter his bedroom in a worse state than what he’d first entered in. It just hoped that Harry would be careful and not try and fertilise anything too soon. Harry had the rest of his life with Hermione to start fertilising little plants.

At that moment, if the plant could’ve spoke, it wouldn’t have said anything. It’d seen the whole thing coming; it’d heard it over and over how Harry felt about Hermione. It wouldn’t have said how surprising the whole thing was, because it wasn’t surprising in the least. It wouldn’t have said how strange it would be to see Hermione and Harry kissing constantly, because the plant knew that it’d make a refreshing change to having Harry going insane. It wouldn’t have said how the freckled boy would react, because it knew that the freckled boy would be just as happy for them as the plant was.

It wouldn’t have said all that because it couldn’t speak.

And if it could tell you this story, it would.

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Like it? I liked it, but then again I wrote it. Talk about biased opinion.

This fic is dedicated to all those plants all over the world who’ve seen changes in History and would tell us their story if they could.