(~(~)~)
Don't misunderstand. Xiomara Hooch knew that anyone in her field would kill for her job. And her three months at Hogwarts had, for the most part, been everything she had imagined they would be. Life was very nearly perfect.
There was just...the one thing.
"Madam Hooch!"
That one thing.
Xiomara drew herself up as high as possible, but it was a lost cause. She'd built her reputation on the pitch by being small and nimble, not the relentless and intimidating she was failing at now.
"A moment, Madam Hooch."
Madam Pomfrey wasn't failing. Oh, no. Madam Pomfrey was doing relentless and intimidating with aplomb, and despite having heard the head nurse coming from the end of the wing, Xiomara was still surprised to find herself pressed against the locker room wall. Small yellow eyes blinked rapidly as Xiomara tried to shrink into the wall. "Ah. Hello, Madam Pomfrey. Gave me a bit of a start, there."
"What is Sirius Black doing in my infirmary?"
The response that leapt to Xiomara's tongue was, thankfully, swallowed before it had time to jump out of her mouth. Now didn't seem the time to say, "The back stroke." She tried a faint smile, which was rewarded by a deepening of Madam Pomfrey's scowl. "He is all right, isn't he?" she asked. "Took a tumble, but nothing seemed irreparably damaged."
"The boy will heal," snapped Madam Pomfrey, and Xiomara bit down on an urge to giggle at the way she made 'the boy' sound as clinically detached as 'the arm' or 'the burn.' "My concern," the nurse continued, "is his repeated presence and its indication of your carelessness."
"My carelessness!" Madam Hooch straightened her shoulders and spine. She could be a little intimidating if pushed. "Madam Pomfrey, I take the utmost pride in the safeguards I have placed-"
"Safeguards! Hah!" Madam Pomfrey snorted. "You have been teaching here for three months. In that space of time, Sirius has been brought to me on three separate occasions - all for injuries sustained on the Quidditch pitch. How do you explain that?"
She couldn't. She'd tried but could come up with nothing, and that wasn't going to change now, with Madam Pomfrey pressing her against a wall, yelling in her face and smelling faintly of cloves and starched linen. Shaking her head to clear those inappropriate thoughts, Xiomara realized that she could be interpreted as shaking her head in surrender, so she decided to stay with that. "I don’t know, Madam Pomfrey," she admitted.
Slightly mollified, Madam Pomfrey drew back. Xiomara swallowed a sigh. "I think it only fair to warn you, Madam Hooch, that I oppose teaching Quidditch to any student under the age of fifteen. I consider it far too dangerous. So please do not think that I bear you any personal grudge." She adjusted her cap. "Nevertheless, it is you that I am watching. If I have to treat Sirius Black for one more Quidditch-related injury, I will involve the Headmaster in the matter."
Xiomara forced her yellow eyes up to meet Madam Pomfrey's lavender ones, which, while not exactly friendly, at least looked less homicidal. "I understand," she said.
Not until long afterwards, while Xiomara tidied the locker room and tried to stop shaking, did she think to wonder why Madam Pomfrey hadn't involved Dumbledore already.
(~(~)~)
Xiomara took another sip of cherry cordial and stared over the calming browns and golds of Hogwarts in late autumn. She wished her goblet held something stronger, but it wasn't permitted. Not that the staff - and, she imagined, many of the students - didn't frequently violate that rule. She'd already shared a nip or two with Sprout, the deceptively giggly Herbology professor who'd also been hired on this year. And who knew what was in that flagon of Bodewell's? Xiomara shuddered at the memory of the 'friendly' glances the Potions master often threw her way. Still, she had neither Bodewell's tenure nor Sprout's certainty that she was the best at what she did, and so cordial would have to do. Sighing, she dropped into her armchair and turned her attention from leering Slytherins and hard liquor to the equally troubling matter at hand.
Why had Sirius Black ended up under Madam Pomfrey’s care today?
Black was an excellent flier. Not as good as Potter, or that arrogant Slytherin seventh-year, Malfoy, but she ranked him in the top five of the third-years. So why did he, once a month, turn into a knock-kneed klutz incapable of executing the simplest maneuvers?
Analyzing his injuries to spot similarities proved useless. The only thing the incidents had in common was that Black had been stupid to attempt them. Showing off the Wronski Feint for a gaggle of Hufflepuff first-years in the middle of a rainstorm. Diving to catch a handkerchief Pettigrew had dropped. And today...Xiomara closed her eyes, but it only sharpened the image of Black careening towards the rapidly disappearing gap between two on-coming Ravenclaws. It was intended as a dexterity exercise, and Black had used it to show just how undextrous he could be.
And Madam Pomfrey. She would bring the matter to Dumbledore; Xiomara had no doubt of this. The real mystery was why she hadn't done so before. Xiomara sighed and opened her eyes. She knew her job was in danger. If only she hadn't so much enjoyed Madam Pomfrey backing her into the wall.
Settling deeper into her chair, Xiomara watched the treetops tossed by the October wind. Wonderful. Now she was thinking about Poppy Pomfrey. She picked up her wand and waved it at the battered harp in the corner of the room. Strains of an ancient Romani folk song drifted through the room. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well be comfortable.
(~(~)~)
On a clear, brisk Saturday two weeks later, the Hogwarts stadium buzzed in anticipation of the Hufflepuff/Gryffindor Quidditch match. There wasn't as much riding on this match as on next month's meeting between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, so the atmosphere was light-hearted - even festive. The way a Quidditch day was meant to be.
With a few minutes to spare before the match, Xiomara wandered into the stands. There was no feeling in the world like the one generated by a stadium full of Quidditch fans waiting for a game to begin. Even being a member of the team waiting for a game to begin wasn't as exhilarating - too much intense concentration; too much nausea.
A brief scan of the crowd later, Xiomara headed to the Gryffindor side, where a pair of empty seats beckoned from beside Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Xiomara smiled; the empty seats were clearly in honor of the absent Black and Potter. Black was back in riding condition, playing back-up Beater for Gryffindor.
Remus caught her eye and smiled as she climbed. Xiomara grinned back but remembered at the last minute that waving might not be dignified. Sometimes it was hard - she'd only been out of Hogwarts five years; in many ways she identified more closely with the students than with the staff. The last thing she wanted was for the students to lump her with the stick-in-the-mud variety of professor she'd despised when she was a student here. But the second-to-last thing she wanted was for the staff to use her youth as an excuse not to take her seriously.
"Good morning, Madam Hooch," Remus greeted her.
"Hello, Remus." She perched on the edge of the seat beside him.
The day she and Sprout arrived at Hogwarts, Headmaster Dumbledore took them aside and warned them that one of the third-years was a lycanthrope. Even if he hadn't said which one, she would have picked him out; the pale complexion, restless hands, and enormous eyes were classic symptoms, and sometimes Remus reminded her so much of Alliander that she wanted to hug him in the middle of the pitch. After roughly five seconds of hesitation she had approached Remus and said that, if he ever wanted to talk, her door was open. Although she did not mention her brother, he knew. Werewolves recognize their own - and those who are considered pack with their own. He'd yet to seek her out, but her openness had won her his favor, and unless it was the day before or after the full moon, he always had a bright smile for her.
A chime sounded in Xiomara's mind. That seemed important, the day before or after bit, but the half-formed thought vanished as Pettigrew said, "You've not go any..." Unable to lay upon the word he wanted, he gestured at his robes to indicate his flashing "Go, Gryffindor!" buttons and a crimson scarf bearing the Gryffindor lion in sparkling gold thread.
"The staff can't show favorites." With a grin, she leaned closer and added, "Though naturally I'm for your team."
Pettigrew beamed as though he'd been let in on a great secret, but Remus's smile had a more knowing cast. "Naturally. Because if Hufflepuff loses today, Ravenclaw goes into the lead for the House Cup." When Xiomara looked shocked, Remus's grin widened. "I know which team you captained for four years."
Xiomara chuckled. One day, this one would do great things. A whistle sounded, summoning the referees to the field. Xiomara rubbed her hands on her robes and stood. "That's me, then. Good luck today, Gryffindor."
Their smiles warmed her as she turned and headed towards the pitch. Halfway there, a figure presented itself before her and demanded acknowledgement. Dark blond hair tossed by the wind, lavender gaze caught between concern for the students and warning for Xiomara, Madam Pomfrey looked nothing short of infinitely kissable. But since, as bad ideas went, kissing Madam Pomfrey would fall somewhere around the experiment she had attempted in her last year at Hogwarts, mixing Pepper-Up with firewhiskey to see if she could prevent her hangover as she drank, Xiomara let it go. "I didn't think you were a Quidditch fan, Madam Pomfrey."
Madam Pomfrey's gaze twisted into her. "I'm not. I am here in case there are injuries to tend to. But you are going to see to it that there are no injuries to tend to, aren't you, Madam Hooch?"
Xiomara swallowed hard. She opened her mouth to say that she couldn't control that, but then she remembered that she wasn't stupid. "Of course," she said.
Clearly, Madam Pomfrey didn't believe it. She let Xiomara pass anyway.
Xiomara watched Gryffindor's Beaters with such intensity that she nearly missed several important early moments in the match. If either of the first-string Beaters were injured, the captain would put in Black, and if he walked off the pitch with a single scratch on him, Madam Pomfrey would take it out of her hide (not that that didn't have its appeal). For a brief, reckless moment she considered putting a protective spell around them, but if anyone caught her she'd likely be out of a job, and even averting another run-in with the head nurse wasn't worth that.
By the game's sixth hour, the stands were more than half empty, and Xiomara knew that her moment of doom was near. The Gryffindor first string looked dead on its brooms, and the captain was eyeing her back-ups with a practiced eye. Then a Bludger lobbed easily from the Hufflepuff side slid past Gryffindor's star Beater, Winston Highcastle, and Gorey uttered the words Xiomara had dreaded since the opening whistle:
"Black! Go in for Highcastle!"
Beads of sweat rolled down Xiomara’s temples as the brown-haired fifth-year waved weakly at the fans - who cheered enthusiastically for his six incredible hours - and flew towards the Gryffindor bench. Feeling something sharp and painful boring into the side of her head, she turned to find Madam Pomfrey’s gaze locked on her. When Xiomara tried a smile, Madam Pomfrey turned away - towards Black. After that, the other players ceased to exist for the young referee; as long as Black remained unharmed, both teams could crash in the middle of the pitch for all she could bring herself to care.
Merlin help me, she thought, if he so much as slides on that broom of his, I will glue him to it. I don't care if the spell never wears off. But he was perfect. She'd never seen him fly this well. Not a Bludger that got past him, and several of his return shots nearly unseated the Hufflepuff Keeper. He'd be first-string next year, unquestionably. Wouldn't that be a treat for her nerves?
She risked looking away from the game long enough to find Remus and Pettigrew, two of the few die-hards remaining in the stands. Pettigrew cheered hoarsely for Potter, Black, and Gryffindor at large, but Remus was silent, his hands fidgeting in his lap, his wide amber eyes never leaving Black.
Black's taken enough falls for him already. Xiomara frowned at the thought, and then a wild yell from the opposite side of the stands drew her attention back to the game.
The Snitch was making its second appearance of the game, and Lucinda Naughton, the Hufflepuff Seeker, sped towards it with a grim set to her delicate features. But Potter was faster - and sneakier. He waited until Naughton was behind the Snitch, then rushed her from below. Startled, she veered upwards – into the path of a Bludger that Black sent caroming her way. To avoid crashing face-first into it, she was forced to fall back, and Potter nabbed the Snitch easily.
The stands erupted. Gryffindor cheered like a chorus of lunatics, while Hufflepuff rose in protest of Black and Potter's treachery. Xiomara knew they were screaming for the referees to call a foul, but Gryffindor had violated no rules. Indeed, they'd played a nearly flawless game.
Swept up in the excitement of the crowd (and, yes, cheering inwardly for Ravenclaw's bump in the House standings), Xiomara's gaze sought Madam Pomfrey. Spotting her at the edge of the pitch, handing a flagon of water to every player coming off the pitch and refusing to let them move until they’d drunk at least half, Xiomara grinned broadly at her. For an instant, Madam Pomfrey blinked in shock, then she smiled back - a tight, wary smile that could be taken back at any moment - but a smile nonetheless. Xiomara floated on the memory of that smile for the rest of the week.
(~(~)~)
It was like clockwork. Four months of Xiomara's tenure at Hogwarts; four falls of Sirius Black.
Xiomara rolled her eyes as she watched Black's almost lazy tumble to the snow-dusted ground. Even Potter and Pettigrew looked pained as they rushed forward to help him up. And where was Remus? That seemed important, but she didn't have the attention to give it now, divided between assessing Black's injuries and dreading Madam Pomfrey's wrath. "Can you walk, Black?"
"I...I think so," he answered bravely as they helped him to his feet.
"Good. Potter, Pettigrew, take him to the hospital wing." Maybe she could stave off Madam Pomfrey's fury for a while.
Fifteen minutes, to be exact.
"Xiomara Hooch!"
Xiomara sighed and walked to the edge of the pitch. The full name, this time. She composed herself as best she could. She wouldn't be intimidated again.
Madam Pomfrey descended upon her, her robes billowing in the sharp December wind. "I warned you!"
On second thought, perhaps she would be intimidated again. "I can assure you, Madam Pomfrey-"
"You can assure me of nothing. Sirius Black is in my infirmary again. Can you explain to me why this is so?"
Xiomara's entire upper body began to shake. She wasn't going to cry, but she was going to come as close as she ever did. "I cannot, Madam Pomfrey."
Madam Pomfrey seemed to be staring straight through her head. "I will go to the Headmaster at once. Caring for Remus is difficult enough without having to deal with Sirius as well."
That's when the truth hit Xiomara harder than Black had hit the ground. The simplicity of it was so brilliant that she mentally doffed her cap to him. Glee lighting her eyes, she grabbed Madam Pomfrey's hand.
"Exactly what do you think you're doing?" demanded Madam Pomfrey.
"He's been having us both on, Poppy." Over her shoulder, she called, "Evans! You're in charge for the remainder of the period."
"Where are you taking me?"
"To the hospital wing. Come on."
"Madam Hooch, I demand that you release me at once." Madam Pomfrey tried to break free, but Xiomara had made her name holding onto broom handles under any circumstances. Five minutes later, she arrived at the door of the infirmary, flushed but triumphant, dragging the loudly-protesting nurse behind her.
When they pushed through the doors into the room, Xiomara steered them to Black's bed. Even without having been told where he was, she went unerringly to him. Remus would be beside the window - and Black would be beside him. "Mr Black." Xiomara looked down at him, firm but hopefully not threatening. "I believe you owe Madam Pomfrey and myself an apology."
"Madam Hooch!" Madam Pomfrey yanked her hand from Xiomara's, her eyes wide and angry. "Sirius, if anyone is owed an apology, it is you." She stilled abruptly and stared as she took in the sudden flush on Black's face.
"Go on, then, Sirius," Xiomara urged him gently.
From the next bed, Remus began to chuckle. "They've caught you out, Sere. Might as well come clean."
A pained expression crossed Black's bright blue eyes. He looked over at Remus, accusing the honey-haired boy of rankest betrayal. Then he sighed and folded his hands in lap in a parody of contrition that had Xiomara stifling a giggle. "Madam Hooch, Madam Pomfrey, I'm sorry I've been injuring myself to be brought to the hospital wing."
Xiomara turned to Madam Pomfrey, grinning triumphantly. "You...you did it on purpose?" All of Madam Pomfrey's gasts were well and truly flabbered. "But, why?"
Black looked at Remus again. "When I'd come in to see Remus after the full moon, you'd make me leave. I thought that if I was injured I'd have to stay here..." He trailed off, and Xiomara was a bit stunned. Black was fearless, reckless, the king of Hogwarts' pranksters. Was merely getting caught at his tricks enough to make him blush?
Or did his embarrassment spring from being forced to admit the lengths he was willing to go to stay with Remus?
That would have to be puzzled out later. For now, Xiomara turned to face Madam Pomfrey, who stared at her, more embarrassed than Black. "Madam Hooch, I owe you an apology as well. I had no idea what was going on, and I accused you of-"
"Madam Pomfrey, you needn’t-" Xiomara didn't want Madam Pomfrey to have to go through this in front of their students.
But the nurse shook her head. "No. I accused you of negligence and incompetence. I underestimated you. I'm sorry."
Xiomara didn't want the woman to suffer. "Apology accepted." Madam Pomfrey smiled brightly and with obvious relief. The smile made Xiomara's knees do some very strange things.
Madam Pomfrey turned to Black, and the smile was gone. "You, young man, have needlessly endangered your health and the career of a fine instructor. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Black met her eyes recklessly. "It isn't needless."
That stumped her, but only for a moment. Her eyes set hard as she went about checking Black's bandages and splints. "There are less...gentle ways to care for your injuries, Mr Black."
Black grew even paler than normal, and this time Remus couldn’t stifle his laughter.
Xiomara determined that this would be a prudent time to withdraw.
(~(~)~)
"Xiomara?"
Xiomara blinked. First name. First name only. And...softly. "Poppy."
"I was wondering..." Poppy was staring at a spot on the floor in front of Xiomara's desk. "I wondered if you would care to join me for dinner tomorrow night. So I can apologize."
Xiomara set down her quill. "You apologized, Poppy. The matter is forgotten."
Poppy shook her head again, twisting the sleeves of her robes between her fingers. "I acted appallingly. I'd like to properly make it up to you." She finally met Xiomara's eyes. "Will you indulge me? Tomorrow night at 7.30? I'll go to Hogsmead and pick up some things."
Xiomara's feet tapped against the floor. It was not voluntary. Poppy Pomfrey had asked her out; she was amazed that her entire body wasn't twitching across the room. "I would enjoy that, Poppy. Thank you."
Poppy smiled with genuine warmth and relief. "Very well. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Good night, Xiomara."
"Good night, Poppy."
The nurse withdrew, and, with a great sigh, Xiomara fell back in her chair and began a detailed study of her office ceiling. It was just past ten. If she didn't spontaneously combust in the nineteen and a half hours until their date, it would surpass every wonder Merlin ever performed.
(~(~)~)
A tomboy from birth, Xiomara never wore a skirt when she could get away with trousers, never picked up a doll when she could pick up a game of Quidditch, and never gave more than five minutes' attention to her appearance.
Tonight, she spent an hour on her outfit alone.
At 7.00 she was quite calm. At 7.05 she very nearly sent a school owl to Poppy, calling the whole thing off. At 7.10 she was radiantly happy. At 7.15 she threw up.
At 7.30 on the nose, there was a knock on the door. Xiomara froze. She could not convince her feet to move. The knock came again, louder, and after giving herself a mental left hook to snap out of it, she managed to call out, "I'll be right there," in a voice that didn't sound petrified.
Saying she'd be right there was far from the same thing as getting there, but she forced her feet across the floor, forced her sweating hand to turn the knob. Some sort of greeting was on her tongue, but when she saw Poppy it flew out of her head.
The wizarding world didn't pay any mind to what was going on in Muggle fashion, but Poppy had done some research. Her brown suede skirt fell straight to mid-calf, where it met high brown leather boots. Her blouse was crisp, white, and open for the first three buttons, revealing a triangle of skin that Xiomara was going to have to work very hard not to lick. Her dark blond hair was pinned up and back, but a few artful curls floated around her head, begging someone to curl them around their finger. She wore no jewelry. She didn't need it. Xiomara felt underdressed and overadorned. And badly in need of a haircut.
"Hello."
Xiomara blinked. "Oh. Hello. You look...gods. You look fantastic."
Blushing, Poppy fidgeted with the handle of the picnic basket hanging over her arm. "Thank you. So do you."
Xiomara snorted. "I look like I'm training with the Order." Poppy's eyes widened, and Xiomara cursed. "I hadn't known," Poppy said softly.
Xiomara shook her head. Good work. Talk about the war. That will set the mood you're wanting. She cast about desperately for something safer to talk about and realized that Poppy was still standing in the hallway. Xiomara stepped back. "Please, come in."
Poppy hesitated and then stepped over the threshold as though it were a physical obstacle. She stopped inside the doorway and looked around. "This is nice. Lived in, but simple."
Xiomara almost snorted again. She decorated as though still living in the Hogwarts dorms or the Order's barracks. As though she didn't expect to stay long. She pointed to the basket. "Is that dinner?"
"Oh! Yes!" Grateful for the new topic, Poppy hurried forward, lifting the lid of the basket. "I didn't know what you like, so I got a little of everything. There's cheese, and a bit of ham, and a loaf of rosemary bread from Alarno's Bakery-"
"Rosemary bread?" Xiomara's eyes closed briefly. "My favorite."
"I know." Poppy blushed. "Alarno told me." They stared at each other for a long, slow moment, then Poppy looked back into the basket. "Also, I smuggled a bottle of wine from the cellar."
Xiomara grinned. By-the-book Poppy Pomfrey smuggling wine? That was beautiful.
Poppy smiled back sheepishly. "I thought we could go down to the lake. It's bizarrely warm out, and I know a spot out of the wind..."
Xiomara smiled and grabbed a blanket - one of the room's few decorative pieces - from the back of her armchair. "That sounds wonderful." She offered Poppy her arm, and Poppy took it hesitantly.
They didn't talk much as they walked to the lake. The sounds of an early winter evening carried to them across the grounds, and the sheer beauty of the night wasn't something they had any intention of ignoring. When they rounded a curve in the shoreline past the Whomping Willow, Xiomara realized that Poppy's spot was the same one that she often retreated to when even a dream job at Hogwarts wasn't enough to combat what she'd seen with the Order, what she endured for being a Hooch. But when Poppy said, "This is it," Xiomara looked around as though taking it in for the first time and said, "It's lovely. However did you find it?"
"I was running away, I'm afraid." Poppy spread the blanket on the ground. "It was my first year here, and one of Bodewell's Potions lessons had gone terribly off. Four Hufflepuff fifth-years came in with sores on the backs of their hands. They told me the potion contained vervain, eye of newt, and linseed oil. I thought they'd mixed the wrong quantities and treated them as such. No one realized that what had really gone wrong was that someone grabbed sloth toes instead of eye of newt. The antidotes are not...two of the boys nearly died."
"Oh, Poppy!" Xiomara put her hand over the other woman's. She didn’t mean anything by it but sympathy, but her traitorous body had to go and get itself worked up.
"It worked out in the end," Poppy assured her. "Bodewell set us straight. But he was furious with me for administering the wrong treatment."
"There was no way you could have known!" Xiomara protested.
"Maybe, maybe not." Poppy shrugged. "He believed it and accused me of negligence and reckless disregard for-"
No no no no no. Xiomara closed her eyes. I just want to have a good time tonight; maybe get a good-night kiss. "It's not the same, Poppy," she said, trying to forestall the hair shirt and the self-flagellation.
"It is. I did the same thing to you as he did to me! Why do you continue to defend me to myself?"
"Because you don't. Which still doesn't explain how you found this remarkable place."
Poppy looked as though she wanted to argue the other point further, but Xiomara had the look of a smilingly pleasant stone wall, and Poppy sighed. "After Bodewell left the hospital wing, I set my back to the castle and started walking. I didn't know where I was going. Part of me had decided I was never going back. Instead, I found this spot, and it was so beautiful and...solitary, that I threw myself to the ground and got my crying done with. I stayed here until Albus sent Minerva to bring me in - which took away any possibility of my leaving." She smiled. "What about you?"
Xiomara's eyes widened. "What about me...what?"
"You don't bluff well, Xiomara. You know this spot as well as I do. How did you find it?"
Stunned, Xiomara said, "Whenever I come to a new place, I make an search of it. I probably know rooms and passages here that even Potter and Black haven't found yet."
"Everywhere? Even places where you won't be staying long?"
Xiomara arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying I won't be staying at Hogwarts long?"
Poppy shook her head. "I see I'll have to watch myself with you."
It could be arranged. Xiomara knew a room with mirrors on the ceiling...
"Why do you do it?" Poppy asked softly.
Xiomara stared into her eyes. "I refuse to be caught off-guard." And the conversation was inarguably closed.
(~(~)~)
The food from Poppy's basket was almost gone. The wine was completely gone. Xiomara was at that wonderful stage of inebriation where she wouldn’t do anything she'd regret - or forget - by morning, but where she could surrender a little of the Hooch family paranoia. And Poppy was looking so ethereal in the moonlight.
"Let's take a walk," said Xiomara, rising before she pitched face-first into her companion's lap. Not that she wouldn't love to do that, but this was their first date, after all. Unless one counted the times Poppy had come to castigate her, in which case it was their sixth date, and they should have been naked an hour ago.
Definitely time to walk it off.
"All right," Poppy agreed. She held her hand out to Xiomara. "Help me up?"
Her hand was burning hot, and Xiomara's was sweating. She pulled too hard, and Poppy stumbled into her, and Xiomara had to right them both instantly to avoid ravishing her in a horridly clichéd fashion. But Poppy did not release her hand as they walked out of the grove towards the lake.
Out of the cover of the trees, Poppy seemed to glow even more. Xiomara found herself looking over far more than she should, found herself wondering if she was the only one here who wasn't completely human.
They walked along the shoreline, watching the occasional ripple where the lake's newest addition, a baby squid that was Hagrid's most recent pet, flicked a tentacle above the surface. Poppy chatted about her family (Xiomara resisting a triumphant "ah-hah!" when she mentioned that her mother was part draiad) and her decision to become a nurse. Xiomara said little, content to let the other woman's voice wash over her. So lost had she become in the voice's cadences that, at first, she didn't realize it had asked her a question. "Xiomara?"
"I'm sorry...what?"
Poppy smiled. "I was asking about your family."
Oh. She shrugged, though she remembered Poppy's earlier comment about her inability to bluff. "We're...average, I suppose."
"With eyes like that? Bloody unlikely. And when did your hair turn white?"
"Turn?" Xiomara answered before she had time to think better of it.
"That's what I thought." Xiomara looked away, but she could feel Poppy's eyes studying her. "You're very good with Remus," Poppy said quietly.
"Perhaps we're not...entirely average," she admitted.
And wouldn't you know - and this particularly tender juncture, the moon broke through the clouds. Poppy shone so brightly Xiomara could barely look at her; but at the same time, she couldn't look away. "I'm going to kiss you now," she said.
“Oh, good,” Poppy breathed.
So she did. Chastely at first, because you don't plunder a magickal creature without permission. And then Poppy licked Xiomara's lower lip, and that seemed like permission. She parted her lips, and her tongue tangled with Poppy's, hot and sweet and in no hurry. Overcome by the hint of claret and rosemary and Poppy, Xiomara put her hand behind Poppy's head to pull her down, and Poppy slipped an arm around Xiomara's waist to draw her closer.
They breathed as one - ragged, dizzy, flying. Heat radiated from fingers stealing under the hem of Xiomara's black shirt, and her own fingers trailed down to the hollow of skin at the open collar that had tormented her all night.
Apparently out of air, Poppy broke the kiss and pulled away. Xiomara had been perfectly willing to give up breathing. She looked up into the lavender eyes and smiled. "That," she said when she could speak again, though her voice was lower and rougher than she remembered, "was well worth four months of you telling me off."
Poppy groaned. "Xiomara-"
"I know." Xiomara looped an arm around Poppy's waist, and they walked lazily back towards the grove. "I'm amazed it took me that long to figure it out."
"I don't know about that. This is my fourth year at Hogwarts. It's the Marauders' third. Albus says my first year was the time I needed to prepare for them."
Xiomara smiled at that assessment. "Marauders?"
"That's what the four of them call themselves. They don't think anyone else knows." She leaned against Xiomara, and Xiomara's insides did some heady swooping. "I'd not dream of telling him this, but I think it's sweet, Sirius going through all of that to stay with Remus. It's commendable loyalty."
"I don't think it's only loyalty."
"What? Oh, yes." Poppy nodded. "I had wondered. I hadn't been sure; they're so young."
"I don't it's happened yet. But soon - by the time they graduate, certainly - and probably before."
"In that case, I must simply resign myself to never getting him out of my hospital."
"It can't be as horrid as all that."
Poppy harrumphed. "Have you any idea the havoc he wreaks?"
"If it's anything like the havoc he wreaks on the pitch, then, yes; I've a fair idea. How one boy can cause so much chaos, I may never understand." If Poppy’s thumb kept stroking Xiomara's hip like that, she wasn't going to be able to walk much further.
"He’s not one boy," Poppy said. "He is one boy acting on behalf of three others. They've only one brain among the lot of them; it's our bad luck that when Sirius has it, he only uses it for mischief."
They had reached the grove, and they knelt on the grass to tidy the remains of their picnic. Still pleasantly woozy from the wine and the first kiss, Xiomara leaned over for another, which Poppy was more than happy to give.
Xiomara pulled on her cloak to defend against the no longer bizarrely warm evening. She realized how militaristic her outfit must look about a second and a half before Poppy said hesitantly, "You said something earlier about the Order..."
Xiomara closed her eyes. Yes. She had said that, hadn't she? "I was extremely nervous, Poppy."
Nodding, Poppy replied, "I understand. It's just that so many people talk, but no one will say what is the truth. Is there going to be a war?"
Xiomara put her palms on her thighs and leaned heavily against them. Not tonight. Please, gods, not tonight. But Poppy was right; the Ministry wasn't saying anything where Voldemort was concerned. That was a mistake; everyone in the Order told the Ministry so, but the Ministry didn't listen to the Order as much as they ought to - as much as most people believed they did. And if things between Poppy and herself were going to go anywhere (pleasepleaseplease), then Poppy deserved to know. Xiomara nodded slowly. "Yes. I'm afraid there is. Not this year; maybe not even the year after that. But Lord Voldemort grows daily in strength and supporters, and he is not a patient man."
"And-" Poppy’s pale eyes looked across the grounds and saw, Xiomara imagined, a bleak future she was powerless to combat. That's what Xiomara was always seeing, anyway. "When the war begins, will you go?"
The breath rushed from Xiomara’s lungs in a loud whoosh. Her hand reached out and twisted around one of those tantalizing loose curls. Poppy leaned closer, but her eyes remained unfocused, locked on images of war. "Yes," Xiomara said softly. "If they call me, I'll go."
They sat, unmoving, for a long, heart-broken moment. Then Poppy turned, and her eyes cleared, allowing her to see Xiomara again. Those eyes were blurry with tears but bright with determination. "If that is to be the case, I'd best make the most of you while I still have you, hadn’t I?" Raising her hand to Xiomara's chin, Poppy tilted the smaller woman's head up for another kiss. Xiomara laced her fingers with Poppy's and held their joined hands to her chest.
Some promises can be made no other way.
END