Greensleeves

April 13, 1985

Poppy Pomfrey sighed and reached for the black robe from her closet that she had worn too many times. With the end of the war, it should be sitting in the back of her wardrobe collecting dust, but no, fate had a cruel sense of humor. As she pulled the dress and over robe out, she gave it a good looking over. A classic traditional conservative cut, black wool, utterly unremarkable. After the fourth funeral in the spring of 1971, Minerva, ever practical Minerva, had suggested they go purchase a set of robes just for the tragic days that were surely to come. A student's stare had unnerved the mighty Minerva McGonagall one morning. Upon realizing that she was wearing the same robes she had worn to the student's brother's funeral a few weeks before, the deputy headmistress promptly commandeered the healer's lunch break for a shopping trip to avoid a similar situation ever happening again.

Poppy fiddled with the lace at the end of the sleeves that Minerva had insisted was flattering but appropriate. Poppy stopped herself from unraveling the lace and just took a moment to stare at her hands. She had used her hands, her skills, her magic to heal so much over the years. She knew she had saved lives, but she hadn’t been able to save him, and that seemed to be all that mattered now.

She didn't hear the knocking, nor when Rolanda Hooch entered her quarters.

"Poppy?"

Poppy continued to stare at her hands. Flipping them back and forth. For a second, she thought she saw them covered in blood again.

Calloused hands covered hers. Poppy shook her head from her reverie and forced herself to meet Rolanda's trademark hawk like eyes. They softened, trying to offer comfort, knowing that Poppy wouldn't take any. With a sigh, Rolanda fixed the button at the end of Poppy's cuff that had come undone, before resting her forehead against hers, silently begging, hoping the woman would release some of the weight she carried. 

"It's time, darling."

----

Severus Snape blindly reached for a robe in his closet, knowing that it would be appropriately black no matter what he pulled out. As felt the fabric slide between his fingers, he was struck by a thought. Bloody highlanders. He stuck his hand back in the closet and pulled out the warmer woolen set. It was spring, almost summer for Merlin’s sake. This shouldn’t be happening. After a war, this all seemed so stupid, so preventable.

Why Dumbledore insisted most of the staff attend, he did not know. For goodness’ sake, there were still a few students to watch over that had stayed for the Easter Holidays, but the wise headmaster insisted that Sybil Trelawney of all people could handle it. Severus snorted. The headmaster was clearly slipping, and his misuse of Machiavelli was showing – the only thing worse than being forced to attend a long-winded wizarding funeral rite would have been also having to endure Sybil’s commentary throughout the service that she predicted this last yule when there had been thirteen at the table. Then again, Severus mused, that could have been preferable to sitting through another ministry official drone on and on about upholding the precious traditions of Wizarding society, as the widow of the hour would surely have cursed the seer before the burial.

Severus donned the warmer robes and swept out of his quarters. He had just enough time to stop by the common room and threaten his Slytherins into behaving for the next few hours. Or at least not doing anything idiotic enough to get caught.

If the castle was in flames when they returned, he was not going to be responsible for the paperwork.

---

Filius Flitwick took another sip of his cup of Darjeeling. He had told Pomona they needed to leave 15 minutes ago, which meant they still had another 15 minutes before they were actually late.

“Filius! The buttons are falling off. I can’t wear this!” Pomona fretted coming into the room in a worn set of black dress robes. The witch plopped down in her favorite armchair, and indeed another button flew off, right onto the saucer of the cup he had prepared for her.

“My dear,” Filius soothed as he passed her the steaming chamomile. “I thought you were going to retire those robes.”

Pomona threw up her hands in exasperation before taking the tea, “I was, but I didn’t think I would need a new set so soon.”

“None of us did.” Filius sighed, “We can charm another set for today. What about the ones you wore at the last feast?”

At her lack of response, Filius looked up and saw her staring vacantly at the cup in her hands. He moved to stand beside her.

“Pomona?”

Pomona exhaled slowly, “What if she never speaks to me again?”

“Oh 'Mona. You are practically sisters. She just needs time.”

His wife looked at him, tears gathering, “I encouraged him. I helped him special order the blasted plant. If I hadn’t, he might still be here.”

Filius straightened to his full height. Waving the shaking teacup away, he grabbed her hands. “No. You cannot blame yourself for this. No one - no one could have predicted this. She knows this, and she needs you.”

The tears flowed freely now. “She wouldn’t speak to me- she didn’t even look at me!”

Filius shook his head, remembering that awful night, waiting outside the hospital wing. There had been no time to transfer him to St. Mungo's. With a deep breath, Filius continued, “She was in shock- we all were, and we all deal with this differently, but she knows you will be there for her when she’s ready. Right?”

Pomona nodded vigorously, “Of course!”

Filius squeezed her hands “That’s what she needs, and that’s all you can do. Now hurry and get one of your other dress robes. We don’t want to be late.”

---

Albus Dumbledore stood off to the side watching as his staff gathered in the entrance hall. Albus had a few last minute items to review with the head house elf who was watching over the castle (and the divination instructor) in their absence as the staff began to arrive. The elf disappeared, and the headmaster considered the crowd before him.

Poppy had arrived first, and the staff gathered around her as they trickled in. Rolanda stood behind her in a tailored suit, black of course. Albus softly smiled as the flight instructor quietly placed a hand on the matron’s back offering her support as multiple staff members whispered that there was nothing more she could have done. With each comment, Albus saw the matron's eyes only harden further.

Albus caught Severus in the corner of his eye, quietly slipping into the entrance hall, scouting a spot to stand that was as far from the group as possible. The young man's eyes flickered to the various entry ways to the room, as if contemplating attempting to run. Albus shook his head, the boy's attitude may have kept him alive during that last year of the war, but it was not helping him now. Severus had struggled the past few years to find his place on staff. Between the trauma of the war, and his own natural stubbornness, Severus often drew the other professor's ire when he tried to act like he wasn't a fresh graduate who had just turned 21, dismissing advice and eschewing staff outings. Albus mused that it really wasn't that surprising that the only staff member he truly seemed to get along with as it were, was Minerva. The students presumed that their arguments precluded a never ending feud, but Albus knew them better than that. Neither would bother arguing with someone they didn't enjoy. Fools weren't worth the trouble. It also might have helped that young Severus had overheard Minerva yelling at him when she discovered what the Marauder's had done during his fifth year. 

Dumbledore's musings were interrupted by the other recent addition to the staff- Aurora Sinistra who looked at her watch and asked, “Where are Flitwick and Sprout?”

Magically, as it almost always did, the inquiry into their whereabouts announced their arrival.

“We’re here, we’re here.” The herbology professor huffed as they rushed out from a corridor. As Pomona caught her breath, Filius glanced around, “Has anyone seen her today?”

Rolanda shook her head, “No, she flew to her father’s yesterday.”

Pomona wrung her hands, “Oh, dear. I wish… I wish there was something we could do.”

Severus snapped and interrupted the distraught witch, “That sort of talk is exactly what she wanted to escape from. She’s a strong woman, she doesn’t need our pity.”

Filius turned sharply and spoke in a tone that made some of the younger professors step back, “Severus, she doesn’t have our pity. She has our sympathy and empathy which is different, not to mention our own grief as well.”

The young potions master bit his cheek, barely keeping in what was sure to be an insolent remark to himself.

The charms master held his gaze, with an authority one acquired from decades in the classroom, “You forget that most of us knew him well and considered him a dear friend.”

Severus inclined his head, ceding the argument. “My apologies.”

Filius deferred to Pomona who nodded while she wiped tears from her eyes. Her voice, despite the tears was strong and commanding.

“Your apology is accepted, lad, but I frankly would prefer your understanding.”

Albus saw the cogs turning in Severus’ mind as he reviewed his preconception of the herbology professor. Perhaps today, young Severus would learn that his mistaking of tears as weakness was making him vastly underestimate those around him, indeed at his own peril, judging by the murderous expression on Poppy’s face. Her hands were twitching at the wand up her sleeve. Frankly, the boy was quite lucky the matron had taken a vow of “Do no harm.”

Albus glanced at the grand clock overhead and the simmering group ahead of him. It was time to go, and past time to intervene.

“Everyone here?” Albus asked, knowing full well that they were. The wizard pulled an envelope from his least favorite robes. The black ensemble, with a dusting of silver leaves along the edges was the most muted set of robes he owned. They served a purpose he would admit, but that didn’t mean he had to like them. They clashed horribly with the violet cravat he had had the elf fetch from his quarters, but that did not matter.

“As you know, due to his public status and the nature of his work, the service is invitation only. If everyone could please read the following card before the portkey activates so you are able to attend.”

A card edged in black was duly passed around.

In Memoriam of Elphinstone Urquart, O.M. (Second Class), Senior Sorcerer – Wizengamot, Head of the DMLE (Ret.) 1901-1985.

The honor of your presence is requested at the funeral service on Saturday, April 13th, 1985, at 11 a.m.

Urquart Chapel, Drumnadrochit, Inverness, Scotland

Attached portkey will activate at 10:45.

As the card was passed around, Albus unraveled the attached ribbon and carefully passed it around until he was assured that no faculty would be left behind. He glanced at the card again when it was returned to him and sighed,

“They omitted the title Elphinstone valued most.”

A few of the younger faculty looked at him questioningly, while those that knew the deceased best nodded.

Albus felt the familiar tug at his navel.

“Husband of Minerva McGonagall.”