into the fray once more
Poppy signs her very last document, puts her quill down, and promptly decides that she needs to sleep. Her residency was draining, enough so that she wasn’t sure how much of herself she really wanted to give to Healing anymore, but now that she is done she can’t imagine being anywhere else.
Her offers have come in, too. There are more than enough for her to choose from. One of the pureblood families has offered to pay her a substantial amount for her private services, and she doesn’t hate the Greengrasses. St. Mungo’s is, of course, offering her a full position. But there is one offer that her graze keeps gravitating towards, and if she’s being honest with herself, the moment that the offer showed up on her desk she had known what her choice should be.
There are people she loves back at school. Pomona has returned after her own residency of sorts with Beery, and she’s going to start next semester as a teacher. Sybill is doing something on her own in Hogsmeade, and she misses the comfort of the castle. It’s not as though she’s attached to London anymore than she is attached to anywhere else in the world. She could, she supposes, mulling it over in her head, go back home, but she has no roots in Wales now that her father has died. There is nothing left for her there but an old house, memories that haunt each room, and a will that she has still been refusing to look at. She can hear her parents’ voices in her head. They had always been the respectable, hardworking sort, and no matter how much the Greengrass’ paid she doesn’t think she could ever be a private Healer. That defeats the whole purpose of a Healer.
Still, in what feels like an absurd attempt to fight destiny, she replies to the St. Mungo’s offer.
It doesn’t take more than a year before she’s calling Sybill in a flurry of tears. “I can’t do it,” she tells her friend, who has been insisting recently on using Muggle phones. Poppy agrees, because she has also missed the comfort and simplicity of Muggle technology, especially since the Wizarding World seems insistent on staying a hundred years behind. “I just- I had to see fifteen people who got stunned in various different states today. It’s too much.”
Poppy doesn’t recognise Sybill’s tone of voice. “Why did you not return to Hogwarts?”
“I’m not even going to ask how you knew about that,” Poppy rubs her eyes tiredly. “I just thought that… I don’t want to be at school forever, you know?”
“But you were happy at school.”
“We all were.”
“You especially.”
Poppy doesn’t mean to blurt out the truth, but Sybill has always had something about her that makes Poppy unable to keep a secret. Sometimes, Poppy thinks that it is because of all the people Poppy has ever loved, Sybill is the only one who will never look at her and see anything less or more than what she is. “What if I’m just afraid?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I’m just afraid of change, and the only reason why I want to go back to school is because I’m used to it and I know it?”
Sybill sounds unimpressed as she replies, “Poppy Penelope Pomfrey.”
“What?”
“You didn’t leave Wales, study at Hogwarts for seven years, and then continue to study at St. Mungo’s for so long because you’re afraid of change.”
“Thanks.”
“Just,” Sybill’s voice is full of conviction. “You can’t fight fate, Poppy.”
It isn’t as hard as she had thought it would be to pack up everything that she had brought with her for the past decade. Everything fits nicely into one, unenchanted suitcase, and she barely has to enchant it in order for her to be able to lift it.
“Has anything really changed at all?” She asks Pomona in the fireplace once they finished celebrating. Sybill was nowhere to be found when they tried her last address, so Poppy simply sent an owl off and hoped that it would find her.
“Not really,” Pomona says, her accent accentuated after the few pints of beer she had downed. “It’s just the same. There’s something about Hogwarts, P, that makes it feel like it will never change.” A thought strikes her, and instead of responding to Pomona’s comment, Poppy falls quiet for long enough that Pomona sighs, points the beer bottle at her through the flames, and says, “Out with it, you blathering idiot. What’s been on your mind?”
Poppy rolls her eyes, yet somehow Pomona knows her well enough to know exactly what is on her mind. “No way. No bloody way. You’re still hung up on Minerva McGonagall?” Pomona’s look is positively gleeful. “It’s been years, P!”
“I know that.” She says, grinding her teeth. “And I didn’t ask you anything. In fact, I don’t think I will be asking you anything at all.”
“No, no, no, you’re not getting away with that. Are you coming back to Hogwarts for her?”
“No!” She says, shocked that Pomona would even consider such a thing. “I’m not some lovesick fool, Pom! I haven’t even spoken to the woman before! I haven’t even thought about her for years!”
“Okay…” Pomona gives her a sceptical look, but she doesn’t say what she’s thinking aloud. Good thing, too, because to think that Pomona actually believed she would give up better things in life because of a childhood crush is inane. “Well, then. What do you want to know about her?”
“I don’t know. Are you still friends?”
“We have tea sometimes.”
“And how is she?”
“Why do I feel like I’m talking to you about an ex-flame?”
Poppy groans. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”
Pomona just grins. Her tone softens when she speaks, though, and Poppy realises just how much she has missed her friend as she says, “I can’t wait until you get back, P. I’ve missed you. A lot.”
Despite herself, Poppy feels her frown turn into a soft smile, and she is completely sincere when she tells Pomona that, “I’ve missed you too. A lot. Too.”
“Poppy,” Minerva greets her, courteously. “You look well.”
“Thank you,” Poppy replies, stifling the urge to call the woman next to her ‘Professor McGonagall’. With her hands folded neatly in her lap, her hair pulled back and her expression prim, ‘Minerva’ doesn’t seem to suit the woman sitting next to her. “You do as well.” The words feel odd, stilted coming out of her mouth, but she supposes that would make sense. “How have classes been going?”
“Fine,” Minerva dismisses. “First years always struggle more. I hope they haven’t been taking up too much of your time?”
“I haven’t had a lot of visits from students so far, surprisingly.”
“Surprisingly?”
“Considering the Quidditch rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin is as strong as ever, I was rather expecting half of the team to be in my wings after the last match.”
“Ah,” a corner of Minerva’s mouth pulls up. “They do tend to get excited.”
Poppy doesn’t know why, but despite herself she can’t help herself as she rolls her eyes playfully at the woman. She so rarely feels this comfortable around another person this quickly, but she supposes that it would make sense. She might be a stranger to Minerva, but Minerva is no stranger to her. “I do believe I saw you in the stands that night as well.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed. Surely it wasn’t your voice that, if I recall correctly, screamed, ‘FOUL, REF, USE YOUR EYES OR HAVE A HIPPOGRIFF SCRATCH THEM OUT!’ When the Slytherin Beater sent a Bludger flying at your Seeker.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” The tips of Minerva’s ears flush, though, and Poppy smirks.
“Of course, Professor McGonagall.”
Minerva gives her a look, and she can’t help the giggle that escapes her. The silence that falls afterwards as their other colleagues slowly begin to file in is comfortable, familiar enough that it should have surprised Poppy. Like everything else about Minerva, though, it just feels right.
“I don’t suppose you know why Armando has decided on this insane hour for this meeting, do you?” Minerva asks her after a moment, her tone sardonic. “The man has no consideration for the fact that most of us require sleep.”
Poppy recovers quickly. “I believe our beloved Headmaster has simply evolved past sleep. Sleep is, after all, for the weak.”
“Are you calling me weak, Madam Pomfrey?”
“Why, Professor McGonagall.” Poppy can feel a grin spreading across her face. “Calling a Gryffindor weak? I would never.”
“Ah, yes, I forget about the Ravenclaw propensity towards cowardice.” Minerva’s quip is accompanied by a not-too-small degree of shock on Poppy’s part.
“How did you guess?” She asks.
“That sharp wit, I suppose.” Minerva's eyes flash mischievously, and a laugh is surprised out of Poppy’s mouth. “Pomona has spoken a great deal about you.”
“Nothing terrible, I hope.”
Minerva’s smirk is tantalising, but before she can answer, Pomona shows up and drops unceremoniously on the other side of Poppy. “Bloody hell,” she murmurs, but stops abruptly when she looks up to find that both Poppy and Minerva are looking at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Poppy says, glad that Minerva can’t see her expression. She’s sure she’s looking none too kindly at her old friend for interrupting, even if she knows it’s not fair. “Minerva was just telling me about all of the tales of me that you have told her about.”
Pomona smirks. “What, embarrassed?”
“I’ve never done anything I should be embarrassed about.”
“Except for the one time that you and Sybill were on the tower, and–”
Poppy flushes. “I think the Headmaster is on his way!” She cuts Pomona off hurriedly. “I’m sure he has very important things to say to us. Best focus on that.”
Minerva’s laugh joins Pomona’s, but before Poppy can properly soak in it, the Headmaster does arrive. His meeting is, as usual, long and winded, but the warm feeling of Minerva’s laugh lingers for long enough that Poppy doesn’t mind it at all.
“You have to come, Sy!” Poppy is saying into the fireplace when Pomona walks into her rooms. “I know it’s last minute, but you just said you have nothing to do today and there’s going to be so much food. I know you miss Hogwarts.”
“When is it?” Sybill’s head somehow seems much more at home floating in the fireplace than it does on her own body. “I might have clients then.”
“Wow, I wonder when the Yuletide Party is,” Poppy answers sarcastically at the same time as Pomona says, “What clients?”
“Pom-Pom!” Sybill exclaims. “Oh, it’s been ages since we last spoke!”
“Teaching first years has been running me into the bloody ground,” Pomona grunts as she tugs off her boot, no doubt covered in mud, and sits down next to Poppy. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, not much. My research fund has run out properly this time, so I’ve started accepting clients who want to See.”
Pomona frowns. “You’re scamming those poor bastards out of their money?”
“No!” Sybill looks horrified in the fireplace. “Of course not! I only tell them what I See. And if they find something that they like, well, I’m in no position to turn down payment.”
“So.” Poppy cuts into the conversation, aware that Pomona has stiffened slightly. “Yuletide party? It will just be the faculty of the school and their family. It’ll be fun, Sy! You’ll get to see Dumbledore get candy-drunk, maybe see a few of our old professors with their kids. And we can get drunk together.”
“You know I don’t drink,” Sybill chides softly, but Poppy can tell that she is considering. “When do I need to show up?”
“In about four hours.”
The silence that falls is contemplative, but Poppy knows, just by how long Sybill is considering, that she’s won. She still lets out a cheerful whoop when Sybill nods and says, “Alright, then, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to pop down to the old school for a moment.”
“Brilliant!” Poppy grins wide, the thought of seeing her friend in person again after nearly two years making her giddy. “We’ll see you soon, then. Bye, Sy!” Pomona says her goodbyes as well, but after Sybill hangs up, Pomona is strangely quiet.
“Alright,” Poppy says, after the third time that she’s asked a question and Pomona hasn’t responded. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Pomona says and despite knowing that what she said is not true, Poppy doesn’t push. She’s known Pomona for most of her life, and she knows better than most that if Pomona doesn’t want to say something, she won’t, and no amount of pushing will change that. “Oh, and I’m going to the party with Filius, by the way.”
“What?” Poppy nearly launches off of the sofa that she had just sat herself down on. “WHAT? Pomona Alexander Sprout, what have you been keeping from your best friend?”
“It’s nothing!” Pomona laughs, pushing Poppy off of her when Poppy tackles her. “Poppy! P! We’re not young enough to be wrestling on the floor anymore.”
“Says you,” Poppy says indignantly. She presses a kiss to Pomona’s cheek before she moves, releasing Pomona from her death grip. “Alright, tell me. Are you dating? Have you fucked? Is this serious? What have you been keeping from me?”
Pomona opens her mouth in mock offence. “Poppy!”
“Tell me, tell me, tell me!”
“It’s nothing, it really is nothing. We’ve just been talking for the past week, and when the party came up, it seemed natural to go together. That’s all!”
Poppy narrows her eyes at her friend. “You’re keeping something from me.” Pomona blushes. “AHA!” This is insane, Poppy thinks, Pomona Sprout, blushing like a young maid. This is absolutely bonkers. The world has turned upside down. “I’m so happy for you, Pom. You deserve someone that makes you happy.”
“Oh, don’t get all mushy on me,” Pomona groans. “You know I bloody hate that.”
“But that’s what I’m here for,” Poppy grins wide. “So does this mean that Sybill and I have to show up alone, two poor, poor bachelorettes?”
Pomona rolls her eyes at her. “As if you weren’t going to, anyways. When was the last time you dipped your toes in the water, you wanker?”
“Last year of residency,” Poppy replies promptly, “she was hot and exhausted, I was worn-out and tired. We lasted about, hm, I want to say, three years?”
Pomona whistles. “It’s been that long, huh?”
Poppy struggles. “I haven’t really wanted to meet anyone for a while.” Her mind races back to the reason why, but before she can reel it back so that Pomona doesn’t spot exactly what she means, Pomona spots it.
“Oh,” Pomona’s tone is knowing. “Minerva.”
Poppy is so used to this conversation that at this point she no longer even attempts to deny it. “Yeah,” she sighs. “Minerva.”
“Have you spoken to her at all?”
“Not really. Not beyond what you would have said to any of the other professors, really.”
“You do realise that if you don’t speak to her, nothing’s ever going to change, right? Your wishful thinking isn’t going to help you?”
She pins Pomona down with a glare. “Hey! You don’t know that. What if she suddenly, one day, out of the blue, decides she likes me?”
Pomona gives her an incredulous look. “What are we, five?”
“I’m just saying it could happen.”
“And I could win the Daily Prophet’s lottery one day.”
“Exactly!”
Pomona sighs the long suffering sigh of a friend who has watched her friend pine away for too long. A very specific and exact description, because Poppy is too old now to not know exactly what she is. “Just get ready for the party, alright?”
Poppy takes her advice. If she spends a little extra time on her hair and makeup than she normally would, well, it’s certainly not because she has a certain someone in her mind.
Sybill is standing in their path as they make their way from Poppy’s rooms to the Headmaster’s rooms. Poppy doesn’t question how she knows where Poppy’s rooms are, despite never having been there before. Instead, she runs up and grabs her friend in a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you, you old bat,” she whispers, and Sybill simply chuckles back, her embrace warm and enthusiastic. Pomona is slower to come up, but when Poppy releases Sybill she grabs Sybill in a hug of her own, although Poppy is sure that whatever Pomona whispers into Sybill’s ears is a lot less pleasant than whatever Poppy did.
“You both look amazing,” Sybill’s voice, now that it is no longer accompanied by the crackling of the fireplace, is soft, delicate, her dulcet tones flighty the way their owner tends to be. “Hogwarts has been treating you well. Oh, and don’t go to the first Quidditch match when school starts again, flower. You’ll be needed at the Hospital Wing.”
“Sounds great,” Poppy replies, looping her arm around Sybill’s. She’s always found that simply agreeing to whatever Sybill requests has worked best, although she’s always listened to the smaller things Sybill advised. They didn’t hurt her, and they tended to be right. It’s one of the few times she believes her friend when she talks about the Sight. “Now, let’s hurry up and leave so that Pom can meet up with her date.”
As expected, Sybill turns to Pomona and squeals, equal parts happy and excited. “Date? Pomona Alexander Sprout, you told me no such thing!”
“Why do you sound exactly like P?” Pomona grumbles. “It’s just a bloody date.”
“It’s no bloody date!” Sybill says, her hands fluttering before they grab one of Poppy’s. “It’s a date that you’re going on! Oh, what’s his name? I must do a reading for him!”
“No thanks, S.” Pomona is oddly stern, and Poppy shoots her a look that she ignores. “But his name is Filius.”
“Flitwick?”
Pomona’s surprise colours her words. “That’s the one.”
Sybill nods sagely, but what comes out of her mouth has nothing to do with the excitement of the previous moments. “Shared chambers will be the beginning of your demise.” She clasps her hand over her mouth the moment she is finished, her eyes wide and terrified behind her classes.
“What?” Pomona is bewildered now. “What do you mean?”
“N-nothing.” Sybill says, swallowing hard. Her smile is wobbly. “I think you’ll be wonderful for each other for a long time, Pom-Pom.”
“I-” Pomona is just bewildered. “Thanks?”
Poppy looks closely at her friend. “Are you okay, Sy?”
“The Sight has been…” For a moment, Sybill falters. Poppy reads the signs well, and she squeezes her friend’s hand for support. “Demanding. Recently.”
“Is something about to happen?” Poppy asks.
“Maybe.” Sybill seems to be consumed by something, a memory or a thought, before she shakes it off herself and continues. “Shall we go in, then, my dear flower, and leave our dear Pom-Pom to her date?” They’re off before Pomona can curse anymore at them, laughing heartily as they burst into the rooms.
Everyone else is already there. The decorations are fabulous, Poppy can’t even begin to imagine how many different charms had to be there to make sure the dragon floating in the sky looked like it was swimming in water and breathing fire at the same time, but her attention is immediately and completely taken by one person. It is as though time slows, her vision becomes a tunnel, and all she sees is Minerva, standing there in a pair of dress robes that are just a little softer than the ones that she usually wears, smiling and laughing in a way that she never does at school with one of the other professors.
She’s realised that she had a crush before. Yuletide is where she realises that she is fucked.