April 21, 1891 - Potts Family Garden, Bartonburg
Elias Grimstone

He ought to have known he’d never make it to the park to land it. Once he’d realised the steering was off and the levitation charms were sputtering out on it, Elias had regretted bringing out this old prototype on a test flight. What was worse, in the half-a-minute it had taken him to get out his wand in preparation to cast a cushioning charm on his landing, one-handed steering and the slight shift of his body weight had upset it, and set the broom newly aspin.

So he’d guided it as far as he could from the last few rooftops, clipping a tree whose branches raked uncomfortably past him; he’d just caught sight of a wide open patch of space bordering the park when it began to falter faster. He’d hoped to get past the fence and avoid a private garden but at this point he was heading for the ground so fast there was only enough to let out a warning shout. Elias tumbled off it first, hitting the ground hard on his back and losing grasp of the broomstick to prevent it splintering on impact - too alarmed to respond to any instructions, the broomstick skidded a few yards further and ended up, he thought, in a little nearby pond.

Too winded from the fall to properly sit up, he lifted his head - ouch, no, that was an extremely uncomfortable crick in his neck - to try and see where it had gone, and instead noticed that there was someone in this garden, in fact.

“So sorry for - dropping in like this,” Elias just about managed, offering whoever was nearby an apologetic grin, before he found himself too dizzied to do anything more than slump back against this patch of leafy pumpkin vines. He was sorry to have squished them, too, but at the same time he was rather grateful for their cushioning. It could have been worse. Better this than a heap of nettles.

---

It was probably fortunate someone was out in the garden, just in case he’d passed out or broken both legs in the fall, Elias considered briefly. He hadn’t actually lifted his head far enough to look down and see that all his limbs were still intact, but he was fairly certain if he’d fractured anything he would have felt it at once.

So instead he looked at the woman kneeling by him, dirt smeared across her cheeks, and tried to pay attention to what she was saying. “I’m well-practised in the art of falling,” Elias managed brightly enough, although his hand did go to the back of his head experimentally, hoping the dizziness would fade. “Though I might’ve,” he admitted, wincing a little as he pulled himself up to a more sitting state. “Is it still on straight?”

He grinned at her as if to say I’m honestly fine, thank you - and obviously he was well enough to joke - although the soreness at the back of his head where he’d just touched it was much less discomforting than the twinge somewhere between the back of his shoulder and his neck that was making actually moving sound quite undesirable. Pulled something, probably, but that was not worth mentioning. So as he kneaded it tentatively, he glanced down at the leafy patch around them instead. “But maybe I should invest in some pumpkin plants of my own,” he added. “I think I’ve gotten off lightly this time.”

---

“Honestly, I’m -” he began. He would’ve shrugged about the ice, but he didn’t trust himself to shrug just yet, so he barely had time to tell her not to worry before the young woman was up and off towards the house. Enjoy the plants, she had said. Elias smiled to himself as she left. He didn’t move, though he hoped he was not crushing these pumpkin vines too badly by sitting here.

While she was gone he let the smile fade a little, attempting the massage the worst out of the muscle just below his neck; but as he did so he also spent a while letting his gaze drift around the garden. It was quite the spectacular scene, larger than most ordinary gardens here but a Padmore Park in miniature, complete even with its own pond. Well-tended, too. Just as he squinted over to see which patch of the garden she had been working on, the young woman returned with a whole assortment of things.

Elias pulled an impressed face, leaning back a little on his hands. “Hanging in very well, thank you,” he said with a smile to prove it, though his head was aching a little more with every minute. “I’ve been enjoying the plants as instructed,” he added, teasing a little, but only because she seemed so affable about this whole thing (when she could have equally been raving about intrusions and destruction of property, probably). “But I am sorry if I’ve ruined any of it.”

---

Elias took the ice gratefully, and had only just held it to himself when she also passed him a tonic of some kind. He squinted briefly at the bottle, but the lingering dizziness was not especially conducive to making out words, so he looked back up at her instead.

“Well I suppose I’ll have to trust you, won’t I?” Elias said good-naturedly, because if he didn’t take the tonic he would probably regret it later. Besides, she seemed eminently knowledgeable and quite resourceful - he glanced at the plant from which she was peeling leaves - and there was something bright and honest and open in her face that meant he’d probably have trusted her anyway, the previous reasons besides.

“But I couldn’t possibly,” he said, after knocking back the tonic and adjusting the ice he was holding. Elias peered down at the pumpkin plant and back at her again to grin, sure she was joking. “You can’t be sending all your garden-gatecrashing visitors off with gifts.” Metaphorically gatecrashing, in this case, but still - the fact remained, she was being far too kind.

---

He smiled ruefully at that. She was probably right. And he probably could use the natural cushioning of these leafy pumpkin plants. (And if he did not happen to faceplant into them often enough to destroy them all, it might even be an interesting addition to the garden to attempt to grow pumpkins of his own.)

The ice already felt numbing, and though the tonic had left an odd aftertaste in his throat Elias had to think it was taking effect, because he didn’t feel nearly so dizzy as he had a few minutes ago. He shifted in place, sitting up a little straighter in preparation for dealing with the dittany on his branch-scrapes.

“Grimstone,” he added, a little sheepishly. “Elias Grimstone. From just down that way -” he pointed vaguely towards the rest of Bartonburg (though the landing had disoriented his directional sense somewhat). “And - I try not to make a habit of it, but yes, perhaps a little more than I’d like. So I suppose you make a good argument,” he relented, heaving a sigh as if he were reluctant to be convinced by her, as if he weren’t smiling easily behind it, “Miss...?”

---

Well, perhaps we’ll be friends then, Elias thought but didn’t say. Daffodil - it was an unusual name, an unusual flower - but he could not think of anything more entirely suited to her, with her wide eyes and cheerful flush and flyaway wisps of hair and the earth smudged on her cheeks. Maybe it was because he had met her in the middle of a bursting garden, or because she just suited the springtime.

“Yes,” he admitted easily instead, squinting as if he could pin down which sister of hers she might mean - but all he knew about the Potts family was that they had an abundance of daughters, so that was getting him nowhere. “Potts, though,” he repeated, gesturing at the garden, more spectacularly planted than any other he’d flown over in Hogsmeade, with a smile. “I think I should have guessed. No one else’s garden is a match for all this.”

He couldn’t quite keep the smile fixed to his face as she set to work on the scratches, the dittany stinging on his skin, and Elias might have protested that it wasn’t necessary, he could let them heal on their own - but then she wouldn’t be this close, and he wouldn’t have gotten to hear that comment, and probably wouldn’t be having to use all his energy to suppress a too-wide grin. For once he didn’t have anything witty to say in response, so Elias just ducked his chin a fraction, laughed with a little sheepishness and let himself be distracted by her question about the broom. “Oh no, that’s an old forgotten model that I thought I’d give a second chance,” he said, with a look that said, slightly playfully, so please don’t tell everyone you know that I’m just that bad a broommaker. “But it might have seen better days.” The broom probably wasn’t even worth the time it would take to fix it up, and the test flight had been a failure, evidently; but sitting here, with only the now-disappearing-grazes to show for it, Elias couldn’t quite bring himself to count it as a loss.

---

“I can,” Elias said sincerely, letting his eye linger over the gardens again. Once she had finished her ministrations, he flexed his arms and stretched his shoulder back to test it, rather grateful that the scrapes were all sealed up before he inevitably got back to the workshop, immediately forgot about them, and got polish stinging on his skin.

He felt a great deal improved though, and the tonic must have been working - or else the pause to get his breath back - because he stood up slowly and didn’t feel dizzy at all. “Good eye,” he remarked, easily delighted at her knowledge, though he supposed it should not come as that much a surprise. “Oh, not too heavy,” Elias assured - it was not the most dense wood he’d ever used, and nothing the levitation charms couldn’t counteract, usually - “and it was a joy to work with,” the straight grain! so much easier-going than oak! “but it’s - almost a little too flexible, in the air. I think it’s style over substance for this one, after all,” he said, scooping up the recovered broom and setting it idly over his shoulder, for the walk back. “I suspect it’ll need even more repairing than me,” he added with a grin, shooting her another grateful look for all she had done for him.

He reached out his free hand to help her up from where she was sitting, grin growing a little broader. “Now, what should I know about planting pumpkins?”

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