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All Rory Watson wants is a day-off.
A day where she can prop her legs up and take a nap. A day where she doesn’t have to worry about goblins or field guides or any other side quests and favors that she somehow always gets sucked into and can’t find a way to say no.
A day free from responsibilities and lectures and missions has been all she wanted ever since she set foot inside the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
And yet, when all that is well and done, when the big bad has been defeated and the school has returned to a semblance of peace, relaxing is the last thing on her mind.
Rory says so to her closest friend, Poppy Sweeting, who gives her a less than unimpressed eye roll, before pushing her back onto the couch with a knuckle to the forehead.
Rory goes willingly, and is eternally grateful no one else is around to see the blush tainting her cheeks. The Room of Requirements does, in fact, have more than one use.
“You’ve done more than enough. Nurse Blainey said it herself, you are not to leave Hogwarts for at least another day. That final battle really took a toll on you.”
Rory wants to object, wants to say she’s feeling perfectly fine, but the dark grimace Poppy wears stops her before she can form the first syllable in her mouth.
In a way, Rory understands.
Had it been Poppy trudging her way into the Hufflepuff Common Room with inconsolable tears running down her cheeks and blood staining just about every superficial part of her robe, Rory would have been out of her mind with worry.
The reminder still stings, Professor Fig’s death remains something Rory keeps close to her chest, unless prodded with a vengeance.
Despite having all been present, the other professors don’t quite grasp just how close Rory was to seeing the moment Professor Fig goes to be with Miriam, his beloved wife. Rory can’t even fault the man, for if she lost someone so dear to her so suddenly, she too would have been smiling at the first opportunity to reunite.
Rory just wishes they had more time together. The summer in Diagon Alley and half of a school year were simply not enough.
Though she supposes no one can ever have enough time to be with those they love. That’s just the way life and love works. No time is ever enough, and when you love someone, you accept that the pain of losing them is worth the joy of loving them.
“Rory?”
“Hmm?” Crap, Poppy looks worried again. Rory strains a laugh, one that feels about as fake as Imelda Reyes’ attempt of friendliness the first time they met. “Sorry. Just got lost in my head. I think I need fresh air.”
Thick eyebrows furrow, not unlike a puffskein grumpy at not being given a treat, Poppy admonishes Rory again.
“Nice try, but you still have half a day left.” Poppy follows the direction of Rory’s eyes, finding Deek who, much to her chagrin, tattling on her. “Huh, make that a whole day.”
“Poppyyyyyy,” Rory whines, dragging the syllable and herself over the small coffee table she found on a random adventure in the Forbidden Forest. She might be a Muggle-born, but the presence of furniture in dark, spider-infested caves till this day remains one of the weirdest things she finds about the wizarding world. “I'm so bored. Please. Just 15 minutes under the sun.”
Poppy, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, sighs in pure exasperation.
“You're worse than a Niffler, did you know that?” Rory shrugs, having heard way worse in her lifetime. She also likes to think Poppy considers her as cute as a Niffler, but that's a delusion to be discussed another day. “Well, sadly for you. I must insist on reinforcing your quarantine. Otherwise I would never hear the end of it from Professor Weasley.”
Knowing her friend won't budge, Poppy Sweeting is many things, unwavering remains one of her most endearing if not annoying qualities, Rory lets out a sigh of defeat and plops back on the couch.
Rory makes sure her displeasure is loud and her petulance obnoxious, huffing and puffing as she drapes an arm over her eyes. The perfect picture of a fallen soldier, destined to rot out of boredom.
“Such a baby,” Rory doesn’t deign that with an answer, merely sighing louder and longer. “Alright, that’s it. Lift your head.”
The flush from earlier blooms once Rory realizes what Poppy is trying to do.
Still, she knows better than to deny the opportunity of having her head in a pretty girl’s lap, having Poppy’s fingers gently combing through her hair and eliciting noises that sound like they should be coming from the beasts in her vivarium rather than her vocal cords.
“This is… slightly better.” Rory comments, the amusement hopefully shining through. She knows it does when a gentle hand slaps at her shoulder, Rory ensnaring it in her hold before Poppy can get away. “Had you done this before, I would have complained less.”
Poppy chuffs, her annoyed facade would have come off better had she not been in the middle of petting Rory’s head.
“Is that what you tell all the girls?”
Rory opens one eye, mouth curling. Here, Rory can see the freckles dotting across Poppy’s nose bridge, and the twinkle in her dark brown eyes shining with the sun pouring in from Rory’s carefully-chosen stained glass windows.
Their close proximity makes her heart go babum, babum. Her hands itch with the urge to reach out, to touch, to… something. Anything. To satiate this undying desire burning in her chest.
This is not at all how puppy love is described in her Muggle books. This feels ancient, old, and powerful, not unlike the semi-forbidden magic running through her blood.
Rory knows her emotions amplify her powers. She thanks Professor Rackham, Professor Rookwood, Professor Fitzgerald, and Professor Bakar, that no one else alive can see it. Can see the way Rory glows like a lightstick every time Poppy Sweeting does something… Poppy-like.
That would be embarrassing.
“Just the special ones.” Rory says with too much sincerity, leading her to give a salacious wink, in hopes of covering her tracks.
Poppy is blushing, so all things considered, it’s a success. “Hound.” When she receives nothing but a grin, Poppy changes the subject. “So, seeing as we will be spending another day here, is there anything you want to do? We can go play with Highwing, or go over our notes for History of Magic?”
Just the mention of that horrendous subject makes Rory want to fall back asleep and never wake up again.
She doesn’t say that, of course. Lest Poppy gives her that disapproving glare that makes Rory want to shrivel up in a corner and die.
That’s two references to death in less than five seconds. Maybe that’s another thing she can talk to her future therapist about.
“I actually have a brilliant idea.” Rory chirps, and as Poppy is humming inquisitively, Rory grabs her wand thrown haphazardly on the coffee table. “Accio bag!”
From somewhere in the Room of Requirements, Rory may be the Chosen One and the Hero of Hogwarts, but what she isn’t is chronically tidy. A personality trait so everly begrudged by pretty much everyone around her.
“Ooh, do you have something to show me?” Poppy asks, bouncing a little in excitement.
Rory likes that about her so much. How she just never sits still and her body translates her emotions way faster than her mouth can put them into words.
“I sure do.” Rory announces, regretfully sitting up and away from Poppy’s comfortable lap. Rory vows she will return, it’s her rightful place now. “With all the hubbub about goblins and pensieves and ancient magic repositories, I haven’t had a chance to look through all that I collected on my adventures yet.”
Poppy, whose ears have been the recipient of many of Rory’s tales, is understandably excited to get right into it.
They pass the next however many hours like this, Rory pulling out a doohickey from her bottomless bag, enchanted by yours truly, and Poppy inquiring about not just its use but also how Rory found it, what was Rory doing before she found it, what Rory had in mind when she kept it, and what Rory was going to do with it.
Rory, who has never been a talker, finds a strange calm in running her mouth. Knowing that Poppy can easily match her energy and give back as good as she gets, with stories of her own.
It’s a nice change of pace, whereas Poppy is usually the one to talk, most oftentimes about magical creatures and the trivia normal people would find scouring through books but Poppy at the top of a hat, and Rory to listen.
Rory is just getting to humble-brag about the astrolabe she snatched right out of Grace Pinch-Smedley’s hands, serves her right for being a haughty piece of arse, when Poppy suddenly freezes.
“Poppy?” Rory calls, a worried little thing. “Whatchu got there?”
Even more worryingly, Poppy doesn’t answer, the parchment in her hand trembling ever so slightly. Rory slowly leans in close, their shoulders gently pushing against each other, and looks down at whatever it is that caught Poppy’s attention.
Where are you, Smithey?
Thought you were joining us in Borneo. I know you have your hopes about the fighting ring, but the true Galleons are in Acromantulas. You wouldn’t believe how much Violet and I made a few days ago. Not to mention Borneo’s not half bad to look at.
Anyway, we’ll be moving on soon. Egypt perhaps. It’s such a relief not to be weighed down anymore.
See you soon,
Angus
For a second, Rory almost doesn’t recognize this letter. Then it dawns on her.
“Oh! I found this when we were returning the dragon egg.” Rory even remembers the comment she made about how touching it was that poachers keep in touch with each other, even from halfway across the planet. She probably shouldn’t mention that she found the letter on a dead body, that sort of thing doesn’t go over well with her sentimental best friend. “I still think it’s crazy. You are willing to risk your lives for Acromantula venom? I’ve seen those things, and I would rather fight ten more trolls if it means I don’t ever have to see another one ever in my life. I… Poppy?”
Okay, now she’s getting really worried.
Poppy hasn’t made a peep during Rory’s entire spew, but all of a sudden leaps off the couch and leaves Rory to fall onto the cushion without support.
Rory bites back a grimace when the abrupt fall messes with the bandages under her shirt. Right now, Poppy is far more important.
“Hey, I… I understand, I think. Acromantulas are scary, but they are still beasts who don’t deserve to be slaughtered for profits. But I’ve fought them, you know. Several times. Only in self defense. I think most who dared to even venture near them, without a huge army, would probably die. This Angus and Violet are probably spider meals as we speak.”
Rory’s concern skyrockets when her ears pick up on a sniffle.
Poppy is crying. Poppy. Is. Crying.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Rory curses at herself, at her inability to read the room, before rushing over to her friend. Her hands hover aimlessly, wanting to touch and soothe but, at the same time, not wanting to intrude on her friend’s space. “Poppy? What do I… what can I do?”
Poppy— sweet, kind, and the first to have made Rory feel like a person and not just a savior, Poppy— lifts her head.
Rory’s heart just about shatters in half at the sight, beautiful brown eyes drenched in tears and full lip quivering with a sadness Rory has seen a dozen times before. In the mirror.
Rory’s mind is running two miles a minute, surely faster than it did during every battle she had with Rookwood and Ranrock. Which is a good thing, because she finally gets it.
“Last I heard, they were in Borneo trying to make their fortunes there. Acromantulas.”
Thought you were joining us in Borneo.
The true Galleons are in Acromantulas.
It’s such a relief not to be weighed down anymore.
Weighed down.
Acromantulas. Borneo. Weighed down.
Oh bloody fuck, Rory Watson, you are an absolute moonmind.
“Angus and Violet are your parents, aren’t they?”
Rory can slap herself. Use the Knockback Jinx and the Fire-Making Spell on herself all at once. How could she be so stupid, so… blind?
Even Ominis would laugh in her face about this, and he would have every reason to.
But first, she needs to grovel. “Oh Poppy, I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking. I’m terribly sorry. I’m such a horrible friend. Please, let me make it up to you. Let me— oh!”
The force of Poppy’s hug, arms around her shoulders and face hiding in her neck, is stronger than any Depulso Rory has been casted in the many months she was the Hero of Hogwarts.
At least Rory doesn’t stutter or fall, confidently catching her friend in her arms, shooing away the inappropriate thoughts of just how right Poppy Sweeting feels in her embrace.
“Shut up. Shut… up.” Poppy speaks with clear difficulty, her audible sadness stomping on the broken pieces of Rory’s heart and grinding them to dust. “Hold me. Please just… hold me.”
Rory doesn’t say she never wants to let her go, only does as she is told.
They migrate to the couch after a long period of Poppy just sniffling and Rory being a good vertical pillow. Rory transitions into being a horizontal pillow, carefully guiding Poppy to sit down while not losing her hiding spot in the crook between Rory’s neck and shoulder.
Deeming the time appropriate, Rory says. “I’m sorry you had to read that. You must know what they say isn’t true.”
“It is.” Poppy finally answers, sounding so small it takes all of Rory’s power not to floo powder all the way to Borneo to kick her parents in the arse. “They’ve always considered me such. They’ve said that to my face many times. And I’m…” Poppy sniffles, strained. “I’m not surprised nor am I upset. Not about that.”
“Then what, darling?” Rory lets the nickname slip, but for once she doesn’t regret it. Poppy clearly needs it. “Talk to me.”
Poppy stays quiet for a bit, presumably to arrange her words so they align with her thoughts.
Rory doesn’t mind, will stay right put, will hold her for as long as Poppy needs.
“My parents were the ones who sent the poachers after Gran.”
The hand stroking down Poppy’s spine comes to a freeze, Rory horrified at the implication. “Are you saying—”
Poppy nods, clutching Rory’s other hand like a lifeline. “I am. One of them must’ve recognized me, and if they were who I think they were, they were already in contact with my parents. Asking to see if they knew where I could possibly hide that Hebridean Black Dragon egg.”
Rory’s blood begins to boil, no doubt glowing like a white torch with all the anger swirling inside her.
Merlin, she should have kicked that dead body in the skull for good measures. He may not have had a direct hand, but his letter did. His letter put Poppy’s Gran in danger.
“Hey, hey,” A finger lifts her chin, forcing Rory to meet Poppy’s knowing eyes. “Calm. My Gran is alright.”
“She almost wasn't.” Rory returns, voice trembling. Poppy’s hand moves to cup her cheek, the pad of her thumb stroking comforting circles on Rory’s skin. “Jesus Christ, I hate your parents.”
Poppy laughs, but it doesn't reach her eyes and it doesn't set Rory’s heart on fire.
“I do too.” Poppy readily admits, her other hand cupping Rory’s other cheek. “I love them and hate them in equal measures. I’ve disowned them and vice versa, clearly, but the realization… I want to say I knew they never cared about me like that. They never loved me the way I loved them. I want to say that I knew, but I hoped. I hoped they did, but seeing the concrete evidence that they didn't, they never did, so much that they didn't even hesitate about hurting the people I love most, I…”
Poppy’s lower lip trembles again. Rory's own eyes sting, one of the traitorous bastards slipping and running down her cheek.
Poppy wipes it away. “I shouldn't be crying about them.” It shouldn't still hurt, is what she is trying to say.
“There is no ‘should’.” Rory says, once again tucking Poppy back down. Her friend goes willingly, letting out a contented sigh that raises all the hairs on Rory’s skin. “You're mourning. Maybe not in a literal sense, but metaphorically… and grief isn't linear. You should get to feel whatever you're feeling without fear of judgment or whatever.”
“I’ve never known how to do that.” Poppy clutches at Rory’s shirt collar. “It's only with you that I felt safe enough. My parents, they… they used to punish me, for crying about abused beasts, for crying about moving away, for simply having feelings.”
Rory exhales shakily, accidentally inhaling the scent of jasmine in Poppy’s hair and feeling herself growing calm.
“Never with me.” Rory promises. “You can let your guard down. You can break down. Either way, I’ll catch you. I won't abandon you. You will never be alone again.”
Poppy may not believe her now, but one day she will. Rory will make sure of it, and work her damn hardest to make it happen.
One way or another, in whatever way or another, Rory Watson swears to always make Poppy Sweeting happy.
It's an honor much more worthy than any ancient magic, and she vows to give the quest all the respect it deserves.