Harry had always a soft spot for plants, though he was truly terrible at remembering names for things. He could tell a rose from a daffodil from a tulip, obviously, but for someone who'd gotten an O on his Herbology NEWT, he was terrible at identifying anything by name.
Still, the Potts' flower show was a fine reason to get himself out and about, and he'd ducked into the greenhouse in a fit of nostalgia. It was pleasantly warm inside, and he was enjoying his meanderings when he spotted the mistletoe. He stopped to watch it move through the air for a few moments, mildly amused, until-- "What?" He couldn't move. He was trapped under this floating mistletoe. "I--why?"
Still, the Potts' flower show was a fine reason to get himself out and about, and he'd ducked into the greenhouse in a fit of nostalgia. It was pleasantly warm inside, and he was enjoying his meanderings when he spotted the mistletoe. He stopped to watch it move through the air for a few moments, mildly amused, until-- "What?" He couldn't move. He was trapped under this floating mistletoe. "I--why?"