The Phoenix' flight, chapter 2, part 1
And here we go again ...
And yes, I'm still searching for a beta ...
The Phoenix’ flight
part 1
Disclaimer: They (almost) all belong to J. K. Rowling and her publisher. I don’t intend to make money with them, but have only borrowed them for some playing. I promise, as soon as I’m done with them (or better said, as soon as they’re done with each other) I’ll give them back.
Author’s Note: If the idea of older people falling in love and having sex with each other squicks you, then - please - do me a favour: Go away. You won’t like this story.
Chapter II: The second night
Hogwarts, October 1998
Somehow it had become a habit: Once or twice a week, when it wasn’t raining, during dinner Harry looked at Ginny and, trying to sound casually, said: “What about a little stroll down to the lake later?”
He didn’t need to mention what he wanted there. Ginny understood and even more: As he’d asked her for the second time, she’d nodded and replied: “Just give me a few minutes before we start. There’s something I need to get.”
Ten minutes later she’d met him at the entrance door, breathless because she’d used the time for running down to the greenhouse where she’d got a bunch of sunflowers. “Professor Sprout said they’d have always been the Headmaster’s favourite flowers.”
Yet what had touched Harry even more as Ginny thinking of the flowers was that she hadn’t put all of them down at Dumbledore’s tomb. She’d carefully and almost tenderly parted the bunch and, blushing slightly, pointed with her chin to the borders of the Forbidden Forest where, in the shadow of an ancient oak, Snape was buried. “I know, you didn’t like him,” she’d said quietly. “But he fought at our side and died for it.”
Harry had only nodded and, taking Ginny’s hand, walked down with her. He’d never before been at Snape’s grave, not even at the funeral. Snape hadn’t wanted it to become a bit affair, but had wished for it being done after sunset and without any fuss and guests.
Looking down at the green marble plate with the silver inscription “Headmaster Severus Snape, 1960-1998” Harry had felt a pang of remorse about not coming earlier. Of course, Snape had bullied him, Snape had made his life miserable whenever he’d been able to and the only connection between the living Snape and Harry had been a deep, mutual dislike of each other. Yet now, at his lonely and already almost forgotten grave, Harry had also been aware that the dead Slytherin had loved his mother, had once been her friend and had - risking his own life with it - more than once saved Harry. And he’d thought of Snape’s last moment and though he’d often felt annoyed about people permanently reminding him of having his mother’s eyes - kneeling next to the dying Snape Harry had for once been glad about the alikeness. He’d known that Snape had searched for Lily Potter in Harry’s eyes and as creepy and obsessive Harry had thought the way in which Snape had clung to his mother: For all the man had sacrificed and suffered through he’d deserved having his last wish fulfilled. Harry even hoped that looking in his eyes had comforted the dying man.
Ginny had obviously felt alike. Kneeling down to put the sunflowers at the green plate she’d wrinkled her forehead and, sounding almost furious, she’d stated: “It’s not fair!”
“What isn’t fair?” Harry had asked.
“This!” Ginny had pointed to the sunflowers. “Dumbledore’s tomb is always covered in flowers. Every visitor at the castle is going there and even the ministry sends flower to his birthday and the anniversary of his death and what else. Sometimes I think they like the dead Dumbledore better as they liked him alive!”
“Probably they do,” Harry had answered. “The dead Headmaster is easier to like - he doesn’t speak his mind anymore.”
“It could be the same here, with Snape. Through years he risked his life on a daily base as the Order’s spy and in the end he died. As much as a git he was in life - for his death he’d deserve a bit more of respect!”
Since then it had become a habit of theirs, this wandering down first to the Headmaster’s and then to Snape’s grave, putting some flowers on it. They knew that a lot of people were gossiping about, but neither Harry nor Ginny cared. They’d come in use with people talking and even saying ugly things. Being “The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort” and a celebrated war hero made for a lot of envy, as did becoming the girlfriend of said hero.
Now they’d already passed the lake with Dumbledore’s white tomb and were marching down the small path to the Forbidden Forest when Ginny suddenly stopped, put her hand over her eyes from shielding then from the evening sun and looked at the grave. “Who’s that?” she wondered.
Harry saw the woman too. She kneeled at the grave, her wand raised, a cradle standing next to her, wearing a blue robe. A long, blonde braid was falling down her back. Now she turned her head and Harry recognized the profile with the fine nose, the high forehead and the energetic chin. “That’s Madam Pomfrey!” he said.
He was glad to see her because it was almost two weeks since he’d spent this one evening in her company. Since then he’d always wished to speak to her again, but he hadn’t known how to approach her. In former times she’d often come down to the great halls for meals, mostly sitting at Dumbledore’s left side. However, after his death she’d made herself sparse and was rarely seen outside her informatory anymore. Harry, feeling exceptionally happy and healthy since Voldemort’s demise, never came there anymore and so he hadn’t found an opportunity to talk to the mediwitch.
Obviously she was ready with what she’d done because she was shrinking the cradle, put it in a pocket of her robe and stored her wand in her sleeve. Getting up she smiled at Ginny and Harry who’d arrived at the grave. “Hello - how nice of you to come here. And here I was already wondering who always puts flowers here.” She looked approvingly at the yellow rose Ginny was carrying. “Very suiting! You know,” now she was almost grinning, “just the other week I was discussing what to plant on Severus’ grave with Professor Sprout. She would have parted with one of her beautiful new roses - you know, the dark red one with the golden rim. Only Professor McGonagall didn’t approve. She thinks Severus would start to spin in his grave if we’d plant Gryffindor roses on it. So I’ve got him silver lilies. I hope they’ll thrive and prosper here.”
“I’m sure they will!” Ginny said and made it sound, as if she’d kick the lilies personally if they dared wilting.
Harry in the meantime smiled rather sheepishly at Poppy Pomfrey. On the one hand he wanted very much to ask her for another appointment, on the other hand - wouldn’t it hurt her to talk about her lost love? He absolutely detested the idea of giving this warm hearted and generous woman even more grief. So, after clearing his throat, he simply said: “It’s good to see you, Madam Pomfrey.”
“It’s good to see the two of you,” she replied. “I was actually thinking of sending you another invitation. I only wasn’t sure when it would suit you. I take it you’re rather busy with preparing for your NEWTs?”
“Actually not so much,” Harry gave back. “Professor Perkins released me from doing any housework, Professor Flitwick and Professor van Eycken mostly want us to practise - and well, in matters of Charms and Transfiguration I got my share of practise last year.”
“And when it comes to Defence against the Dark Arts, you probably can teach Professor Perkins a thing or two,” smiled Poppy. “You know Headmaster McGonagall is eagerly awaiting your and Mr Weasley’s application for the Auror’s Academy?”
“Really?” Harry beamed. He’d always wanted to become an Auror, but since Umbridge once had said that the Ministry probably wouldn’t approve of him, he’d been worried about his chances.
Once again Poppy seemed to have read his mind. Rolling her eyes, she said: “Really, Harry! Next week we’re going to elect a new Minister of Magic. I think we both know that there’s only one candidate with real chances: Kingsley Shacklebolt. He’d probably be very disappointed if you wouldn’t apply for the Academy. Besides,” now she was grinning at Ginny, “don’t you think Harry will look great in an Auror’s robe, Miss Weasley?”
“Oh yes!” Ginny smiled back. “I’ll have to watch him very closely then because of all the girls who will be after him!”
Harry felt himself blushing and almost angrily he said: “Only I’m not interested in any strange girls.”
“Sorry, Harry - I didn’t want to hurt your finer feelings,” Poppy immediately apologized. “I know you’re with Miss Weasley - and by talking about,” she looked once more at Ginny, “I wonder if Miss Weasley wouldn’t want to join the two of us for our next evening together.”
“Oh, I’d love to!” Ginny cried. “If you don’t mind …”
“Certainly not. And I’m sure, Albus would have approved too.” She laughed. “He would be happy and immensely smug if he could see the two of you together. He always prophesized it would happen one day and he was so convinced about it, that for a time Minerva McGonagall and I threatened to call him ‘Sybilus’ if he wouldn’t stop talking about you.”
“Oh my - was I so obvious?” Ginny asked.
Once more Poppy looked amused. “No, Miss Weasley, certainly not. However, we’re talking about Albus Dumbledore …”
“… who was probably the best Legilemens of our time”, Harry finished for her.
For a moment a wrinkle appeared between Poppy’s eyebrows. Then she firmly stated: “I don’t think it had anything to do with Legilemency. Albus always respected people’s privacy, therefore he only used Legilemency when he got an explicit invitation or in cases of mortal peril. Except of connecting to me - and I’m a well-trained Occlumens - I only know of one opportunity during the last years when he went into a mind uninvited.”
“Kingsley Shacklebolt!” Harry nodded. “At the day as Umbridge discovered our secret DADA group Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the Aurors accompanying Minister Fudge to Hogwarts,” he explained to Ginny. “You remember there was Marietta Edgecombe and she was shortly before spilling the beans when the Headmaster used Legilemency for ordering Kingsley Shacklebolt to obliviate her.”
“Yes,” Poppy confirmed. “He felt lousy afterwards. Messing around in a student’s mind certainly wasn’t his idea about a Headmaster’s way to deal with his charges.”
Harry painted a circle in the soil with the tip of his shoes. There was something he’d always wanted to ask. “Madam Pomfrey,” he started, “do you know where the Headmaster was during the time Umbridge acted the Headmistress?”
Instead of Poppy Ginny answered first: “Wasn’t he at the Hog’s Head?”
Poppy laughed. “It was around this time he made the connection between Aberforth’s pub and Hogwarts. However, he was never too fond on goats and therefore staying at the Hog’s Head wouldn’t have appealed to him.” The sun was gone down and a cold wind was blowing up from the lake. Poppy shivered and pulled her robe closer around her shoulders. “Dears, I’m feeling chilly. Why don’t we go up to my chambers and have some hot chocolate, if you haven’t planned anything else?”
Harry looked at Ginny and both nodded in unison, Ginny adding. “I’d like that.”
“Well, then let’s go!” Poppy said and started to march towards the castle.
Harry, taking Ginny’s hand, followed her. “Madam Pomfrey, was the Headmaster with you during the time the Ministry searched for him?”
Poppy nodded. “Yes, or better said: When he slept he did so in our bed. And he was having most of his meals in our chambers. Nevertheless, I didn’t see much of him in these days - and not only because he made himself invisible whenever someone came around our part of the castle, but because he was doing a lot of Order’s business and dealing with the castle’s wards.”
Ginny giggled. “I knew it! He was the one who made the Headmaster’s study unapproachable for Umbridge! I was there as she tried to go up and it was so much fun! You should have seen her: For half one hour she tried it. First she ordered the gargoyle to open for her. Then she tried it with persuading it. It didn’t work either and so she called Filch and ordered him to open the staircase with force. Filch, always happy when getting an opportunity to destroy something, came with a big axe and an even bigger prybar, but just as he swung the axe for the first time, Peeves flooded around and yodelled the password. The Gargoyle opened and Filch fell in, Umbridge almost trampling over him because she was so eager to get up there. Behind her Malfoy and his cronies cheered as if she’d just discovered Merlin’s long lost spell book. Umbridge was already half up the stairs, but then they suddenly changed and became a slide. Boom - down she went, landing in front of the Gargoyle like a bug on its back, showing off her pink knickers …”
“Uah!” The idea of that made Harry shudder. “I’m glad I didn’t see them!”
“You can be!” Poppy assured him. “They really were exceptionally ugly as I learned after the Gargoyle had closed again. Dear Dolores,” she managed an almost perfect imitation of Umbridge’s famous girly voice, “came up to the infirmary because she’d got a nasty bump on her butt. The problem only was: Just one minute before her Albus had arrived. He stood in my office as she stormed in and immediately lifted her robe to show me the bump. In his eagerness to get out, Albus bumped again one of my closets and I needed to make up a story about a Boggart residing in there. Luckily Umbridge felt too injured and weak for getting rid off it herself and I, of course, played the dump nurse who hasn’t got a clue about such things. So Umbridge sent Severus up and I told him what really had happened. Since then he used to maintain that Albus would never dare coming close to a Boggart again because he’d fear it would appear as Umbridge in her pink knickers.”
“With dancing kitties on it!” Ginny chuckled.
“Uah!” Harry shuddered again. “You could have spared me that. I’m certainly getting a nightmare now!”
They’d arrived at the hospital wing and leading them through the painting guarding her chambers, Poppy grinned at Ginny. “Miss Weasley, if you’ll take an advise from an experienced, old witch: Never wear pink undies. Mr Potter obviously doesn’t like them.”
“Not at all!” Harry stated firmly, following Poppy into the cosy living room.
“Have a seat, dears!” Poppy offered. “And just give me a minute to change into something more comfortable. I don’t like wearing robes at home.”
And yes, I'm still searching for a beta ...
The Phoenix’ flight
part 1
Disclaimer: They (almost) all belong to J. K. Rowling and her publisher. I don’t intend to make money with them, but have only borrowed them for some playing. I promise, as soon as I’m done with them (or better said, as soon as they’re done with each other) I’ll give them back.
Author’s Note: If the idea of older people falling in love and having sex with each other squicks you, then - please - do me a favour: Go away. You won’t like this story.
Chapter II: The second night
Hogwarts, October 1998
Somehow it had become a habit: Once or twice a week, when it wasn’t raining, during dinner Harry looked at Ginny and, trying to sound casually, said: “What about a little stroll down to the lake later?”
He didn’t need to mention what he wanted there. Ginny understood and even more: As he’d asked her for the second time, she’d nodded and replied: “Just give me a few minutes before we start. There’s something I need to get.”
Ten minutes later she’d met him at the entrance door, breathless because she’d used the time for running down to the greenhouse where she’d got a bunch of sunflowers. “Professor Sprout said they’d have always been the Headmaster’s favourite flowers.”
Yet what had touched Harry even more as Ginny thinking of the flowers was that she hadn’t put all of them down at Dumbledore’s tomb. She’d carefully and almost tenderly parted the bunch and, blushing slightly, pointed with her chin to the borders of the Forbidden Forest where, in the shadow of an ancient oak, Snape was buried. “I know, you didn’t like him,” she’d said quietly. “But he fought at our side and died for it.”
Harry had only nodded and, taking Ginny’s hand, walked down with her. He’d never before been at Snape’s grave, not even at the funeral. Snape hadn’t wanted it to become a bit affair, but had wished for it being done after sunset and without any fuss and guests.
Looking down at the green marble plate with the silver inscription “Headmaster Severus Snape, 1960-1998” Harry had felt a pang of remorse about not coming earlier. Of course, Snape had bullied him, Snape had made his life miserable whenever he’d been able to and the only connection between the living Snape and Harry had been a deep, mutual dislike of each other. Yet now, at his lonely and already almost forgotten grave, Harry had also been aware that the dead Slytherin had loved his mother, had once been her friend and had - risking his own life with it - more than once saved Harry. And he’d thought of Snape’s last moment and though he’d often felt annoyed about people permanently reminding him of having his mother’s eyes - kneeling next to the dying Snape Harry had for once been glad about the alikeness. He’d known that Snape had searched for Lily Potter in Harry’s eyes and as creepy and obsessive Harry had thought the way in which Snape had clung to his mother: For all the man had sacrificed and suffered through he’d deserved having his last wish fulfilled. Harry even hoped that looking in his eyes had comforted the dying man.
Ginny had obviously felt alike. Kneeling down to put the sunflowers at the green plate she’d wrinkled her forehead and, sounding almost furious, she’d stated: “It’s not fair!”
“What isn’t fair?” Harry had asked.
“This!” Ginny had pointed to the sunflowers. “Dumbledore’s tomb is always covered in flowers. Every visitor at the castle is going there and even the ministry sends flower to his birthday and the anniversary of his death and what else. Sometimes I think they like the dead Dumbledore better as they liked him alive!”
“Probably they do,” Harry had answered. “The dead Headmaster is easier to like - he doesn’t speak his mind anymore.”
“It could be the same here, with Snape. Through years he risked his life on a daily base as the Order’s spy and in the end he died. As much as a git he was in life - for his death he’d deserve a bit more of respect!”
Since then it had become a habit of theirs, this wandering down first to the Headmaster’s and then to Snape’s grave, putting some flowers on it. They knew that a lot of people were gossiping about, but neither Harry nor Ginny cared. They’d come in use with people talking and even saying ugly things. Being “The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort” and a celebrated war hero made for a lot of envy, as did becoming the girlfriend of said hero.
Now they’d already passed the lake with Dumbledore’s white tomb and were marching down the small path to the Forbidden Forest when Ginny suddenly stopped, put her hand over her eyes from shielding then from the evening sun and looked at the grave. “Who’s that?” she wondered.
Harry saw the woman too. She kneeled at the grave, her wand raised, a cradle standing next to her, wearing a blue robe. A long, blonde braid was falling down her back. Now she turned her head and Harry recognized the profile with the fine nose, the high forehead and the energetic chin. “That’s Madam Pomfrey!” he said.
He was glad to see her because it was almost two weeks since he’d spent this one evening in her company. Since then he’d always wished to speak to her again, but he hadn’t known how to approach her. In former times she’d often come down to the great halls for meals, mostly sitting at Dumbledore’s left side. However, after his death she’d made herself sparse and was rarely seen outside her informatory anymore. Harry, feeling exceptionally happy and healthy since Voldemort’s demise, never came there anymore and so he hadn’t found an opportunity to talk to the mediwitch.
Obviously she was ready with what she’d done because she was shrinking the cradle, put it in a pocket of her robe and stored her wand in her sleeve. Getting up she smiled at Ginny and Harry who’d arrived at the grave. “Hello - how nice of you to come here. And here I was already wondering who always puts flowers here.” She looked approvingly at the yellow rose Ginny was carrying. “Very suiting! You know,” now she was almost grinning, “just the other week I was discussing what to plant on Severus’ grave with Professor Sprout. She would have parted with one of her beautiful new roses - you know, the dark red one with the golden rim. Only Professor McGonagall didn’t approve. She thinks Severus would start to spin in his grave if we’d plant Gryffindor roses on it. So I’ve got him silver lilies. I hope they’ll thrive and prosper here.”
“I’m sure they will!” Ginny said and made it sound, as if she’d kick the lilies personally if they dared wilting.
Harry in the meantime smiled rather sheepishly at Poppy Pomfrey. On the one hand he wanted very much to ask her for another appointment, on the other hand - wouldn’t it hurt her to talk about her lost love? He absolutely detested the idea of giving this warm hearted and generous woman even more grief. So, after clearing his throat, he simply said: “It’s good to see you, Madam Pomfrey.”
“It’s good to see the two of you,” she replied. “I was actually thinking of sending you another invitation. I only wasn’t sure when it would suit you. I take it you’re rather busy with preparing for your NEWTs?”
“Actually not so much,” Harry gave back. “Professor Perkins released me from doing any housework, Professor Flitwick and Professor van Eycken mostly want us to practise - and well, in matters of Charms and Transfiguration I got my share of practise last year.”
“And when it comes to Defence against the Dark Arts, you probably can teach Professor Perkins a thing or two,” smiled Poppy. “You know Headmaster McGonagall is eagerly awaiting your and Mr Weasley’s application for the Auror’s Academy?”
“Really?” Harry beamed. He’d always wanted to become an Auror, but since Umbridge once had said that the Ministry probably wouldn’t approve of him, he’d been worried about his chances.
Once again Poppy seemed to have read his mind. Rolling her eyes, she said: “Really, Harry! Next week we’re going to elect a new Minister of Magic. I think we both know that there’s only one candidate with real chances: Kingsley Shacklebolt. He’d probably be very disappointed if you wouldn’t apply for the Academy. Besides,” now she was grinning at Ginny, “don’t you think Harry will look great in an Auror’s robe, Miss Weasley?”
“Oh yes!” Ginny smiled back. “I’ll have to watch him very closely then because of all the girls who will be after him!”
Harry felt himself blushing and almost angrily he said: “Only I’m not interested in any strange girls.”
“Sorry, Harry - I didn’t want to hurt your finer feelings,” Poppy immediately apologized. “I know you’re with Miss Weasley - and by talking about,” she looked once more at Ginny, “I wonder if Miss Weasley wouldn’t want to join the two of us for our next evening together.”
“Oh, I’d love to!” Ginny cried. “If you don’t mind …”
“Certainly not. And I’m sure, Albus would have approved too.” She laughed. “He would be happy and immensely smug if he could see the two of you together. He always prophesized it would happen one day and he was so convinced about it, that for a time Minerva McGonagall and I threatened to call him ‘Sybilus’ if he wouldn’t stop talking about you.”
“Oh my - was I so obvious?” Ginny asked.
Once more Poppy looked amused. “No, Miss Weasley, certainly not. However, we’re talking about Albus Dumbledore …”
“… who was probably the best Legilemens of our time”, Harry finished for her.
For a moment a wrinkle appeared between Poppy’s eyebrows. Then she firmly stated: “I don’t think it had anything to do with Legilemency. Albus always respected people’s privacy, therefore he only used Legilemency when he got an explicit invitation or in cases of mortal peril. Except of connecting to me - and I’m a well-trained Occlumens - I only know of one opportunity during the last years when he went into a mind uninvited.”
“Kingsley Shacklebolt!” Harry nodded. “At the day as Umbridge discovered our secret DADA group Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the Aurors accompanying Minister Fudge to Hogwarts,” he explained to Ginny. “You remember there was Marietta Edgecombe and she was shortly before spilling the beans when the Headmaster used Legilemency for ordering Kingsley Shacklebolt to obliviate her.”
“Yes,” Poppy confirmed. “He felt lousy afterwards. Messing around in a student’s mind certainly wasn’t his idea about a Headmaster’s way to deal with his charges.”
Harry painted a circle in the soil with the tip of his shoes. There was something he’d always wanted to ask. “Madam Pomfrey,” he started, “do you know where the Headmaster was during the time Umbridge acted the Headmistress?”
Instead of Poppy Ginny answered first: “Wasn’t he at the Hog’s Head?”
Poppy laughed. “It was around this time he made the connection between Aberforth’s pub and Hogwarts. However, he was never too fond on goats and therefore staying at the Hog’s Head wouldn’t have appealed to him.” The sun was gone down and a cold wind was blowing up from the lake. Poppy shivered and pulled her robe closer around her shoulders. “Dears, I’m feeling chilly. Why don’t we go up to my chambers and have some hot chocolate, if you haven’t planned anything else?”
Harry looked at Ginny and both nodded in unison, Ginny adding. “I’d like that.”
“Well, then let’s go!” Poppy said and started to march towards the castle.
Harry, taking Ginny’s hand, followed her. “Madam Pomfrey, was the Headmaster with you during the time the Ministry searched for him?”
Poppy nodded. “Yes, or better said: When he slept he did so in our bed. And he was having most of his meals in our chambers. Nevertheless, I didn’t see much of him in these days - and not only because he made himself invisible whenever someone came around our part of the castle, but because he was doing a lot of Order’s business and dealing with the castle’s wards.”
Ginny giggled. “I knew it! He was the one who made the Headmaster’s study unapproachable for Umbridge! I was there as she tried to go up and it was so much fun! You should have seen her: For half one hour she tried it. First she ordered the gargoyle to open for her. Then she tried it with persuading it. It didn’t work either and so she called Filch and ordered him to open the staircase with force. Filch, always happy when getting an opportunity to destroy something, came with a big axe and an even bigger prybar, but just as he swung the axe for the first time, Peeves flooded around and yodelled the password. The Gargoyle opened and Filch fell in, Umbridge almost trampling over him because she was so eager to get up there. Behind her Malfoy and his cronies cheered as if she’d just discovered Merlin’s long lost spell book. Umbridge was already half up the stairs, but then they suddenly changed and became a slide. Boom - down she went, landing in front of the Gargoyle like a bug on its back, showing off her pink knickers …”
“Uah!” The idea of that made Harry shudder. “I’m glad I didn’t see them!”
“You can be!” Poppy assured him. “They really were exceptionally ugly as I learned after the Gargoyle had closed again. Dear Dolores,” she managed an almost perfect imitation of Umbridge’s famous girly voice, “came up to the infirmary because she’d got a nasty bump on her butt. The problem only was: Just one minute before her Albus had arrived. He stood in my office as she stormed in and immediately lifted her robe to show me the bump. In his eagerness to get out, Albus bumped again one of my closets and I needed to make up a story about a Boggart residing in there. Luckily Umbridge felt too injured and weak for getting rid off it herself and I, of course, played the dump nurse who hasn’t got a clue about such things. So Umbridge sent Severus up and I told him what really had happened. Since then he used to maintain that Albus would never dare coming close to a Boggart again because he’d fear it would appear as Umbridge in her pink knickers.”
“With dancing kitties on it!” Ginny chuckled.
“Uah!” Harry shuddered again. “You could have spared me that. I’m certainly getting a nightmare now!”
They’d arrived at the hospital wing and leading them through the painting guarding her chambers, Poppy grinned at Ginny. “Miss Weasley, if you’ll take an advise from an experienced, old witch: Never wear pink undies. Mr Potter obviously doesn’t like them.”
“Not at all!” Harry stated firmly, following Poppy into the cosy living room.
“Have a seat, dears!” Poppy offered. “And just give me a minute to change into something more comfortable. I don’t like wearing robes at home.”