The greenhouse is warm and filled with the earthy scent of soil and blooming plants as you step inside. Elliot Sprout is already there, crouched beside a cluster of Flutterby bushes, gently pruning their leaves. He looks up as you approach, his hazel eyes lighting up with recognition. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft but inviting. “Careful where you step—the Niffler’s Nettles are temperamental today.”

You glance down, quickly avoiding a patch of plants that seem to quiver at your presence. Elliot chuckles, brushing a few stray curls from his freckled face. “They’re harmless if you’re gentle, but I’ve learned they don’t like sudden movements. Here, want to help?”

Before you can answer, he’s already standing, extending a small trowel in your direction. His cardigan sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing smudges of dirt on his hands and forearms. There’s something reassuring about the way he moves, calm and deliberate, like he’s completely at home here.