A Love like Leander's

Looking back now, you couldn't remember the exact moment you began to heal from the sorrowful events of fifth year. You'd assumed it was either your best friend's unwavering loyalty, or your professor's guiding light and wisdom that saw you through to the other side of darkness. It wasn't until a rather irritating class of brewing the infamous amortentia potion which led to the answer.

The sweet scent of honking daffodils reemerging for the spring sun, freshly cut cedar wood, and morning dew drops on newly manicured grass wafted from your completed potion, confusing your senses entirely. You'd expected the potion to elicit scents you found personally attractive, namely nostalgic aroma's from your childhood, or even the smell of Sebastian and Ominis' robes you found comforting from all the times you'd fallen asleep atop their shoulders. Instead, it was depressingly underwhelming; lovely, but devoid of any significance.

With one simple whiff, your classmates knew instantly who held the fondness of their heart; so why hadn't you? Making the familiar trek down to the Undercroft, you found yourself sifting through vial after vial of memories, something you'd begun to do alongside journaling. With the potion holding tender notes of spring, you viewed all your memories dated within the season.

Unremarkable.

Unremarkable.

Utterly, undeniably, unremarkable...

Finally, the last vial, labeled "Spring, 1896, Hogwarts." Pouring out the vials contents, you watched as the memory swirled around the dark, mystical liquid, holding one last glimpse of hope for answers. With a resolute huff, you lowered your eyes down into the beckoning pensive.

A younger version of yourself was entering the school courtyard, bearing sunken eyes and a sullen expression, framed by wild hair which hadn't been tamed in days. This memory was from fifth year, right after the many tumultuous events which ultimately led to becoming the only known Keeper of Ancient Magic. Needless to say, the safety of the wizarding world had come to rest upon the shoulders of a teenage Hogwarts student; no big deal. But why save this? So far, all you'd done was stroll amongst the courtyard looking dazed and depleted of all life's energy.

Suddenly, your palms came to clasp over your ears, protecting them from the obnoxiously loud honking daffodils—trumpeting far too loudly after another restless night's sleep. The Honking Daffodils— it was exactly what you'd smelled in your amortentia potion. Evading the noisy flowers brought you over to a group of Professors carrying in freshly cut cedar logs for firewood. As they cleared the way, you noticed Leander Prewett, laying face up in the dew-laden grass of dawn. He'd just fallen off his broom for what must have been the tenth time that morning. He was eager to get out early, lest he risk the embarrassment of being seen as the only fifth year still unable to mount his broom; a secret you had gladly kept for him. The boy you watched struggle in the memory greatly differed from the man and Gryffindor Quidditch captain you knew today.

The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain... Your heart fluttered, thinking of his burgundy robes and tousled red hair whipping through the wind as he led Gryffindor house to countless victories. Focus, you reminded yourself, opening your eyes as wide as possible now that Leander had entered the memory. He watched as you approached, a furious blush overtaking his cheeks before feigning the confidence to swiftly mount his broom and kick off into the sky. After some awkward rocking back-and-forth motions, and questionable stomping at the ground as if he were an angered bull, the tail end of his broom swiftly sprang up, unforgivably launching him face-first into the wet grass.

You watched yourself lurch forward, clutching at your mid-section as you let out a boisterous laugh. Smiling from outside the pensive, you remembered how the rest of that morning with Leander left your belly sore and cheeks aching from all the laughter. You cursed yourself for forgetting why you had saved this memory.