Fic: Sense and Persuasion
I'm an eager follower of The Austen Project, in which six famous, professional authors offer a new take on Austen's book. This summer Kellychambliss and I discussed the various books, and especially the recently-published Emma.
We were our usual critical selves, and then I thought it would be fun to try a re-write myself. The result you'll find below. It's my take on Emma and my entry for this year's Minerva_fest.
kellychambliss, ardent Austonian and beta-reader extra-ordinaire, offered invaluable advice, as always. Thank you, dear, for improving my writing and for five glorious years of Minerva-centered works!
Title: Sense and Persuasion
Rating: PG
Word Count: 7900
Characters and/or Pairings: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Pomona Sprout, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Augusta Longbottom. In due course, pairings will develop.
Summary: Poppy Pomfrey has all the best characteristics of Emma Woodhouse, and the wisdom that comes with age. So when she interferes, it isn’t meddling. Not at all.
Warnings: None.
Poppy Pomfrey, handsome, clever, and with a satisfying career and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence, and had lived to a witch’s middle age with very little to distress or vex her …
… with no more to distress or vex her than could be expected …
… well, actually, with quite a lot to distress and vex her.
No, however hard Poppy tried, however much she loved Miss Austen’s elegant way of putting things, she couldn’t make the first line of Emma fit her own situation completely. Very little to distress? If only.
Damn and blast You-Know-Who and his return. Damn and blast the Ministry that appointed Umbridges and allowed their minions to cast Stunners - Stunners - on Minerva McGonagall. The Deputy Headmistress. In front of the students, for crying out loud.
Emma Woodhouse might have very little to vex her, but Poppy Pomfrey’s whole world was a mess. Still, Poppy had often thought she and Emma had quite a lot in common. For instance, they were both loyal to their friends, and they both wanted to do what was best for them.
Only, Emma didn’t always set about things in the most sensible way. But, to be fair, she hadn’t had as good an education as Poppy. And she was about half a century younger. Emma at twenty-one could not be expected to have the good sense Poppy had at sixty-two. And one had to consider Miss Austen’s needs as well. If all Emma’s projects had run as smoothly as Poppy’s, there wouldn’t be enough material for a book.
But in certain ways I am a bit like Emma, thought Poppy. A more effective and certainly more sensible Emma.
Take friendships, for instance. Emma had had the chance to befriend the lovely Jane Fairfax. Poppy had always had a guilty preference for Jane, whom she liked much better than the actual heroine of the story. But foolish Emma, with her need to be the best and brightest in any company, had missed a wonderful opportunity.
Poppy had had the chance to befriend Minerva McGonagall. Who was quite as Poppy imagined a middle-aged Jane to be - every bit as clever and as talented. She had often thought that Minerva had more gifts and was a far better person than Poppy herself. But had that stopped her from becoming great friends? Certainly not. It was a friendship that had given her many hours of joy.
And now dear Minerva very much needed a loyal friend. Someone who would do some … no, not meddling, that was entirely the wrong word, that was what well-meaning, silly Emma did … some gentle steering. A friend who could see what Minerva needed and who could administer the treatment with a gentle-yet-kind hand.
And a Slytherin brain. Because it had to be faced, Min could be a tad stubborn. The diagnosis had been simple: a hellishly busy year organizing the Triwizard Tournament had ended in the horror of Cedric Diggory’s death and the return of You-Know-Who. It had been followed by an equally busy summer running around on Order business, and then a year in which Dolores Umbridge had tried to destroy everything Minerva stood for. With those four Stunners to round things off.
Poppy forced herself to focus on the present. Minerva was alive and slowly getting better. There was no point in dwelling on the anguish of that first night after the attack, when she hadn’t known whether Min would survive. Or on the misery of sending her to St Mungo’s. Medically speaking it had been the only thing to do, and Poppy had done it. But it had taken all of her courage to let her dearest friend go out of sight.
In a way it was ironic that it was the return of You-Know-Who that had turned Minerva into Poppy’s dearest friend, rather than just a colleague with whom she was friendly. Not that she had realised at the time that You-Know-Who had anything to do with it.
When Miss Granger had had her unfortunate mishap with the Polyjuice, Minerva and Poppy had thought it a student’s prank. Or, Miss Granger being who she was, not quite a prank, but the same sort of eagerness to learn that had made her try to deal with a mountain troll single-handedly. Little did they know at the time what - or rather who - was behind the whole, terrible business of the Petrifications.
Minerva had been worried about Miss Granger’s condition - far more worried, Poppy thought, than the situation warranted. The girl would be right as rain in a month, no permanent harm done, and catching up on missed lessons would be a piece of cake for her.
“It isn’t that,” Minerva had said, as they sat down with a cup of tea in Poppy’s office. “It’s the Muggle-born thing.” Poppy had looked surprised, and Minerva had explained. “These parents have had the shock of learning their child is a witch. And they’ve had to let her go into this unknown world, full of things they cannot even begin to understand. All parents trust their children to our care, but for Muggle parents it must be so much worse. And now their beloved girl is hideously deformed, albeit temporarily, by a potion she has made herself from a book she should never have had but that a teacher allowed her to get out of the library. Damn and blast Gilderoy Lockhart! How can I possibly explain this to the Grangers? They’ve sent us their child, expecting us to protect her, and I feel I’ve failed them.”
That wasn’t true, of course, and Poppy could have told Minerva that she could not possibly be blamed. She had been on the verge of saying so when she had remembered an incident during her training days. A patient had died. Not through any fault of hers. It had been one of those tragedies that couldn’t be prevented. But Poppy had felt as if she’d failed her patient.
“It’s nonsense,” her mentor had said. “If I were in your shoes, you’d tell me exactly that. Rationally we all know it’s nonsense, and we can tell it to others, but when it’s us, it feels different. We agonise. It’s what makes us good Healers, as long as we don’t drown in it. You’ll have to learn not to drown. For what it’s worth: you are not to blame. Also for what it’s worth: I know how you feel.”
Strangely, it had helped. Not that it took away the agony. There was still a part of Poppy that felt that, while her mentor was right in general, this case was different. But it had done her good to realise that her colleague truly knew how she felt.
So instead of trying to convince Minerva that she wasn’t to blame, Poppy had told her own hospital story and had ended with her mentor’s words.
“Thanks,” Minerva had said, and, with a quick smile, “It does help. A little.” Poppy had known that helping ‘a little’ was the best she could hope to do in a case like this. It was from that moment on that they had grown closer. Not merely good friends, like Poppy was good friends with Pomona, but something special. A friendship where they could understand each other without words, because they often felt the same.
What Minerva needed right now was rest. Lots of rest, to get over the last, lingering consequences of the Stunners and over her general state of exhaustion caused by the work of those last two years. A state that had contributed significantly to the damage from the attack. But she also needed regular doses of gentle exercise to rebuild her strength.
What Minerva wanted, however, was to carry on as if nothing had happened, and she had not taken kindly to Pomona’s and Poppy’s suggestion she take it easy and delegate a bit. “Careful now, Min,” Poppy had said. “That walking stick is meant as an aid, not as a weapon.”
True, Minerva had laughed at the joke, but, “A weapon is an aid, too. Of sorts,” she had muttered, and Poppy had realised that it was not the best of plans to use the Gryffindor approach of simply telling Minerva she needed a careful balance of rest and exercise and that Poppy would see to it that she got it.
Which is why Poppy Pomfrey was such an improvement on Miss Austen’s Emma. What she had was … if one wanted to stay in line with the original, Sense and Persuasion would just about sum it up.
For here was Minerva, calmly - nay, make that enthusiastically agreeing to Plan B, the essence of which still was: rest first and foremost.
“It sounds wonderful,” said Minerva. “Poppy, how did you think of it? Of course I want to come. Now, tell me all the details.”
And Poppy, gleefully, explained how she had had a longing to see Tuscany all her life. And so had Pomona, as it turned out. But what with the exorbitant prices for single hotel rooms, it just wasn’t realistic. And then Poppy had had her idea, and yes, she was rather pleased with it herself. And she had done all the research and yes, it was possible to rent a cottage in Tuscany. Only, they didn’t call it a cottage but a villa - didn’t that sound grand?
“It has three bedrooms,” she told Minerva, “Ideally, it should be four bedrooms, of course. But that does make it so much more expensive. And one of the rooms has two single beds, so it isn’t really a problem. I don’t mind sharing.
“Just imagine, we can be as lazy or as active as we want. There’s a small swimming pool, and a garden, and a terrace which offers some shade, too. And whenever we want to be active, there’s so much to see! Florence, Siena, San Gimignano - lots of places!”
“Mind,” said Pomona, who had been properly briefed by Poppy beforehand, “It’s in the middle of the tourist season. We’ll have to consider the Statute: no brooms, no Apparition. Too much of a risk. But Poppy has a Muggle driver’s license, the clever thing. So we’ll rent a little car - all those places are so close together, we’ll be able to make all sorts of wonderful trips.”
“Too bad about the brooms,” said Minerva, predictably, for she loved flying. But was there also a hint of relief in her eyes at the thought of being transported so comfortably? As long as no-one suggested the car had anything to do with anyone’s physical fitness or lack thereof, Minerva was clearly prepared to accept the idea.
Likewise, Poppy was sure of it, Min would accept the idea of rest days between their outings, if the other inmates of the villa expressed a wish for a quiet day, or a feeling of fatigue from the previous trip. There would be no need to mention Stunners or revalidation.
“And we can all keep house together,” Pomona enthused. “All four of us!” For Minerva had not just applauded the idea of a Tuscan holiday, but the idea of inviting Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank as well.
As Poppy knew she would. When Wilhelmina had first come to Hogwarts to replace Hagrid, she, Poppy, had noticed how well Min and Wil got along. It had made her vaguely uneasy. Poppy didn’t have much of a gaydar - she had been sincerely surprised when Pomona had mentioned, years earlier, when Neville Longbottom started his first year, that the redoubtable Augusta had once had an affair with Minerva.
“But then they broke up and Augusta married Frank. Or rather, Augusta ended it in order to marry Frank,” Pomona had explained. “That’s why there’s such a sharp angle to their banter. On the face of it, they get along just fine. Remained friends and all that. But underneath …”
“Perhaps,” Poppy had suggested, “perhaps there’s something else, too. Perhaps they still have feelings for each other and the tension is …”
“Sexual tension? Unresolved sexual tension?” Pomona had howled with laughter.
“It could be,” Poppy had said, slightly miffed. It would be lovely for Minerva to find someone, and her friends should wish for it rather than wet their pants laughing.
“Now, don’t become a meddlesome matchmaker, dear,” Pomona had said. “Of course I’d want Min to be happy, but that particular relationship is as dead as the dodo, believe me.”
Poppy had decided to believe her own eyes, rather than Pomona, and to remain very quiet about it until she had made up her mind. And in the end, Pomona had been right.
But it didn’t take a gaydar to spot Wilhelmina’s preferences. At first Poppy had been a bit worried. What if this mutual liking would grow into something more? Much had changed since she had considered a match between Minerva and Augusta. Minerva was now Poppy’s closest and dearest friend. A romantic relationship for Min would change that friendship. It was inevitable.
If she wanted to be as good a friend for Min as Min was for her, however, she shouldn’t be selfish. Things would be different, but their friendship would not be less. The jealousy was a base emotion, and when Wilhelmina had returned the next year for a second spell of substitute teaching, Poppy planned to help things along. Firmly but gently. If Minerva was too swamped with work to notice just how suitable Wilhelmina was, Poppy would step in and organise things. A tea-party, say. Or even a dinner.
In the end her plans had come to naught. Each time she wanted to set up her little party, there was something going on, and it seemed best to wait until Minerva was less preoccupied. And then, all of a sudden, Hagrid was back and she had missed her chance. Or rather, Minerva had missed her chance.
Poppy had spent some time pondering whether she had not, unconsciously, delayed things until it was too late because of that brief pang of jealousy. For, unlike Emma Woodhouse, she was capable of critical self-reflection. In this case, I have been like Emma, she thought. I’ve thought that it would be a very good thing if Minerva and Wilhelmina got together, and then I’ve done absolutely nothing to promote it. It may well have been for the same reason: I want my friend to be happy, but I don’t want things to change. That was badly done, Poppy Pomfrey.
But it was not too late to make amends. So when Pomona and Poppy had first discussed Poppy’s plans for the “Min Must Rest Holiday”, she had felt quite virtuous when she had suggested inviting Wilhelmina as well. “If you think it’s a good idea,” she had added, remembering Pomona’s sharp insight in the Augusta-situation.
But this time Pomona had beamed, positively beamed. “Wonderful!” she had exclaimed, and, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re the best friend anyone can have.”
Clearly Pomona thought as she did: Wilhelmina and Minerva were made for each other. There was no need to say anything out loud. Poppy wasn’t a meddlesome matchmaker, after all. She merely created a possibility.
Meanwhile, Minerva had agreed with all her plans. Three good friends would ensure the fourth one didn’t overdo things. And two good friends would have the time to find out whether there could be more between them.
And all of them would have a lovely holiday in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
The world at large might be a mess, but thanks to Poppy’s firm-but-gentle hand, the little corner that she could rule was shaping up quite nicely.
*_*_*_*
“So, what are today’s plans?” asked Pomona as she speared a slice of peach on her fork.
They had arrived the day before. The Port-Key trip had been as uneventful as possible, and Min had stood it well. They had picked up their little rental car, Poppy had carefully steered it out of town and had heaved a sigh of relief when they were on the quiet country roads.
By the time they had reached San Gimignano she had had enough confidence to follow the signs to a supermercato, and they had all enjoyed the shopping. “We need a few basics in case we want an easy dinner,” Pomona suggested. So a packet of pasta, a jar or two of ready-made sauce and a few bottles of wine had been added to the breakfast things, along with some jars of antipasti, a package of amaretti biscuits and a bottle of vin santo to go with them. Supermarkets, they all agreed, were tremendous fun.
Once they had arrived in the villa there had been a tricky moment. Minerva had said she and Pomona would share a room, “for we’ve known each other since our own Hogwarts days.”
“I see your point,” Poppy had started, wary of where to go next. Minerva needed a room of her own, of course. Preferably with a double bed - not just for comfort, but also … if the thing with Wilhelmina worked out …
And it looked as if that just might happen, for while Poppy had still been thinking of a tactful alternative to ‘you’re not quite well yet’, Wil had stepped in and solved the matter.
“You need a room of your own,” she had said. “Need to be able to get your rest whenever you want to. Poppy and I will share. We’re both in the healing business; plenty to talk about.”
And when Minerva had taken a good deep breath, the better to voice a lengthy protest, Wil had added, “There’s three of us and just one of you. So your argument is invalid.”
To Poppy’s surprise Min had just laughed and given in. “Oh, all right,” she had said. “Take advantage of a poor, vulnerable invalid. But remember - one day it’ll be pay-back time.” Had she been secretly relieved that Wil had settled things? If so, it was promising.
Yes, that’s what it was: promising. There was no need to feel even the slightest bit jealous just because Min allowed Wil to take care of her. It was what good friends did. Min and Poppy had taken care of each other, on occasions. If Min and Wil did get together, that aspect of their friendship would be different, of course. Min would then turn first and foremost to Wil.
But ‘different’ isn’t ‘less’, Poppy repeated her mantra firmly. There would be changes, but not even that many. For Minerva would still live at Hogwarts during the school year. And neither she nor Wilhelmina would want to give up their career. Nor would they ask it of each other.
And why can’t men be the same? Poppy thought. When I was young, a witch just had to give up work when she got married. And these days everyone claims we’re so modern, but we’re still stuck in the same rut. When do our girls ever see a woman who combines work and a family? We give them a fine education and career-counselling galore, but what they see is that a job is what happens when you can’t find a man.
In her younger days Poppy had had no intention of giving up her work as a Healer and had not met a wizard who understood - or whom she loved so much that nothing else mattered.
“Perhaps a small part-time job, when the children are older, and if it doesn’t interfere with our family life,” had been the best offer. From that young, high-flying Ministry chap she had met at a cousin’s wedding. She had sent him packing after that. Damn, what was his name again? At the time, she had cared enough to cry herself to sleep, and now she couldn’t even remember his name.
As a result, Poppy had remained single and was still not interested in finding a partner. But that didn’t stop her from seeing that other people might be very happy together. And she would not be selfish. She would promote the match between Min and Wil. With the greatest subtlety, mind. She would …
“And you, Poppy, what are your plans?”
It was Pomona who asked the question, and not for the first time, either.
“Goodness, Poppy, you’re miles away - we all just wanted a lazy day, but you look as if you’re cooking up all sorts of ideas.”
“Oh, no. Definitely not. A lazy day by the pool and on the terrace is just the thing,” Poppy hastened to say. The travelling had been fatiguing for all of them, and they had two whole weeks. No need at all to start running around.
“Good. That’s settled, then. I think I’ll just trot into the town. It’s less than a mile, and I can get in a few fresh things for dinner- I offer to cook tonight.”
Predictably Minerva protested, saying she was more than willing to do her bit, and she could prepare a meal, too.
“God help us,” said Pomona.
Poppy sighed. While she agreed that Minerva should have a day of complete rest after the Port-Key trip, and while, having sampled her cooking, she had to agree with Pomona’s assessment as well, she felt that it could have been put in a better way. Gentle firmness, for Merlin’s sake.
“Of course Minerva can prepare a totally adequate meal,” she said. “Her bangers and mash are very good, you’ve said so yourself. But …” she hesitated.
“But we all know it’s the only meal she can cook. Let’s face it, Min, you’ve many talents, but being a chef isn’t one of them.”
“Perhaps…” Poppy and Wil both said at the same time.
“I had planned,” said Minerva in a tone that silenced the coven as effectively as her students, “I had planned to get authentic Italian sausages. With fennel - it’s a local specialty and I’d really like to try them. And I was going to replace the mash by pasta and tomato sauce. From a jar. With the things we bought yesterday everyone can make a decent meal. An authentic Italian one, too.”
Oh, she could, they all agreed. And indeed, she should. One of these days. It would be wonderful. Wouldn’t it? Fennel sausages, fancy that! An experience to look forward to.
“You’ll have to beg me on bended knee after this vote of confidence,” said Minerva. “And you can consider yourselves very lucky that I’m still willing to clean up after you. I am an expert cleaner.” This with a piercing look at Pomona, who was a wonderful cook, but a messy one, indeed.
“That’s settled, then,” said Pomona. “It’s still a bit fresh; I’ll do the shopping right now, before it gets hotter.”
“Mind if I join you?” asked Wil, and they set off together, discussing various ways with eggplant and zucchini.
Which was a bit of a bummer, thought Poppy as she cleared the breakfast table. Great chance for Min and Wil to spend some time talking by the pool.
But it was only the first day of the holiday. There was plenty of time for everything. So Poppy and Minerva went for a swim together. Or rather, they floated around, talking endlessly - of plans for outings, books they had read, which led to other books, which led to all sorts of things.
Everything will work out in its own, good time, thought Poppy. And meanwhile, sharing this lovely time with Min is just about as good as life can get.
*_*_*_*
It was official. Four mature, intelligent witches had considered the matter and the voting had been unanimous: Siena’s square was the most beautiful in the world. Its shell-shape, “just like a theatre, and the terraces are like seats for the audience,” said Pomona, while sipping a cappuccino. Its buildings, its fountain, its size, “I could sit and gaze all day,” said Minerva.
They had all visited and admired the cathedral earlier. They had taken a little stroll through the quaint old streets surrounding the square, and then they had decided on much-needed caffeine - a double espresso for Poppy, who, according to Minerva, didn’t have coffees but religious experiences on this Italian trip, and “how will you ever be able to live with Hogwarts coffee again?”
“I will endure the hardships of the Hogwash because of my angelic disposition. Surely after all those years we’ve known each other, you’ve realised that I’m a living saint?”
“May I quote you on that one next time one of my badgerkins has a little mishap?” Pomona grinned. “I seem to recall a few decidedly unsaintly outbursts …”
“It’s bad enough that a Hufflepuff hexes a Gryffindor so that leeks grow out of her ears. Even if the Hufflepuff is Welsh and the Gryffindor is Scottish and it’s the day of the Hufflepuff - Gryffindor match,” Poppy said sternly. “But for the Hufflepuff to tell this to her students as a good story and a jolly little prank I pulled when I was young - it’s an outrage. And who had to deal with the mess when your badgers decided to follow where you lead?”
“Poppy, you are as true a saint as ever lived,” said Minerva. “Next time you have to deal with anything like that, come to me, my dear. I’ll Transfigure our coffee into the closest I can get to Italian espresso. And I’ll commiserate with you on the iniquities of our colleagues. You’re right: it was an outrage. But I still scored six goals. And if you ever tell your students on whom you played that prank, Pomona Sprout, you’ll sit on thistles for a week, mark my words.”
“That’s what I like about Hogwarts,” said Wil. “The sisterly love it inspires in its Old Girls. But let’s turn our minds to this lovely square and our projects for the day. You’ll be back in the teaching - or healing - treadmill soon enough, and as someone who only does brief stints in the place, I can tell you that you are all, each and every one of you, a living …. vulture?”
“Why, thank you. You’re too … damn - you’re right! A vulture! That can only mean one thing …” Pomona stared in open-mouthed surprise.
“Oh wind, when vultures come, can Augusta be far behind?” sighed Minerva.
“What a coincidence!” Poppy gasped as a cheerfully-waving Augusta Longbottom, complete with vulture hat and red handbag, Statute of Secrecy be damned, proceeded across the square. Followed, at a slight distance that could just, but only just, be called respectful rather than embarrassed, by her long-suffering grandson who looked remarkably handsome in his Muggle jeans and t-shirt.
“What an unexpected pleasure,” Augusta enthused. “Fancy meeting you all. A little holiday?”
“No, we’ve just bought the Palazzo Pubblico to start a brothel together,” said Minerva. Wil smiled, clearly pleased to see this further example of sisterly love among Old Girls, and Augusta looked gobsmacked for all of three seconds.
“Yes, I can see how that would make a nice change from teaching,” she answered. “When do you plan to open?”
Poppy noticed how Pomona chuckled and sat up a bit straighter, like one does during a particularly gripping moment in a Quidditch match. A sharp angle to their banter? she thought. Bring out the Bludgers is more like it.
“We don’t, alas,” countered Minerva. “The asking price was too high to make it viable. Pity, I so wanted to tartan up the bordello style.”
Augusta looked more than ready to continue the duel. Someone had to bring back the spirit of rest and relaxation, and that someone was clearly Poppy. A few pleasant words to end both the conversation and the chance encounter, and all would be well, with no jinxes cast.
“Yes, indeed, we’re having a marvellous vacation,” she said. “And you’re having a holiday, too?” And then she had a sudden, vivid image of Minerva in very high heels and a tartan corset and not much else. And she added, “Do join us for a coffee.”
Minerva, Pomona, and even Wil, stared at her in total surprise. And I can’t even explain why I said that,” she thought. Well, I could, but … The image of Minerva in a tartan corset would go down well enough - in fact, the coven would scream with laughter. But that sudden rush of … of … feelings that had made her blurt out the first thing that came to mind …
“I don’t mind if I do,” said Augusta, drawing up an empty chair. “And yes, Neville and I are having a bit of fun. A reward after his brave fight - you’ve all heard how Neville saved Harry Potter and …”
“I didn’t save him, Gran,” said Neville, while Pomona and Minerva both confirmed that yes, indeed, they knew all about it, very brave, dreadful events, let’s not bring them up on this beautiful day. Neville’s grateful look more than made up for Augusta’s glare.
“And Neville really wanted to see Siena. I’ve told him so much about it - Frank loved Siena. My Frank, I mean, my caro sposo as the Italians say. So now we’re here! It’s our last day already - just a three-day trip. Oh, I could watch all the art for weeks and weeks, when I go on a trip I just live for culture. But one must consider the young. Can’t expect them to have the same interests.”
Which is why you might have chosen another destination, thought Poppy, or even given your grandson a little trip with a friend. To some place of his choice.
“I didn’t know you two cared about art,” Augusta continued, with a surprised look at Pomona and Wilhelmina. “But the Italians have marvellous gardens, too. Have you heard of the Boboli gardens in Florence?”
“Of course,” Pomona answered. In many a staff meeting, such an ‘of course’ from Pomona ended a discussion once and for all, the topic never to return. On this occasion, it led to a lengthy description from Augusta and a look that was both anguished and apologetic from Neville.
“Are you staying in a hotel?” Minerva enquired politely. “We’ve rented a villa together.”
“A villa! Isn’t that rather grand?” Only Augusta would ask such a question.
“We value our privacy,” said Minerva. With a slight increase of her Scottish brogue, Poppy noted with some concern.
“Villas for four are really quite affordable,” Minerva continued. “And we felt we deserved a little treat, after a year of strenuous academic work …” Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, smiled benevolently.
Augusta Longbottom, wife-of-Frank and mother-of-Frank, did not smile back.
Poppy glanced at Pomona, who gave her a very small nod. Poppy nodded back, remembering Pomona’s story of the break-up. Augusta’s decision to marry Frank had also meant the end of the girls’ plans for a joint career in Transfiguration, Pomona had told her. “And that really did it: they had both passionately loved their studies, and suddenly Augusta went all ‘true destiny of women’ on Minerva. It made the rejection even more complete: both of Minerva herself and of her ambitions. Augusta has always carried that wife-and-mother status around like a banner. Min used to give some pretty fierce ripostes when Augusta went into joys of motherhood mode, but now, of course … what with young Frank and Alice, and everything being so ghastly …”
True. Trust Minerva to get the message across, regardless.
Augusta enthused some more on the beauties of Siena and on the delights of seeing it all with her caro sposo during “our honeymoon - the best time a woman could have, the happiest weeks of my life.”
And if we don’t get rid of her quickly, either Minerva or I will do something drastic, Poppy thought.
“You simply must go and see those frescos of Saint Catherine - so beautiful, so interesting,” Augusta went on.
“What an excellent idea,” said Poppy.
“Let’s go at once, Augusta has given me such a desire to see them,” Minerva added. Pomona and Wil agreed that indeed, they couldn’t spend the whole day on the square. Well, yes, they could, actually, it was that beautiful, but there was more to see, wasn’t there?”
Matters were then settled quickly. Augusta announced a visit to a museum that “Neville would absolutely love,” Minerva and Poppy checked the exact location of Saint Catherine’s house on their map, and Wil asked if they would mind very much if Pomona and she went off to climb the tower of the Palazzo.
They set off, while Minerva asked them to take lots of pictures of the view and especially the view on the square, and Augusta informed them they should keep their cameras straight, “which is something all amateurs forget, and it looks so silly if your horizon is slanting.”
As they waited for Neville and Minerva, who had gone to use the facilities of the restaurant, Augusta nodded in the direction of Wil and Pomona, making their way to the palazzo. “Look at that!” she said. “I’ve always liked Pomona, and it’s clear that they’re both …” She hesitated briefly. “Well, I mean … it’s pretty obvious that they are … very well suited. Both outdoorsy people. Quite a lot in common. With the same inclinations, if you know what I mean. Ah, there you are, Neville.”
And they set off, leaving Poppy completely and utterly speechless.
*_*_*_*
“Look, this seems the shortest way,” said Minerva, pointing at their map. “Poppy?”
With a tremendous effort of will Poppy focused on the map. “You’re quite right. Let’s go,” she said.
“Poppy? Is there something wrong? Would you prefer to do something else? I only mentioned seeing those frescos to get rid of Augusta - another word on her caro sposo and I would have hexed her.”
Poppy assured her that she’d love to see the frescos, which would no doubt be wonderful in spite of Augusta’s recommendation, and together they climbed the narrow street leading away from the square.
Was anything wrong? Well, to begin with, Poppy had just realised that Augusta might be right, curse her. Pomona and Wil … they had spent quite a lot of time together. They had a lot in common. And when Poppy had suggested asking Wil on the trip, Pomona had been overjoyed. Now it was clear why. Not because of the match with Minerva. Wil and Pomona … it seemed so obvious, all of a sudden.
And Poppy’s wonderful plan had come to naught. She had every right to be disappointed. Or angry. Or worried about Minerva - would she be upset about it?
So why, Poppy Pomfrey, do you feel giddy with relief? Why do you want to skip and laugh and clap your hands? Why do you want to do happy dances at the thought of being still the most important person in Minerva’s life? What exactly is it, that you’re feeling right now? What does this mean?
“Poppy, dear? Is there anything wrong?”
Get a grip, woman! Whatever is going on inside you, Minerva shouldn’t have to worry. Poppy thought. Give some sort of explanation. Anything but the truth.
“It’s nothing - I was just annoyed with Augusta. It’s the way she treats Neville. I mean that insistence on how he saved Harry, which he didn’t do. But she completely ignores the brave things he does. And this trip isn’t really about him, either, is it?”
“Oh, you’re so right. Saying something would only make it worse for Neville, of course, so I kept quiet, too. Besides, I wrote her a pretty outspoken letter at the start of last year - remember? I told you about it - and that clearly didn’t do any good. I do feel sorry for the boy. She loves him dearly, I don’t doubt that, and she wants what’s best for him. I know she does. But she’s just so … so … so self-centred. She was lucky to get away when she did. I don’t know that I could have borne it any longer. I could have …”
“You want to be careful,” said Poppy with mock-severity. “She would get a canonization out of it. Saintly woman suffers martyrdom at hands of evil witch.”
“She would, too! Would the halo be round her head or round the vulture’s?” They both started to laugh.
“Hers,” said Poppy, at the same time that Minerva said, “The vulture’s.”
“Both,” Poppy amended. “One for Augusta, for her martyrdom by thistles - has that been done before, even? - and one for the vulture, for martyrdom by art-overdose.”
“The one and only …” began Minerva.
“Culture-vulture!” they both shouted.
“I can’t remember when I’ve last laughed like that,” said Minerva when they could speak again. “I’d almost say, ‘bless Augusta’.
Bless Augusta, indeed thought Poppy. Tonight, in the privacy of her bed, she would evaluate today’s events. Examine her feelings. Think about it all. For now, she would enjoy Minerva’s company.
And the wonderful sunlight and the wonderful frescos.
And the wonderful, wonderful holiday.
*_*_*_*
“Min,” said Poppy, “that meal was great. Really great.”
Minerva had found her fennel sausages in a butcher shop in Siena, and she had looked so pleased that Poppy hadn’t had the heart to object to cooking on an outing-day. Now she was glad she hadn’t; Minerva was clearly under way to being her old self and had stood both outing and cooking perfectly well. The holiday was doing everything Poppy had hoped for. Everything except …
In a way, of course, it had done that, too. A match had been made. Poppy had observed everyone during dinner, and it had become increasingly clear that Augusta was right. Pomona and Wil simply exuded bliss. And Minerva was so happy and relaxed, and, yes, pleased about the whole situation, that Poppy needn’t worry for her sake.
They had spent a lovely evening together, eating outside on the terrace. Pomona and Wil had talked about their afternoon, Poppy and Minerva had described the frescos of Saint Catherine and the stories they had made up to go with the images.
And they had praised Minerva to the skies for her meal of fennel sausages and pasta. Minerva, while pouring the last of the vin santo and handing round the biscotti, waved away their compliments and told them what a pleasure it was to cook for her cara … what was the Italian word for ‘friends’? Amica? Would that be amici in plural?
“No,” said Pomona, “That’s masculine, I think. Isn’t it pizza - pizze?”
“Which would make it amica - amice? My care amice then, it was a pleasure to cook for my care amice. That alone would make it the best time a woman could have and the happiest weeks of my life, I’m sure,” said Minerva. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’m about ready for bed. It’s been a lovely day, but I do admit to being a bit tired.”
“Quite. Think I’ll do the same,” said Wil. “Unless you need help with clearing up?”
“Not at all - Minerva didn’t leave any mess. Unlike me,” said Pomona, who was generous enough to give credit where credit was due. “Poppy and I will have done the job in no time.” She nodded at Wil, who nodded back. With an understanding look, Poppy noticed. What were those two up to? There was something, for sure …
“I’ll dry,” she offered when they had cleared the table together. “It’s great seeing Min look so well, isn’t it? She’s tired now, but that’s normal. This holiday’s really good for her, though, don’t you think?”
“It is,” said Pomona. “It’s doing her a world of good, and it was all your idea. And it’s not just Minerva who has the time of her life … You were great to think of this, Poppy. I can’t thank you enough. I mean … You may have noticed … about … well … I mean …”
“About you and Wil?” Poppy decided to take pity on her friend, however much she enjoyed the sight of frank, occasionally even blunt Pomona completely at loss for words.
“Yes! Oh, Poppy, we’re so happy. And we’re so grateful to you, for thinking of this holiday. It was just what we needed. It turns out we both felt the same, right from the first time we met. Only, there was so much going on at Hogwarts, and I wasn’t sure Wil felt the same, and neither was she. Min told me to get my act together and do something about it … you know she can be a bit forthright on occasions?”
Poppy grinned. Forthright? Coming from Pomona, that was a strong one. But Min told her to go for it? In a way, that was great news.
“Min told you?” she asked, wanting to be sure. “She encouraged you?”
“Yes - do you think that so odd?” Pomona looked worried, all of a sudden.
“No, not at all,” Poppy hastened to say. Damn! It was a relief to know for certain that Min had never had thoughts of Wil. That she definitely wasn’t upset or disappointed or anything. But this had been tactless.
“I think the two of you are a wonderful match,” she said. “It’s just … Minerva as a matchmaker!”
There. Perfectly believable. Poppy might not be able to see clearly in matters of love, but she could save a situation. See? Pomona was smiling already.
But not with her eyes, Poppy noted, and she still behaved like a cat on hot bricks. That frying-pan was clean - any more scouring and Pomona would scour out the bottom.
“What is it, dear? Did I say something wrong?” Poppy asked.
“Well … no, of course not, everything is great. It’s just … you mentioned match-making. And normally, I don’t think people should. Embarrassment all around. Much better to leave well alone. But ... The thing is … Have you ever felt that happy you wanted the whole world to be happy?”
This afternoon, when I heard that Minerva wasn’t about to waltz off into the sunset, thought Poppy.
“It has happened,” she admitted carefully.
“That’s how I feel. And I know match-making is awful and I’ll only say it this once, and I’m probably making the mistake of my life, but then again, if I don’t say it I’ll always reproach myself as well, and please don’t be angry about it.”
“Good heavens, dear, what are you talking about?” Poppy was seriously intrigued now. Pomona was positively babbling. Was she really about to start match-making herself? Had she thought of a match for her, Poppy? But whom? Surely there were no eligible men around Hogwarts? Besides, Poppy didn’t want to marry. Never had. Never been sufficiently interested in any man to contemplate …
In fact, that’s bloody revealing. Now that I think of it. Now that I really think of it. That goes quite some way to explaining what the hell it was I felt this afternoon. Not that I’m completely uninterested in men - I was just never interested enough. Bloody hell.
“What I’m talking about - promise me you won’t be angry. I’m talking about Min. You and Min. You would be great together. I’ve thought so for years. And Wil thinks so, too. And I happen to know … That is, Min once said something that … oh, what the hell. Listen, Poppy, Min and I have known each other since our school days. She confided in me. She told me she was interested - about a year or two ago, she told me. More than interested. But she didn’t think you were.
“And there’s the thing with Augusta. Mind, Min hasn’t lived a spinster’s life ever since - not one to spend half a century pining for a lost love. But it has made her cautious. Especially with … well, the partners she’s had were all lesbians who were very much out.
“She said she thought the odds against were overwhelming, and it would ruin a friendship that means the world to her. Which is what I may be doing now. Ruining a friendship. But … but …” Pomona fell silent at last.
“You didn’t,” said Poppy. “You didn’t ruin a friendship.”
It was the one coherent thought she could come up with.
*_*_*_*
At some point Pomona must have left the kitchen. For the life of her Poppy couldn’t remember when or how. She did have some recollection of Pomona saying, “You want to think about it.” Or perhaps it had been Poppy herself who had said it needed thinking about.
She must have got herself undressed and in bed, and in her nightshirt, too. Had she? Poppy felt the fabric of her dress. Yes, nightshirt all right.
It certainly needed thinking about.
Thank heavens Poppy remained cool and in control even when in shock. A lesser person might have given in to temptation. Might have jumped up and down, screaming Yes, yes, yes!!! Emma Woodhouse might have done so. In a nineteenth-century way. Emma, who never wanted to marry either. A better version of Emma, she had thought herself? Ha!
Still, Poppy’s first reaction might be a Yes!, but she would remain calm and examine her second and third reactions, too. There was a wonderful friendship to consider. More importantly, Minerva’s feelings had to be considered. Poppy needed to be sure, very sure, of what she felt herself before she could even begin to give Minerva hope.
If Minerva still felt the same, of course. Pomona seemed to think so. But Pomona had also said that Minerva wasn’t the type to pine forever, and two years was a long time.
So once Poppy was certain of her feelings … and she couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything else than what she felt right now, which was just … just … just … everything …
But when she was certain, she would have to think about the next step. What to do. How to put it. There wasn’t just the friendship to consider, they were colleagues, too. In a boarding school. An awkward situation would be truly, painfully awkward.
Or, wait…
Perhaps …
Yes! Why not? Pomona might have called Poppy a ‘meddlesome matchmaker’ once, but she had done quite a bit of match-making herself, bless her. Pomona might test the waters … bring things up carefully …
Poppy would have to brief her, of course. None of the Pomona bluntness. No Poppy fancies you something rotten - what about it?
But it could be done. She would give it all some time to sink in. And then … who knows … but she’d have to think about herself first. With some considerable care. What was that line again?
Poppy Pomfrey, handsome, not so very clever after all, but with a satisfying career and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence, and had lived to a witch’s middle age without really knowing herself at all …
We were our usual critical selves, and then I thought it would be fun to try a re-write myself. The result you'll find below. It's my take on Emma and my entry for this year's Minerva_fest.
kellychambliss, ardent Austonian and beta-reader extra-ordinaire, offered invaluable advice, as always. Thank you, dear, for improving my writing and for five glorious years of Minerva-centered works!
Title: Sense and Persuasion
Rating: PG
Word Count: 7900
Characters and/or Pairings: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Pomona Sprout, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Augusta Longbottom. In due course, pairings will develop.
Summary: Poppy Pomfrey has all the best characteristics of Emma Woodhouse, and the wisdom that comes with age. So when she interferes, it isn’t meddling. Not at all.
Warnings: None.
Poppy Pomfrey, handsome, clever, and with a satisfying career and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence, and had lived to a witch’s middle age with very little to distress or vex her …
… with no more to distress or vex her than could be expected …
… well, actually, with quite a lot to distress and vex her.
No, however hard Poppy tried, however much she loved Miss Austen’s elegant way of putting things, she couldn’t make the first line of Emma fit her own situation completely. Very little to distress? If only.
Damn and blast You-Know-Who and his return. Damn and blast the Ministry that appointed Umbridges and allowed their minions to cast Stunners - Stunners - on Minerva McGonagall. The Deputy Headmistress. In front of the students, for crying out loud.
Emma Woodhouse might have very little to vex her, but Poppy Pomfrey’s whole world was a mess. Still, Poppy had often thought she and Emma had quite a lot in common. For instance, they were both loyal to their friends, and they both wanted to do what was best for them.
Only, Emma didn’t always set about things in the most sensible way. But, to be fair, she hadn’t had as good an education as Poppy. And she was about half a century younger. Emma at twenty-one could not be expected to have the good sense Poppy had at sixty-two. And one had to consider Miss Austen’s needs as well. If all Emma’s projects had run as smoothly as Poppy’s, there wouldn’t be enough material for a book.
But in certain ways I am a bit like Emma, thought Poppy. A more effective and certainly more sensible Emma.
Take friendships, for instance. Emma had had the chance to befriend the lovely Jane Fairfax. Poppy had always had a guilty preference for Jane, whom she liked much better than the actual heroine of the story. But foolish Emma, with her need to be the best and brightest in any company, had missed a wonderful opportunity.
Poppy had had the chance to befriend Minerva McGonagall. Who was quite as Poppy imagined a middle-aged Jane to be - every bit as clever and as talented. She had often thought that Minerva had more gifts and was a far better person than Poppy herself. But had that stopped her from becoming great friends? Certainly not. It was a friendship that had given her many hours of joy.
And now dear Minerva very much needed a loyal friend. Someone who would do some … no, not meddling, that was entirely the wrong word, that was what well-meaning, silly Emma did … some gentle steering. A friend who could see what Minerva needed and who could administer the treatment with a gentle-yet-kind hand.
And a Slytherin brain. Because it had to be faced, Min could be a tad stubborn. The diagnosis had been simple: a hellishly busy year organizing the Triwizard Tournament had ended in the horror of Cedric Diggory’s death and the return of You-Know-Who. It had been followed by an equally busy summer running around on Order business, and then a year in which Dolores Umbridge had tried to destroy everything Minerva stood for. With those four Stunners to round things off.
Poppy forced herself to focus on the present. Minerva was alive and slowly getting better. There was no point in dwelling on the anguish of that first night after the attack, when she hadn’t known whether Min would survive. Or on the misery of sending her to St Mungo’s. Medically speaking it had been the only thing to do, and Poppy had done it. But it had taken all of her courage to let her dearest friend go out of sight.
In a way it was ironic that it was the return of You-Know-Who that had turned Minerva into Poppy’s dearest friend, rather than just a colleague with whom she was friendly. Not that she had realised at the time that You-Know-Who had anything to do with it.
When Miss Granger had had her unfortunate mishap with the Polyjuice, Minerva and Poppy had thought it a student’s prank. Or, Miss Granger being who she was, not quite a prank, but the same sort of eagerness to learn that had made her try to deal with a mountain troll single-handedly. Little did they know at the time what - or rather who - was behind the whole, terrible business of the Petrifications.
Minerva had been worried about Miss Granger’s condition - far more worried, Poppy thought, than the situation warranted. The girl would be right as rain in a month, no permanent harm done, and catching up on missed lessons would be a piece of cake for her.
“It isn’t that,” Minerva had said, as they sat down with a cup of tea in Poppy’s office. “It’s the Muggle-born thing.” Poppy had looked surprised, and Minerva had explained. “These parents have had the shock of learning their child is a witch. And they’ve had to let her go into this unknown world, full of things they cannot even begin to understand. All parents trust their children to our care, but for Muggle parents it must be so much worse. And now their beloved girl is hideously deformed, albeit temporarily, by a potion she has made herself from a book she should never have had but that a teacher allowed her to get out of the library. Damn and blast Gilderoy Lockhart! How can I possibly explain this to the Grangers? They’ve sent us their child, expecting us to protect her, and I feel I’ve failed them.”
That wasn’t true, of course, and Poppy could have told Minerva that she could not possibly be blamed. She had been on the verge of saying so when she had remembered an incident during her training days. A patient had died. Not through any fault of hers. It had been one of those tragedies that couldn’t be prevented. But Poppy had felt as if she’d failed her patient.
“It’s nonsense,” her mentor had said. “If I were in your shoes, you’d tell me exactly that. Rationally we all know it’s nonsense, and we can tell it to others, but when it’s us, it feels different. We agonise. It’s what makes us good Healers, as long as we don’t drown in it. You’ll have to learn not to drown. For what it’s worth: you are not to blame. Also for what it’s worth: I know how you feel.”
Strangely, it had helped. Not that it took away the agony. There was still a part of Poppy that felt that, while her mentor was right in general, this case was different. But it had done her good to realise that her colleague truly knew how she felt.
So instead of trying to convince Minerva that she wasn’t to blame, Poppy had told her own hospital story and had ended with her mentor’s words.
“Thanks,” Minerva had said, and, with a quick smile, “It does help. A little.” Poppy had known that helping ‘a little’ was the best she could hope to do in a case like this. It was from that moment on that they had grown closer. Not merely good friends, like Poppy was good friends with Pomona, but something special. A friendship where they could understand each other without words, because they often felt the same.
What Minerva needed right now was rest. Lots of rest, to get over the last, lingering consequences of the Stunners and over her general state of exhaustion caused by the work of those last two years. A state that had contributed significantly to the damage from the attack. But she also needed regular doses of gentle exercise to rebuild her strength.
What Minerva wanted, however, was to carry on as if nothing had happened, and she had not taken kindly to Pomona’s and Poppy’s suggestion she take it easy and delegate a bit. “Careful now, Min,” Poppy had said. “That walking stick is meant as an aid, not as a weapon.”
True, Minerva had laughed at the joke, but, “A weapon is an aid, too. Of sorts,” she had muttered, and Poppy had realised that it was not the best of plans to use the Gryffindor approach of simply telling Minerva she needed a careful balance of rest and exercise and that Poppy would see to it that she got it.
Which is why Poppy Pomfrey was such an improvement on Miss Austen’s Emma. What she had was … if one wanted to stay in line with the original, Sense and Persuasion would just about sum it up.
For here was Minerva, calmly - nay, make that enthusiastically agreeing to Plan B, the essence of which still was: rest first and foremost.
“It sounds wonderful,” said Minerva. “Poppy, how did you think of it? Of course I want to come. Now, tell me all the details.”
And Poppy, gleefully, explained how she had had a longing to see Tuscany all her life. And so had Pomona, as it turned out. But what with the exorbitant prices for single hotel rooms, it just wasn’t realistic. And then Poppy had had her idea, and yes, she was rather pleased with it herself. And she had done all the research and yes, it was possible to rent a cottage in Tuscany. Only, they didn’t call it a cottage but a villa - didn’t that sound grand?
“It has three bedrooms,” she told Minerva, “Ideally, it should be four bedrooms, of course. But that does make it so much more expensive. And one of the rooms has two single beds, so it isn’t really a problem. I don’t mind sharing.
“Just imagine, we can be as lazy or as active as we want. There’s a small swimming pool, and a garden, and a terrace which offers some shade, too. And whenever we want to be active, there’s so much to see! Florence, Siena, San Gimignano - lots of places!”
“Mind,” said Pomona, who had been properly briefed by Poppy beforehand, “It’s in the middle of the tourist season. We’ll have to consider the Statute: no brooms, no Apparition. Too much of a risk. But Poppy has a Muggle driver’s license, the clever thing. So we’ll rent a little car - all those places are so close together, we’ll be able to make all sorts of wonderful trips.”
“Too bad about the brooms,” said Minerva, predictably, for she loved flying. But was there also a hint of relief in her eyes at the thought of being transported so comfortably? As long as no-one suggested the car had anything to do with anyone’s physical fitness or lack thereof, Minerva was clearly prepared to accept the idea.
Likewise, Poppy was sure of it, Min would accept the idea of rest days between their outings, if the other inmates of the villa expressed a wish for a quiet day, or a feeling of fatigue from the previous trip. There would be no need to mention Stunners or revalidation.
“And we can all keep house together,” Pomona enthused. “All four of us!” For Minerva had not just applauded the idea of a Tuscan holiday, but the idea of inviting Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank as well.
As Poppy knew she would. When Wilhelmina had first come to Hogwarts to replace Hagrid, she, Poppy, had noticed how well Min and Wil got along. It had made her vaguely uneasy. Poppy didn’t have much of a gaydar - she had been sincerely surprised when Pomona had mentioned, years earlier, when Neville Longbottom started his first year, that the redoubtable Augusta had once had an affair with Minerva.
“But then they broke up and Augusta married Frank. Or rather, Augusta ended it in order to marry Frank,” Pomona had explained. “That’s why there’s such a sharp angle to their banter. On the face of it, they get along just fine. Remained friends and all that. But underneath …”
“Perhaps,” Poppy had suggested, “perhaps there’s something else, too. Perhaps they still have feelings for each other and the tension is …”
“Sexual tension? Unresolved sexual tension?” Pomona had howled with laughter.
“It could be,” Poppy had said, slightly miffed. It would be lovely for Minerva to find someone, and her friends should wish for it rather than wet their pants laughing.
“Now, don’t become a meddlesome matchmaker, dear,” Pomona had said. “Of course I’d want Min to be happy, but that particular relationship is as dead as the dodo, believe me.”
Poppy had decided to believe her own eyes, rather than Pomona, and to remain very quiet about it until she had made up her mind. And in the end, Pomona had been right.
But it didn’t take a gaydar to spot Wilhelmina’s preferences. At first Poppy had been a bit worried. What if this mutual liking would grow into something more? Much had changed since she had considered a match between Minerva and Augusta. Minerva was now Poppy’s closest and dearest friend. A romantic relationship for Min would change that friendship. It was inevitable.
If she wanted to be as good a friend for Min as Min was for her, however, she shouldn’t be selfish. Things would be different, but their friendship would not be less. The jealousy was a base emotion, and when Wilhelmina had returned the next year for a second spell of substitute teaching, Poppy planned to help things along. Firmly but gently. If Minerva was too swamped with work to notice just how suitable Wilhelmina was, Poppy would step in and organise things. A tea-party, say. Or even a dinner.
In the end her plans had come to naught. Each time she wanted to set up her little party, there was something going on, and it seemed best to wait until Minerva was less preoccupied. And then, all of a sudden, Hagrid was back and she had missed her chance. Or rather, Minerva had missed her chance.
Poppy had spent some time pondering whether she had not, unconsciously, delayed things until it was too late because of that brief pang of jealousy. For, unlike Emma Woodhouse, she was capable of critical self-reflection. In this case, I have been like Emma, she thought. I’ve thought that it would be a very good thing if Minerva and Wilhelmina got together, and then I’ve done absolutely nothing to promote it. It may well have been for the same reason: I want my friend to be happy, but I don’t want things to change. That was badly done, Poppy Pomfrey.
But it was not too late to make amends. So when Pomona and Poppy had first discussed Poppy’s plans for the “Min Must Rest Holiday”, she had felt quite virtuous when she had suggested inviting Wilhelmina as well. “If you think it’s a good idea,” she had added, remembering Pomona’s sharp insight in the Augusta-situation.
But this time Pomona had beamed, positively beamed. “Wonderful!” she had exclaimed, and, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re the best friend anyone can have.”
Clearly Pomona thought as she did: Wilhelmina and Minerva were made for each other. There was no need to say anything out loud. Poppy wasn’t a meddlesome matchmaker, after all. She merely created a possibility.
Meanwhile, Minerva had agreed with all her plans. Three good friends would ensure the fourth one didn’t overdo things. And two good friends would have the time to find out whether there could be more between them.
And all of them would have a lovely holiday in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
The world at large might be a mess, but thanks to Poppy’s firm-but-gentle hand, the little corner that she could rule was shaping up quite nicely.
*_*_*_*
“So, what are today’s plans?” asked Pomona as she speared a slice of peach on her fork.
They had arrived the day before. The Port-Key trip had been as uneventful as possible, and Min had stood it well. They had picked up their little rental car, Poppy had carefully steered it out of town and had heaved a sigh of relief when they were on the quiet country roads.
By the time they had reached San Gimignano she had had enough confidence to follow the signs to a supermercato, and they had all enjoyed the shopping. “We need a few basics in case we want an easy dinner,” Pomona suggested. So a packet of pasta, a jar or two of ready-made sauce and a few bottles of wine had been added to the breakfast things, along with some jars of antipasti, a package of amaretti biscuits and a bottle of vin santo to go with them. Supermarkets, they all agreed, were tremendous fun.
Once they had arrived in the villa there had been a tricky moment. Minerva had said she and Pomona would share a room, “for we’ve known each other since our own Hogwarts days.”
“I see your point,” Poppy had started, wary of where to go next. Minerva needed a room of her own, of course. Preferably with a double bed - not just for comfort, but also … if the thing with Wilhelmina worked out …
And it looked as if that just might happen, for while Poppy had still been thinking of a tactful alternative to ‘you’re not quite well yet’, Wil had stepped in and solved the matter.
“You need a room of your own,” she had said. “Need to be able to get your rest whenever you want to. Poppy and I will share. We’re both in the healing business; plenty to talk about.”
And when Minerva had taken a good deep breath, the better to voice a lengthy protest, Wil had added, “There’s three of us and just one of you. So your argument is invalid.”
To Poppy’s surprise Min had just laughed and given in. “Oh, all right,” she had said. “Take advantage of a poor, vulnerable invalid. But remember - one day it’ll be pay-back time.” Had she been secretly relieved that Wil had settled things? If so, it was promising.
Yes, that’s what it was: promising. There was no need to feel even the slightest bit jealous just because Min allowed Wil to take care of her. It was what good friends did. Min and Poppy had taken care of each other, on occasions. If Min and Wil did get together, that aspect of their friendship would be different, of course. Min would then turn first and foremost to Wil.
But ‘different’ isn’t ‘less’, Poppy repeated her mantra firmly. There would be changes, but not even that many. For Minerva would still live at Hogwarts during the school year. And neither she nor Wilhelmina would want to give up their career. Nor would they ask it of each other.
And why can’t men be the same? Poppy thought. When I was young, a witch just had to give up work when she got married. And these days everyone claims we’re so modern, but we’re still stuck in the same rut. When do our girls ever see a woman who combines work and a family? We give them a fine education and career-counselling galore, but what they see is that a job is what happens when you can’t find a man.
In her younger days Poppy had had no intention of giving up her work as a Healer and had not met a wizard who understood - or whom she loved so much that nothing else mattered.
“Perhaps a small part-time job, when the children are older, and if it doesn’t interfere with our family life,” had been the best offer. From that young, high-flying Ministry chap she had met at a cousin’s wedding. She had sent him packing after that. Damn, what was his name again? At the time, she had cared enough to cry herself to sleep, and now she couldn’t even remember his name.
As a result, Poppy had remained single and was still not interested in finding a partner. But that didn’t stop her from seeing that other people might be very happy together. And she would not be selfish. She would promote the match between Min and Wil. With the greatest subtlety, mind. She would …
“And you, Poppy, what are your plans?”
It was Pomona who asked the question, and not for the first time, either.
“Goodness, Poppy, you’re miles away - we all just wanted a lazy day, but you look as if you’re cooking up all sorts of ideas.”
“Oh, no. Definitely not. A lazy day by the pool and on the terrace is just the thing,” Poppy hastened to say. The travelling had been fatiguing for all of them, and they had two whole weeks. No need at all to start running around.
“Good. That’s settled, then. I think I’ll just trot into the town. It’s less than a mile, and I can get in a few fresh things for dinner- I offer to cook tonight.”
Predictably Minerva protested, saying she was more than willing to do her bit, and she could prepare a meal, too.
“God help us,” said Pomona.
Poppy sighed. While she agreed that Minerva should have a day of complete rest after the Port-Key trip, and while, having sampled her cooking, she had to agree with Pomona’s assessment as well, she felt that it could have been put in a better way. Gentle firmness, for Merlin’s sake.
“Of course Minerva can prepare a totally adequate meal,” she said. “Her bangers and mash are very good, you’ve said so yourself. But …” she hesitated.
“But we all know it’s the only meal she can cook. Let’s face it, Min, you’ve many talents, but being a chef isn’t one of them.”
“Perhaps…” Poppy and Wil both said at the same time.
“I had planned,” said Minerva in a tone that silenced the coven as effectively as her students, “I had planned to get authentic Italian sausages. With fennel - it’s a local specialty and I’d really like to try them. And I was going to replace the mash by pasta and tomato sauce. From a jar. With the things we bought yesterday everyone can make a decent meal. An authentic Italian one, too.”
Oh, she could, they all agreed. And indeed, she should. One of these days. It would be wonderful. Wouldn’t it? Fennel sausages, fancy that! An experience to look forward to.
“You’ll have to beg me on bended knee after this vote of confidence,” said Minerva. “And you can consider yourselves very lucky that I’m still willing to clean up after you. I am an expert cleaner.” This with a piercing look at Pomona, who was a wonderful cook, but a messy one, indeed.
“That’s settled, then,” said Pomona. “It’s still a bit fresh; I’ll do the shopping right now, before it gets hotter.”
“Mind if I join you?” asked Wil, and they set off together, discussing various ways with eggplant and zucchini.
Which was a bit of a bummer, thought Poppy as she cleared the breakfast table. Great chance for Min and Wil to spend some time talking by the pool.
But it was only the first day of the holiday. There was plenty of time for everything. So Poppy and Minerva went for a swim together. Or rather, they floated around, talking endlessly - of plans for outings, books they had read, which led to other books, which led to all sorts of things.
Everything will work out in its own, good time, thought Poppy. And meanwhile, sharing this lovely time with Min is just about as good as life can get.
*_*_*_*
It was official. Four mature, intelligent witches had considered the matter and the voting had been unanimous: Siena’s square was the most beautiful in the world. Its shell-shape, “just like a theatre, and the terraces are like seats for the audience,” said Pomona, while sipping a cappuccino. Its buildings, its fountain, its size, “I could sit and gaze all day,” said Minerva.
They had all visited and admired the cathedral earlier. They had taken a little stroll through the quaint old streets surrounding the square, and then they had decided on much-needed caffeine - a double espresso for Poppy, who, according to Minerva, didn’t have coffees but religious experiences on this Italian trip, and “how will you ever be able to live with Hogwarts coffee again?”
“I will endure the hardships of the Hogwash because of my angelic disposition. Surely after all those years we’ve known each other, you’ve realised that I’m a living saint?”
“May I quote you on that one next time one of my badgerkins has a little mishap?” Pomona grinned. “I seem to recall a few decidedly unsaintly outbursts …”
“It’s bad enough that a Hufflepuff hexes a Gryffindor so that leeks grow out of her ears. Even if the Hufflepuff is Welsh and the Gryffindor is Scottish and it’s the day of the Hufflepuff - Gryffindor match,” Poppy said sternly. “But for the Hufflepuff to tell this to her students as a good story and a jolly little prank I pulled when I was young - it’s an outrage. And who had to deal with the mess when your badgers decided to follow where you lead?”
“Poppy, you are as true a saint as ever lived,” said Minerva. “Next time you have to deal with anything like that, come to me, my dear. I’ll Transfigure our coffee into the closest I can get to Italian espresso. And I’ll commiserate with you on the iniquities of our colleagues. You’re right: it was an outrage. But I still scored six goals. And if you ever tell your students on whom you played that prank, Pomona Sprout, you’ll sit on thistles for a week, mark my words.”
“That’s what I like about Hogwarts,” said Wil. “The sisterly love it inspires in its Old Girls. But let’s turn our minds to this lovely square and our projects for the day. You’ll be back in the teaching - or healing - treadmill soon enough, and as someone who only does brief stints in the place, I can tell you that you are all, each and every one of you, a living …. vulture?”
“Why, thank you. You’re too … damn - you’re right! A vulture! That can only mean one thing …” Pomona stared in open-mouthed surprise.
“Oh wind, when vultures come, can Augusta be far behind?” sighed Minerva.
“What a coincidence!” Poppy gasped as a cheerfully-waving Augusta Longbottom, complete with vulture hat and red handbag, Statute of Secrecy be damned, proceeded across the square. Followed, at a slight distance that could just, but only just, be called respectful rather than embarrassed, by her long-suffering grandson who looked remarkably handsome in his Muggle jeans and t-shirt.
“What an unexpected pleasure,” Augusta enthused. “Fancy meeting you all. A little holiday?”
“No, we’ve just bought the Palazzo Pubblico to start a brothel together,” said Minerva. Wil smiled, clearly pleased to see this further example of sisterly love among Old Girls, and Augusta looked gobsmacked for all of three seconds.
“Yes, I can see how that would make a nice change from teaching,” she answered. “When do you plan to open?”
Poppy noticed how Pomona chuckled and sat up a bit straighter, like one does during a particularly gripping moment in a Quidditch match. A sharp angle to their banter? she thought. Bring out the Bludgers is more like it.
“We don’t, alas,” countered Minerva. “The asking price was too high to make it viable. Pity, I so wanted to tartan up the bordello style.”
Augusta looked more than ready to continue the duel. Someone had to bring back the spirit of rest and relaxation, and that someone was clearly Poppy. A few pleasant words to end both the conversation and the chance encounter, and all would be well, with no jinxes cast.
“Yes, indeed, we’re having a marvellous vacation,” she said. “And you’re having a holiday, too?” And then she had a sudden, vivid image of Minerva in very high heels and a tartan corset and not much else. And she added, “Do join us for a coffee.”
Minerva, Pomona, and even Wil, stared at her in total surprise. And I can’t even explain why I said that,” she thought. Well, I could, but … The image of Minerva in a tartan corset would go down well enough - in fact, the coven would scream with laughter. But that sudden rush of … of … feelings that had made her blurt out the first thing that came to mind …
“I don’t mind if I do,” said Augusta, drawing up an empty chair. “And yes, Neville and I are having a bit of fun. A reward after his brave fight - you’ve all heard how Neville saved Harry Potter and …”
“I didn’t save him, Gran,” said Neville, while Pomona and Minerva both confirmed that yes, indeed, they knew all about it, very brave, dreadful events, let’s not bring them up on this beautiful day. Neville’s grateful look more than made up for Augusta’s glare.
“And Neville really wanted to see Siena. I’ve told him so much about it - Frank loved Siena. My Frank, I mean, my caro sposo as the Italians say. So now we’re here! It’s our last day already - just a three-day trip. Oh, I could watch all the art for weeks and weeks, when I go on a trip I just live for culture. But one must consider the young. Can’t expect them to have the same interests.”
Which is why you might have chosen another destination, thought Poppy, or even given your grandson a little trip with a friend. To some place of his choice.
“I didn’t know you two cared about art,” Augusta continued, with a surprised look at Pomona and Wilhelmina. “But the Italians have marvellous gardens, too. Have you heard of the Boboli gardens in Florence?”
“Of course,” Pomona answered. In many a staff meeting, such an ‘of course’ from Pomona ended a discussion once and for all, the topic never to return. On this occasion, it led to a lengthy description from Augusta and a look that was both anguished and apologetic from Neville.
“Are you staying in a hotel?” Minerva enquired politely. “We’ve rented a villa together.”
“A villa! Isn’t that rather grand?” Only Augusta would ask such a question.
“We value our privacy,” said Minerva. With a slight increase of her Scottish brogue, Poppy noted with some concern.
“Villas for four are really quite affordable,” Minerva continued. “And we felt we deserved a little treat, after a year of strenuous academic work …” Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, smiled benevolently.
Augusta Longbottom, wife-of-Frank and mother-of-Frank, did not smile back.
Poppy glanced at Pomona, who gave her a very small nod. Poppy nodded back, remembering Pomona’s story of the break-up. Augusta’s decision to marry Frank had also meant the end of the girls’ plans for a joint career in Transfiguration, Pomona had told her. “And that really did it: they had both passionately loved their studies, and suddenly Augusta went all ‘true destiny of women’ on Minerva. It made the rejection even more complete: both of Minerva herself and of her ambitions. Augusta has always carried that wife-and-mother status around like a banner. Min used to give some pretty fierce ripostes when Augusta went into joys of motherhood mode, but now, of course … what with young Frank and Alice, and everything being so ghastly …”
True. Trust Minerva to get the message across, regardless.
Augusta enthused some more on the beauties of Siena and on the delights of seeing it all with her caro sposo during “our honeymoon - the best time a woman could have, the happiest weeks of my life.”
And if we don’t get rid of her quickly, either Minerva or I will do something drastic, Poppy thought.
“You simply must go and see those frescos of Saint Catherine - so beautiful, so interesting,” Augusta went on.
“What an excellent idea,” said Poppy.
“Let’s go at once, Augusta has given me such a desire to see them,” Minerva added. Pomona and Wil agreed that indeed, they couldn’t spend the whole day on the square. Well, yes, they could, actually, it was that beautiful, but there was more to see, wasn’t there?”
Matters were then settled quickly. Augusta announced a visit to a museum that “Neville would absolutely love,” Minerva and Poppy checked the exact location of Saint Catherine’s house on their map, and Wil asked if they would mind very much if Pomona and she went off to climb the tower of the Palazzo.
They set off, while Minerva asked them to take lots of pictures of the view and especially the view on the square, and Augusta informed them they should keep their cameras straight, “which is something all amateurs forget, and it looks so silly if your horizon is slanting.”
As they waited for Neville and Minerva, who had gone to use the facilities of the restaurant, Augusta nodded in the direction of Wil and Pomona, making their way to the palazzo. “Look at that!” she said. “I’ve always liked Pomona, and it’s clear that they’re both …” She hesitated briefly. “Well, I mean … it’s pretty obvious that they are … very well suited. Both outdoorsy people. Quite a lot in common. With the same inclinations, if you know what I mean. Ah, there you are, Neville.”
And they set off, leaving Poppy completely and utterly speechless.
*_*_*_*
“Look, this seems the shortest way,” said Minerva, pointing at their map. “Poppy?”
With a tremendous effort of will Poppy focused on the map. “You’re quite right. Let’s go,” she said.
“Poppy? Is there something wrong? Would you prefer to do something else? I only mentioned seeing those frescos to get rid of Augusta - another word on her caro sposo and I would have hexed her.”
Poppy assured her that she’d love to see the frescos, which would no doubt be wonderful in spite of Augusta’s recommendation, and together they climbed the narrow street leading away from the square.
Was anything wrong? Well, to begin with, Poppy had just realised that Augusta might be right, curse her. Pomona and Wil … they had spent quite a lot of time together. They had a lot in common. And when Poppy had suggested asking Wil on the trip, Pomona had been overjoyed. Now it was clear why. Not because of the match with Minerva. Wil and Pomona … it seemed so obvious, all of a sudden.
And Poppy’s wonderful plan had come to naught. She had every right to be disappointed. Or angry. Or worried about Minerva - would she be upset about it?
So why, Poppy Pomfrey, do you feel giddy with relief? Why do you want to skip and laugh and clap your hands? Why do you want to do happy dances at the thought of being still the most important person in Minerva’s life? What exactly is it, that you’re feeling right now? What does this mean?
“Poppy, dear? Is there anything wrong?”
Get a grip, woman! Whatever is going on inside you, Minerva shouldn’t have to worry. Poppy thought. Give some sort of explanation. Anything but the truth.
“It’s nothing - I was just annoyed with Augusta. It’s the way she treats Neville. I mean that insistence on how he saved Harry, which he didn’t do. But she completely ignores the brave things he does. And this trip isn’t really about him, either, is it?”
“Oh, you’re so right. Saying something would only make it worse for Neville, of course, so I kept quiet, too. Besides, I wrote her a pretty outspoken letter at the start of last year - remember? I told you about it - and that clearly didn’t do any good. I do feel sorry for the boy. She loves him dearly, I don’t doubt that, and she wants what’s best for him. I know she does. But she’s just so … so … so self-centred. She was lucky to get away when she did. I don’t know that I could have borne it any longer. I could have …”
“You want to be careful,” said Poppy with mock-severity. “She would get a canonization out of it. Saintly woman suffers martyrdom at hands of evil witch.”
“She would, too! Would the halo be round her head or round the vulture’s?” They both started to laugh.
“Hers,” said Poppy, at the same time that Minerva said, “The vulture’s.”
“Both,” Poppy amended. “One for Augusta, for her martyrdom by thistles - has that been done before, even? - and one for the vulture, for martyrdom by art-overdose.”
“The one and only …” began Minerva.
“Culture-vulture!” they both shouted.
“I can’t remember when I’ve last laughed like that,” said Minerva when they could speak again. “I’d almost say, ‘bless Augusta’.
Bless Augusta, indeed thought Poppy. Tonight, in the privacy of her bed, she would evaluate today’s events. Examine her feelings. Think about it all. For now, she would enjoy Minerva’s company.
And the wonderful sunlight and the wonderful frescos.
And the wonderful, wonderful holiday.
*_*_*_*
“Min,” said Poppy, “that meal was great. Really great.”
Minerva had found her fennel sausages in a butcher shop in Siena, and she had looked so pleased that Poppy hadn’t had the heart to object to cooking on an outing-day. Now she was glad she hadn’t; Minerva was clearly under way to being her old self and had stood both outing and cooking perfectly well. The holiday was doing everything Poppy had hoped for. Everything except …
In a way, of course, it had done that, too. A match had been made. Poppy had observed everyone during dinner, and it had become increasingly clear that Augusta was right. Pomona and Wil simply exuded bliss. And Minerva was so happy and relaxed, and, yes, pleased about the whole situation, that Poppy needn’t worry for her sake.
They had spent a lovely evening together, eating outside on the terrace. Pomona and Wil had talked about their afternoon, Poppy and Minerva had described the frescos of Saint Catherine and the stories they had made up to go with the images.
And they had praised Minerva to the skies for her meal of fennel sausages and pasta. Minerva, while pouring the last of the vin santo and handing round the biscotti, waved away their compliments and told them what a pleasure it was to cook for her cara … what was the Italian word for ‘friends’? Amica? Would that be amici in plural?
“No,” said Pomona, “That’s masculine, I think. Isn’t it pizza - pizze?”
“Which would make it amica - amice? My care amice then, it was a pleasure to cook for my care amice. That alone would make it the best time a woman could have and the happiest weeks of my life, I’m sure,” said Minerva. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’m about ready for bed. It’s been a lovely day, but I do admit to being a bit tired.”
“Quite. Think I’ll do the same,” said Wil. “Unless you need help with clearing up?”
“Not at all - Minerva didn’t leave any mess. Unlike me,” said Pomona, who was generous enough to give credit where credit was due. “Poppy and I will have done the job in no time.” She nodded at Wil, who nodded back. With an understanding look, Poppy noticed. What were those two up to? There was something, for sure …
“I’ll dry,” she offered when they had cleared the table together. “It’s great seeing Min look so well, isn’t it? She’s tired now, but that’s normal. This holiday’s really good for her, though, don’t you think?”
“It is,” said Pomona. “It’s doing her a world of good, and it was all your idea. And it’s not just Minerva who has the time of her life … You were great to think of this, Poppy. I can’t thank you enough. I mean … You may have noticed … about … well … I mean …”
“About you and Wil?” Poppy decided to take pity on her friend, however much she enjoyed the sight of frank, occasionally even blunt Pomona completely at loss for words.
“Yes! Oh, Poppy, we’re so happy. And we’re so grateful to you, for thinking of this holiday. It was just what we needed. It turns out we both felt the same, right from the first time we met. Only, there was so much going on at Hogwarts, and I wasn’t sure Wil felt the same, and neither was she. Min told me to get my act together and do something about it … you know she can be a bit forthright on occasions?”
Poppy grinned. Forthright? Coming from Pomona, that was a strong one. But Min told her to go for it? In a way, that was great news.
“Min told you?” she asked, wanting to be sure. “She encouraged you?”
“Yes - do you think that so odd?” Pomona looked worried, all of a sudden.
“No, not at all,” Poppy hastened to say. Damn! It was a relief to know for certain that Min had never had thoughts of Wil. That she definitely wasn’t upset or disappointed or anything. But this had been tactless.
“I think the two of you are a wonderful match,” she said. “It’s just … Minerva as a matchmaker!”
There. Perfectly believable. Poppy might not be able to see clearly in matters of love, but she could save a situation. See? Pomona was smiling already.
But not with her eyes, Poppy noted, and she still behaved like a cat on hot bricks. That frying-pan was clean - any more scouring and Pomona would scour out the bottom.
“What is it, dear? Did I say something wrong?” Poppy asked.
“Well … no, of course not, everything is great. It’s just … you mentioned match-making. And normally, I don’t think people should. Embarrassment all around. Much better to leave well alone. But ... The thing is … Have you ever felt that happy you wanted the whole world to be happy?”
This afternoon, when I heard that Minerva wasn’t about to waltz off into the sunset, thought Poppy.
“It has happened,” she admitted carefully.
“That’s how I feel. And I know match-making is awful and I’ll only say it this once, and I’m probably making the mistake of my life, but then again, if I don’t say it I’ll always reproach myself as well, and please don’t be angry about it.”
“Good heavens, dear, what are you talking about?” Poppy was seriously intrigued now. Pomona was positively babbling. Was she really about to start match-making herself? Had she thought of a match for her, Poppy? But whom? Surely there were no eligible men around Hogwarts? Besides, Poppy didn’t want to marry. Never had. Never been sufficiently interested in any man to contemplate …
In fact, that’s bloody revealing. Now that I think of it. Now that I really think of it. That goes quite some way to explaining what the hell it was I felt this afternoon. Not that I’m completely uninterested in men - I was just never interested enough. Bloody hell.
“What I’m talking about - promise me you won’t be angry. I’m talking about Min. You and Min. You would be great together. I’ve thought so for years. And Wil thinks so, too. And I happen to know … That is, Min once said something that … oh, what the hell. Listen, Poppy, Min and I have known each other since our school days. She confided in me. She told me she was interested - about a year or two ago, she told me. More than interested. But she didn’t think you were.
“And there’s the thing with Augusta. Mind, Min hasn’t lived a spinster’s life ever since - not one to spend half a century pining for a lost love. But it has made her cautious. Especially with … well, the partners she’s had were all lesbians who were very much out.
“She said she thought the odds against were overwhelming, and it would ruin a friendship that means the world to her. Which is what I may be doing now. Ruining a friendship. But … but …” Pomona fell silent at last.
“You didn’t,” said Poppy. “You didn’t ruin a friendship.”
It was the one coherent thought she could come up with.
*_*_*_*
At some point Pomona must have left the kitchen. For the life of her Poppy couldn’t remember when or how. She did have some recollection of Pomona saying, “You want to think about it.” Or perhaps it had been Poppy herself who had said it needed thinking about.
She must have got herself undressed and in bed, and in her nightshirt, too. Had she? Poppy felt the fabric of her dress. Yes, nightshirt all right.
It certainly needed thinking about.
Thank heavens Poppy remained cool and in control even when in shock. A lesser person might have given in to temptation. Might have jumped up and down, screaming Yes, yes, yes!!! Emma Woodhouse might have done so. In a nineteenth-century way. Emma, who never wanted to marry either. A better version of Emma, she had thought herself? Ha!
Still, Poppy’s first reaction might be a Yes!, but she would remain calm and examine her second and third reactions, too. There was a wonderful friendship to consider. More importantly, Minerva’s feelings had to be considered. Poppy needed to be sure, very sure, of what she felt herself before she could even begin to give Minerva hope.
If Minerva still felt the same, of course. Pomona seemed to think so. But Pomona had also said that Minerva wasn’t the type to pine forever, and two years was a long time.
So once Poppy was certain of her feelings … and she couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything else than what she felt right now, which was just … just … just … everything …
But when she was certain, she would have to think about the next step. What to do. How to put it. There wasn’t just the friendship to consider, they were colleagues, too. In a boarding school. An awkward situation would be truly, painfully awkward.
Or, wait…
Perhaps …
Yes! Why not? Pomona might have called Poppy a ‘meddlesome matchmaker’ once, but she had done quite a bit of match-making herself, bless her. Pomona might test the waters … bring things up carefully …
Poppy would have to brief her, of course. None of the Pomona bluntness. No Poppy fancies you something rotten - what about it?
But it could be done. She would give it all some time to sink in. And then … who knows … but she’d have to think about herself first. With some considerable care. What was that line again?
Poppy Pomfrey, handsome, not so very clever after all, but with a satisfying career and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence, and had lived to a witch’s middle age without really knowing herself at all …