DIARY OF AN EX-WITCH

The Greenhouse

Two years passed in the blink of an eye. I found myself trying to forget the life I left behind.

I owe those girls my life. That day I first was stranded in the human world, I ended up in the company of two incredibly lovely queer women who happened to have a spare room. I didn't even ask for a place to stay. That night, they just knew I needed it. After a few days I began to cook. I learned that pots were just cauldrons but smaller. This world used similar rules to mine. And once I began to learn all the different plants in this world, I began to help around the house and cook Clover Hill dishes with whatever ingredients seemed the most similar. Carla lost her mind laughing when I made that dandelion soup, until she tried it, and now she still begs me for the recipe.

I tear up a little now, thinking about it. They taught me everything I know. I don't even think they realized that they were teaching me how this world worked on top of coffee recipes, but I'm thankful nonetheless. We became friends very quickly. I didn't think a witch could be friends with humans. What would we talk about? But I learned slowly that there was more to life than wands and Pegasus's... and stuff.

Making lattes was much harder than brewing potions. Lattes required far more precision than one would expect. There were lots of buttons to press, and many cups of coffee to babysit at a time. Potions were a breeze. Back in wizarding school, I spent months at a time delicately at work on a single potion. With unsteady hands, I spliced emerald figs into a thousand little pieces. Eyes of newt squeezed between my fingers like pops of caviar. Their steaming juices sizzled and steamed one by one inside my school-issued cauldron. and squeezing steaming juices out of an eye of newt seemed easier than handling the gaggles of schoolchildren pushing their way to the cash register-- their eyes gleaming with greed as they scanned the menu.

Eventually, I graduated from the spare room to being able to pay for a small apartment after a year.

But even as I settled into this new routine, I often found myself staring out of my small window at night, the glow of the streetlamps flickering below, lost in memories of the past. The walls of my apartment felt less like home and more like a cocoon, one that held the lingering whispers of a life I had known, filled with enchantment and wonder.

As I lay down in my bed, the weight of the day slipped away, and I closed my eyes. And I would dream of a different world.

In these dreams, the vivid images of my time at Lilyhomme Academy unfolded before me. I was back in stained-glass hallways and the smell of wet stones. I could hear the excited chatter of my classmates, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.

I was taken to a memory I hadn't touched in a long time. In that dream-- no, memory, I saw a face I hadn't seen in a long time. I remembered that day so well.

I pressed gently against the tremendous carved door and peeked into the greenhouse. During the day, one would be easily blinded by the sun streaming in. Few knew this, but the greenhouse wholly transformed in the darkness. Beyond foggy glass panes mirrored nothing but an endless expanse of pitch. A cool humidity tickled my skin, and the low light of scattering orange-hued lamps dotted the path ahead.

I allowed the lamps to guide me further, as the wheezing of slumbering flora echoed in the darkness. I stumbled across the stones silently without fear, knowing that the plants preferred the quiet dark. After months of sneaking around, I learned their preferences, opting to explore the expansive room without the irritatingly harsh light of a spell or charmed fire waking the most anxious of the sleeping flora. I could move through the towering, invisible plants with my eyes closed if I had to.

There, at the other end of the greenhouse, sat a pond and a massive twisting tree. I circled the stone pathway around the tree to the furthest wall and pushed away a large flowering shrub. Small glass bottles containing rootings of magical plant matter lined the back wall. I smiled at the sight of my work, and set down my bag with excitement. But before I could check their progress, I heard a crackling from somewhere in the greenhouse.