The thing about Harry Potter as a character is that he is insanely observant when he actually cares enough to pay attention. Meaning 90% of the stuff he deems unimportant flies over his head, but he makes these huge leaps of logic and intuition when he bothers to focus. Like in the books when it comes to anything relating to Voldemort or Death Eaters or People Not To Be Trusted (Draco, Umbridge). Growing up, he had to be able to see when a situation was going south long before the frying pan or Dudley’s fists came his way. But he also had to be able to ignore and tune out the constant flow of shit and neglect he was treated to.
If you think about it, for all the better aspects of Hogwarts, it still followed this same basic pattern. He had to pay close attention to the things trying to kill him (even classes took a back seat to this), but find a way to ignore and not acknowledge all the rumors and staring and people thinking he’s a prat or the heir of slytherin or a liar. I think this is why the arguments that Harry is a mushroom and notices nothing, and the arguments that he is deductively brilliant can exist side by side. He’s both. It’s also why, in my opinion, he tends to be ridiculously observant of Ginny once he starts to notice her as something important. She barely exists in the early narrative other than Someone to Be Saved. It’s also why Ginny can sometimes feel like she ‘comes from nowhere’ in the narrative. As far as Harry is concerned, she did come from nowhere. The switch in Harry’s brain went from Doesn’t Matter–Ignore to Very Important–Pay Close Attention, and BAM, there she was. Everywhere.
An adult Harry weeds his vegetable garden and thinks about his current and long-term struggles. AO3
When Harry had first learned to weed a garden using magic in Herbology class it had felt like liberation.
He’d spent many summer days, on his Aunt’s behest, bent over flower bushes or on his hands and knees in mulch: pruning, picking, weeding. The sun had burned the back of his neck, the edges of his ears, and baked the back of his oversized, frayed t-shirt until it was hot to the touch. Gardening had been hard work with no reward. No matter how meticulous he worked, it did not soften Petunia toward him. Her expression was still cold and her words were still harsh. The work Harry did around the Dursley’s had been preventative at best. Giving them one fewer reason to degrade him.
But, then he’d gone to school. With a wave of his wand in the greenhouses: swish and never again. Hours of toil in seconds.
Now, here he was in the back garden of their own home, their children off at school and beyond. It was early September and last gasps of summer clung meagerly in the air. It would’ve been a bit hot in the sun’s gaze if not for the breeze that whispered through grass and branches. Harry was once again bent over the garden, weeding.
As he’d aged, the more he craved to do daily tasks without magic. Magic was so easy now, too easy. A shortcut that was cheap and dispassionate. Harry felt there were some things that were simply better when you did them the hard way. Bread filled their stomachs just a bit more when he kneaded the dough himself. The flavors of their stews were just a bit richer when he chopped the ingredients, knife in hand.
With so many things in life, you get what you give. And their garden had given them so much over these long years. It had given them vegetables for family meals. Carrots, peas, beans, and potatoes had graced their family dinning table, privy to all the stories and laughter surrounding them there. The garden had given him ingredients for his sleeping draughts. Wormwood, valerian, and asphodel, picked from among their herbs, brewed, and set on his bedside for those nights he simply could not quiet his mind. The garden had given him a place to play and work with his family. It had given them beauty.
Offering the garden his time and the personal attention of his hands felt only fair after all that it had given. It deserved his love, and what is love if not personal attention?
With a creek of the old wooden backdoor Ginny appeared, her face only half illuminated by the harsh light of the afternoon sun. Harry knew she was there but he didn’t look up. He felt something inside his chest twist uncomfortably and he pretended to be unaware of her.
“You want to go for a run with me?” she asked gently.
Harry resisted the urge to refuse. A run would do him good. And he needed to face this conversation. Paying no serious mind to his feelings is what caused him to act like that in the first place.
“Yeah. Just as soon as I finish up here. I’m almost done.”
“Okay, I’ll be in the study. Let me know,” Ginny said, satisfied. She retreated inside.
Harry returned to his task, grasping at a few cleaver stocks. Their thin, succulent leaves felt tacky and stuck lightly to his fingers and arm.
Realistically, the issues had probably begun yesterday at the Ministry. His newest Junior Auror recruit was an enthusiastic and funny young wizard. The kid was a decent dueler, but still struggled with his Disillusionment Charm and other aspects of concealment. He’d asked Harry if he had the time to tutor him again this Friday. Though Harry had agreed at once, he felt a bit of resentment brewing in him for the rest of the day. Didn’t this kid know how busy he was on Friday? Of course he didn’t, Harry hadn’t told him as much. It left him wondering why sometimes it seemed he was physically incapable of saying “no” to people he cared about when they asked for help.
Harry held at the base of a couch grass bundle and pulled up gently. He heard the soft pops of little roots ripping. A great clump of soil came up, woven in with the wide sprawling roots. Harry gave it a few shakes and dirt confettied back down onto the garden floor.
Then, at home the night previous, he’d argued with Ginny about James.
“He’s eighteen, and he’s not doing anything that crazy!” Ginny had said animatedly. “He just wants to go out to some pubs.”
“It’s still dangerous for him to be running around without any sort of escort,” he’d argued.
“He’s an adult, Harry.”
“Adults can get kidnapped.”
“When are you going to stop feeling responsible for every bad thing that ever happens!?” she yelled at the ceiling.
Harry stopped. She looked angry now. His jaw clenched shut. His feet became heavy on the floor and his muscles pulled tight like strings. A creature in his chest banged its fists on the unmoving walls of his body, begging him to run from the room. He was back again under the boot of his aunt and uncle’s wild anger. Unsafe and powerless to do anything about it.
Seeing him freeze, Ginny sighed. “You try so hard to protect everyone. He’s going to be fine, I promise.”
In the end, Harry had resentfully agreed.
He pulled at the base of another little plant, lost to his thoughts, and felt a sharp sting at the back of his index finger. A stinging nettle. He rubbed his thumb where it throbbed under the skin. He probably should’ve been using gloves, he thought, but now he was in for penny.
What had finally broke him was of course something very stupid. After a terribly early start to work and a wild day, Harry returned this afternoon, greeted Ginny, and went straight for the pantry.
“I thought you said you’d be able to stop by the market after practice?” asked Harry an edge to his voice.
“I was pretty tired. And we’re still planning on going Saturday,” explained Ginny. “We’ve got more than enough to cook until then.”
“Yeah, but we’re out of biscuits,” complained Harry, clearly annoyed.
Ginny reminded him that his anxiety about keeping the pantry full and available, was from his food insecurity as a kid. The Dursley’s had punitively controlled how much he ate and he’d often gone to his cupboard hungry.
Shame twisted in his gut when she pointed this out. How could he still be having issues with that? With shame came the defensiveness. His shoulders and jaw tensed. His brain went blurry with anger. He stood for a few long moments stewing until something that had been building under the surface since yesterday burst through. He threw up his hands and lashed out with, “Well, if you hate me so much, just leave!”
Ginny looked at him, a disapproving frown on her face.
Harry in his right mind knew it was a ridiculous thing to say. He and Ginny were crazy about each other and they loved their life together. But there was something that happened when the hurt child in him was set off. It made him drop all logic.
He absolutely wouldn’t ever want Ginny to leave his life. But, there was a part of him, still, that couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to be with him. Especially Ginny. Ginny who was so smart and funny and beautiful. That she had chosen to marry him did not register to the hurt child in him. That child could only look inside and see the mediocre, constantly failing, waste of space. It only saw parents that left without a trace. It only saw a family that locked him away and could not love him.
“I’m sorry,” Harry had mumbled at his shoes, coming back to himself. “I don’t mean it.”
Ginny reached out slowly and took his hand in both of her’s.
“I know,” she said softly. “Let’s each take a few minutes, eh?”
And here he was, in the garden.
He pulled at the base of an unwanted thistle, but this time the plant ripped. The stem and leaves pulled away, but it’s roots remained firmly entrenched in the soil. This one would come back another day soon it seemed.
For all the weeding, it seemed he could never ever be rid of all those unwanted plants. But the more he worked at them, the more manageable they were.
Harry straightened up and looked around at his handiwork.
Pumpkin plants vined out wildly. Lush mint, rosemary, and sage rippled in the breeze. The last few succulent beans and peas of season hung camouflaged amongst their leaves.
He was more than the pain and fear that kept returning in him. He had also cultivated kindness, bravery, forgiveness, and love. Despite it all, he was thriving.
Harry made his way to the study and found Ginny there as she’d said. She sat gazing thoughtfully out the front windows, a magazine sat open on her lap. She stood up at the sound of him entering, her brown eyes looking hopeful. He crossed the room and took her into his arms. She hugged him back tightly.
“I’m ready,” he finally whispered.
And he was. Ready to talk. Ready to continue to grow together.
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