have some chocolate, at the very least

Madam Poppy Pomfrey. 48. Healer Extraordinaire.

[minerva-isobel]

pop-pomfrey​:

It was as if all the world wanted to ruin Poppy’s day. External errands could be a pain at the best of times, but avoiding scampering children, pushy adults, and even the odd salacious gaze made this particular arduous task far harder. Her elbows were taking (or giving) quite the beating as she jostled along the edge of the action.

Minerva, with all her wit and contentment, was the cherry on the icing of a very bad cake.

“Coming?” She blinked rapidly, as if this suggestion was utterly ludicrous — and, frankly, given the length of their friendship and their knowledge of each other, it nearly was. “I’m going, Minnie. I was never here; I was a spirit passing through.”

Adjusting the package to rest precariously under one arm, its weight largely on her popped hip, she appraised her dear friend properly. Whereas once she had seen Minerva as a solitary figure, the absence of family around her out of school hours was disconcerting enough to make her pause. A query — or a quip about Alastor’s possible paranoia, she had not defied — died on her tongue as another ludicrously joyful song started up in their periphery.

“Well. If you’ll excuse me, these potions won’t exchange themselves…”

Minerva bit back a laugh at Poppy’s prickly demeanor, settling for a mere smirk for her best friend. Of course she knew that Poppy wouldn’t willingly find herself in a situation like this, which made it all the more meaningful of an opportunity to give the other woman a hard time. Shaking her head at the way Poppy had seemed to embrace the role of strict hogwarts matron, she stepped forward to block her friend’s path.

“Would you at least like some company while you deal with the crowds you’re sure to find at the apothecary?” There were terrible crowds everywhere here, what with all of the sales and various other activities that were going on in celebration. And since Alastor was off doing merlin knew what, Minerva wouldn’t mind some quality time with Poppy. She hadn’t seen much of her best friend these last couple of weeks.

Despite the fact that they both worked at Hogwarts, Minerva spent most of her evenings at the cottage where her family lived (except for the nights where she was scheduled for patrol), which meant that she had less opportunities to pop in for a visit with Poppy than she had back when they had both lived at Hogwarts. 

[pop-pomfrey]

Though Poppy had sought to deny it over the years, even physically disprove it, it was a fact that Minerva’s presence was oft more commanding than her own. Whilst Minerva’s powers at Hogwarts offered a certain advantage, a kind of enviable gravitas, she had always been a naturally authoritative figure in a way Poppy was not. On a day such as this, she would undoubtedly be the perfect accompaniment for swerving the throng.

But she was also the one person who would freely delight in Poppy’s discomposure, particularly without Alastor to temper or distract her. Eventually, it was the chance to gather gossip that helped to tilt the matron’s answer into the affirmative.

“. . . Fine. I will rescue you from your solitude, but you have to keep up.” She took off down the street without a second glance, bustling as usual, with the occasional need to sidestep an excitable child (or an equally excitable adult). “And you can buy me a drink in the Leaky Cauldron afterwards!”

[remusww]

pop-pomfrey·:

“I can ma—“ Poppy caught herself, catching sight of a face that was surely gaunter than she had left it. After the briefest, subtlest of studies — probable weight loss, anaemia(?), tremor, pain — she let go. She could not entirely manage with the heaviness, that much was true, and her feelings towards Remus were affectionate enough that she felt no need to bring out the sexism card. She quirked her lips into a gentle smile, reminded of his persistent gallantry in his school days, and resisted the urge to pull him into a brief hug. “Do you often lug boxes around at celebrations? No — a case of an urgent exchange, unfortunately. This way.”

Quietly grateful, she let him have his moment as she walked onward, that sense of relief, of pride in his subtle masks and disguises, before she mentioned it. She could usually drop a subject quickly, or at least quicker than other staff members, as some of her charges knew too well, but the subject would always be broached nevertheless.

“I thought they were celebrating the end of the war, Remus,” she remarked, gesturing to the jovial figures around them. Growing as weary as he of the hubbub on the main street, she took an abrupt right, leading him down a narrow passageway as a shortcut. “You look as if you’re still in it.”

Remus shot Poppy a look. She certainly had not been managing all that well with the box and he would be damned if he left someone who had helped him so much in the past to struggle, especially when he of all people knew how valuable her job was. “Well, no, but some of the people here with the bands were lugging all this heavy equipment around beforehand,” he said, barely noticing that he was letting on that he had already been in Diagon Alley before the event started. He shook his head, a dry laugh falling from his lips. “Oh, no, when there was a war there was a need for soldiers. This is just how life is for those like me.” No sense of purpose and no legitimate way of making money.

That rare show of raw reality was quickly brushed aside with a smile and as much of a shrug as he could manage despite the weight in his arms. “You know, in the Muggle world they commemorate the end of the Great War with a day of remembrance. It is a solemn occasion, which marks those who were lost. None of this.” He glanced over his shoulder at the now disappearing main street. It was disrespectful and crude. Augusta Longbottom had died. The McKinnons, Gideon… James. Yes, Remus’ own bitterness and failures to get over his trauma was the main reason today was difficult for him but he still felt justified in the sour taste the celebrations brought to his mouth.

[pop-pomfrey]

“They have the right idea sometimes, those Muggles,” Poppy muttered, glancing back as they escaped the mayhem. Even now, within her relative bubble of safety, such support for their non-magical neighbours felt safer in private, in darkness, with only the closest of contacts. A tally of Albus’ reassurances could stretch from Diagon Alley to the Hog’s Head and Poppy would still fail to trust prying eyes and ears. “I can’t even see the point. The war isn’t— Well. It’s never quite over, is it? Certainly not for some.”

Coming to a rather abrupt halt on that note, Poppy took advantage of the ideally muffled noise to address Remus properly. Her charge might have developed into a rather embittered young man but he was once her terrified boy; like a mother, Poppy felt a deep sense of responsibility for his well-being, and this responsibility had been poorly nursed in recent years. A rat skirted around her heeled shoes in the dank little gap. Accustomed to filth and other unpleasant sights from her time as a Healer (and generally as a Hogwarts staff member, frankly), she barely flinched. Unfortunately for her, however, it was still enough of a distraction to break her searching stare from him.

“Remus. I . . .”

She what? She was sorry? She hoped he was well? Nothing felt quite appropriate on her tongue. Ever the one waiting for the injured, she had lost comparatively little to the war, not even much of herself, but Remus had been battered and bruised and had little to show for their side’s tepid victory.

“I miss you terribly.”

[minerva-isobel]

pop-pomfrey​:

Date: October 5, 1986

Location: Diagon Alley

Starter: Open

Argus, the old fool, had reminded Poppy of the date. Though a semi-regular topic of conversation, the festival in particular had ostensibly, unfortunately, left her radar. As she stepped from the Leaky Cauldron into the street itself, a tad dishevelled from the Floo journey, she surveyed the joyous scene with the slightest roll of her eyes. There was music, and laughter, and pockets of dancing; and she felt like the grumpy maiden aunt in the corner, eternally disapproving. Maybe, after her business had been dealt with, she would find time for a drink and a smile with an old patient or two.

The idea didn’t remain for long. Her nose wrinkled in disdain as she passed a boisterous group of young men — already drunk, no doubt. There was a naivety to this event that her anxiety failed to ignore, however pleasant the contented bustle might be in isolation, which was aided by an innate hesitancy towards anything remotely fun when there was work to be done elsewhere. With a glance at ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’, she conceded that her one saving grace was that it was not a Quidditch weekend.

Were it not for a hideous error by a medical supplier (Sleeping Draught instead of Calming Draught), she would still be blissfully locked up in Hogwarts, preparing for the week ahead. Tomorrow was first year Potions, followed by Charms; neither boded well for her beds. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. As it was, she was stuck lugging along a box that would respond unfavourably to the feather-light charm. If no one noticed her, even ever swathed in burgundy, that was surely all to the good.

Minerva wandered through the crowd, keeping an eye out for her husband, relishing in the opportunity to spend an afternoon away from Hogwarts. As much as she loved her job, there was something nice about being able to let her hair down and escape into a crowd. Of course, most of the crowd still knew her as Professor McGonagall, but they at least had the decency not to act as if she was about to dock house points from them. She lingered outside of one of the clothing shops, wondering if she should waste her energy trying to bully Alastor into standing still for a fitting for new dress robes. 

Deciding that the energy was better spent elsewhere, Minerva shook her head and turned, nearly knocking into a passing witch. It was only a few seconds before Minerva recognized the form of her best friend, and her lips twitched upward in amusement. Poppy didn’t look nearly as excited to be away from the school for the day, and Minerva’s eyes glinted with a teasing look before she even spoke. “Poppy, I didn’t know you were coming! I would have suggested we come together!”

Of course, Minerva had come directly from the house she shared with Alastor and their children, but there was no reason to mention that now. Tilting her head to the side, she took in the bulky box in Poppy’s arms, and knew that the only reason her best friend would have braved the crowds like this was that she needed supplies for the hospital wing.

[pop-pomfrey]

It was as if all the world wanted to ruin Poppy’s day. External errands could be a pain at the best of times, but avoiding scampering children, pushy adults, and even the odd salacious gaze made this particular arduous task far harder. Her elbows were taking (or giving) quite the beating as she jostled along the edge of the action.

Minerva, with all her wit and contentment, was the cherry on the icing of a very bad cake.

“Coming?” She blinked rapidly, as if this suggestion was utterly ludicrous — and, frankly, given the length of their friendship and their knowledge of each other, it nearly was. “I’m going, Minnie. I was never here; I was a spirit passing through.”

Adjusting the package to rest precariously under one arm, its weight largely on her popped hip, she appraised her dear friend properly. Whereas once she had seen Minerva as a solitary figure, the absence of family around her out of school hours was disconcerting enough to make her pause. A query — or a quip about Alastor’s possible paranoia, she had not defied — died on her tongue as another ludicrously joyful song started up in their periphery.

“Well. If you’ll excuse me, these potions won’t exchange themselves...”

[pop-pomfrey]

Date: October 5, 1986

Location: Diagon Alley

Starter: Open

Argus, the old fool, had reminded Poppy of the date. Though a semi-regular topic of conversation, the festival in particular had ostensibly, unfortunately, left her radar. As she stepped from the Leaky Cauldron into the street itself, a tad dishevelled from the Floo journey, she surveyed the joyous scene with the slightest roll of her eyes. There was music, and laughter, and pockets of dancing; and she felt like the grumpy maiden aunt in the corner, eternally disapproving. Maybe, after her business had been dealt with, she would find time for a drink and a smile with an old patient or two.

The idea didn’t remain for long. Her nose wrinkled in disdain as she passed a boisterous group of young men — already drunk, no doubt. There was a naivety to this event that her anxiety failed to ignore, however pleasant the contented bustle might be in isolation, which was aided by an innate hesitancy towards anything remotely fun when there was work to be done elsewhere. With a glance at ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’, she conceded that her one saving grace was that it was not a Quidditch weekend.

Were it not for a hideous error by a medical supplier (Sleeping Draught instead of Calming Draught), she would still be blissfully locked up in Hogwarts, preparing for the week ahead. Tomorrow was first year Potions, followed by Charms; neither boded well for her beds. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. As it was, she was stuck lugging along a box that would respond unfavourably to the feather-light charm. If no one noticed her, even ever swathed in burgundy, that was surely all to the good.

[mollswobblxs]

the festival was a weasley favorite. seeing all of her children playing around, hopping around looking at all of the displays put a soft smile on molly’s face. she loved being able to see them so full of joy because five years previously, that wasn’t the case.

a lot had changed since then. she had given birth to the first weasley in quite a few generations, a few of her kids were off at hogwarts, and her younger kids were growing up right before her eyes. 

speaking of children, ron had run off, trying to keep up with the twins, when he ran right into a woman walking out of the leaky cauldron. he quickly apologized and ran after his brothers, molly following close behind. “i’m so sorry. those kids never look where they’re going.”

[pop-pomfrey]

It was unfortunate that Poppy’s grasp on her parcel was rather weak. Bowled over by the surprisingly powerful little boy, now a blur of ginger skating off down the street, she teetered for a moment before —

The boy’s mother had barely finished her apology when the box fell from its owner’s grip with a thud and a few simultaneous smashes. Somewhere in the midst of it was a curse or two from the matron, better exposed now she was not holding a hefty blockade in front of her face.

“Merlin’s balls. My faul—“

Though redheads were not entirely scarce in the wizarding world, the motherly figure before her, with flame-haired youngsters causing havoc at every turn, could only be one person. Poppy flashed a smile as a faint sense of recognition kicked in, replacing her thin-lipped frown, and held a now empty hand out to the younger witch.

“Oh, it’s you. Madam Poppy Pomfrey. I believe we last saw each other when Gideon — Well. A while ago.”

[pop-pomfrey]

Date: October 5, 1986

Location: Diagon Alley

Starter: Open

Argus, the old fool, had reminded Poppy of the date. Though a semi-regular topic of conversation, the festival in particular had ostensibly, unfortunately, left her radar. As she stepped from the Leaky Cauldron into the street itself, a tad dishevelled from the Floo journey, she surveyed the joyous scene with the slightest roll of her eyes. There was music, and laughter, and pockets of dancing; and she felt like the grumpy maiden aunt in the corner, eternally disapproving. Maybe, after her business had been dealt with, she would find time for a drink and a smile with an old patient or two.

The idea didn’t remain for long. Her nose wrinkled in disdain as she passed a boisterous group of young men — already drunk, no doubt. There was a naivety to this event that her anxiety failed to ignore, however pleasant the contented bustle might be in isolation, which was aided by an innate hesitancy towards anything remotely fun when there was work to be done elsewhere. With a glance at ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’, she conceded that her one saving grace was that it was not a Quidditch weekend.

Were it not for a hideous error by a medical supplier (Sleeping Draught instead of Calming Draught), she would still be blissfully locked up in Hogwarts, preparing for the week ahead. Tomorrow was first year Potions, followed by Charms; neither boded well for her beds. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. As it was, she was stuck lugging along a box that would respond unfavourably to the feather-light charm. If no one noticed her, even ever swathed in burgundy, that was surely all to the good.

[remusww]

pop-pomfrey​:

Date: October 5, 1986

Location: Diagon Alley

Starter: Open

Argus, the old fool, had reminded Poppy of the date. Though a semi-regular topic of conversation, the festival in particular had ostensibly, unfortunately, left her radar. As she stepped from the Leaky Cauldron into the street itself, a tad dishevelled from the Floo journey, she surveyed the joyous scene with the slightest roll of her eyes. There was music, and laughter, and pockets of dancing; and she felt like the grumpy maiden aunt in the corner, eternally disapproving. Maybe, after her business had been dealt with, she would find time for a drink and a smile with an old patient or two.

The idea didn’t remain for long. Her nose wrinkled in disdain as she passed a boisterous group of young men — already drunk, no doubt. There was a naivety to this event that her anxiety failed to ignore, however pleasant the contented bustle might be in isolation, which was aided by an innate hesitancy towards anything remotely fun when there was work to be done elsewhere. With a glance at ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’, she conceded that her one saving grace was that it was not a Quidditch weekend.

Were it not for a hideous error by a medical supplier (Sleeping Draught instead of Calming Draught), she would still be blissfully locked up in Hogwarts, preparing for the week ahead. Tomorrow was first year Potions, followed by Charms; neither boded well for her beds. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. As it was, she was stuck lugging along a box that would respond unfavourably to the feather-light charm. If no one noticed her, even ever swathed in burgundy, that was surely all to the good.

He felt suffocated even on the edges of the crowd and he wanted to skulk back into Knockturn Alley but too many people he knew had already seen him and Remus was desperate none of them would realise where he had been staying recently. Instead, he slipped down the edges of Diagon Alley, hoping to disappear unnoticed.

There were only two people who could have made Remus step into the crowds. One was Harry, but here in public he would rather avoid Harry (or, more accurately, the adults who would be with him). The other was Poppy Pomfrey. Maybe Dumbledore had offered Remus the place at Hogwarts, but Poppy had the power to refuse him care and she never had. Instead, she treated him as any other patient. She saw him sick and vulnerable, she saw all his scars, and yet she had never flinched away.

“Let me,” he said, reaching out to take the box from her. He hoped she wouldn’t comment on his appearance, sure that his scourgify-replacement-shower earlier in the day would have done much to hide how poorly he had been looking after himself recently. He was pale, there was a slight shake to his hand and he winced in momentary pain when his muscles objected to the unexpected use, though once he had it settled in his arms he could handle the weight with relative ease. “I take it you are not here to enjoy the celebrations?”

[pop-pomfrey]

“I can ma—“ Poppy caught herself, catching sight of a face that was surely gaunter than she had left it. After the briefest, subtlest of studies — probable weight loss, anaemia(?), tremor, pain — she let go. She could not entirely manage with the heaviness, that much was true, and her feelings towards Remus were affectionate enough that she felt no need to bring out the sexism card. She quirked her lips into a gentle smile, reminded of his persistent gallantry in his school days, and resisted the urge to pull him into a brief hug. “Do you often lug boxes around at celebrations? No — a case of an urgent exchange, unfortunately. This way.”

Quietly grateful, she let him have his moment as she walked onward, that sense of relief, of pride in his subtle masks and disguises, before she mentioned it. She could usually drop a subject quickly, or at least quicker than other staff members, as some of her charges knew too well, but the subject would always be broached nevertheless.

“I thought they were celebrating the end of the war, Remus,” she remarked, gesturing to the jovial figures around them. Growing as weary as he of the hubbub on the main street, she took an abrupt right, leading him down a narrow passageway as a shortcut. “You look as if you’re still in it.”

[pop-pomfrey]

Date: October 5, 1986

Location: Diagon Alley

Starter: Open

Argus, the old fool, had reminded Poppy of the date. Though a semi-regular topic of conversation, the festival in particular had ostensibly, unfortunately, left her radar. As she stepped from the Leaky Cauldron into the street itself, a tad dishevelled from the Floo journey, she surveyed the joyous scene with the slightest roll of her eyes. There was music, and laughter, and pockets of dancing; and she felt like the grumpy maiden aunt in the corner, eternally disapproving. Maybe, after her business had been dealt with, she would find time for a drink and a smile with an old patient or two.

The idea didn’t remain for long. Her nose wrinkled in disdain as she passed a boisterous group of young men — already drunk, no doubt. There was a naivety to this event that her anxiety failed to ignore, however pleasant the contented bustle might be in isolation, which was aided by an innate hesitancy towards anything remotely fun when there was work to be done elsewhere. With a glance at ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’, she conceded that her one saving grace was that it was not a Quidditch weekend.

Were it not for a hideous error by a medical supplier (Sleeping Draught instead of Calming Draught), she would still be blissfully locked up in Hogwarts, preparing for the week ahead. Tomorrow was first year Potions, followed by Charms; neither boded well for her beds. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. As it was, she was stuck lugging along a box that would respond unfavourably to the feather-light charm. If no one noticed her, even ever swathed in burgundy, that was surely all to the good.

[alternislatronemhq]

Congrats, May, you have been accepted to AL for the role of Poppy Pomfrey (FC: Naomi Watts). Ahhh, May, I am SO excited that you are bringing us Poppy. We so rarely see her played in the RP community, and she’s just such a fascinating character. It’s obvious that you’ve written her before and have such a good grasp on her character as well as how she fits into this world. I’m so excited for my Minerva to have her best pal! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist.Welcome home, we’re so excited to have you join the family!

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