After

Minerva woke up all at once eighteen hours after her magic gave out, sitting bolt-upright in an empty room. It took her a brief moment to get her bearings but when she did all she could say was a brief string of expletives under her breath. St. Mungo’s, the one place she didn’t want to wind up. 

Of course, she knew, that this wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t behaved like an idiot and pressed on past her breaking point, but she was determined to ignore that fact. She turned to the table beside her to look for her glasses but she didn’t see them. She summoned up her spares and really got her bearings then with her vision restored. 

She was alone for now, which she had conflicted feelings about, but there was no time to think about that. She had to get out of there. There was no explaining it, no reason to it, but being in St. Mungo’s spelled nothing but disaster to Minerva, and there was too much to be done to be trapped there being fussed over. 

Then she realised that every centimeter of her body ached. A dull, constant pain persisted in every joint and limb and she began to realise that she might not have the strength to do much of anything yet. 

Then she realised that she had no clue what day or time it was. It might have been a week since she collapsed, and it might have been an hour. Really, she had lost track of the days during the time she was alone at Hogwarts. But now that she was back in the waking world she had a million questions and a need to begin finding solutions. 

When were the repair crews set to start arriving? When should the preparatory season start? Would she have enough time to restock all that was missing from or broken beyond repair at Hogwarts? Would she have time to find a full staff? Exactly how many professors would she have to replace? Did she have time to start reworking her lesson plans? Did she need to start work on supplementary and remedial courses in Transfiguration? Would she have to call the fifth-year O.W.L students and the seventh-year N.E.W.T students back for testing? Could they complete their testing without having to take a year of remedial work? What of Harry, Hermione, Ron, and the others who missed the entirety of their seventh year? Would they have to take their tests? Would they need remedial courses? Would they come back for another year at Hogwarts? Could the school accommodate eight grade levels instead of seven? Would they even want to come back?   Would anyone want to come back?

Her head was spinning with questions and uncertainty, and probably a mild concussion, but rather than give in to the headache and try to quiet her mind she summoned up her travel desk and a quill and began writing out her problems and considering solutions. Her quill felt as if it weighed ten pounds and her limbs seemed to be made of lead, so it was clear to her that there was no way she was making it out of that ward yet. But while no one was bothering her she could still get something productive done. 

Her productivity didn’t last long. She had been lucky enough to wake up during the shift change from night to morning staff at six o’clock. That gave her about fifteen extra minutes before the next round at six thirty. 

Therese Mountcastle, who had graduated 12 years prior, was the medi-witch who found Minerva awake. Stopping dead in the doorway when the professor barely glanced up from the notes she was writing, she looked stunned for a moment. “Professor, you’re awake.” She said it as a statement but sounded surprised enough that it might have been a question. 

Minerva glanced up again, replying, “Yes. I am.” 

Medi-witch Mountcastle shook her head in disbelief at the old woman before her. “You didn’t call?” She asked chastisingly gesturing to the button on the wall behind Minerva, then seemed to think that she and her colleagues might have missed the call in the commotion of shift change, and asked, “Did you?” 

Minerva glanced over her shoulder bemusedly, “No, no I did not.” 

Therese seemed to realise that she wasn’t going to get anywhere arguing with the elderly professor, She sighed exasperatedly and leaned out the door into the hallway, “Marjorie, call Poppy Pomfrey, please.”

There was no need. Poppy had already arrived from the emergency ward, having been kicked out by the head healer after a fifteen-hour shift, as supplementary staff dealing with complications in battle combatants, that no one had asked her to pull. She hadn’t expected any change yet and was just planning to check in before crashing in the healer’s station. She crossed the ward as Therese stepped out of her way. Minerva knew she was in trouble now. She could see from across the room that Poppy was in no fit state to be working.

“Please tell me she’s your problem,” The younger medi-witch spoke sarcastically as Poppy passed her.

“Oh, she’s a problem alright,” Poppy replied, not wanting that responsibility. She turned to Minerva and said, “I should have known you’d only take 19 hours to do what most people do in 48.”

“Nineteen hours? Is that all?” Minerva asked blithely, finally putting her quill down. Poppy was clearly worn out and she knew that meant she would be more irritable than usual. Minerva wasn’t sure if she wanted to avoid confrontation or start it on purpose. “I will say that it’s probably closer to 18, I have been working on this for quite a while.” She gestured to the travel desk in front of her.

Poppy slowly drew in a deep breath, trying to control her anger. “What on Earth could you possibly be working on right now? You almost died, do you know that?” She asked, wide-eyed in shock and exasperation. Therese slowly slipped back out the door.

“Well, I just started a remedial course for the seventh-year students and some corrective work for years one through six,” Minerva admitted, vanishing the little desk and its contents before Poppy could. 

“You are going to be the reason I quit magi-medicine,” Poppy responded, shaking her head disapprovingly. Her voice was slightly choked by her clenched jaw when she said, “You are slowly driving me insane.” 

“That’s my real master plan,” Minerva responded sarcastically. She was more genuine when she summoned up a chair, much nicer than the one that sat across the room and said, “Pip will you please sit down, you look like you’re about to fall over.” 

“Oh, you wanna talk about looks?” Poppy asked sarcastically, “I wish I had a mirror because any glamour spells you had left are long gone now.” She wasn’t trying to be hurtful, not really, but she wasn’t trying to be kind either.

Minerva didn’t seem to mind, “Ah, such is life. Maybe I’ll stop with them now.” She chuckled slightly, “That would throw them all for a loop wouldn’t it?” 

Poppy, who was momentarily but very strongly reminded of Albus Dumbledore as Minerva spoke, shook her head at the nonchalance. Her irritation ebbed away, she was too tired to be in a rage. She sank down into the chair that Minerva had created and said, “Yes, yes I think it would.” 

“By the by, what colour is my hair now?” Minerva asked, she hadn’t seen her real hair colour in almost five years. “It’s not gone completely white has it?” 

Poppy nodded tiredly, “Damn near, it’s the lightest shade of grey I’ve ever seen.” 

“I retract my previous statement,” Minerva said shortly before recolouring her hair with a wave of her hand. “Albus might have been able to command respect like that but I have a feeling it wouldn’t work the same way for me.” She cast another charm and went back to her usual appearance, the clock stopped at about seventy-five. 

“No, probably not,” Poppy answered, feeling more tired by the moment. 

“Maybe I’ll be able to give them up when I retire,” Minerva said, speaking softly, fully aware that Poppy was slowly falling asleep, and shaking her head as she checked her work in a mirror she had summoned up. 

“You’re going to retire?” Poppy asked, fighting a yawn. Not even that bombshell could keep her from slowly falling asleep.

“Maybe someday,” Minerva responded, glancing at Poppy surreptitiously. She spoke softly when she added, “When I’ve fixed what’s broken.” More for her own benefit than Poppy’s. The younger witch was falling asleep, and Minerva wasn’t going to stop her. 

Unfortunately, Healer Mountcastle reappeared at that moment, startling Poppy awake with the sound of the door opening. “Healer Pomfrey, I have just been informed of your state by the head healer on Emergency. A fifteen-hour shift? Are you insane?” She asked the questions clearly for the benefit of informing Minerva. 

Minerva turned to look sharply at Poppy, who groaned like a child who’s just been ratted out to their parent. 

“Thank you very much, Mountcastle,” The irritated older Healer said with a glare. 

“You’re welcome,” Therese answered with equal sarcasm. She turned to Minerva, “She’s gonna wind up like you, you know.” 

“No,” Minerva insisted with a slight smile, “She’s much smarter than me, she’ll figure it out.” 

There was a wicked smile on Therese’s face when she said, “Well if you want to help her learn, I will inform you that you’re listed as her emergency medical proxy.” 

Minerva tried to contain the evil look in her eye as Poppy started to defend herself, “No, no, I would have to be incapacitated before she can make any kind of decision about me.” 

“Incapacitated, under an undo burden, or temporarily insane, actually,” Therese said, “Anyone who works for fifteen hours straight is at least temporarily insane.” She turned back to Minerva, “You could have her admitted right now.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Poppy threatened as a wicked smirk came across Minerva’s face. 

“How else will you learn, Pip?” 

“By your bad example,” Poppy retorted, realising that she didn’t really have an out if the two of them were going to conspire against her. 

Minerva turned to Therese, “That hasn’t seemed to work so far. Do what you will, Healer Mountcastle, I’ll sign the papers later.” 

Therese smirked and said, “Well that’s good enough for me.” 

“No, no, absolutely not,” Poppy protested in vain. “Besides you can’t admit me on this ward.” 

“Why not?” Therese asked as if she were interested in hearing the answer. 

“This is Geriatrics, an over eighty war,  I’m seventy-one,” She insisted. 

“Really?” Therese asked, actually surprised. 

“Yes,” Poppy insisted, horrified at the implications. 

Therese turned to Minerva, “Is she really?” And Minerva nodded assuringly, but also defeatedly.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Therese joked. 

Poppy’s expression soured further and she said, “Just wait your turn, the job will catch up with you too, Miss Mountcastle. I mean what are you? Thirty-five?” 

Therese’s slight smile fell and she answered, “I’m twenty-nine.” 

“My Point Exactly.” 

“Well, Just for that I’m going to have you admitted to general, and they are much less nice than we are,” Therese said sourly, turning out of the room to call the general ward. 

“Merlin’s pants,” Poppy muttered sourly, falling back against the chair. She looked up at Minerva and said, “Don’t smirk at me like that, you back-stabbing old biddy.” 

“Well, dear, what would you have me do? Let you work yourself to death? Why should I extend you that courtesy when you won’t give me the same?” Minerva asked sarcastically, still smirking.

Poppy drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes, clearly angry, she pressed a hand over her face. She dropped her hand, pretending to be more collected than she felt. She shook her head and lied when she said, “I hate you.” 

Minerva smirked as a Healer from the general ward followed Therese back into the room. “No, you don’t,” She responded as Poppy gave up fighting her confinement and stood up from the chair. 

“No, I don’t,” She admitted, then added sourly, “but I should.” 

“Probably,” Minerva laughed as Poppy left. 

Before she was gone, Poppy turned to Therese and said, “Don’t let her convince you to let her out. She’s really good at that, but she’s always lying.” 

“Damn it,” Minerva muttered, her master plan foiled with one sentence.