Fic: "Vaticination" (Poppy/Minerva)
The best holiday party of the year, hoggywartyxmas, is over, and reveals have gone up. I can now claim my own entry. And the best news is -- Hoggywarty will be back next year!
Title: Vaticination
Author: kellychambliss
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~5900
Characters and/or Pairings: Poppy Pomfrey/Minerva McGonagall, Pomona Sprout, Rolanda Hooch, Filius Flitwick, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Haggarty the medi-elf (OC)
Summary: Poppy Pomfrey considers questions of epistemology.
Warnings: Schmaltz?
Author's Notes: My apologies to John Donne for misusing his Holy Sonnet #7.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The room was dark, as dark as Poppy Pomfrey could make it. The blackness intensified the flickering light of four thin candles that stood at the points of a perfectly-square table: one each for the world's four corners and foundational elements. To the east, a yellow candle, the color of sunshine and air. A fire-red one to the south, water-blue to the west. And the green of earth standing due north.
In the center sat a crystal basin, elliptical and empty.
With her wand, Poppy etched a glowing circle around the table, rounding the square to give unity to the oppositions, wholeness to the parts. Closing her eyes, she raised her hands to the heavens and spoke:
"At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow
Your trumpets, angels. Wave
Your wands, wizards. Cast
Your spells, witches. Breathe
Your essence, all Beings of the Light, and
Point me, your servant, toward my brightness."
A soft exhalation of sound whispered around her, then died away. Poppy opened her eyes and saw that the basin was now filled with swirling silvery vapour. Another wave of her wand and the mist lifted, shaping itself into a sphere that hovered over each of the flickering flames in turn before moving slowly forward to stop, finally, above the green taper.
The northern candle.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
If anyone had ever dared call Poppy Pomfrey a "Seer," she would have either laughed in their face or hexed them, she isn't sure which.
Well, probably she wouldn't have hexed them: from a philosophical standpoint, it wasn't the sort of thing a healer ought to do, and from a practical standpoint, she would just have been making more work for herself. If she ever damaged anyone with a hex, she'd feel obligated to cure them afterward.
So yes, most likely she would simply have laughed at them. It wasn't that Poppy disdained the notion of Seers in general; in fact, she had considerable respect for those few who genuinely had the Gift of prophecy and who handled it responsibly, without seeking unfair advantage over others. But unfortunately, the field of Divination drew far too many con artists. Most had no Gift at all.
Poppy knew that she herself certainly didn't, but she couldn't deny that sometimes, when she faced a crucial decision, her magic would show her the best choice.
How this happened, she wasn't sure; she knew only that if she used a divination spell and her fiercest concentration, she might be rewarded not only with guidance, but also with an indescribable feeling of rightness. . .an unshakable conviction that she was on the correct path. At such moments, she almost felt as if she did See.
She had used the spell only a few times in her life, because she knew that trying to predict the future could be risky. There was a reason that so few were able to See into the beyond: humans shouldn't try to control the immense power of the universe. Failure would be inevitable; damage would be high.
Of course, Poppy was not trying to control the universe, not even just her personal one. She couldn't have if she'd wanted to, for she was not really a Seer. She was just someone with a small magical talent for helping herself make good decisions.
She used this talent for only the most serious choices.
Like whether to embrace the safety of her family's plan to arrange a good marriage for her, or take the risk of following her heart to become a healer. Whether to wrap herself in the comfort of an apprenticeship near home, or take on the interesting difficulties of going abroad.
And now, a few years after her training had finished, she faced the question of whether to stay on in her comfortable berth as ward sister at St. Mungo's, or accept the challenge that lay on the desk in her study, a challenge in the form of a parchment, delivered by owl this afternoon, that read,
2 May 1986
My dear Madam Pomfrey,
I am pleased to offer you the position of Matron and Director of Hospital Services at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, beginning 1 July. Salary and benefits, including room and board, are as we discussed at our interview. If you accept the job, a formal contract will be owled to you within a week.
I look forward to hearing your decision no later than 9 May (Friday next), and I hope we'll soon be able to welcome you to the castle.
Yours most sincerely,
Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, Headmaster
O. M. (first class), Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards
She had interviewed with Headmaster Dumbledore just a week ago; he'd come to London to meet her. Afterward, she had convinced herself that the interview had gone badly, so today's parchment came as quite a surprise.
A choice so momentous simply begged for magical support, and now, as Poppy watched her conjured vapour fade, she felt the welcome rush of certainty that let her know that her decision had been made.
Solemnly, she blew out the candles of south, east, and west, leaving only the green taper aflame.
North to Hogwarts she would go.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When she arrived at the castle in mid-June, Poppy was met as promised by Dumbledore's deputy, Minerva McGonagall. Although their time as students at Hogwarts had not overlapped, Poppy knew McGonagall by reputation -- "stern" and "humorless," according to some of the trainees at St Mungo's.
The news of Poppy's appointment as Hogwarts's head healer had spread quickly through the St Mungo's staff. Some were admiringly envious; others said there weren't enough galleons in the world to make them "bury" themselves at a boarding school. "All those kids with their reckless Quidditch injuries and their endless classroom mistakes," as one person put it. "I'll take some nice, quiet infectious diseases, thanks."
Almost everyone seemed to have some advice to offer, from tips on the best ways to deal with charms accidents to how to handle the stress of living on-site of one's job. And of course, advice how to cope with her new colleagues, many of whom the St Mungo's staff had had as teachers.
"Look out for that Professor McGonagall," Sadie Philpott had warned. "Mean as a snake, she is. Her classes were hard, hard, hard."
"As well they should have been," interposed Madam Ticklett, the senior matron of the Spell Damage ward. "Transfiguration is important magic for healers, and anyone taught by Minerva McGonagall learned it well. If they paid attention, that is," she added, looking pointedly at Sadie.
Sadie grinned. "You don't scare me, Tickie-boo. We all know you're a big softie. But McGonagall isn't, trust me. You watch yourself, Pops. She's trouble."
And now here came Trouble herself, a tall, lean, black-haired woman striding purposefully towards the Hogwarts gates. She did indeed look forbidding, with set, thin lips and a sharp jaw.
But then she smiled and extended her hand, and suddenly Trouble looked not only tame, but pleasant.
"Madam Pomfrey? Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress. Welcome to Hogwarts. Or welcome back, I should say. You had a stellar record here as a student."
"That's kind of you to say," Poppy replied, thankful as always for her six N.E.W.T.'s
"Nothing kind about it. Just fact," said Professor McGonagall briskly, turning to head back to the castle. "I thought we could have a cup of tea in the staff room, and then I'll show you your quarters and introduce you to Hudnut and Haggarty; they'll be your house-elf assistants in the hospital wing."
Poppy was appreciative. "Thanks; I could do with a cuppa." She was surprised to find herself excited and even a little nervous at the prospect of seeing the staff room; when she'd been a student, it had always seemed like a place of awe and mystery.
Soon she was sitting next to Minerva McGonagall on a shabby but comfortable sofa, steaming cups in front of them along with a small plate of ginger biscuits. The "mysterious" staff room, of course, turned out not to be mysterious at all, just an appealing refuge with plenty of windows and cushy armchairs, two fireplaces, a long worktable, and a counter crowded with tea caddies and mugs.
"I regret that I was not able to attend your interview," Professor McGonagall said, sipping her strong black tea. "But I've seen your application, and I fully support Albus's decision in hiring you. I hope you'll find the position to your liking."
"I'm excited about it," said Poppy with truth. "At St Mungo's, we dealt with illness and injury, which is very necessary, obviously, and I know we'll have some of the same here at Hogwarts. But we also have a lot of very healthy young people, and I'm looking forward to focusing on how to keep them that way."
Professor McGonagall chuckled. "I warn you, some of them will do their best to thwart you. They come up with endlessly inventive ways to hex each other and blow up their cauldrons -- which always seems to happen when said cauldrons are filled with potions that cause hairy boils or that turn people's noses green."
"Don't worry," said Poppy, deadpan. "I have a good supply of green-nose antidote. And hairy boils are more fun than one might think."
Trouble took up the joke without missing a beat and replied with equal solemnity. "But not nearly as much fun as hairy green nose boils."
Poppy grinned and settled back into the comfy cushions.
She was going to like it here.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
By the middle of October, she felt as at home in the Hogwarts hospital wing as if she'd spent her entire life there. She'd arranged her ward for maximum comfort and efficiency, and her store-cupboards were reassuringly full. Severus Snape might be a surly cuss, but the man could brew medical potions like nobody's business. Poppy felt prepared for almost any emergency.
The children certainly had their share of bizarre injuries, but so far, nothing she couldn't handle. And it was so satisfying to be able to fix their woes and change a scared or ill face into a smiling one. This was one of the biggest differences between her work at St Mungo's and her work here: here, virtually everyone could be restored to perfect health. It was quite gratifying.
Her colleagues were congenial (well, mostly), and some of them were already becoming friends. . .thanks in part to the "Friday Night Fun Club," the brainchild of Rolanda Hooch.
Ro was an excellent Quidditch instructor and coach, but even those demanding jobs didn't exhaust her energy and her extroverted exuberance. She worked off some of the excess by setting up social events for her co-workers -- like Friday-night drinks at the Three Broomsticks -- and Poppy was forever grateful.
She relished the low-key Friday evenings, which people attended or not, as their schedules and degree of introversion allowed. Some of the evenings were filled with jokes and laughter, some with quiet conversation, but all of them provided a welcome and relaxing break.
On this second Friday in October, Poppy found herself at a secluded corner table with Minerva (they'd long since progressed to first names), Rolanda, Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick, and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank.
Wilhelmina was not on the Hogwarts staff permanently, but she filled in occasionally, and she seemed to be fast friends with most of the other teachers. Poppy could see why: Wilhelmina was comfortable to be around. She didn't say much, but her few comments were perceptive and often funny.
" -- and so I just marched up there," Ro was saying, "well, actually, I had to climb that damned ladder, I mean, does Sybill not realise that some students aren't able to manage that thing? Anyway, I went in, and after I finished coughing on all the incense, I invited her to join us tonight. You see, I listened to you last week, Pomona, and it was thoughtless of me not to include her up till now."
"I never said 'thoughtless,'" protested Pomona.
"Of course you didn't, you're too nice, but that’s what you meant, and you were right," Ro said in one breath, washing down the words with a swig of lager. "So I asked her, and she said" -- this in a perfect imitation of Sybill Trelawney's affected, ethereal tones -- "'While I would welcome the chance to take my place in the Hogwarts staff family, I find that the plethora of consciousnesses and the multiplicity of discourse in Three Broomsticks creates a cacophony that is far too disruptive of my Gift.' Blimey, it's like she doesn't actually want people to understand what she means."
"I think it's obvious what she means," said Minerva crisply, her small, neat firewhisky still untouched in front of her. "She's trying to say that Wilhelmina talks too much."
Poppy joined heartily in the burst of laughter that greeted this remark. The idea that the laconic Wilhelmina could ever talk too much was deliciously ludicrous, and Poppy wondered what Sadie of St Mungo's would think if she could see the "stern and humorless" Professor McGonagall outside the classroom.
Filius shook his head. "Poor Sybill. I know she can be exasperating, but I think her wordiness is just a defense mechanism, Ro. She's shy and anxious, that's all, and poor thing, she knows she's not a favourite with all of us."
"That's an understatement," said Minerva. "I try not to be too sharp with her -- "
"Emphasis on the 'try,'" observed Wilhelmina, to general chuckles.
Even Minerva had to smile. "All right, try and often fail," she amended. "It's true that I have little patience with Divination as a discipline, but that's not really why Sybill annoys me so. It's not even her incompetence. . .or not solely that. It's that her incompetence and her absurd affectations are harming the students. She's constantly telling them that they're about to be maimed or die or lose a parent. . .it's inexcusable!"
Pomona nodded. "I think she uses those extremes because she so very much wants to be taken seriously."
"Then she needs to switch out of Divination!" snapped Minerva, knocking back her dram in a single swallow.
"Why are you opposed to Divination?" asked Poppy. Minerva interested her more and more. It wasn't that she was attracted to her, Poppy told herself firmly; she didn't have time for such things just now. It was just. . .curiosity.
Minerva took a breath and answered more calmly. "Well, to be blunt. . .most of the practitioners are charlatans. Some of them may mean well, but mostly they are just preying on people's fears and griefs and worries, misleading them by acting as if foretelling the future is a simple and straightforward business, when it isn't. It's always indirect and open to interpretation."
Pomona looked surprised. "You mean you believe some divination is real, Minerva? I thought you scoffed at the lot of it."
"Mostly I do. But I don't want to rule out those very, very few who have a genuine talent. Like centaurs, for instance. Still, I don't think we're supposed to know what the future holds. It's dangerous and well. . .just wrong."
"What if by knowing, you could head off a disaster?" Poppy pressed her.
"And what if in trying to avoid that disaster, you end up making things worse than if you hadn't known in the first place?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" said Ro, rapping loudly on the table. "This conversation is taking the 'fun' out of the Friday Night Fun Club. And fun is the best part. Min, you will hereby cease and desist."
Minerva arranged her features in a suitably chastened expression. "Yes, fearless club leader. How can I make amends?"
"You will get the next round," declared Ro. "How's that for foretelling the future?"
Minerva stood up, and Poppy heard herself say, "I'll come with you. I'm to blame, too."
"Indeed you are," replied Minerva, smiling. "Thank you."
It was a companionable walk to the bar. As they Levitated the drinks back to the table, laughing as they steered around chairs full of happy drinkers, Poppy thought that Rolanda was quite wrong.
That Divination conversation had been Fun with a capital "F."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Near the end of November, Pomona Sprout invited Poppy to go to out for dinner on a Saturday evening.
"It's not that I don't love the food at Hogwarts, of course," Pomona said. She laughed and patted her stomach. "As you can see, I love it a lot. But sometimes you just need a little change of pace, do you know what I mean?"
"I do," Poppy assured her. "I'd love to go, unless there's some medical emergency or something. But if not, I know Hudnut and Haggarty will be happy to cover the hospital wing while I'm gone."
"Good, and Minerva can always send her patronus if anything goes wrong. Oh, I'm looking forward to this, Poppy! I've been craving a good risotto. Or maybe mussels puttanesca. I know this marvelous little Italian place in Aberdeen. We'll Apparate."
Saturday night came at last, and by the time they finished the antipasti and were waiting for their next course, Poppy and Pomona had worked their way through half a bottle of red wine and were making inroads on the second half.
"Mmm, this looks delicious," Pomona said as her mussels were put in front of her.
Poppy had ordered something called "Tuscan Tortellini." How authentically Tuscan it was, she had no idea -- probably not at all -- but the generous pile of cheesy pasta bites with tomatoes and spinach was not a disappointment.
"So how has your term been going, Poppy?" asked Pomona. "I should have checked with you before this, but you've fit in so well at Hogwarts that it's hard to remember you've been with us only for a few months."
Poppy launched into an enthusiastic description of her work, her pleasure in the well-equipped hospital wing, her interest in the students. "So for the most part, things are going swimmingly," she finished. "It's as if the children got together and decided to give me a little honeymoon period. The most serious problem so far was pretty mild -- a miscast Engorgement charm that turned about half of Filius's students to twice their normal size. But otherwise, I haven't seen many injuries yet."
"Just wait until Quidditch season really gets underway," laughed Pomona. "And what about you yourself? How are you doing? I imagine it's quite an adjustment, to come to the rural Highlands from London."
"I'm a country girl at heart," Poppy explained, "so I'm finding Hogwarts a nice change from the hustle and bustle of the city."
"Where are you from?"
"Devon. Both my parents came from families that have worked on the land for generations."
As usual, Poppy didn't mention that her father's forebears had been prominent pureblood gentry; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might be dead, but issues of blood and class were still fraught in the wizarding world. Besides, by the time Poppy had come along, the Pomfrey lands and money had shrunk to a mid-sized farm and her father's position as the local magical magistrate.
"But you didn't fancy a life on the farm?"
"Oh, I actually liked the farm, but the lure of healing was just too strong."
"I know what you mean," Pomona nodded. "All I've ever wanted to do was work with plants. You have to follow your passions. Well, I'm glad you like it at Hogwarts, because we certainly like you!"
Then her smiling expression changed to one of concern. "I do hope you'll stay with us, but I have to tell you. . .outside of the school itself, it can be hard to meet people. You know. . .romantically."
Poppy stiffened. Had Pomona somehow heard that she was interested in women? Was this a judgement? A warning?
"Not that I'm trying to pry," Pomona said hastily, as if she'd heard Poppy's thoughts. "It's just. . .I found it very difficult, myself, when I first arrived. I wasn't looking to get married, mind; I like my independence. But sometimes you just want a little company."
"Yes," said Poppy, too wary to say more. She had always navigated a discreet line in her personal life, her preferences known only to small, close circle of friends. She wouldn't necessarily be opposed to including Pomona and some of the other Hogwarts staff in that group. . .but she'd have to know a good deal more about them first.
"Well," Pomona was blushing, but seemed determined to have her say, "I finally met someone at an international herbology conference. Corwan Mertens. He lives in Brussels. We're able to see each other often enough, and it works out beautifully. So I just. . .well, I wanted to make sure you know that it is possible to find a personal life at Hogwarts even if it might not seem like it to you now. So don't make any quick decisions about needing to move elsewhere or anything like that. That's all I'm saying."
"Pomona, I just got here. I'm not looking to go anywhere else."
"Excellent!" Pomona beamed, and Poppy smiled back, her anxiety fading. Pomona didn't seem to have any particular knowledge of her personal life.
Nonetheless, now seemed like a good time to divert the conversation from herself, so she asked, "Do others on the staff have partners? I know Filius is a widower, and I've met Sylvanus's wife, but somehow the subject hasn't come up with anyone else."
Pomona embarked happily on explanations, ticking off each name on her fingers. "Septima Vector has a husband and daughter, and Irma Pince keeps company with Mr Fortescue, you know, he has that ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley. Minerva is single, and so is Severus, you won't be surprised to hear. And Albus. . .well, no one really knows anything about the Headmaster's personal life. If Minerva does, she never says. She's the soul of discretion."
"Interesting lives everyone has," Poppy felt safe saying. "Should we have pudding?"
"Oh, definitely! They do a cassata sciciliana here that is simply a work of art!"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A week after this conversation, Poppy still felt unsettled by it, not so much because of what had been said, but because of the elephant it was forcing her to see in the room -- given the closeness of boarding school life, it was probably inevitable that her colleagues would eventually learn of her sexuality.
Even if they turned out to be unfazed by it, the whole subject might disrupt the comfortable relationships she was beginning to form with them. Such a possibility had existed before her talk with Pomona, of course, but she'd been able to put it out of her mind before then -- something to be dealt with in the future, not now.
"Well," she reasoned with herself, "you don't actually need to deal with it now." That was true -- she'd kept her own counsel before this, and she'd managed successfully to navigate all her social and professional waters so far. She had plenty of time to make a plan.
Plenty of time. Except that every day, she realised more and more that she wanted to make a long career here at Hogwarts. And a personal life, too. Best not to leave things too much to chance.
Still debating over the best way to move forward, Poppy cast a warming charm against the frosty December air and started towards Hogsmeade for the Friday Night Fun Club. She was late: young Bill Weasley had sprouted horns after a Transfiguration exercise gone bad, and she'd only just managed to restore him to normal.
Hurrying along, Poppy was rounding the first corner of the path when she heard voices ahead of her -- and then her own name:
" -- had a wonderful dinner with Poppy; she's so much fun to be with."
Pomona.
"Glad to hear it. And the information mission? How did that go?" That gruff voice could belong only to Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank.
But what in Merlin's name did she mean, "information mission"? Poppy made up her mind in an instant. Casting a quick silencing charm on her feet, she whispered the spell to amplify voices and prepared to eavesdrop. This was no time for scruples; she had to know what they would say of her.
"Oh, Wilhelmina, it was hardly a 'mission.' I just wanted to find out if there was any chance of. . .you know. . .getting them together."
"Going to get you in trouble some day, Pommie, this match-making. Thought you were going to reform."
"I was. I mean, I am. I will. But this isn’t even really match-making. I know Minerva is interested in Poppy, and in my opinion, they're just made for each other. Poppy is so totally Minerva's type; she always goes for those smart, no-nonsense redheads. And Minerva isn't Poppy's actual supervisor, so no worries about fraternisation or anything like that. But you know Minerva would never risk making a move unless she knew for a fact that Poppy was open to the idea. That's all I wanted to find out -- if Poppy would be open. I think she would be. I just have a feeling about her."
"A feeling," said Wilhemina without inflection.
"Yes, a feeling. You know I get them sometimes."
"Well? And what did Poppy say? Justify your feeling, did she?"
"Ooohh. . ." Pomona sounded depressed. "I lost my nerve. I did manage to get around to the topic of romance, but when it came to the big question, I couldn't do it. I couldn't be that nosy outright. I was hoping she might volunteer something, but no luck."
"She didn't lay claim to a husband and five kiddies at home or something?"
"No, she really didn't say much about herself at all."
"Don't despair, then. Nothing is ruled out. As for keeping herself to herself. . .well, if she really does prefer women, it's what you'd expect, no? She'll know how to protect herself."
"Well, I'm just glad I didn't say anything to Minerva about my plans. I wouldn't have wanted to get her hopes up."
"Pomona." Wilhelmina's tone carried a warning. "Minerva can handle her own affairs."
"I know she can. But even deputy headmistresses need a helping hand now and again. Now we'd better hurry, Wilhelmina; we're late for the Fun Club already."
Poppy slowed and let the others walk on, out of the range of her amplification spell. She felt as if she'd been hit with a Bludger. Minerva McGonagall was romantically interested in women? And much more to the point, interested in her?
A mix of emotions filled her, and Poppy couldn't at first identify them all. Fear was there, and anxiety. Curiosity. Alarm. And under them, she couldn't deny it, a growing elation.
But whatever she was feeling, it was all too much to take with her to a crowded pub, especially if Minerva was going to be there.
Poppy turned sharply and headed back to the castle. She had thinking to do.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two days before the Christmas break, after an afternoon spent undoing the various jinxes and hexes inflicted by children who were too excited for their own good, Poppy flopped into her favorite chair by the staff room fire. A few minutes of peace and quiet were just what she needed. . .and then maybe she'd rouse herself to make a cup --
"Poppy? Could I get you a cup of tea?"
Poppy jumped; she hadn't realised anyone else was there. But here was Minerva, who Poppy hadn't actually been avoiding -- not really -- but of whom she hadn't seen much these past couple of weeks. Minerva, smiling and offering a companionable cup of tea.
"Yes, that would be lovely," Poppy managed to answer. "Milk, no sugar, please."
In no time, Minerva had Levitated a steaming cup in Poppy's direction and settled herself onto the sofa opposite, her own cup in hand. She looked very handsome with the firelight playing along her thin jaw and making her dark hair gleam.
"I hope I'm not intruding?" she said. "I know how valuable solitude can be at this time of year."
"Not at all," Poppy assured her. "It's a relief to talk to someone who isn't vomiting slugs or sporting a pig snout for a nose."
Minerva laughed. "So glad I count as an improvement over regurgitated slugs. The students do get rather out of control as their holidays approach, don't they?"
"I can't blame them for being excited. It's such a fun time of year for so many people."
"But not for you?" asked Minerva shrewdly.
"Well. . .it can be. It's difficult, though, too, because Christmas is the day my mother died."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you. It was some years ago now, and I'm fine, but I do always remember."
Christmas was also the day that her first lover, Gwenlyn, had announced that she was leaving her, but Poppy wasn't about to discuss that situation with Minerva. She feared she'd already made herself sound pathetic as it was.
"I'm sure you do," Minerva was saying. "You prefer to spend Christmas by yourself, then?"
"No, not really. I'm a fairly sociable person most of the time."
"Well, then. . ." -- Minerva paused, and Poppy realised with surprise that her normally direct and confident colleague seemed actually a bit diffident -- "I wonder if you'd like to come to my rooms on Christmas night for some wine and cake. If you aren't otherwise engaged, that is."
"I'd like that very much," Poppy said. "Very much indeed."
She took a sip of tea to cover up the mad grin she knew was spreading across her face. Truly, this was the most delicious cup of tea she'd ever had.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Haggarty," Poppy called, and the medi-elf popped into the hospital wing.
"Madam Pomfrey has need?" she said, as she always did.
"Would you be able to keep watch here for a couple of hours?"
"Haggarty is able," said the elf.
"I don't expect any emergencies," Poppy said, pulling on her cloak and muttering a quick anti-wind charm for her hat. "Half the staff is on leave, and you know there aren't many students remaining at the castle. If anything -- "
"Haggarty will be fine. Madam P should go and get ready for her holiday. Go, go." And flapping her hands, she drove Poppy like a chicken towards the door and out into the corridor.
Laughing and shaking her head, Poppy hurried down the many staircases to the entrance hall. Haggarty was the walking definition of a mother-hen. . .well, mother-elf. She and her life-partner Hudnut were a joy to work with; Poppy never had any qualms about leaving them in charge.
She'd already arranged for them to take over the hospital wing on Christmas Day, in exchange for Boxing Day off (fair was fair). The formal Hogwarts dinner in the Great Hall and the evening with Minerva were as much as Poppy could manage in one day.
And it was that Christmas evening that she needed time to think about now. In a little over forty-eight hours, she'll be knocking on Minerva's door in Gryffindor Tower. And then. . . .
And then.
This was the point at which Poppy's imagination always stopped. She wasn't sure why the prospect of a possible relationship with Minerva was so unnerving to her. She'd had lovers before, women she'd cared about, and she'd never been this anxious about the process. She was attracted to Minerva (she'd long stopped denying it), and it seemed that Minerva was attracted to her. Initially, she'd been thrilled with the Christmas invitation.
So what was the problem now? Why was she mentally backing away from the thought of them being together?
She'd decided that a long, solitary walk might help her sort her thoughts. Hence the call to Haggarty. Fresh, clear air outside might just clarify things inside, too -- inside her head. It was worth a try, and in any case, she didn't think she could have stayed still indoors another minute.
The night was beautiful, cold and crisp, the glittering stars in the sky mirrored by sparkling snow below. All was silent and still, the crunch of her footsteps the only sound she heard.
By wandlight, Poppy followed the frosty path around the lake, and gradually, understanding crystallised: she wasn't resisting the thought of moving forward with Minerva because of the difficulties of a relationship with a colleague. Or because of concerns about how they would cope with seeing each other every day if they later split up. Or for any of the other excuses she'd been dreaming up these past few days.
She was resisting because deep down, she knew that Minerva could be the one. The one she'd fall hopelessly head-over-heels for. Hopelessly this-is-forever for. The loss of whom, if it ever came to that, could be unendurable.
That one.
So yes, this Christmas invitation was about more than just wine, more than even a potential pleasant affair. This was an invitation to make a journey from which there might be no return.
It was terrifying. And thrilling. But right now, mostly terrifying.
Poppy knew what she needed to do.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A quarter of an hour later, she was back in her quarters, clearing the centre of her sitting room so that she could set out her square table.
Soon it was in place, its points properly situated at the earth's four corners. Poppy covered it with a black velvet cloth and carefully set out her candles -- the yellow of sunshiny air to the east. Fire-red to the south, water-blue to the west. The green of earth standing due north.
And finally, the crystal basin in the center.
All was set, now, to learn whether taking a chance with Minerva was the right thing to do. She would darken the room, light the candles, speak her incantation.
If her conjured mist rose to settle over the Gryffindor-red candle, Poppy could breathe easy. She would simply need to stand still and wait for that sense of rightness to suffuse her.
The darkness spell was quickly cast. Poppy had raised her wand to light the first candle when she suddenly heard Minerva's voice in her head, as clearly as if the woman herself were standing in the room.
"I don't think we're supposed to know what the future holds. It's dangerous and well. . .just wrong."
Poppy stood for a long time in the dark, hearing those words again and again. Finally, slowly, she lowered her wand and whispered, "finite incantatem."
Her wall sconces flared brightly. Taking a deep breath, she began to pack away the candles and basin.
She didn't need magic affirmation. She needed only to trust Minerva. . .and herself.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Epilogue
At four minutes before eight o'clock on Christmas night, Poppy straightens her cranberry-red robes and gives her hair one last fluff. Picking up the small bouquet of red and white camellias that she finally, after much thought, deemed an appropriate gift, she leaves her quarters and starts the walk to Gryffindor Tower.
The castle is quiet, the softly-lit corridors cheerful with festoons of greenery and red berries.
She is only a few feet from her destination when all at once, the very air seems to sparkle, and she is filled with an ineffable sense of hope and well-being.
A sense of rightness.
Smiling, Poppy raises her hand to Minerva's door and knocks.
~~end
Title: Vaticination
Author: kellychambliss
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~5900
Characters and/or Pairings: Poppy Pomfrey/Minerva McGonagall, Pomona Sprout, Rolanda Hooch, Filius Flitwick, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Haggarty the medi-elf (OC)
Summary: Poppy Pomfrey considers questions of epistemology.
Warnings: Schmaltz?
Author's Notes: My apologies to John Donne for misusing his Holy Sonnet #7.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The room was dark, as dark as Poppy Pomfrey could make it. The blackness intensified the flickering light of four thin candles that stood at the points of a perfectly-square table: one each for the world's four corners and foundational elements. To the east, a yellow candle, the color of sunshine and air. A fire-red one to the south, water-blue to the west. And the green of earth standing due north.
In the center sat a crystal basin, elliptical and empty.
With her wand, Poppy etched a glowing circle around the table, rounding the square to give unity to the oppositions, wholeness to the parts. Closing her eyes, she raised her hands to the heavens and spoke:
"At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow
Your trumpets, angels. Wave
Your wands, wizards. Cast
Your spells, witches. Breathe
Your essence, all Beings of the Light, and
Point me, your servant, toward my brightness."
A soft exhalation of sound whispered around her, then died away. Poppy opened her eyes and saw that the basin was now filled with swirling silvery vapour. Another wave of her wand and the mist lifted, shaping itself into a sphere that hovered over each of the flickering flames in turn before moving slowly forward to stop, finally, above the green taper.
The northern candle.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
If anyone had ever dared call Poppy Pomfrey a "Seer," she would have either laughed in their face or hexed them, she isn't sure which.
Well, probably she wouldn't have hexed them: from a philosophical standpoint, it wasn't the sort of thing a healer ought to do, and from a practical standpoint, she would just have been making more work for herself. If she ever damaged anyone with a hex, she'd feel obligated to cure them afterward.
So yes, most likely she would simply have laughed at them. It wasn't that Poppy disdained the notion of Seers in general; in fact, she had considerable respect for those few who genuinely had the Gift of prophecy and who handled it responsibly, without seeking unfair advantage over others. But unfortunately, the field of Divination drew far too many con artists. Most had no Gift at all.
Poppy knew that she herself certainly didn't, but she couldn't deny that sometimes, when she faced a crucial decision, her magic would show her the best choice.
How this happened, she wasn't sure; she knew only that if she used a divination spell and her fiercest concentration, she might be rewarded not only with guidance, but also with an indescribable feeling of rightness. . .an unshakable conviction that she was on the correct path. At such moments, she almost felt as if she did See.
She had used the spell only a few times in her life, because she knew that trying to predict the future could be risky. There was a reason that so few were able to See into the beyond: humans shouldn't try to control the immense power of the universe. Failure would be inevitable; damage would be high.
Of course, Poppy was not trying to control the universe, not even just her personal one. She couldn't have if she'd wanted to, for she was not really a Seer. She was just someone with a small magical talent for helping herself make good decisions.
She used this talent for only the most serious choices.
Like whether to embrace the safety of her family's plan to arrange a good marriage for her, or take the risk of following her heart to become a healer. Whether to wrap herself in the comfort of an apprenticeship near home, or take on the interesting difficulties of going abroad.
And now, a few years after her training had finished, she faced the question of whether to stay on in her comfortable berth as ward sister at St. Mungo's, or accept the challenge that lay on the desk in her study, a challenge in the form of a parchment, delivered by owl this afternoon, that read,
2 May 1986
My dear Madam Pomfrey,
I am pleased to offer you the position of Matron and Director of Hospital Services at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, beginning 1 July. Salary and benefits, including room and board, are as we discussed at our interview. If you accept the job, a formal contract will be owled to you within a week.
I look forward to hearing your decision no later than 9 May (Friday next), and I hope we'll soon be able to welcome you to the castle.
Yours most sincerely,
Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, Headmaster
O. M. (first class), Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards
She had interviewed with Headmaster Dumbledore just a week ago; he'd come to London to meet her. Afterward, she had convinced herself that the interview had gone badly, so today's parchment came as quite a surprise.
A choice so momentous simply begged for magical support, and now, as Poppy watched her conjured vapour fade, she felt the welcome rush of certainty that let her know that her decision had been made.
Solemnly, she blew out the candles of south, east, and west, leaving only the green taper aflame.
North to Hogwarts she would go.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When she arrived at the castle in mid-June, Poppy was met as promised by Dumbledore's deputy, Minerva McGonagall. Although their time as students at Hogwarts had not overlapped, Poppy knew McGonagall by reputation -- "stern" and "humorless," according to some of the trainees at St Mungo's.
The news of Poppy's appointment as Hogwarts's head healer had spread quickly through the St Mungo's staff. Some were admiringly envious; others said there weren't enough galleons in the world to make them "bury" themselves at a boarding school. "All those kids with their reckless Quidditch injuries and their endless classroom mistakes," as one person put it. "I'll take some nice, quiet infectious diseases, thanks."
Almost everyone seemed to have some advice to offer, from tips on the best ways to deal with charms accidents to how to handle the stress of living on-site of one's job. And of course, advice how to cope with her new colleagues, many of whom the St Mungo's staff had had as teachers.
"Look out for that Professor McGonagall," Sadie Philpott had warned. "Mean as a snake, she is. Her classes were hard, hard, hard."
"As well they should have been," interposed Madam Ticklett, the senior matron of the Spell Damage ward. "Transfiguration is important magic for healers, and anyone taught by Minerva McGonagall learned it well. If they paid attention, that is," she added, looking pointedly at Sadie.
Sadie grinned. "You don't scare me, Tickie-boo. We all know you're a big softie. But McGonagall isn't, trust me. You watch yourself, Pops. She's trouble."
And now here came Trouble herself, a tall, lean, black-haired woman striding purposefully towards the Hogwarts gates. She did indeed look forbidding, with set, thin lips and a sharp jaw.
But then she smiled and extended her hand, and suddenly Trouble looked not only tame, but pleasant.
"Madam Pomfrey? Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress. Welcome to Hogwarts. Or welcome back, I should say. You had a stellar record here as a student."
"That's kind of you to say," Poppy replied, thankful as always for her six N.E.W.T.'s
"Nothing kind about it. Just fact," said Professor McGonagall briskly, turning to head back to the castle. "I thought we could have a cup of tea in the staff room, and then I'll show you your quarters and introduce you to Hudnut and Haggarty; they'll be your house-elf assistants in the hospital wing."
Poppy was appreciative. "Thanks; I could do with a cuppa." She was surprised to find herself excited and even a little nervous at the prospect of seeing the staff room; when she'd been a student, it had always seemed like a place of awe and mystery.
Soon she was sitting next to Minerva McGonagall on a shabby but comfortable sofa, steaming cups in front of them along with a small plate of ginger biscuits. The "mysterious" staff room, of course, turned out not to be mysterious at all, just an appealing refuge with plenty of windows and cushy armchairs, two fireplaces, a long worktable, and a counter crowded with tea caddies and mugs.
"I regret that I was not able to attend your interview," Professor McGonagall said, sipping her strong black tea. "But I've seen your application, and I fully support Albus's decision in hiring you. I hope you'll find the position to your liking."
"I'm excited about it," said Poppy with truth. "At St Mungo's, we dealt with illness and injury, which is very necessary, obviously, and I know we'll have some of the same here at Hogwarts. But we also have a lot of very healthy young people, and I'm looking forward to focusing on how to keep them that way."
Professor McGonagall chuckled. "I warn you, some of them will do their best to thwart you. They come up with endlessly inventive ways to hex each other and blow up their cauldrons -- which always seems to happen when said cauldrons are filled with potions that cause hairy boils or that turn people's noses green."
"Don't worry," said Poppy, deadpan. "I have a good supply of green-nose antidote. And hairy boils are more fun than one might think."
Trouble took up the joke without missing a beat and replied with equal solemnity. "But not nearly as much fun as hairy green nose boils."
Poppy grinned and settled back into the comfy cushions.
She was going to like it here.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
By the middle of October, she felt as at home in the Hogwarts hospital wing as if she'd spent her entire life there. She'd arranged her ward for maximum comfort and efficiency, and her store-cupboards were reassuringly full. Severus Snape might be a surly cuss, but the man could brew medical potions like nobody's business. Poppy felt prepared for almost any emergency.
The children certainly had their share of bizarre injuries, but so far, nothing she couldn't handle. And it was so satisfying to be able to fix their woes and change a scared or ill face into a smiling one. This was one of the biggest differences between her work at St Mungo's and her work here: here, virtually everyone could be restored to perfect health. It was quite gratifying.
Her colleagues were congenial (well, mostly), and some of them were already becoming friends. . .thanks in part to the "Friday Night Fun Club," the brainchild of Rolanda Hooch.
Ro was an excellent Quidditch instructor and coach, but even those demanding jobs didn't exhaust her energy and her extroverted exuberance. She worked off some of the excess by setting up social events for her co-workers -- like Friday-night drinks at the Three Broomsticks -- and Poppy was forever grateful.
She relished the low-key Friday evenings, which people attended or not, as their schedules and degree of introversion allowed. Some of the evenings were filled with jokes and laughter, some with quiet conversation, but all of them provided a welcome and relaxing break.
On this second Friday in October, Poppy found herself at a secluded corner table with Minerva (they'd long since progressed to first names), Rolanda, Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick, and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank.
Wilhelmina was not on the Hogwarts staff permanently, but she filled in occasionally, and she seemed to be fast friends with most of the other teachers. Poppy could see why: Wilhelmina was comfortable to be around. She didn't say much, but her few comments were perceptive and often funny.
" -- and so I just marched up there," Ro was saying, "well, actually, I had to climb that damned ladder, I mean, does Sybill not realise that some students aren't able to manage that thing? Anyway, I went in, and after I finished coughing on all the incense, I invited her to join us tonight. You see, I listened to you last week, Pomona, and it was thoughtless of me not to include her up till now."
"I never said 'thoughtless,'" protested Pomona.
"Of course you didn't, you're too nice, but that’s what you meant, and you were right," Ro said in one breath, washing down the words with a swig of lager. "So I asked her, and she said" -- this in a perfect imitation of Sybill Trelawney's affected, ethereal tones -- "'While I would welcome the chance to take my place in the Hogwarts staff family, I find that the plethora of consciousnesses and the multiplicity of discourse in Three Broomsticks creates a cacophony that is far too disruptive of my Gift.' Blimey, it's like she doesn't actually want people to understand what she means."
"I think it's obvious what she means," said Minerva crisply, her small, neat firewhisky still untouched in front of her. "She's trying to say that Wilhelmina talks too much."
Poppy joined heartily in the burst of laughter that greeted this remark. The idea that the laconic Wilhelmina could ever talk too much was deliciously ludicrous, and Poppy wondered what Sadie of St Mungo's would think if she could see the "stern and humorless" Professor McGonagall outside the classroom.
Filius shook his head. "Poor Sybill. I know she can be exasperating, but I think her wordiness is just a defense mechanism, Ro. She's shy and anxious, that's all, and poor thing, she knows she's not a favourite with all of us."
"That's an understatement," said Minerva. "I try not to be too sharp with her -- "
"Emphasis on the 'try,'" observed Wilhelmina, to general chuckles.
Even Minerva had to smile. "All right, try and often fail," she amended. "It's true that I have little patience with Divination as a discipline, but that's not really why Sybill annoys me so. It's not even her incompetence. . .or not solely that. It's that her incompetence and her absurd affectations are harming the students. She's constantly telling them that they're about to be maimed or die or lose a parent. . .it's inexcusable!"
Pomona nodded. "I think she uses those extremes because she so very much wants to be taken seriously."
"Then she needs to switch out of Divination!" snapped Minerva, knocking back her dram in a single swallow.
"Why are you opposed to Divination?" asked Poppy. Minerva interested her more and more. It wasn't that she was attracted to her, Poppy told herself firmly; she didn't have time for such things just now. It was just. . .curiosity.
Minerva took a breath and answered more calmly. "Well, to be blunt. . .most of the practitioners are charlatans. Some of them may mean well, but mostly they are just preying on people's fears and griefs and worries, misleading them by acting as if foretelling the future is a simple and straightforward business, when it isn't. It's always indirect and open to interpretation."
Pomona looked surprised. "You mean you believe some divination is real, Minerva? I thought you scoffed at the lot of it."
"Mostly I do. But I don't want to rule out those very, very few who have a genuine talent. Like centaurs, for instance. Still, I don't think we're supposed to know what the future holds. It's dangerous and well. . .just wrong."
"What if by knowing, you could head off a disaster?" Poppy pressed her.
"And what if in trying to avoid that disaster, you end up making things worse than if you hadn't known in the first place?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" said Ro, rapping loudly on the table. "This conversation is taking the 'fun' out of the Friday Night Fun Club. And fun is the best part. Min, you will hereby cease and desist."
Minerva arranged her features in a suitably chastened expression. "Yes, fearless club leader. How can I make amends?"
"You will get the next round," declared Ro. "How's that for foretelling the future?"
Minerva stood up, and Poppy heard herself say, "I'll come with you. I'm to blame, too."
"Indeed you are," replied Minerva, smiling. "Thank you."
It was a companionable walk to the bar. As they Levitated the drinks back to the table, laughing as they steered around chairs full of happy drinkers, Poppy thought that Rolanda was quite wrong.
That Divination conversation had been Fun with a capital "F."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Near the end of November, Pomona Sprout invited Poppy to go to out for dinner on a Saturday evening.
"It's not that I don't love the food at Hogwarts, of course," Pomona said. She laughed and patted her stomach. "As you can see, I love it a lot. But sometimes you just need a little change of pace, do you know what I mean?"
"I do," Poppy assured her. "I'd love to go, unless there's some medical emergency or something. But if not, I know Hudnut and Haggarty will be happy to cover the hospital wing while I'm gone."
"Good, and Minerva can always send her patronus if anything goes wrong. Oh, I'm looking forward to this, Poppy! I've been craving a good risotto. Or maybe mussels puttanesca. I know this marvelous little Italian place in Aberdeen. We'll Apparate."
Saturday night came at last, and by the time they finished the antipasti and were waiting for their next course, Poppy and Pomona had worked their way through half a bottle of red wine and were making inroads on the second half.
"Mmm, this looks delicious," Pomona said as her mussels were put in front of her.
Poppy had ordered something called "Tuscan Tortellini." How authentically Tuscan it was, she had no idea -- probably not at all -- but the generous pile of cheesy pasta bites with tomatoes and spinach was not a disappointment.
"So how has your term been going, Poppy?" asked Pomona. "I should have checked with you before this, but you've fit in so well at Hogwarts that it's hard to remember you've been with us only for a few months."
Poppy launched into an enthusiastic description of her work, her pleasure in the well-equipped hospital wing, her interest in the students. "So for the most part, things are going swimmingly," she finished. "It's as if the children got together and decided to give me a little honeymoon period. The most serious problem so far was pretty mild -- a miscast Engorgement charm that turned about half of Filius's students to twice their normal size. But otherwise, I haven't seen many injuries yet."
"Just wait until Quidditch season really gets underway," laughed Pomona. "And what about you yourself? How are you doing? I imagine it's quite an adjustment, to come to the rural Highlands from London."
"I'm a country girl at heart," Poppy explained, "so I'm finding Hogwarts a nice change from the hustle and bustle of the city."
"Where are you from?"
"Devon. Both my parents came from families that have worked on the land for generations."
As usual, Poppy didn't mention that her father's forebears had been prominent pureblood gentry; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might be dead, but issues of blood and class were still fraught in the wizarding world. Besides, by the time Poppy had come along, the Pomfrey lands and money had shrunk to a mid-sized farm and her father's position as the local magical magistrate.
"But you didn't fancy a life on the farm?"
"Oh, I actually liked the farm, but the lure of healing was just too strong."
"I know what you mean," Pomona nodded. "All I've ever wanted to do was work with plants. You have to follow your passions. Well, I'm glad you like it at Hogwarts, because we certainly like you!"
Then her smiling expression changed to one of concern. "I do hope you'll stay with us, but I have to tell you. . .outside of the school itself, it can be hard to meet people. You know. . .romantically."
Poppy stiffened. Had Pomona somehow heard that she was interested in women? Was this a judgement? A warning?
"Not that I'm trying to pry," Pomona said hastily, as if she'd heard Poppy's thoughts. "It's just. . .I found it very difficult, myself, when I first arrived. I wasn't looking to get married, mind; I like my independence. But sometimes you just want a little company."
"Yes," said Poppy, too wary to say more. She had always navigated a discreet line in her personal life, her preferences known only to small, close circle of friends. She wouldn't necessarily be opposed to including Pomona and some of the other Hogwarts staff in that group. . .but she'd have to know a good deal more about them first.
"Well," Pomona was blushing, but seemed determined to have her say, "I finally met someone at an international herbology conference. Corwan Mertens. He lives in Brussels. We're able to see each other often enough, and it works out beautifully. So I just. . .well, I wanted to make sure you know that it is possible to find a personal life at Hogwarts even if it might not seem like it to you now. So don't make any quick decisions about needing to move elsewhere or anything like that. That's all I'm saying."
"Pomona, I just got here. I'm not looking to go anywhere else."
"Excellent!" Pomona beamed, and Poppy smiled back, her anxiety fading. Pomona didn't seem to have any particular knowledge of her personal life.
Nonetheless, now seemed like a good time to divert the conversation from herself, so she asked, "Do others on the staff have partners? I know Filius is a widower, and I've met Sylvanus's wife, but somehow the subject hasn't come up with anyone else."
Pomona embarked happily on explanations, ticking off each name on her fingers. "Septima Vector has a husband and daughter, and Irma Pince keeps company with Mr Fortescue, you know, he has that ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley. Minerva is single, and so is Severus, you won't be surprised to hear. And Albus. . .well, no one really knows anything about the Headmaster's personal life. If Minerva does, she never says. She's the soul of discretion."
"Interesting lives everyone has," Poppy felt safe saying. "Should we have pudding?"
"Oh, definitely! They do a cassata sciciliana here that is simply a work of art!"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A week after this conversation, Poppy still felt unsettled by it, not so much because of what had been said, but because of the elephant it was forcing her to see in the room -- given the closeness of boarding school life, it was probably inevitable that her colleagues would eventually learn of her sexuality.
Even if they turned out to be unfazed by it, the whole subject might disrupt the comfortable relationships she was beginning to form with them. Such a possibility had existed before her talk with Pomona, of course, but she'd been able to put it out of her mind before then -- something to be dealt with in the future, not now.
"Well," she reasoned with herself, "you don't actually need to deal with it now." That was true -- she'd kept her own counsel before this, and she'd managed successfully to navigate all her social and professional waters so far. She had plenty of time to make a plan.
Plenty of time. Except that every day, she realised more and more that she wanted to make a long career here at Hogwarts. And a personal life, too. Best not to leave things too much to chance.
Still debating over the best way to move forward, Poppy cast a warming charm against the frosty December air and started towards Hogsmeade for the Friday Night Fun Club. She was late: young Bill Weasley had sprouted horns after a Transfiguration exercise gone bad, and she'd only just managed to restore him to normal.
Hurrying along, Poppy was rounding the first corner of the path when she heard voices ahead of her -- and then her own name:
" -- had a wonderful dinner with Poppy; she's so much fun to be with."
Pomona.
"Glad to hear it. And the information mission? How did that go?" That gruff voice could belong only to Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank.
But what in Merlin's name did she mean, "information mission"? Poppy made up her mind in an instant. Casting a quick silencing charm on her feet, she whispered the spell to amplify voices and prepared to eavesdrop. This was no time for scruples; she had to know what they would say of her.
"Oh, Wilhelmina, it was hardly a 'mission.' I just wanted to find out if there was any chance of. . .you know. . .getting them together."
"Going to get you in trouble some day, Pommie, this match-making. Thought you were going to reform."
"I was. I mean, I am. I will. But this isn’t even really match-making. I know Minerva is interested in Poppy, and in my opinion, they're just made for each other. Poppy is so totally Minerva's type; she always goes for those smart, no-nonsense redheads. And Minerva isn't Poppy's actual supervisor, so no worries about fraternisation or anything like that. But you know Minerva would never risk making a move unless she knew for a fact that Poppy was open to the idea. That's all I wanted to find out -- if Poppy would be open. I think she would be. I just have a feeling about her."
"A feeling," said Wilhemina without inflection.
"Yes, a feeling. You know I get them sometimes."
"Well? And what did Poppy say? Justify your feeling, did she?"
"Ooohh. . ." Pomona sounded depressed. "I lost my nerve. I did manage to get around to the topic of romance, but when it came to the big question, I couldn't do it. I couldn't be that nosy outright. I was hoping she might volunteer something, but no luck."
"She didn't lay claim to a husband and five kiddies at home or something?"
"No, she really didn't say much about herself at all."
"Don't despair, then. Nothing is ruled out. As for keeping herself to herself. . .well, if she really does prefer women, it's what you'd expect, no? She'll know how to protect herself."
"Well, I'm just glad I didn't say anything to Minerva about my plans. I wouldn't have wanted to get her hopes up."
"Pomona." Wilhelmina's tone carried a warning. "Minerva can handle her own affairs."
"I know she can. But even deputy headmistresses need a helping hand now and again. Now we'd better hurry, Wilhelmina; we're late for the Fun Club already."
Poppy slowed and let the others walk on, out of the range of her amplification spell. She felt as if she'd been hit with a Bludger. Minerva McGonagall was romantically interested in women? And much more to the point, interested in her?
A mix of emotions filled her, and Poppy couldn't at first identify them all. Fear was there, and anxiety. Curiosity. Alarm. And under them, she couldn't deny it, a growing elation.
But whatever she was feeling, it was all too much to take with her to a crowded pub, especially if Minerva was going to be there.
Poppy turned sharply and headed back to the castle. She had thinking to do.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two days before the Christmas break, after an afternoon spent undoing the various jinxes and hexes inflicted by children who were too excited for their own good, Poppy flopped into her favorite chair by the staff room fire. A few minutes of peace and quiet were just what she needed. . .and then maybe she'd rouse herself to make a cup --
"Poppy? Could I get you a cup of tea?"
Poppy jumped; she hadn't realised anyone else was there. But here was Minerva, who Poppy hadn't actually been avoiding -- not really -- but of whom she hadn't seen much these past couple of weeks. Minerva, smiling and offering a companionable cup of tea.
"Yes, that would be lovely," Poppy managed to answer. "Milk, no sugar, please."
In no time, Minerva had Levitated a steaming cup in Poppy's direction and settled herself onto the sofa opposite, her own cup in hand. She looked very handsome with the firelight playing along her thin jaw and making her dark hair gleam.
"I hope I'm not intruding?" she said. "I know how valuable solitude can be at this time of year."
"Not at all," Poppy assured her. "It's a relief to talk to someone who isn't vomiting slugs or sporting a pig snout for a nose."
Minerva laughed. "So glad I count as an improvement over regurgitated slugs. The students do get rather out of control as their holidays approach, don't they?"
"I can't blame them for being excited. It's such a fun time of year for so many people."
"But not for you?" asked Minerva shrewdly.
"Well. . .it can be. It's difficult, though, too, because Christmas is the day my mother died."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you. It was some years ago now, and I'm fine, but I do always remember."
Christmas was also the day that her first lover, Gwenlyn, had announced that she was leaving her, but Poppy wasn't about to discuss that situation with Minerva. She feared she'd already made herself sound pathetic as it was.
"I'm sure you do," Minerva was saying. "You prefer to spend Christmas by yourself, then?"
"No, not really. I'm a fairly sociable person most of the time."
"Well, then. . ." -- Minerva paused, and Poppy realised with surprise that her normally direct and confident colleague seemed actually a bit diffident -- "I wonder if you'd like to come to my rooms on Christmas night for some wine and cake. If you aren't otherwise engaged, that is."
"I'd like that very much," Poppy said. "Very much indeed."
She took a sip of tea to cover up the mad grin she knew was spreading across her face. Truly, this was the most delicious cup of tea she'd ever had.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Haggarty," Poppy called, and the medi-elf popped into the hospital wing.
"Madam Pomfrey has need?" she said, as she always did.
"Would you be able to keep watch here for a couple of hours?"
"Haggarty is able," said the elf.
"I don't expect any emergencies," Poppy said, pulling on her cloak and muttering a quick anti-wind charm for her hat. "Half the staff is on leave, and you know there aren't many students remaining at the castle. If anything -- "
"Haggarty will be fine. Madam P should go and get ready for her holiday. Go, go." And flapping her hands, she drove Poppy like a chicken towards the door and out into the corridor.
Laughing and shaking her head, Poppy hurried down the many staircases to the entrance hall. Haggarty was the walking definition of a mother-hen. . .well, mother-elf. She and her life-partner Hudnut were a joy to work with; Poppy never had any qualms about leaving them in charge.
She'd already arranged for them to take over the hospital wing on Christmas Day, in exchange for Boxing Day off (fair was fair). The formal Hogwarts dinner in the Great Hall and the evening with Minerva were as much as Poppy could manage in one day.
And it was that Christmas evening that she needed time to think about now. In a little over forty-eight hours, she'll be knocking on Minerva's door in Gryffindor Tower. And then. . . .
And then.
This was the point at which Poppy's imagination always stopped. She wasn't sure why the prospect of a possible relationship with Minerva was so unnerving to her. She'd had lovers before, women she'd cared about, and she'd never been this anxious about the process. She was attracted to Minerva (she'd long stopped denying it), and it seemed that Minerva was attracted to her. Initially, she'd been thrilled with the Christmas invitation.
So what was the problem now? Why was she mentally backing away from the thought of them being together?
She'd decided that a long, solitary walk might help her sort her thoughts. Hence the call to Haggarty. Fresh, clear air outside might just clarify things inside, too -- inside her head. It was worth a try, and in any case, she didn't think she could have stayed still indoors another minute.
The night was beautiful, cold and crisp, the glittering stars in the sky mirrored by sparkling snow below. All was silent and still, the crunch of her footsteps the only sound she heard.
By wandlight, Poppy followed the frosty path around the lake, and gradually, understanding crystallised: she wasn't resisting the thought of moving forward with Minerva because of the difficulties of a relationship with a colleague. Or because of concerns about how they would cope with seeing each other every day if they later split up. Or for any of the other excuses she'd been dreaming up these past few days.
She was resisting because deep down, she knew that Minerva could be the one. The one she'd fall hopelessly head-over-heels for. Hopelessly this-is-forever for. The loss of whom, if it ever came to that, could be unendurable.
That one.
So yes, this Christmas invitation was about more than just wine, more than even a potential pleasant affair. This was an invitation to make a journey from which there might be no return.
It was terrifying. And thrilling. But right now, mostly terrifying.
Poppy knew what she needed to do.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A quarter of an hour later, she was back in her quarters, clearing the centre of her sitting room so that she could set out her square table.
Soon it was in place, its points properly situated at the earth's four corners. Poppy covered it with a black velvet cloth and carefully set out her candles -- the yellow of sunshiny air to the east. Fire-red to the south, water-blue to the west. The green of earth standing due north.
And finally, the crystal basin in the center.
All was set, now, to learn whether taking a chance with Minerva was the right thing to do. She would darken the room, light the candles, speak her incantation.
If her conjured mist rose to settle over the Gryffindor-red candle, Poppy could breathe easy. She would simply need to stand still and wait for that sense of rightness to suffuse her.
The darkness spell was quickly cast. Poppy had raised her wand to light the first candle when she suddenly heard Minerva's voice in her head, as clearly as if the woman herself were standing in the room.
"I don't think we're supposed to know what the future holds. It's dangerous and well. . .just wrong."
Poppy stood for a long time in the dark, hearing those words again and again. Finally, slowly, she lowered her wand and whispered, "finite incantatem."
Her wall sconces flared brightly. Taking a deep breath, she began to pack away the candles and basin.
She didn't need magic affirmation. She needed only to trust Minerva. . .and herself.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Epilogue
At four minutes before eight o'clock on Christmas night, Poppy straightens her cranberry-red robes and gives her hair one last fluff. Picking up the small bouquet of red and white camellias that she finally, after much thought, deemed an appropriate gift, she leaves her quarters and starts the walk to Gryffindor Tower.
The castle is quiet, the softly-lit corridors cheerful with festoons of greenery and red berries.
She is only a few feet from her destination when all at once, the very air seems to sparkle, and she is filled with an ineffable sense of hope and well-being.
A sense of rightness.
Smiling, Poppy raises her hand to Minerva's door and knocks.
~~end