F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Ice Palace
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@poppylarssonarchive
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Ice Palace
"Oh, I see." Perhaps Poppy just has this natural warmth that makes others behave kindly towards her, but Waverly is being much more civil to her than she’s been to some other girls (Jenna, Lana) as of late. "I’ve been to Japan quite a few times. The shopping there is amazing. And if you think the sushi in England is good, you haven’t been to Tokyo.”
It would be impossible to be cruel to Poppy Larsson -- mistreating the girl seems like it'd be in the same moral category as shouting at babies, or kicking puppies in the street. She stares at Waverly in awe, "I've always wanted to go to Japan," She says reverently, "Sapporo, Hiroshima, Nagasaki -- and Tokyo!" The last one is an excited squeal, and Poppy's at the point where she's barely restrained herself from clapping, "I've never tried sushi, but I'm sure it was amazing. It looks incredible." Raw fish isn't the safest of foods, after all, "There's the Tokyo Tower, and the Harajuku girls -- and Takeshita Street!"
"Oh, I see," she mumbles with a nod, mannerisms surprisingly prim. Her own bag is a bit more subdued, soft black leather with a little tassel hanging from one of the zippers. It’s slung over her shoulder currently. "What’s Sweden like? As snowy as everyone claims it is?"
"Oh, it's wonderful!" Poppy's response is as enthusiastic as ever, having perked up considerably now she knows she hasn't done anything to offend the pretty girl talking to her, "I've only been once, to visit my family. They live in Malmö, which is in the South and by the beach, so it doesn't get as cold there as it does up North. It's actually a lot like the weather here. I didn't get this bag when I was there, though. My Pappa got it for me when he travelled to Stockholm."
"I just wanted to know where you got your bag," she insists, shrugging a thin, sloping shoulder. "It’s cute."
"Oh!" Poppy glances down at the bag on her shoulder as if just noticing it -- it's bright and pastel coloured, making it pretty hard to miss, "Thank you. It's from Sweden."
"Yeah, you."
"Did I do something wrong?" Poppy's voice is cautious as she observes the other girl, peering at her curiously.
"You there."
"Me?"
Jeremiah didn’t have a sense of personal space, and it was often something people had to beat into him on a daily basis. The Slytherin draped a heavy arm around the girl’s shoulders and smiled wide at her. It was impossible not to smile around Poppy. Just hearing her name was cause for even the slightest bit of joy. He was instantly reminded of his younger sister, Naomi, who he hardly saw due to the Minister’s minions keeping younger years in their own little world. He missed her terribly.
Still, Poppy was the perfect substitute for now. “Ahhh, that’s my girl. It ain’t bad if you don’t get caught,” he told her, proud as can be. “Say, Pops, did you attend that lame-as-shit ball they threw last month? I don’t remember seeing you. I was stuck with that prudish Prewett girl. Complete nightmare.”
Oh Merlin. Ohmerlinohmerlinohmerlin. Jeremiah had his arm around her shoulders, and so she's pulled right in against his side as he hugs her. Hugs her! Poppy balls her hands up where they sit in her lap, forces them not to shake. At this close proximity, his scent is overwhelming -- the faint lingering of cigarette smoke, fresh soap and something that uniquely belongs to him. It's addictive and heady, and when he speaks, his words reverberate in his chest and she feels them in her own. His shoulders are broad and Poppy feels so tiny in his arms, so protected, like the heroines in romance novels. She suppresses a happy sigh, and then realises that he was talking to her, and she should be paying attention to what he's saying.
"Mhmmm," She replies, managing to catch the last of his question. She clears her throat, her smile a lot more subdued than its usual carefree beam -- it's more bashful, and it seems as if she can't look at him for more than a few seconds, "I went with Connor Longbottom," She pauses for a moment, thinking of a conversation she's had before with Gianna. A guy will realise he likes you if you make him jealous, and so she adds, "He's really cute."
Jeremiah usually isn’t the one for small talk, especially with younger years who could hardly entertain him for more than a second. However, Poppy Larsson was a different story. There weren’t many students in Hogwarts that could measure up to her, and Jeremiah noticed that. He admired how bright and bubbly she seemed to be despite all the darkness that had overpowered everyone’s life within the last year. Essentially, she’s certainly a perfect ray of very much needed sunshine.
He recognized her voice within seconds before his eyes finally met hers. His lips tucked into a quick smile before popping up straight onto the bench, taking one last drag of his cigarette before crushing it underneath the heel of his leather boots. “Hiya, sweet pea,” he began, patting down on the bench next to him. “Long time no see. You’re not gettin’ into any trouble now, are ya?”
The mere sound of Jeremiah's voice causes a flurry of butterflies to take flight in the pit of Poppy's stomach; she smiles brightly at him, instantly rushing to take the offered seat before he has the chance to change his mind. Poppy isn't entirely sure when this crush on Jeremiah Forrester started -- he took her under his wing when she was just a little First Year, much to Bryce's chagrin, but he'd been too busy with his NEWTs to actually do anything about it. She supposes if she thought about it, it wasn't until last year that things began to change -- and it wasn't until she came back for Fourth Year that her feelings hit her hard.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," She says, and she's still floating on the high from hearing the term of endearment directed at her. Poppy half-wonders if she's the only one Miah calls 'sweat-pea' -- she really hopes so -- before turning her attention back to him, "Any trouble I do get into is kept under wraps. You taught me that." She adds cheekily on the end, only meeting his eyes for a moment before having to look away.
This had been an unusually boring week for Jeremiah. Nothing exciting had caught his attention and the only thing people had been truly concerned with as of late was who they were going to shag next. It was almost as if people had forgotten that there’s a bloody war going on. Still, Jeremiah couldn’t complain. He liked the down time, but definitely did not enjoy being bored. It never settled right on his stomach. The boy could hardly sit still for more than five seconds without squirming or complaining. He wondered where Jet was — probably off doing something he wished he could be doing as well, or maybe he’s studying for class. Jeremiah never understood why anyone would willingly attend a session in the first place. Zel? Probably in make-believe Russia or Japan or very much curled up in her sheets in the middle of a sleep coma. He should probably check up on her now that he’s thinking about it. But, ah, it’s nice outside for the first time in ages. He didn’t have to bother with a coat and instead could sport his favorite Slytherin sweater along with a hat that seemed to have too many holes. He sprawled over a stone bench, a slow burning cigarette wedged between two fingers, and he whistled the tune to his favorite Zeppelin song.
Poppy isn't kidding when she says she loves the sunny weather. Sure, rainy and cold days are nice for staying inside, cosied up with warm drinks and even warmer blankets and sweaters, but there's something inside her that constantly longs to be outside. At home she's surrounded by nature; she lives in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the mountains and rolling grass and Loch Leven. The landscape is fairly similar to that at Hogwarts (after all, it's still Scotland) and the sun means warmth, which means Poppy can stay outside without having to worry about getting a chill.
She's making the most of the current weather, still wearing several layers, mind you -- but a few less than normal. It's at this point that she spots Jeremiah Forrester sprawled out on a nearby bench. The overall change it has on Poppy is immediate; she halts, her large eyes going wide and almost trips over herself, as if she's suddenly turned into a newborn gazelle. He hasn't noticed her, so after a few minutes of composing herself, she intentionally meanders past him and pretends to do a double take, "Oh hi, Jeremiah!" The blonde says cheerfully, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear as she gazes down at the older boy, "I almost didn't see you there."
It was kind of hard not to feel inadequate around Poppy. She was smart. Beautiful. No, radiantly beautiful. Like a sun punching you in the face, except the impact felt like a marshmallow smacking you in the face. Louis groaned at his extended metaphor, but it’s how Poppy came off. And he couldn’t help but be a little enticed by her. It was a little disarming to his psyche, considering most of the time the girls came to him, and he usually knew how to read them.
Poppy, however, was a stunning enigma. So engrossed in though, he almost didn’t register that she had asked him a question.
"Oh. Yeah, I do. I’m Keeper for the Hufflepuff Team. I may not look it, but I’m pretty strong." He gave a cocky smile, stretching out his body along the railing and leaning against a pillar.
Poppy laughs at that, a bright sound that leaves her lips so often but somehow never seems to lose or dim in its appeal. She leans with her back pressed flush against the pillar, watching as Louis climbs up and mimics her actions on the next one over. The way they're standing, they're on either end of the arch, each looking at one another. Despite what she said to Alexis Adams the other day about short boys, Louis has already started to mature rather well. He's almost the same height as she is, and his shoulders are broadening, the vague lines of new muscle visible as he pulls his arms out and his shirt stretches tight. Poppy suddenly finds herself flushing scarlet and ducks her head, wondering where those thoughts came from.
"I believe it," She says earnestly, staring at her feet for a moment. She points her toe, drags them along the stone. Later, she'll regret scuffing them, "It looks like its tough on the body." She can't say much from experience, of course -- she's never even ridden a broom.
Elena’s skin has erupted with an epidemic of goosebumps from the sudden wind that whips through the gaps in the corridor; Winter laying her final reminders that she is still present however subtly it seems otherwise. She nods, keen on the idea of curling up under a warm blanket and sitting near the reminiscent fireplace, but reluctant to venture a path of paranoia under the watch of professors and… other faculty.
"Sure. Suppertime should be coming round soon, anyway," she agrees, sliding down off the brick ledge.
The girls make their way back inside the castle, both huddled under their cloaks to keep out the cold. As soon as they step inside the building, the difference can immediately be felt; Poppy sighs in relief, her shoulders sagging a little as the warmth seeps into her clothes and skin. She isn't sure if Headmaster Selwyn has a particular aversion to the chilly weather, but the castle has been far better heated since the Minister instated his own members into the faculty. It's probably the only positive outcome of this whole thing, but Poppy is willing to appreciate small saviours.
The pair make their way into the Great Hall, already half full as students sit down for dinner. At her table, Poppy spots Gianna talking to some of their friends, "I'll see you later, Elena!" She says cheerfully, and reaches out to squeeze an arm around her shoulders before sauntering off.
"I’ll read just about anything," she says rather passionately, significantly more comfortable in this area of conversation. Novels have always excited her, whether fiction or non-, optimistic or pessimistic content. She quite cherishes the idea of taking oneself away from their own life and living that of somebody else’s just for a few hundred turns of a page; of indulging in the privilege the author’s allowed of looking at the world from an entirely unfamiliar perspective. Despite her eagerness, she continues on in a more subdued tone, having already exhausted her nerve for the afternoon on the same exact subject, "Mostly, I like Muggle history books."
The conversation has done a full circle back again to what they had vaguely touched upon in the library, and Elena's mention of history books reminds Poppy of this. She feels slightly embarrassed now, as she knows in her enthusiasm she can get caught up and end up talking about the same thing for absolutely ages. The Gryffindor knows her friend is the type of person who would be too nice to say if she was getting bored, so Poppy saves her the trouble. "It's starting to get dark now," She says, peering up at the sky. Sure enough, the sun is beginning its descent, and the clouds that are beginning to conceal it from view have contributed to a significant temperature drop. Poppy shivers, drawing her cloak tighter around her long, thin frame, "Would you like to head inside with me?"
Elena turns back to look at Poppy, and is instantly taken aback by her expression of unadulterated curiosity. She’s like a little wide-eyed kitten, dazed by the hypnotic sway of a mouse dangled by his tail. For some reason Elena feels the urge to pull Poppy into her arms and hold onto her until a day when the world ceases its brutality. She’s something to be kept safe, like an artifact. She’s the difference between someone who’s nice, and someone who’s kind, and Elena couldn’t admire her more for it.
"Oh, he’s…" she’d nearly forgotten that Eli was the topic of conversation. "Well, he is like that… I assume. I’ve only spoken with him once or twice, and on neither occasion was conversation very intimate. Um, he likes to read. We’d probably be able to talk about the different books that we’ve both read."
Poppy continues to stare back at Elena with those doe eyes of her, the heels of her feet bumping into the stone wall they're both perched atop of as she swings her legs ever so slightly. Poppy Larsson is purely, sweetly and frighteningly innocent; it's terrifying how someone with so much desire to be worldly can be so naive. In addition to her ailing health, this isn't the first time she's inspired such protective instincts from another person. In fact, 'protective' pretty much sums up her entire family -- always there to insist she goes to St Mungo's if she so much as skinned her knee, and then have her on bed rest for four weeks. Frankly, it's claustrophobic, and if Poppy hated anything (because hate is a strong word), it would be that.
"We can talk about reading, I read all the time!" The younger blonde perks up again, her enthusiasm even managing to jerk her posture more upright. She is highly animated when she talks, but even more so when she's happy, "What type of books do you like? I tend to read a lot more non-fiction than fiction, but I like some poetry too."