Work Text:
She was sure he'd forgotten,
that he'd been busy in his lab,
that he'd been focused on his work.
It wouldn't surprise her if that was all true.
The changing of the seasons were always busy for him.
There were potions to be brewed,
allergies,
the flu,
the common cold seeming to surge every year.
She heard him down there that morning,
as she was putting her bread into the toaster,
heard the clink of glass,
the sound of something against the metal cauldron.
She smiled,
shaking her head,
as she sat the present she'd bought him on the table,
at his spot.
He'd mentioned the cauldron in passing,
almost wistfully,
something he wouldn't buy himself.
It wasn't practical,
wasn't needed for any of the common brews he did.
Still,
it was solid,
beautiful by cauldron standards.
The stirring sticks that came with it were even more beautiful,
hand crafted,
charmed to never break,
never chip.
She'd wrapped his gifts in shiny paper,
a rubbish wrapping job that just barely hid the shape
of the gift.
She had just poured his coffee as she heard him coming up the stairs.
“Morning,” she called out.
“Morning.”
He slid into his seat,
reaching for his coffee,
almost not noticing the wrapped package.
“You shouldn't have.”
“You know I had to,” she laughed.
They celebrated,
well, she celebrated,
every little moment together,
after almost losing him in the war,
she wasn't about to forget anything.
“It's stunning,” he whispered,
staring at the cauldron he'd freed from the paper.
“You mentioned wanting one.”
“I did, I didn't think you'd heard, or remembered.”
She just shrugged, taking a sip of her own coffee.
He marveled at the stirring sticks,
before setting them down on the table,
sticking his hand in his pocket,
searching for something.
She watched him,
wondering not for the first time if he'd put some kind
of extendable charm on his pockets.
It was something she'd have done.
He finally seemed to find what he was looking for,
pulling out a long slender box.
“You thought I forgot, didn't you?”
“No,” she lied, her smile giving her away.
“Wouldn't be the first time I forgot something, remember our first Valentine's Day?” he laughed,
handing her the white box.
She opened it,
staring at the quill inside.
It looked like a typical quill,
brown on the tip,
like the hundred of quills she had upstairs,
the hundred more she'd used in school.
She looked at him,
the unasked question in her eyes.
“It's the same one.
The one you used during the war to write me,
charmed and enchanted to never break,
to never get lost,
just as our love never broke,
never got lost even in the darkest of times.”
Speechless.
For a moment she was speechless,
holding it in her hand,
twirling it between her fingers,
remembering the letters she wrote him on the run,
the ones she wasn't sure he'd get.
“It's perfect,” she whispered,
wondering how she could have ever thought
he'd forgotten their anniversary.