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@poppypcmfrey
Hogwarts Info: Hufflepuff (Ravenclaw) (Slytherin)
hufflepuff values loyalty and fairness and friendship and hard work and drive and determination and love and acceptance and kindness and if that sounds shitty to you then get out
Hufflepuff bedroom aesthetic - for an anon who asked so kindly
{Open} Sweets Jar
“Oh hey, doc!”
Gemma waved at Poppy just as she lifted her feet up off of the desk. The astronomy professor always wondered what she might look like to the actual proper professors and staff. She admired Poppy in a lot of ways.
“It’s a skill to make the students ease up around us,” she smiled, getting up from her seat - wand rolling along her desk, candies tinkling in the jar; forgotten (they wanted to be eaten). “I suppose Alexander is less a student and more an intern - where’s mine?” As she walked towards Poppy she looked over her shoulder at the invisible intern-helper-side-kick, “Oi, side-kick, pass me a sweet, will ya?”
Gemma’s heels always scuffed the floor when she walked.
“How ya holdin’ up, Pops? Keeping yourself as healthy as you keep us?” she teased. Now that she was at the door she used her heel to push it open, gesturing for Poppy to come inside - unless this was a pit stop on the way to her destination.
Poppy waved back, waiting patiently as Gemma walked over to let her in officially. “It does have that effect,” Poppy admitted, smiling as she stepped into the room. Alexander was holding down the fort, and whilst she’d probably head back soon, she felt confident that she could afford to take another stop here, as lengthy as her impromptu discussion with Nicodemus had been. “I’m not sure how poor Miss. Warbeck feels about how often her mother is played, though I’m generally pretty good at switching it to something else before a student walks in,” she said wryly, thinking about the amount of times Demetrius had walked in on her dancing to Celestina Warbeck—not that he could see her, but he knew.
“I suppose he’s technically still a student of St. Mungos,” Poppy mused. As an intern, he was in placement on his last year, so technically he probably was, but Poppy never thought of him like that. He was there to learn from her, but he was also very capable. And he was very much not a student of Hogwarts, which she presumed was the type of student Gemma was referring to.
“And yes, hopefully,” she said with a laugh. “We do have a tendency of focusing on the students and not watching out for ourselves, but I think Alexander and I’ll keep each other in check. I’m all right, mostly. Concerned about the students, but,” she said, shrugging like what else is new. The atmosphere of fear and the death of a student, but perhaps that was not welcome conversation. “What about you, Gemma, how are you?” she asked, smiling sincerely.
Horace watched as the little one rushed off, before following Poppy further into the infirmary. He pulls out a small notebook from his robes and a quill to take notes of what is needed. “Of course. What is it you need? I’ll make a list, I’ve been meaning to go to London to buy potion supplies to resupply the school stores and now I have more of a reason to.” He grinned lightly at her as he flipped the notebook open to a blank page.
Poppy shot her colleague a warm smile, absolutely relieved at his words. “Ah, brilliant, bless you,” she said, her mother’s phrase falling from her lips with ease. Blessings weren’t common to find in Wizarding speech, but you didn’t grow up weaned on war poetry from a Muggle mother with family lost to the world wars without learning your fair share of blessings and conversations between soldiers and their God. “We’re running desperately low on Pepper-Up, particularly as we’re going into winter, and some dreamless sleep wouldn’t go remiss either...” Poppy reeled off, clicking her tongue as she combed through the stock cupboard. “Some more sleeping and calming draughts would be good too—what with what happened to poor Matthew McKinnon, there are several students having nightmares, and the younger ones are poor terrified... the poor dears.” What had happened to Matthew absolutely horrified Poppy, and she was deeply concerned for all her students. She’d sent several to Madam Johnson, their counselor, but even that could not abate the fear of some, and she wanted them to be able to rest. “Headache potions are never remiss either—we’ve got the new one Starkweather invented, except nobody really wants to try it, because it’s called ‘Bad-Feelings-Be-Gone’; I mean, honestly, what was he thinking when he named it that?”
Narcissa was quiet as she listened to Poppy list off the options. She didn’t know which would be most beneficial. “Well, it seems to be a bit of both, actually. I have a hard time convincing myself to go to sleep, and then when I actually do I wake up. It’s a bit frustrating, and I’m not at my best when I’m drowsy, so I was hoping you might be able to help?” Her voice was tentative. Asking for help was something she wasn’t comfortably with - and happened rarely, because then people would know she didn’t have it all together. She was really supposed to have it all together, you know.
Poppy clucked sympathetically, her mouth twisting into an expression of concern. “Is it anything specific waking you up?” she inquired. “Dreams, nightmares, any of that? If not, then it sounds like a sleeping draught is the best—drowsiness draughts will bring you to the verge of sleep, but they won’t be much help if you can’t stay asleep, m’afraid,” she mused. “We’ll figure it out,” she promised, a comforting smile springing to her lips as she did so. Even if it wasn’t a student—someone Poppy had pledged to protect and defend, even if only to herself—it was in Poppy’s nature to react accommodatingly to those asking for help, and all the more so when it wasn’t something they were familiar with. It made no sense to her when people made it troublesome to be asked for help—that would only discourage people from asking, which struck Poppy as a terrible consequence.
{Open} Sweets Jar
Gemma was doing as Gemma does: hair messed, quills unaccounted for, feet shoe-less and taking space on her desk, and her record player singing whatever old tunes she wanted it to. Her wand tapped on the edge of her desk in time with the beat, giving out little sparks of green and yellow as she did.
“How the hell did I end up as Hufflepuff?”
A laugh bubbled from her as she sunk down into her chair. Tea was sipped. Her office door was ajar and her sight could probably be seen from the hallway. Gemma’s foot tapped in time with her song while her wand lifted, requiring a sweet from her sweets jar. The small, wrapped fizzing whizzbee shot towards her - she grabbed it, unwrapped it, and let herself float half an inch as she sucked on it.
She really took advantage of not being on professor duty.
Poppy was on her way back from Nicodemus’ office, where she’d gone in an effort to find a specific book for one of her patients and had ended up engaged in a discussion on wartime texts from the last fifty years in contrast with those from ancient times. She had also, fortunately, managed to retrieve the book for the poor ailed Fifth Year, so she was feeling rather successful.
It was with this cheerful thought in mind that Poppy stepped almost-but-not-quite-past Gemma’s office door, paused, and slanted back slightly to catch sight of the other woman. With a grin, Poppy leaned against her doorframe, knocking lightly on the door.
“I’m liking the music,” she said with a smile, by way of greeting. “Alexander occasionally laughs at mine, but he dances to it anyway, I’ve seen it.”
Sienna rubbed her throbbing head as she laid back in the bed and closed her eyes. “I’ve had plenty of water. It’s all I’ve had for days now.”
Poppy frowned, concern marring her features. “And when was the last time you ate something?” Poppy inquired pleasantly. “As specific as possible, if you could.” Students depriving themselves of their health in order to maintain some type of rigorous image was not a new concept to Poppy, but it did not fail to make her both concerned and mildly frustrated, though not necessarily with the students—her dismay and frustration was often aimed towards the parents or those who placed those intense pressures in place.
House Common Room aesthetics - Hufflepuff Basement
Ravenclaw | Gryffindor | Slytherin
Rodolphus just wanted to be left alone. No Hogwarts faculty harassing him, or Professors prying into his life. It was a minor bite, from an unidentified insect. No cause for alarm, yet as Poppy Pomfrey found her way to him and began to make a fuss he couldn’t help but bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from being rude. “Yes- Of course Madam Pomfrey.”
“It’s only an insect bite, I really hate to waste your time on such nonsense.” He told her, looking her in the eye. Rodolphus avoided medical attention as much as possible, so he had never really spoken to the woman before. He visited his idiot friends that wound up in the hospital wing more than they should, though.
Poppy was no stranger to students who would rather be anywhere than in a Hospital Wing or with anybody associated with it, students who would rather deal with something themselves even if it mean ignoring it—looking at you, Miss McKinnon—and she rather suspected this young man felt the same, though he was being notably more polite. Not that the Gryffindors or Quidditch players of various houses were impolite, but they did have a certain tendency towards detailing their opinion at length as if they were likely to win an argument with her.
Inspecting it, Poppy could see that it was indeed a bite, though a rather nasty one at that. “Tergeo,” she cast, preferring to take a glance at it with any excess fluid siphoned off. She had seen this kind of bite before, on Miss McKinnon and her ilk, as well as others who often found themselves ‘wandering’ the Forest. Rubeus had informed her that it was a relatively harmless creature, but that there could be irritation for a few days and risk of infection if not cleaned. “I thank you for your concern for my time, but I assure you that it’s no issue,” she returned, holding his eye contact, though she ensured her own expression was not hostile, merely prepared to meet him where he was. “How long ago did you get bitten?” she inquired. “I’ve seen this kind of bite before—it’s just whether the sting has had enough time to be distributed through your bloodstream, or if we can simply remove it before mending the skin. You don’t need to say where it occurred,” she tacked on, knowing from experience that this could cause students to be less than truthful with their answers. “Just when. As I said—I’ve seen it before. I’d wager I could guess where,” she said, a slightly wry smile edging at the corner of her lips. She did not approve of students endangering themselves, of course not, but she had worked at the training centre in Romania and all around the world—there was a certain value in discovering things for oneself, and if her refraining from punishing them for it meant that they would actually come to her in the case of injury, that was a compromise she could live with.
“Oh don’t apologize, everyone has to do that sometimes.” She said with a warm smile, one that was reserved for the people who seemed not to judge her for who her family was or what color her robes were. “It’s no big deal, really. I’ve been having a bit of a difficult time sleeping lately and I was wondering if you had anything to help with it.”
The girl’s words brought another smile to her lips, this time warm instead of sheepish. She knew the reputation the girl had, even amongst staff, but Poppy rather thought that very often, you got what you expected. People had a tendency of setting each other up to fail, but Poppy had yet to find anyone she had regretted holding faith in.
“Of course, dear,” she said, indicating the closest made bed in case the girl would like to sit. “We have several potions—sleeping draughts, dreamless sleep potions and drowsiness draughts. Is it that you’re having difficulty falling asleep, or staying asleep?” she inquired. There was also the question of whether there were any reasons she knew of as to why she couldn’t sleep, but that would come next. Poppy would also not pry—it was just that sometimes these things were symptomatic of something other than expected, and she wanted to be able to help in the best way she could.
@poppypcmfrey
Horace had been quietly marking papers in his office when a student walks in and hands him an envelope. After thanking the student, he opens the letter and reads it, a note from his colleague, Poppy Pompfrey, requesting he go to the hospital wing at his earliest convenience as she needed a favour from him.
Rising from his chair, he leaves his office and makes his way down to the hospital wing, looking for Poppy. As he walks in, he sees her tending to a student and stands to the side while she finishes.
"All right, you’re all set,” Poppy said, flashing a smile at the Hufflepuff First Year. “Your arm might feel a bit tingly for the next hour, but that’s just the charm working through it—and if those boys ask you to be target practice again, tell Alice Fortescue, all right? She’s your prefect, and she’ll know exactly what to do.”
As she watched the little one nod and run off—she would have a word with those boys if she caught wind of who they were, she vowed—she spotted Horace, smiling in greeting. “Oh, hullo, Horace—I see you got my note?” she inquired, before stepping further into the infirmary and gesturing for him to follow. “It’s the inventory,” she said, slightly hopelessly. “We’re getting into the year now and stocks are getting depleted.”
“No…I-I’m fine…” She said lightly before collapsing into the other’s arms.
In another situation, Poppy might have clucked her tongue, looked up to the heavens and uttered, in as exasperated a sarcastic tone as she could muster, clearly. However, Poppy was a Healer who cared for her students first and foremost, and snarky second, and she was immediately grateful that she had caught the girl, tugging her over to the bed. It was very lucky that the girl had been brought to the Hospital Wing, in Poppy’s opinion.
“I beg to differ,” she settled for, a concerned smile on her lips as she looked over the girl critically. “When was the last time you drank any water, dear?”
“No really, I can care for this myself.”
Poppy bit her lip to keep herself from making a snarky comment. She could generally manage to keep it in, or at least not greet someone with one. The student who had pulled her from the Hospital Wing—Alexander had been left in charge—had informed her that the injured student was a bit difficult, but honestly.
“I’m sure you can, Mr. Lestrange, but why put yourself to all that bother when I can do that?” she asked instead, smiling slightly as she bustled towards him. “Besides, I might be just a touch quicker.” She had been doing it for a long time, after all—perhaps not as long as most Matrons, young as she was, but certainly long enough.
Minerva let out a sigh and shook her head. “I wouldn’t hear the end of it, would I? I’m quite certain he’d be able to turn it into a running gag.” The idea of it alone, gave her the feeling of irritation, as well as a hint of a amusement. She’d never admit it, but the boy did have a good sense of humour at times. “Appalling indeed,” she murmured in agreement, watching Poppy prepare the Potion — it had never been her favourite aspect of magic, but the effort that went into preparing any draught had always interested her. She simply preferred to watch. “I will tell him if I bump into him, because we cannot have you running out on supplies.” Then, she shrugged. “It’s wonderful, as always, but there is a tension among the students and it’s a difference with last year — it’s expected, of course, and I can adapt, but still.”
“Absolutely not,” Poppy said, a slight grin playing at her lips. “He’d probably get Peeves on board,” she added sagely. “In order to have it immortalised, of course.” The smile faded slightly from her lips. James Potter, like so many before him, was such a character that it was hard to imagine Hogwarts without him. However, Poppy had rarely felt such concern for departing seventh years as she did for this lot, in wake of the recent tragedy. She hoped fiercely that Peeves would not have to immortalise anything about the boy so soon—that he would be able to tell his own stories for many more years to come. It’s what she wanted for all the students. Waving her wand over the potion to do the quick cooling and heating action required at the end, Poppy smiled thankfully at Minerva. “Thank you. It really wouldn’t do, an infirmary lacking healing supplies, would it?” she mused, clucking in horror at the thought. She had enough to tide her through for a bit, she expected, but she disliked not having the inventory fully stocked. She did not like the idea of not being prepared for anything that could come. At Minerva’s word, her expression contorted into one of concern. “Oh, of course,” she murmured, thinking back to Professor Dumbledore’s speech. She had not missed Marlene McKinnon rushing out, nor the general atmosphere of fear—it was something that had been necessitated, but that did not mean Poppy had to like it. “The poor students,” she said with a sigh, before placing a cooling charm on the cauldron so that the potion could settle. “It’s such a horrific tragedy,” she said, looking at Minerva, troubled. “He was so young—” she said, before breaking off. War was something Poppy had grown up with tales of, and she knew most soldiers—most who harmed another on a battlefield—were young men, running scared and clutching onto something they thought they believed in, like righteousness or patriotism, but that did not make it easier to swallow. Matthew McKinnon wasn’t a soldier. He was a son, a student, a boy who should be sitting with his friends right now, not lying in a casket six feet under. It made Poppy feel fiercely protective of her students, and angry too, but also incredibly sad—she had never lacked for faith, but sometimes it could be hard to hold onto in a world that let children die.
Narcissa came up quietly and gave a little cough to alert Madame Pomfrey of her presence. “Is everything alright, Miss?”
Poppy turned to face Narcissa at her cough, a sheepish smile springing to her face. “Sorry, dear, just talking to myself,” she confessed. “Taking inventory and whatnot,” she explained, indicating the shelves behind her. “Is there something I can aid you with?”
This interaction had turned very harsh suddenly. Nathaniel noted the change and placed the bottle down on the table, taking a step back from Poppy. He was unsure of what had brought about her displeasure and made the attempts to ease whatever it was. Nevertheless, he had to check on the activities of every student, professor and other in the school, and he supposed that would lead to tension in any scenario. “And I can promise you that every step is being taken to ensure that Hogwarts remains a safe place for students. There is nothing I care about more than protecting these students.”
Poppy frowned, confused as he took a step away from her. It hadn’t been ideal conduct, admittedly, when he’d simply picked up the potion without knowing what it was, but she hadn’t intended to cause hostility. At his words, she relaxed properly—as much as she could, anyway, given that the castle was full of students reacting to the death of a boy who had been so young. “That’s a relief,” she said, a sad smile playing at her lips—a smile because it was an important pledge, but sad because of why it was necessary. “It’s absolutely terrible, what happened to poor Matthew.” It was rare that Poppy mentioned a student by first name, at least when the surname wasn’t attached, but it did happen, and now felt as worthy a moment as ever. He had been Matthew, not simply Mr McKinnon, because Matthew was the name of a boy and Mr McKinnon was the name of the man he would never get the chance to grow into being. It made Poppy sick, and it made her want to cry sometimes, because it absolutely broke her heart—but it also made her absolutely determined to protect the students who were left. Who were left. What a horrific thought. It sounded like people were being crossed off a list.
