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Whispers about Valentine’s Day were unavoidable around the castle during the week that led up to the holiday. With your friends and classmates discussing their romantic plans near constantly in the common room or over meals, it was hard not to notice how everyone else spoke so easily about their boyfriends or girlfriends–people they’d known for years–and though it was unintentional, it only served to remind you that as a newer student, you’d had much less time to form those types of bonds and relationships than everyone else had.
It wasn’t that you disliked Valentine’s Day, not exactly. It was just that as the date crept closer, you found yourself feeling more like the new fifth year than usual. Even now, as a sixth year.
That wasn’t to say that you hadn’t made friendships though, because you had, and good ones at that. You were well liked and you tried to be helpful, sometimes to a fault. But it hardly felt the same when it was so obvious that everyone around you had essentially grown up together…
You were partway through dinner in the Great Hall when a housemate cleared their throat and a voice beside you pulled you from your thoughts.
“I asked if you had plans for Valentine’s Day.”
That was certainly the question of the week and one you were very tired of answering, because no one was ever asking it as a way of inviting you into their own plans. It always felt like an afterthought, or in this case, an attempt at including you in a conversation that you’d not been taking part in despite taking up space amongst the group at the table.
“No plans, no,” you said, pulling apart a piece of bread you’d done more fiddling with than actually eating.
“No Valentine?”
You’d thought you’d made it clear enough already but you shook your head.
Another friend hummed in acknowledgement and offered a shrug. You’d been expecting pity, but what you got was an attempt at cheering up. “Well, that just means that you don’t have to deal with all the fuss.”
A few others agreed, and you smiled at the sentiment. “That is one way to look at it,” you conceded. It was really only then that you realized that your housemates weren’t trying to upset you, and that just maybe you were a little more bitter about the holiday than you’d expected yourself to be.
Sensing the lingering bit of awkwardness around the topic, your housemates steered conversation towards other things–quidditch mostly, and revisions–easier topics that let you focus on your dinner rather than on sulking.
You’d gotten through most of your plate when another sound cut through the din of chatter in the Great Hall, distracting you once again. This time it was a sharp bark of laughter, much too loud even for the large space, but familiar and far more pleasant than the nagging questions about the impending holiday had been. You didn’t need to look around to know that it had been Leander, but you did turn to face the sound, catching sight of him sitting beside Garreth, his usually rosy cheeks especially bright from laughing.
The sight of him made you smile, something that was not unusual for anytime you looked his way. He just seemed to have that effect on you, even when he wasn’t trying and even when he was across the room. You weren’t sure when he’d even gained that ability, just that he had and that you quite liked how he made you feel. Spending time with Leander came without expectations and without the need to prove yourself, something that especially back in fifth year, was wholly welcome. Nothing ever changed from then, either. Spending time with Leander was just easy.
Catching yourself on the verge of outright daydreaming about the boy and with your own face feeling a bit warm now, you looked back down at your plate and finished up your dinner, narrowly avoiding getting left behind in the Great Hall by your housemates who were already packing up.
Your mind was too easy to wander, but maybe that wasn't always such a bad thing, because somewhere in between appreciating the sound of Leander’s laugh and seeing that boyish grin on his face from across the room, you decided that just because you didn’t have a valentine didn’t mean you had to sit around and let the holiday pass you by. You had the option of being proactive. You could do something for Leander.
Making your way back to your common room among your housemates, ideas were already brewing in your head. Some chocolates perhaps? No. You shared sweets with Leander regularly… that wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t be special. The realization that you wanted to do something he’d find special made your chest feel tight, but it didn’t particularly surprise you.
If you were being honest with yourself, this was far from the first time you’d thought of Leander in the context of Valentine’s Day. How could you not? He’d been one of, if not the very first person who’d made your arrival to Hogwarts feel… utterly ordinary. An idea that did not sound special in and of itself, except that it was. You’d felt like a spectacle arriving with your ancient magic, but to Leander, you were just another person he hoped to share his love of the greenhouse with. Someone who he could play summoner's court with. Someone who might, if he was lucky, want to be his friend.
Feeling regular to someone made you feel like you belonged. Leander made you feel like you belonged.
Had you ever properly thanked him for all of that? It felt all too simple now. You’d make him a card.
The next morning following breakfast you walked with purpose towards Hogsmeade–to Scrivenshaft’s, specifically. You’d always admired the stationery they sold–parchments of every color, cardstock with fancy designs framing the paper’s margins–but you’d never had a good reason to buy any of it until now. You took your time browsing the shop, enjoying the smell of ink and parchment and the leather bound journals, and you stood in front of the stationery selection for quite some time.
“Anything I can help you find, dear?” a soft voice asked from just beside you.
You turned to see an older woman, one you’d come to recognise as the shop’s owner, Mrs. Wigley. You hadn’t noticed her approach until she spoke.
“I’m looking to make a card,” you told her.
“A card for a sweetheart?” she wondered, a quirk in her brow.
Maybe you should have expected the question with the proximity to Valentines Day but her words still managed to make your cheeks redden, answering more honestly than your words would. “A card for… someone I care about.”
“Someone special, then.” Mrs. Wigley smiled something knowing and soft, then reached for a piece of hand pressed deckled paper from the shelf. She handed you her recommendation for you to look over. “Understated yet elegant. You can’t go wrong with something like this. It’s classic.”
You had to agree. It wasn’t something you’d have picked yourself, having been more drawn to things with a bit of colour, but this was nice–a warm, off white sheet with subtle natural fibers throughout and an embossed floral border along the edges. It didn’t scream Valentine’s Day, but you thought Leander might appreciate the floral touches.
“I’ll take it, then,” you said, and grabbed a second sheet from the shelf, just in case. You had to protect yourself from the possibility of accidentally dripping ink on the paper and ruining it, if you only bought one.
Choosing the paper had been the easy part and even that you’d needed guidance for. Sitting in the library at your usual table with said paper and your best quill in front of you, however, was when you truly wished you had some help. You didn’t consider yourself to be someone that had a way with words, but you wouldn’t let not knowing what to write stop you at this point. You were stubborn and you were going to at least acknowledge Valentine’s Day, even if you weren't going to outright celebrate it.
It was just a card. It didn’t have to be long, it only had to be honest.
Oh, but being honest was hard!
You hadn’t checked a clock but you were certain that you’d sat there for over an hour before you even put quill to paper. Once you’d started though, there was no going back. You wrote without re-reading, knowing that if you did you might lose your gall all together, which was not something you’d risk happening. Your quill scratched gently across the paper as you wrote, the black ink stark on the light paper, looking every bit as bold as you felt in that moment.
Only once you’d laid your quill back down on the table once you’d finished, did you finally let yourself read over what had spilled out onto the page. You’d been honest, alright. Luckily, Gryffindor’s like that trait, or so you’d heard. Sitting with your words in black and white in front of you, though, admittedly made you feel a bit nauseous with that heart in throat feeling because now you had a tangible thing that you were meant to hand to a boy who meant a lot to you. You supposed writing hadn’t actually been the hard part.
Once you were sure the ink had dried, you folded the paper carefully in half and added as a finishing touch Happy Valentine’s Day in your best handwriting to the front of the card and carefully stashed it safely in your school bag before you could change your mind and throw it into the rubbish.
Valentine’s Day itself was like any other day, really. It was a Sunday, which meant sleeping in, lingering at breakfast until mid morning, and meeting up with Leander at the base of the clock tower. It was a tradition that had started naturally, with both of you being members of Crossed Wands. You’d practice on Sunday’s back in fifth year in an attempt to keep up with your peers who’d been dueling far longer than you had.
You were something of a natural as it turned out, but that didn’t keep you from showing up each week, especially once you realized that Leander liked to practice on Sundays as well. Thinking back, perhaps he practiced on Sundays simply because you did. The thought made you smile.
Today though, pink and red twinkle lights and love heart decorations adorned all of the main congregating areas around the castle, serving to remind everyone that today was not, in fact, like every other Sunday. Crossing the castle towards the clock tower, you weren’t even sure if Leander would be there. It was a holiday, after all.
You didn’t want to consider the possibility that perhaps he had other plans but the thought had worked itself into your brain anyway. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he did have other plans. If you liked him well enough to hope to spend at least some of Valentine’s Day with him, then it was very feasible that others did as well, and the sinking feeling that you might find the clock tower empty once you arrived stuck with you until you finally rounded the corner and the large open space came into view.
Much like the castle's other entrances, the clocktower was decorated magically for the occasion. Love heart garlands were strung up along the gates and walls, and the iron chandeliers cast pink light. Overhead, the high ceilings seemed to glitter with a sort of enchanted pink mist that swirled around with each swing of the tower’s massive pendulum.
And among all of the decor, the clock tower was, thankfully, not empty.
Leander was across the room, over near the training dummies, one of which looked as though smoke was emanating from within. He’d been practicing his spellwork. He hadn’t ditched your weekly hangouts in favor of something more romantic with someone else, and the relief that hit you took your breath away.
“Hello,” you called, a wide grin on your face and a skip in your step as you crossed the room towards him.
He turned at the sound of your voice with a grin of his own and an expression that said he’d been equally relieved to see you. His eyes softened, and he slipped his wand into his pocket. “Hi there,” he said, nodding towards the training dummy. “Thought I’d get a bit of practice in while waiting for you. A bit distracting, all of this, though, I must say.”
“I’d imagine. Pink lighting and glittery mist do not make for ideal dueling conditions,” you agreed with a huff of laughter.
That amusement didn’t last though, because weighing heavily in the back pocket of your trousers was your hand made card, and the hardest part of your decision to be proactive. You actually had to hand the thing over, and quickly too, before you changed your mind.
You cleared your throat, but got on with it. “I’m glad you’re here, I’ve got something for you, actually,” you said, pulling the card from your pocket and extending it towards Leander. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Leander blinked twice, clearly not having expected you to give him anything, before a playful little smirk spread on his face as he took the card. “Look at you,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “Passing out cards. That's actually adorable.”
You were grateful then, for the pink cast of the surrounding lighting, because you thought maybe it would hide the blush creeping across your face. You ought to have been used to his teasing, it was one of your favourite parts of your dynamic together, but, in this case, it only served to make you sweat.
But you wouldn’t let him think that his card was one of many. That would defeat its purpose.
“Card, actually. Singular. I–I didn’t give out any others,” you corrected.
That stopped him. His brows furrowed slightly as he looked back down at the card in his hands, giving it a closer inspection. He felt over the embossed border, the imperfect edges. He recognised your handwriting on the front, and realized that his card was in fact one of one and not something that came pre-written from a pack.
“You made this,” he said, much more quietly. Whatever smart remark he’d had on reserve died on his tongue. He hesitated before adding, “I didn’t get you anything, I feel like a right arsehole–”
You waved it off. “It’s alright, you didn’t have to.”
“Neither did you,” he said, but opened the card all the same.
You watched his expression as he read in silence, save for the pounding of your pulse in your head. The confidence you were so used to seeing in Leander softened into something more sincere, and his ears went pink almost instantly.
He swallowed hard, closing the card and flipping it over just to see if there was anything on the back, then over again as though to admire it once more before he finally slipped it into the back pocket of his trousers.
“I’d really like that, you know. Spending more time together. It means a lot to me, too,” he said finally, every bit of teasing gone from his voice. “Thank you… for the card. For everything.”
You nodded, still feeling almost inexplicably bashful. It wasn’t often that you didn't know what to say around Leander, but the feeling wasn’t a bad one–it couldn't be, not when he was looking at you the way he was right now, as though he finally had permission to really look at you.
Leander shifted his weight and clasped his hands, as though he didn't know what else to do with them, but thankfully, he spoke up first.
“Would you want to head into Hogsmeade together? We could get a butterbeer, my treat of course,” he offered. “If you’re not busy, I mean. I would like to take you out.”
“Of course. I’d like that,” your answer came easily.
He smiled, that bright, open grin you’d come to like so much, and gestured toward the courtyard, to the tower’s exit. “Alright then,” he said, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”
You took his arm, not for the first time, though you did keep him closer than usual as you fell into step together, leaving the castle. Your robes billowed with the February wind as the two of you crossed the courtyard, though you hardly noticed the cold with Leander at your side.