Runesalve

September 1942

Last night I dreamt about Ilvermorny again. It was a big, swooping dream - I could see the walls, the forests, the roofs, the running paths, the stairs; panning up and down like I was a creature who had escaped and was trying to find a window to fly out of.

But I’m not there now. I’m in the cramped kitchen in the new London apartment, down the street from St Paul’s Cathedral. I am drinking coffee, watching the morning fall through the window. My father is reading the newspaper. My brothers are running around trying to find parchment. Or quills. Or socks? I’m not completely sure; they should have packed before the morning we were supposed to leave. We’ll be gone in a few minutes actually - the train is leaving at 11 sharp, according to Dad, remembering it from his own schooldays. He’s watching me now, over the newspaper’s front page displaying Grindelwald’s attacks in Vichy France - Nice and Marseilles mostly. I look back at him and he puts his hand on mine, stopping it from tapping the table.

‘I’m sorry, Poppy.’

‘You don’t have to be.’

‘Yes, I do. You’re thinking about Ilvermorny?’

Simon runs through the kitchen with an untucked shirt, striped socks sliding on the wooden floors, grabbing a piece of toast as he passes.

’Sim-‘

‘It’s not for me, it’s for Archie, he wants to eat it in the shower!’ Dad chuckles before turning back to me.

‘Of course.’ I say. ‘I miss it. Everything about it.’

My father exhales. ‘Whenever one door closes, another opens, love. I know it can be hard for you.’

Pause. I take a deep breath. ‘I… I miss her too. I wish she could be here.’

‘You know,’ he says, gaze shifting out of the window, to the summer sunlight washing Blackfriars Lane, ‘before you were born, we lived in Japan. It’s beautiful place, particularly in those days of democracy in the early ‘20s. We loved it - kind people, good food, interesting magic. When duty called us to China, she didn’t want to leave; wrote reams of letters begging to get reassigned in the south, but it was final, the civil war was progressing too fast. I went about three weeks before her, as Archie was a baby and that all took a bit longer to sort out. Anyway, I was exploring one day, and I noticed a little thing following me. I turned, and it tried to hide, but I caught it - her patronus, a little duck, hoping to report on what I was up to and if I was enjoying myself! I told the critter to report that I would only have fun with her around. Your mother arrived in a blur of suitcases and scarves about 2 hours later.’

‘The point is, she’s always around, even if it’s unconventional, Poppy. And you know what? China was a blessing for us. Not the violence we saw, but we had you, and Archie; excellent contacts and holiday spots when all this is sorted out. Hogwarts could do that for you.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ I say, my voice quiet, looking into Dad’s sparkling eyes. Wordlessly, he stands, and crosses to the cabinet full of glasses and our precious things. It’s still surrounded by boxes and open suitcases; God knows they’ll stay unpacked until we come home again. He pulls out a box, opens and closes it before turning and passing it back to me, and I must be making a funny face, because he laughs.

‘Consider it to be a present from us.’ I open it - it’s non magical, a watch, a leather band attaching the delicate square face. ‘Your mama would have wanted you to have it.’

My hands tremor slightly as I slip it onto my wrist. ‘Thank you.’ He puts his hands in his pockets, and smiles a tired smile. ‘It’s a little bit of home, and that’s home in the metaphorical sense.’ And then I’m hugging him, and his arms are wrapped around me, and my brothers, taller and smaller, are wiggling in. The family hug.

’Is this a bad time to mention that I don’t know where my tie is?’ Archie whispers, his voice falling down from where his cheek is resting on the top of my head.

‘Archie Pomfrey, don’t even start!!’ That’s how we’re leaving the flat. With laughter, a newly found tie, and my mother’s watch on my wrist.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

‘Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Simon. You simply run into the wall, and a new platform appears!’

My eleven-year-old brother seems slightly sceptical of Dad’s words but decides to accept it. He takes a deep breath, runs at the brick wall, and disappears. Archie and I look at each other, bemused.

‘What kind of English…’

‘No complaining, Archibald. Off you go.’ He laughs, then sprints, vanishing into thin air. Bye then.

‘Poppy?’

’This is weird.’

‘Yes.’ Dad says, mild excitement in his voice - he hasn’t been back since his own school days. I stare at him. He stares back, expressionless.

‘Alright.’ It feels like running through a curtain. I’m going slightly too fast, almost fall over, and my father catches me momentarily, appearing gracefully from the brick wall, his three-piece suit perfectly in place. In the moment of expressing my gratitude, I’m suddenly stunned by the Hogwarts Express; it’s coloured bright red, billowing steam and swamped with students and parents saying goodbye. I check my wristwatch - 10:55.

‘We should get on,’ Archie says. All four of us load the trunks onto the carriage, and my brothers hug their goodbyes, then venture down the train in search of seats. I stand at the door, hanging out of the open window. Dad reaches up and touches my cheek.

‘Take care of yourself, and your brothers. Be brave. Be kind. Do good magic.’

‘I love you. Please be safe.’

‘I love you too, my Poppy. Remember to write your old father once in a while.’

‘Every day.’

’I don’t love you that much.’ I’ve inherited his smile. He grasps my hand through the window, signet ring cold against my palm.

Presently, the wheels stir, steam surrounding the platform, and the Hogwarts Express starts moving, slowly at first but gathering speed rapidly. My father lets go of my hand, but I stay leaning out of the window, desperate to see London pass and fade from view; it’s a city which I have not come to know yet but hope I will. I hope to know many more cities, but for now I will have to postpone my plans of exploration. Hogwarts is dragging me in.

I watch the trees increase as we move, flashes of green becoming more frequent, and large townhouses fade into small cottages - Mama’s watch is cool and comforting against my wrist, and the wind passes briefly across my face as we race along. A tall, elegant prefect passes the vestibule, obviously on a mission, but stops and backtracks when she sees me.

‘Are you alright? You’re not throwing up, are you?’ Her Scottish accent is clear and steady, and she takes a small step towards me, but keeps her distance.

‘Oh, no, I’m completely fine; it’s just a bit strange to be going to Hogwarts.’

‘Good, I can never deal with people being sick,’ she says, shuddering to herself.

‘It’s always the same - it’s home, but the leaving and going back is always peculiar.’

‘Yes.’ I murmur, thinking of Ilvermorny. The prefect comes to stand opposite me, leaning against the carriage wall and smoothing non-existent creases out of her skirt.

‘You must be new.’

‘Yes, in fifth year.’

‘I wasn’t accusing you of being in first! I’m in fifth too - I don’t mean to offend, but I would definitely remember you. What’s your name?’

‘Poppy Pomfrey - my family have just moved here.’

‘Minerva McGonagall. Lovely to meet you.’ We shake hands. The countryside passes ever faster beside us.

‘Peculiar accent - did you go to Ilvermorny, then?’

‘For the last three years, yes - my family travelled the world before then. I’m not a stranger to new things, but this… this is a little scary.’

‘You’ll settle in - everyone does.’ She winks at me. ‘Plus, my friends will love you, if you wanted to meet some people?’

‘Oh, always!’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Minerva smiles and pulls me along the corridor.

‘They’re smashing. Not very studious; but lovely.’

‘That’s reassuring!’ I tell her, my spirits rising significantly. I thank Merlin for sending me someone already.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The train is extremely long and lined with compartments - Minerva strides down it with surprising speed and knowledge. We get around halfway down the carriage before she slows and raps on the door of one before entering and beckoning me in. Three girls are spread out in the compartment; one lies stretched out on one of the seats, her head by the window, feet by the door. Her eyes are closed, her dark curly afro being squashed onto the cushion under her head. Another girl has taken the window seat, with her knitting over her lap, and the last has taken her other side, her feet tucked under her as her she skims her Charms textbook. They barely look up when they see me.

‘Hey!’ Minerva says, tapping her foot impatiently. ’There’s a new girl.’

‘In Fifth?’ The knitting girl asks, winding her yarn around her knitting needle, her tongue stuck out in concentration.

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t kid me.’

‘Margie!’ She looks up, her face bright.

‘Sorry, it’s lovely to meet you! I’m Margaret Ollivander.’

‘Poppy Pomfrey,’ I say. Her fingers grip mine, exceptionally long, her nails strong and painted brown.

By now, Minerva has pushed me into the room and shut the door behind her. She shoves the stretched out girl’s legs off of the seat, much to her dismay, so that she’s bent almost at a ninety degree angle, her feet dangling mid-air. She groans.

‘Minnie, you cow… don’t you have to do prefect duty?’ Minerva sits down and motions for me to do so too.

‘I’m taking care of new students. Also, Poppy, Pomona, Pomona, Poppy.’

‘Hey,’ she says, eyes still shut, hand extended. I take it.

‘Don’t listen to anything Minnie says, she’s got her eye on Head Girl.’ Minnie rolls her eyes. ‘I saw that!’

‘With your eyes closed? You like me being here,’ the prefect says, her hands folded in her lap, ‘or would you prefer me to be hanging out with people with a badge?’

‘Oh, noOo!’ Pomona cries, gripping Minnie’s shoulders mock-fretfully. I laugh, feeling the joy and geniality radiate from this girl, and the other girls begin to giggle too. Pomona is definitely a gas. I meet the eye of the witch in the corner, Charms book open on her lap, but her mind definitely elsewhere.

‘Hey. I’m Augusta.’ It’s obvious that she’s incredibly confident. Well, at least I won’t struggle with talking to people.

‘How’s the Charms going?’ Minerva asks. Augusta huffs, flipping her pin straight hair over her shoulder.

‘I hate this stupid subject.’ Minerva smiles knowingly, like she’s heard this spiel a thousand times.

‘Ahh, I’m glad you’re here, Poppy.’ Pomona says. She’s looking at me from where her head is resting on Minnie’s shoulder.

‘Me too.’ Margaret says next to me. I feel a warmth in my chest, then the smile on my face widening, showing my teeth.

‘Me three.’ The journey passes quickly, trees and fields and streams swooshing past. Minerva pops out to actually do her prefect duty and Pomona, Margaret, and Augusta chat animatedly; I listen a lot of the time, finding myself short of breath for laughing at their conversation. At around lunchtime, I see Archie in the corridor, apple in hand from charming the trolley lady.

‘Hey, Popstar. Heard you made some friends.’

‘You sound surprised!’

‘Yes, with your… cool… personality.’ He says, quirking up a smile, brown eyes glittering.

‘Shut up, drip.’

‘Only kidding. They’re alright, though?’

‘Yes. They’re really lovely, actually.’

’The lads I’ve met are great too - I’m excited to see if they’re any good in the duelling ring. Simon seems fine too, lots of nervous kids with floppy haircuts and too-big-robes, but I mean - we all go through it.’

‘Do you miss Ilvermorny?’

My older brother takes a bite of the apple. ‘Nah.’

‘What?’

‘Mhm, I miss the friends I know there. But the attitudes, no. So oppressive, so nervous. Here isn’t as bad.’

‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’

He shrugs and swallows. ‘Just a building, isn’t it? Same with Hogwarts.’

Archie winks at me and saunters off down the train. When Minnie comes back, she has snacks - we drink bottles of pumpkin juice and I’m introduced to chocolate frogs.

‘Ooh, Helga Hufflepuff! That’s a good sign for this year to come for me,’ says Pomona, kissing the card and tucking it into her robe pocket.

‘May her blessings be upon your plant growing and biscuit eating, young witch.’

’Ta, Augusta. Ouch, tough luck for getting Uric the Oddball.’

‘I don’t know, I think jellyfish hats are rather en vogue at the moment.’

Margaret sighs. ‘I’ve got blasted Chauncey again! At this point, I’m expecting to catch dragon pox from the card!’

Pomona peers over my shoulder. ‘Poppy’s got Gunhilda, the healer who invented that cure - maybe you can swap?’

‘Oh no,’ Margaret says. ‘I wouldn’t want to give her dragon pox! Treasure it though, might be useful.’

‘Who have you got, Minnie?’ ‘Dumbledore.’ Impressed noises from the girls.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Dumbledore? Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. Just got onto the card recently and really considers it his great achievement. He’s a bit famous, actually,’ Margaret says, ‘but really nice. He should be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts though. They say, he got banned from teaching it because of how heavily he was involved in the war in Europe.’

Her clear amber eyes rise to mine, reading my neutral expression. I hold her gaze.

‘Isn’t everyone involved with the war in Europe? Why should he be punished for doing what’s right and helping people?’

She stops looking through my soul, hands back on knitting. ‘Oh, of course. You could say that’s what he’s doing. A good question.’

I don’t want to push the subject, so I put Gunhilda in my satchel and eat my frog.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When the train stops, it is dusk; orange sky fading to black, stars poking through the canvas above us. The lanterns are lit, lighting our way to the carriages that will inevitably take us to the school - the thestrals pulling them are as well-groomed as skeletal magical creatures can be, but I ignore them as we climb into the carriages and set off. Through the trees, there is a shimmer of moonlight on a huge body of water - Dad had told me of the Great Lake, how close it was to Hogwarts, how impressive and lovely it is. In the dark, giving me only flashes, it looks forbidding. Pomona, opposite me, leans forward and squeezes my hand. Her dark eyes are glittering.

‘You’re going to love it,’ she whispers. ‘It’s the best place in the world.’

I smile quickly. It’s not. The best place in the world is my grandmother’s house in California. Secluded, huge, with sprawling gardens and long hallways, always bursting with people at dinner parties and garden parties. Or perhaps the best place in the world is in Greece, one of the more idyllic stops of our chaotic childhood, where we played with kneazles on the beaches, dived to study marmites, lived with fruit juice smeared over our freckled faces, and practiced our magic with young wizards and witches whose parents faces were so often lined with uncertainty. Maybe Hogwarts is the best place in Scotland.

The carriage is halting now, and the girls jump down, brushing off their robes, chattering with other students. To be honest, I’m barely walking, as the current of people push me along so rapidly. Screw broomsticks - I have mastered the art of flying by myself. The tide pushes everyone into the Great Hall. I must admit that it is beautiful; candles floating high above our heads, the ceiling seemingly non-existent as the blackening sky turns and rumbles within it. It’s a long hall, with four tables stretching its length, stained glass windows showing scenes from history, fires roaring in the grate. The girls peel off into their own tables - I assume houses - with promises of catching up later, of going to supper, of meeting up tomorrow for breakfast. I stop in one of the aisles, students thronging around me. Minnie turns her head when she realises I’m not moving.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I don’t know what house I’m in.’

‘Oh!’ She exclaims, hand covering her mouth. Some nosy third years turn and try and prick their ears to the conversation.

‘Well, come on then.’ She grabs my hand, pulls me through the crowd to the very front of the hall, the teacher’s table.

‘Professor Dippet!’

‘Good evening, Miss McGonagall. I trust you had an enjoyable break.’

The wizard she addresses is pale, wizened, white hair and beard still clinging to patches of brown.

‘Yes, thank you, sir. I trust you had a good summer?’ Dippet makes some weird non-committal noise, like someone who’s summer was O.K but would have been better if he was somewhere tropical. His dark eyes fix on mine, a flicker of recognition passing his face.

‘Ah, Poppy Pomfrey?’

‘Yes, sir.’ I say. He’s wearing crimson robes, embroidered with flowers. It actually looks quite nice.

‘You will get sorted into your house before the first years,’ he explains, ‘if that is agreeable to you.’

‘Yes,’ I say slowly. So slowly. ‘How will I be sorted?’ Dippet smiles and gestures to a stool at the centre of the stage. On top of it is the grimiest looking hat I have ever seen. Unfortunately, I must have made a face, as Dippet’s smile falters for a second.

‘It’s not the loveliest thing in the world but it is our history.’ He says. I feel like he won’t hold it against me. Archie appears then, surrounded by some boys in seventh year. Dippet shoos them back to their benches, thanks Minnie and tells her to sit down too. She gives me a quick squeeze, her arms tight around my shoulders.

‘We’ll catch up later?’

‘Of course.’ Dippet eyes the both of us, seemingly not really knowing how to react to us. Half Americans with summer tans and peculiar accents and a strange not-education from travelling the world as children. I wonder if he remembers my father, when he was taught here twenty-five years ago.

‘You have a choice.’ He tells us (dramatically) ‘to get sorted now, or get sorted in front of the school.’

Archie and I don’t even have to look at each other. ‘Now.’ Neither of us are public speakers.

‘Very well.’ We’re led off to a little room at the side of the hall. It looks like a medieval doctor’s waiting room, but very large. Archie is first, and he sits on a stool just off to the side of the room, and Dippet then pulls out the ‘Hat’ - where and how he was hiding it I would prefer not to know. Archie tries not to scrunch his nose unsuccessfully. Presently, Dippet takes this thing and lowers it onto Archie’s head, and the hat begins to move, jump, deliberate Archie’s fate. After only a few seconds, it shouts out ‘GRYFFINDOR!’. Archie nods. We’ve both done our research, we know what it means. I am proud for him - he always was brave, and I can see his black tie change to red and gold.

My brother refuses to touch the hat with his hands, so Dippet pulls it from his head and motions at me to take his place. So I do.

Mhm. An interesting one. A voice says into my head. I jump out of my skin. And the voice chuckles. For fuck’s sake.

I’m not that scary, it says. It’s the hat. This horrendous garment dragged from a well in the Southern French Cambodian rainforest can see my thoughts.

Yes. And I’m older than your bloodline. I quiet my mind. Let’s get this over with. Interesting. Courage in there, of course. Unmistakable intelligence… but so much kindness. So much. I raise my eyes to the ceiling. It is only stone in here.

And yet. There’s something else, too. A resilience, a restlessness. Then the hat shuts up. Oh dear. I’m the one who broke the hat. It’s going so well. I glance at Dippet and my brother, starting to ask a question, but the headmaster puts a finger to his lips. Then the Hat speaks. ‘SLYTHERIN.’

I take it off and hug my brother. The Slytherin thing is indicative of ambition, isn’t it? Well, the Hat got that right. If you could even call it a Hat. My ambition to leave, to travel, to fight, is so strong it almost makes me walk out of this school all the way to Shanghai right now. I’ve told my father this - unfortunately I’ve been forced to heed his advice to learn to apparate first, as it’s sensible. As soon as that’s done, I’m out. See you never, yucks. But I have friends, I have family, and they will me get through these new few years, before I can begin my training as a mediwitch.

It all seems a bit of a blur as we leave the waiting room and Archie and I float to the tables that are designated ours, or at least we assume that they are due to the massive bright red and green banners. There are far few people in the aisles now. My eyes, scanning the hall, catch Pomona’s - she comically raises an eyebrow, and I point to the green stripes on my tie. She mimes being shot in the heart and then crying. I shrug and smile - what else can you do? Pomona smiles back and extends her arm to the table on the far left, the one hanging with green drapery, and then more specifically points to a girl with dark brown hair and explosive freckles, then does a little thumbs up. I thumbs back up in response. She blows a kiss.

As I swallow my trepidation and walk down to the pointed at girl, Minnie brushes her arm against my robes.

‘Good luck.’ She’s wearing a strange expression.

‘Not that I’ll need it.’ Minnie relaxes her face slightly, her eyebrows still furrowed - not in concern, but in disdain towards the Slytherin table. ‘Okay.’

On my approach, the girl half turns in my direction. ‘Oh Merlin! You’re in Slytherin! Excellent, excellent, I’m Frances, it’s so nice to meet you. Poppy, right?’

‘Yes, it’s nice to meet you too!’ I say. I can tell why Pomona pointed her out - their enthusiasm is so similar, so infectious. She pulls me onto the crowded bench, and I’m sandwiched between her and another girl, who smiles less manically but still nicely.

‘My name’s Claire. We’re all in fifth year too - it must be rather strange to come here after being in America.’

Shit. ‘Word does travel fast here!’

She puts a strand of soft blonde hair behind her ear.

‘Of course. To be honest though, there isn’t all that much gossip at the moment with our year so the second we all found out about new ‘blood’, so to speak, you’ve been quite chatted about.’

‘Oh dear.’ I say, and that got a laugh from my immediate table mates.

‘Anyway,’ Frances says, eyeing the boys, ‘these hooligans are Nott, Lestrange, Rosier and Avery. They turned thirteen once and began only using their surnames to communicate.’

‘Aw, Frances,’ Lestrange croons, his honeyed gaze fixing on her. ‘Don’t be so offended, it’s a boys thing.’

‘Mm. Claire, Poppy and I are going to have to start calling ourselves some crass nicknames too. We’ll have a think and get back to you,’ she replies, patting his hand across the table.

‘Oh,’ Claire says, an intentional pause disguised as an afterthought, ’and that’s Tom.’ All of the heads turn slightly. Like he is the sun and they are flowers. I look as well, finding a very attractive boy already looking at me; his skin very pale, hair dark and wavy. His image obviously carefully cultivated, but it makes me want to make him some bone broth or put him out to sit in the sunshine or something.

‘Hi, Poppy. It’s good to have you,’ he says silkily. ‘I’m sure we’ll get to know each other in time. I would love the American perspective on some issues.’ And he continues his conversation with the older boy opposite him. There was the very obvious sense that we’d been dismissed.

‘He’s so attractive.’ Claire murmurs. Avery and Rosier look at me and then each other and rolled their eyes in unison. I didn’t say anything. Merely watched. These people are nice to me, but they’re hiding things, and I’m unsure of if I want to know what.

‘Can I ask you a… personal question, dear Poppy?’ Nott says.

‘Yes, but no guarantee I’ll answer!’

‘What’s your blood status?’

‘Oh, really, William?’ Frances exclaims.

‘What a question already.’

‘Half Blood, I assume.’ I say. ‘I mean, no one’s going to be a full “pureblood” anymore, that doesn’t exist. Both of my parents are magical, I’m sure there’s some non-magic mixed in there.’

‘Purebloods do exist, actually,’ says Rosier, ears red.

‘I mean, you can tell yourself that. What does it matter, anyway?’

‘It matters a lot here, now! That’s the whole point of what Grindlewald is fighting for!’

‘Blood supremacy?’

’Not having to hide.’ I cast my eyes around my immediate circle; to Claire and Avery studying the grains of the table, to an incensed Nott and Rosier.

‘It’s peculiar to bring it up.’ I say.

‘Quite right; what are you hoping comes up for dinner?’ Frances garbles.

‘Hopefully a pie!’ Avery says, relief across his face. There’s a knock on the door to the Great Hall, and as I turn to note the noise, Tom’s pale face stands out underneath the candlelight. He’s regarding me; I throw him a quick smile. He turns it into a small, mirthless smirk. As First Years to file in. I turn and stare towards the front, to Dippet, to that ugly-ass Hat on a stool, to a man sat on the long staff table looking me from across the hall with bright, bright blue eyes. This school was full of people who didn’t tell other people things they really ought to know. It’s going to be a long three years. If I stay that long.