Summary: As rumors continue to swirl through the Great Hall, Poppy’s manic optimism is shattered by an urgent owl from St. Mungo’s: her grandmother is dying. Fleeing the castle in a state of collapse, she is intercepted by Garreth, who sacrifices his own training to fly her to Hogsmeade Station on his broom. In the biting Highland chill, Garreth gives her his oversized Gryffindor sweater—a scarlet refuge that smells of cedarwood and safety. In a fleeting, vulnerable moment before the train departs, an honest admission of affection breaks through their shared grief, leaving a quiet promise in the steam of the departing engine.
Characters: Garreth Weasley, Poppy Sweeting.
Word Count: ~880 words
Masterlist
The Great Hall was a cacophony of morning energy—the clatter of silver against porcelain, the flutter of owls, and the low, persistent hum of the rumors Leander had set in motion.
Poppy and Garreth had recently tried to reach out to Sebastian, but he had retreated into a shell of uncommunicative silence. He insisted he had no desire to visit the ward, yet every day—when he was certain he was unobserved—he slipped into the Hospital Wing alone. He would lean his forehead against her mattress and close his eyes for a few stolen minutes, a silent vigil that lasted only until the next class or detention forced him back into the light. When pressed for details about the accident, he offered nothing but a hollow, clipped explanation: a trip to the Forbidden Forest had gone wrong. Poppy and Garreth didn't push him; they were well aware of her reckless history with the forest. She had always loved the thrill of the hunt and the pursuit of justice in the dark; they knew she courted danger as a fundamental part of her nature, not a trait born of Sebastian’s influence, and they couldn't bring themselves to blame him for a fire she had always been prone to lighting.
Poppy sat across from Garreth, her breakfast untouched. She was talking animatedly about her plans for the afternoon—which poultices she wanted to ask Nurse Blainey to apply, which book she thought their friend might like to hear read aloud. She was smiling, her eyes bright with a forced, manic optimism that Garreth had seen her maintain for three days straight.
A screech owl, grey and weary, banked low over the Gryffindor table and dropped an official-looking envelope directly onto Poppy’s plate.
The smile didn't fade instantly; it curdled. Her brow furrowed as she broke the heavy wax seal. As her eyes scanned the parchment, the blood drained from her face so completely she looked almost as translucent as the girl in the Hospital Wing.
"Poppy? What is it?" Garreth asked, his voice sharpening with immediate concern.
A single tear tracked a path through the light dusting of freckles on her cheek. Her hands began to tremble, the parchment rattling in her grip. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide and drowning.
"It’s my grandmother," she whispered, her voice a fragile, splintering thing. "She’s taken a turn. St. Mungo’s... I have to go."
Garreth watched as the dam finally broke. For days, Poppy had been the anchor for everyone—holding Garreth through his rage, sitting with the unconscious girl for hours, being the "brave one." But as she stood up abruptly, moving the bench back with a harsh scrape against the stone, he realized she had been running on fumes.
She fled the Great Hall without another word.
Garreth reached across the table and snatched up the discarded letter.
ST. MUNGO’S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES
To Ms. Poppy Sweeting,
It is with deep regret that we must inform you that Mrs. Sweeting has taken a turn for the worse. We believe her window for final visits is closing. We strongly urge you to make arrangements for travel to London at your earliest convenience.
With sincerest regards,
Healer H. J. Pye
Garreth didn't think. He sprinted.
He caught up to her near the basement barrels. She was already coming out, a small travel bag slung haphazardly over her shoulder, her eyes red-rimmed and frantic.
"Poppy! Wait!"
"Garreth, I’m so sorry, I can't stay—I have to get to the station, I have to—" She tried to push past him, her breathing coming in short, panicked gasps.
He caught her arms gently, grounding her. "I know. But the carriages aren't running for another hour, and the next train is heading out in around 10 minutes. Let me take you. It'll be faster on my broom."
Poppy looked at him, her expression a mix of desperation and sudden, profound gratitude. A small, weak sob escaped her. "Really? You’d miss your training... for me?"
"Of course I would," he said simply.
They ran for the grounds. Minutes later, they were soaring over the snow-dusted hills toward Hogsmeade. Poppy wrapped her arms tightly around Garreth’s waist, burying her face into the space between his shoulder blades. The wind bit at them, cold and unforgiving, but Garreth pushed the broom to its limit, the whistle of the air drowning out everything but the sound of his own thudding heart.
They landed near the bridge of Hogsmeade Station just as the distant whistle of the train echoed through the valley. The Highland air was brutal, and Poppy stood shivering, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as the adrenaline began to fade into a bone-deep chill.
"Here," Garreth said, already pulling his thick, scarlet Gryffindor sweater over his head.
"No, Garreth, it’s freezing, you’ll catch a cold—"
"Sweetie, please," he said, his voice firm in a way that brooked no argument. "I’m fine. Take it."
She hesitated, then took the heavy wool. As she pulled it over her head, she vanished into it. The sweater was far too large, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips and the hem reaching her mid-thigh. It smelled of him—cedarwood, faint traces of potion ingredients, and the warmth of a fireplace.
She looked up at him from within the depths of the oversized collar, her small face framed by the scarlet wool.
Garreth let out a small, unintentional chuckle. It was a soft, genuine sound—the first real laugh he’d felt in days.
Poppy flushed, partially hiding her face in the collar. "What?"
"Nothing," Garreth said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming softer, more vulnerable. "You just... you look cute. Really cute."
He said it before he could stop himself. The words hung in the cold air, honest and unvarnished. A deep blush crept up his neck, and he suddenly found the metal rails of the station very interesting.
They stood there in the heavy silence, the air thick with everything they hadn't said over the last few months. The train rumbled into the station, hissing steam that clouded around them.
Poppy reached out, her hand disappearing into the long sleeve of the sweater, and squeezed his arm. She didn't say anything—she couldn't—but the look in her eyes was a quiet promise.
She turned and ran for the carriage. Garreth watched until the train was nothing more than a smudge of smoke on the horizon, feeling the bite of the cold against his skin and the strange, new ache of her absence in his chest.
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July.
Order of Events: Platform 9 3/4 The Hogwarts Express Hogsmeade Station Hogwarts Castle Sorting Ceremony
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