Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Rory’s just barely set foot inside Professor Fig’s classroom when the man rounds up on her. “You’re here!”

Her first instinct when she sees him rapidly approach her is to flinch, wand almost immediately summoned in her hands to protect herself. Thankfully, her mind registers the look on his face, his worry lines taking up almost half of his face as he looks her up and down, right before she can even take a step back.

Letting her guard down, Rory allows herself to be fussed over, before chuckling lightheartedly.

“Professor, am I glad to see you.”

“And I you.” He gushes and sighs in great relief, Rory apparently passing his assessment with flying colors. “Thank Merlin you’re in one piece. I heard about the attack. Trolls— in Hogsmeade?”

It’s good that Professor Fig sounds so astonished, because here Rory is almost thinking that was a common scene in the wizarding world.

Speaking of which. “Sir, the trolls were wearing armor. It had that dark glow like the dragon collar.”

Professor Fig’s face pales, the same realization that crashed into Rory in the middle of the fight dawning on him as well. 

“Goblin silver!” His face turns somber, feet automatically shuffling in anxiety. “Ranrok used it to control the dragon. But how? And why send trolls to—”

“They were there because of me.” The reminder floods Rory with a rotten feeling, something unfortunately more familiar than any old friend could be. People could have been hurt, and it would have been her fault. “I overheard Ranrok talking about it with Viktor Rookwood.”

“Ranrok was in Hogsmeade? With Rookwood?”

Rory nods, finally stepping inside his office and closing the door behind her.

It surprises her not one bit that it's become even messier than when she was first in here, Professor Fig undoubtedly digging up everything he can on their current adversary and Rory’s own conundrum with ancient magic.

A weird way to start off a school year, and that's saying a lot, considering she's studying at a boarding school full of witches and wizards.

“The trolls were Ranrok’s distraction so that Rookwood could get to me. And he would have, had Sirona and the patrons at The Three Broomsticks not intervened.”

Professor Fig’s eyes flutter shut briefly when Rory mentions the brutes’ hostile intention towards her, her heart warm at his obvious display of care.

“Thank Merlin for them.” He beckons her to stand by his desk, which she obeys. “This is grave news. If Ranrok’s goblins and dark wizards are after you, they want what we found in that vault.”

Oh yeah, Rory almost forgot about that.

“Speaking of the vault, do you think Ranrok is working with any of the goblins at Gringotts?”

Professor Fig shakes his head. “I do not. Gringotts goblins aren’t typically the friendliest of beings, but they have a great deal of integrity. No, I daresay after what happened to that poor banker, the goblins at Gringotts are no followers of Ranrok.”

Rory isn't entirely convinced, not when that goblin who wore that glowing armband was supposedly the one that ratted them out to Ranrok in the first place.

But Rory trusts Professor Fig, and it's not like it really matters in the end.

“Very well. What about the locket? You said you discovered something in it.”

His face almost brightens at her question, hand excitedly tapping at the surface of his desk. Rory follows his gaze, finding a map spread out all over the wooden surface.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you ever since I figured it out.” Makes sense now why his owl sounded so urgent. Rory almost feels guilty for taking so long to get here, but in her defense, the castle is huge and she’s still easily distracted by shiny things. “I discovered an inscription on the locket. When I read it aloud, this map appeared. Isn't it clever?”

Normally Rory would agree, magic hasn't yet stopped being, well, magical in her eyes, but right now she is more confused than in awe. 

“What is it, exactly?”

Professor Fig doesn't laugh at her stupidity, instead immediately taking to explain. “It’s a map of Hogwarts, to be sure, but I don’t know where it leads.”

Rory hopes he won't be asking her. After all, she’s only been at this school for, what, less than a month.

Plus, she's terrible at maps.

Roads and landmarks are okay, but maps are where she draws the line.

She does spot something interesting though, a silverish white wisp that floats above a certain section of the map.

Rory leans down to follow it with a finger, answering when she hears Professor Fig’s curious hum. “I see traces of magic on the map.” Her digit taps the surface, indicating its location. “It leads here and a bit beyond. Where is it?”

He makes another hum as he assesses it, then a higher pitched one when he realizes.

“That’s the library, and that’s the Restricted Section.” He turns to her with a smile that makes her preen. “I suspected you would see something.”

Restricted Section, he says? Now that sounds like fun. 

“You know me well.” Rory jokingly winks, tilting her head towards the door. “Shall we go now? I don’t have class for the rest of the afternoon.”

Her question is more out of courtesy than anything, feet already speeding to the door. Rory stops when Professor Fig coughs, turning around and confused to find he’s still there behind his desk, wearing a rather stoic expression.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm and I’m eager to discover what we may find there as well, but if our experience at Gringotts, let alone what happened to Miriam, taught me anything, it’s that the path we’re on is terribly dangerous.”

The mention of his wife doesn’t go unnoticed nor the way Professor Fig’s eyes cloud over with a deep sadness as he looks at her, but Rory is too distracted by the prospect of adventure to make a mention of it. 

“What are you saying?” She asks slowly, dreading his answer as she already knows what it is.

Professor Fig releases a deep sigh, before he straightens his back and looks at her with sternness in his eyes.

It's one of the very few times Rory remembers him looking at her like a proper teacher, not just an easygoing mentor, and to be quite frank, she hates it.

It makes her feel uncomfortable and unfamiliar, not to mention conflicted. She isn't used to people looking after her.

“I’d like you to work with Professor Hecat a bit, before we continue.”

Discomfort replaced by indignation, or rather a disguise, who knows, really, Rory rounds back at him. 

“What? But, sir, you know I can protect myself.” Sure, he hasn't seen her squaring up against those pensieve knights, but he did see her coming out alive and just heard about her defeating a literal troll. Rory is practically unstoppable. “Besides, how dangerous could the library be? Perhaps we’re only after a book.”

“Perhaps we are only after a book, but we should be prepared for anything.” He bulldozes over her before she can say anything in return, chin lifted in a rather haughty display. “Your professors will alert me when you’ve completed all your assignments. Come and see me then.”

Knowing she’s at a deadend, Rory still tries and insists. “But, sir—”

“Rory.”

In a blink of an eye, Professor Fig turns into Sister Prya. Rory has to blink several times to make sure she isn’t seeing things, to make sure her nightmares aren’t bleeding out into reality. Whatever face she is wearing must look rather gnarly, so much so that it makes Professor Fig soften his stance and extend a hand.

Rory hates that even more. Feels even more useless and pitied.

“Fine. I’ll go see Professor Hecat.”

It’s not the first time Rory has shut down at the first sign of a trigger, and Professor Fig knows better than to push. After all, it’d only get him yelled at. 

“Very good.” He says with a light tone, like he’s trying to cheer her up again. It’s working. “Now, run along. I assume you have better things to do than spend time with this old man.”

Rolling her eyes, Rory pushes open the door with her hip. “I suppose there are worse things.”

She laughs at his affronted face, his gleaming amusement the last thing she sees before the door closes shut.

Rory’s smile gradually slips off, replaced by a dismayed sigh. Professor Hecat’s class won’t be for at least a few more days, and she wasn’t lying when she said she had the rest of the day off. 

Off to go find trouble elsewhere, she supposes.

—

Out of everyone who’s Rory had the pleasure of befriending in the last few weeks, Natty is by far her most favorite companion to study with. 

They both like to work in companionable silence, which is only occasionally broken whenever Rory has a question or Natty has an interesting fact she wants to share. They both appreciate the art of hard work, as well as knowing there is nothing more beneficial to their productivity than having a friend keeping you in check. Above all, they both know to separate work and play, which is helpful as Rory tends to be enabled in gossip whenever provoked. 

Which isn’t something Natty does. Ever.

That is, until today. 

“Have you met Poppy yet?”

Blinking out of her sleepy daze, History of Magic is proving to be a spectacular pain in her arse, Rory turns to her friend.

“I have. We share Beasts with Howin together. She and I are tablemates.” One of her eyebrows raised, Rory asks. “Why?”

Closing her own book of Charms, Natty puts her head on her chin.

“Just curious.”

There’s definitely more to it, but alright, she’ll bite. 

“I’ve actually heard her name being mentioned a couple times before. Mostly from Arthur Plummly, but also from Leander’s group when Sebastian took me to Hogsmeade to get my supplies.” Natty doesn’t bother hiding her grimace, which rings odd in Rory’s mind, what with how utterly easygoing she always is. “Not a fan of Leander?”

“He’s nice enough. A tad too rowdy for my taste when he’s around his mates.” Pearly white teeth show in a smile, Natty elaborates. “He and Garreth Weasley are quite alike, and not just because of the red hair.”

Rory has definitely noticed that too, even asking Lenora if they were related at all. “Imagine if they get married, two whole generations of redheads.”

The two of them share a small laugh, careful to be quiet so Madam Scribner doesn't come glaring. The woman has ears of a bat, and that's saying a lot considering Rory once had a bat for a pet.

Natty interrupts her train of thought before she can remember fondly about Cat The Bat, saying. 

“If you’ve heard her name from Leander, then you probably know Poppy isn’t the most popular figure in our year.”

Rory has certainly noticed that, most prominently from the incident in Beast class with Justin Nelson and Gwen Yuval. She tries not to read into things, but the way Poppy talked about spending time with Highwing, it makes Rory think she doesn't have any human friends at all.

Which only makes her decision to trust Rory with her beast friend so astronomical and, if she's honest, rather flattering. 

It also helps greatly that Poppy is extremely cute, Rory’s not blind. 

“Yeah, I don’t get that. Poppy’s so nice, she always says hi whenever we see each other outside of class. Not to mention so smart, and she’s super pretty too.”

Natty raises an eyebrow at how passionate Rory delivered the last bit, but thankfully, she doesn't comment. 

“Poppy’s very passionate about what she loves, and a lot of people can't keep up with that.” Rory thinks it's stupid, and she goes to say it too, earning a sympathetic nod. “I agree. Poppy’s always been a bit of a loner. I think she and I have talked a total amount of less than 20 times since we met last year. With the way our classmates act with rumors, I honestly don’t blame her sometimes.”

Previously slouching, Rory almost goes straight spined at the new piece of information.

“What rumors?”

“Nothing too serious, I don't think. Except for a few that borderlines sexual harassment, but that's just boys being boys.” Oh if Rory’s blood wasn't boiling before, they're volcanic now. “Generally people like to joke about how much Poppy loves her beasts. Sometimes they get carried away and make Poppy uncomfortable.”

Taking a deep breath before she accidentally blows this library to bits, Rory asks Natty. “Any reason why you haven't tried to get close to her? That is, I hope I’m reading this correctly, if you want to?”

“I do, yes.” Natty’s sad sigh is felt, her eyes and mouth downturned. “But I got here too late. By the time I transferred from Uagadou, Poppy had already isolated herself from most of our peers. I can only do so much, but I’m spread thin as it is trying to investigate Rookwood and Harlow. And before you say anything, I’m taking care to be very careful.”

Rory almost wants to object on principles. Regardless, she did worry about her friend there, always will, if she's honest, but she’ll concede to the point.

“But you think I should be in the picture because…?”

“I was hoping you two would like each other.” Natty nods a little giggle when Rory points to herself. “You’re a lot alike. You’re both passionate, kind, and aren't afraid to stand up for yourself and everyone else. I find that admirable.”

Oh shucks… “Speaking of which, I told Poppy about how you and I rescued the 2 hippogriffs too.”

Oh right, Poppy’s owl makes sense now. Rory should respond and arrange for them to meet soon.

“Poppy alluded to that. What did she say?”

“She was scared for us, but mostly, she was worried about you.” Rory blinks, suddenly feeling hot in her cheeks. “I take it you two are really close now?”

Rory shrugs, can't help but smile. “I don't know her heart, but I consider Poppy to be a dear friend.”

The mere thought of Poppy seeing her the same makes something flutter in her chest and widens her grin, both of which Rory promptly sweeps under the rug for later inspection. 

A moot point, seeing as Natty clearly sees it anyway, eyebrows raising teasingly. 

“If she introduced you to her hippogriff friend, I’d say you’re already halfway there.”

Well that's just not helping Rory deflate her already big head at all.

Flustered, Rory tries to change the subject, “That makes sense, since she already asked me to tag along with her to find out about this um…” only to realize the hole she just dug herself in.

Luckily, Rory’s friend is considerate and kind and oh-so amazing. 

“Not to worry, I won't ask.” She laughs when Rory mimes a huge fist bump, but suddenly turns stern. “But please keep each other safe. I would like for all 3 of us to be friends sooner than later.”

Rory is tasked with a lot of things even before she sets foot into Hogwarts. This is a mission she will sacrifice everything to make come true. 

“I will do my best.”

—

A few days later after Horntail Hall, Rory finds herself with a dragon egg in her possession— honestly, she should stop being so surprised at the things that come out of her mouth these days.

And to be quite frank, Rory is way out of her depth.

She can’t give the dragon egg to Deek, lest the elf tattles to Professor Weasley, and she meant to give it to Poppy, but Poppy had looked at her with so much trust in that tent that Rory did the first thing her instinct told her to do; get rid of the burden on Poppy’s behalf.

If only she knew she would end up in this situation.

Honestly, she would do the exact same thing all over again.

Alas, the fact is that Rory has no idea how to care for a dragon egg, and every book on that matter is buried deep inside the Restricted Section which, after Rory and Sebastian’s brief debacle, is now more tightly secured than ever.

Thus leading Rory to a dead end and resorting to consulting with an expert.

Sharing only Potions today, Rory is extremely careful in writing Poppy a note. She keeps it fairly simple, asking whether Poppy has some free time after class so they can talk somewhere private.

Once done, Rory folds the paper in half and tucks it in between her right index and middle finger.

Just like how she used to during the more boring classes at the orphanage, Rory keeps an eye out for her teacher and, right when Professor Sharp turns his back, flicks her wrist. The piece of parchment soars past two brewing tables, her own and Natty’s, who gives a cursory glance before continuing minding her own business, before landing perfectly in the crook between Poppy’s fingers.

Rory has to grin at the look of adorable surprise adorning her face, waving when Poppy searches for the culprit.

At her deer in headlights look, Rory mimes an opening motion with her palms. Poppy obeys and does a quick scan of the note, face strangely darkening with an expression Rory can’t quite read.

Regardless, Poppy gives Rory a quick nod and a thumbs up, before continuing on with her work.

Rory’s a little confused, if not concerned, about the sudden mood change, but resolves to ask Poppy about it once class is dismissed.

As it turns out, Rory isn’t the one to look for Poppy as soon as Professor Sharp lets them out, but the other way around. 

Rory’s goodbyes to Natty and Sebastian have just barely left her lips when she feels a harsh tug at her sleeve pulling her in the other direction. The only reason why Rory doesn’t outright scream or pull out her wand is because she can recognize that beautiful bob anywhere.

Still, it’s safe to say that Poppy scared Rory nearly half to death, making her chest heave even as they stop behind one of the more secluded hallways of the dungeons.

“Poppy, Jesus Christ. Slow down.” Rory practically whines, flicking her wrist to ease the sore. 

Who knew someone so tiny could have such a tight grip? Rory makes a mental note to never challenge Poppy to an arm wrestling contest. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Poppy winces, oozing off an unusually frantic energy. Rory gets her answer in the next words just spat out of Poppy’s mouth, like she can’t bear to hold them in any longer. “Is everything okay? The poachers didn’t get to you, did they?”

Has that been worrying Poppy the entire time?

“No, Poppy. Nothing like that, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Poppy asks, at which Rory nods even harder. “What’s that scar on your neck then?”

Scar on my— oh. “Oh that’s from… a flying accident. It happens to the best of us.”

Rory’s pretty sure the aforementioned scar came from that one Ashwinder’s knife having a stroke of luck and nicking her skin, but Poppy doesn’t need to know that.

“Are you sure?” Poppy asks again, hands flying towards that scar like she's about ready to examine it to make sure Rory is telling the truth. “This looks untreated, Rory. You should go see Nurse Blainey.”

Rory, whose brain is fried from just the smallest touch of Poppy’s hands on her bare skin, bobbles her head like a dum-dum.

“I will.” Eventually Rory manages to croak that much out, and as much as she would love to just stand in silence while being fussed over by one of the prettiest girls she has ever seen, there is still a dragon egg needed to be tended to. “So um, I know you said you were busy tracking the dragon so we can return her baby, but I need to consult with you about something.”

Poppy, who is still glued to Rory’s torso and mindlessly stroking her scar, asks innocently. “What is it?”

Honestly, Rory feels stupid for even asking this.

“How exactly do you care for a dragon egg?”

Made even more so when all she gets from Poppy is a series of clearly bewildered blinks. Her cheeks are turning red from mortification, and her hands itch with the urge to fidget.

Thankfully, whether or not she notices the swift emotion shift, Poppy says. “I— I suppose I should’ve explained that to you before I handed over the egg. That was careless of me.”

Rory’s face scrunches. “I mean, I should be the one saying sorry for not knowing.”

The hands softly cradling her skin moves to tap her cheeks with a bit more force, startling Rory out of her daze.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You just got your magic this year. Expecting you to know everything would be unfair.”

It's Rory’s turn to blink in bewilderment, thinking to herself how, yet again, Poppy is affording her a kindness she doesn't even know Rory needs so much.

“Thank you. For understanding.” It's the least Rory can say. Rory wants to say so much more.

Poppy looks like she gets it, grinning brightly like the sun again.

“Of course.” With one final pat, Poppy takes a few steps back, unaware of the displeased whine Rory tries so hard to stamp down. “If you’re not busy with anything, let’s go back to the Common Room. We shouldn’t talk about this in the open.”

Right. Dragon egg. The urgent thing Rory approached Poppy about. 

“Lead the way.”

—

Rory hates math. 

It’s not something she’s particularly proud of, made even more so by how utterly stupid she was made to feel by the nuns who were responsible for her education in the first place. Rory doesn’t think she’s being unreasonable, having met many people who share her distaste of the subject and just general confusion towards numbers.

With that being said, of course fate takes this as yet another laughing moment and puts a mathematician puzzle in her lap, taunting her to solve it with her little pea brain.

“Gah!” Frustrated, Rory tosses the damn paper that’s been torturing her elsewhere, not even caring to look where it lands. 

Flopping sideways onto the gigantic couch of the Hufflepuff Common Room, Rory contemplates taking a nap and hoping Merlin will be kind enough to give her an answer in her sleep.

Alas, fate has other plans.

“Well, hello to you too.”

Rory peeks open one eye, smiling when she realizes it’s just her familiar gaggle of Hufflepuffs, evidently just coming back from a class or a study session Rory wasn’t a part of. Instinctively, her eyes seek out for one special Hufflepuff, only to secretly pout when there is no sweet face or fiery eyes in sight. 

“Hello hello,” Rory waves weakly, too braindead to greet her friends properly. “Where did you guys come from?”

Lenora, always peppy and smiley, even if slightly too smug at times, answers. “An impromptu study group in the library. We tried to find you, but you weren’t in the castle.”

Rory keeps her frown to herself, feeling a bit sad that she keeps missing out on opportunities like this. But it’s not like she was out having fun, she was on a mission.

“What were you studying?” Rory asks instead.

“Beasts.” Charlotte answers, straight up forgoing the other couch but lying on the floor instead. “Puffskeins are adorable and all, but if I have to hear another word about their many uses in potions, I will make sure no one sees another one ever again.”

Arthur chuckles, going to sit by Rory’s feet. “Careful. You don’t want Poppy to hear that.”

Speaking of which. “Where is Poppy by the way? She didn’t come back with you guys?”

Rory hopes she isn’t being too obvious about her desire to see the girl.

In her defense, she's gay and Poppy is really pretty.

Adelaide, who has just taken a sip of pumpkin juice, shrugs.

“We didn’t ask her to join.”

Rory frowns, feeling a pinch of annoyance.

“This is Beasts class we’re talking about. Poppy is in our class.”

“Whoa, hey. Relax. We didn’t intentionally exclude her or anything.” Charlotte defends, even sitting up so she and Rory are face to face. “Today is Friday. Usually Poppy is away with one of her many beasty friends until dinner. She wouldn’t have said yes.”

Rory doesn’t buy it. “And you know this… how?”

“She told us.” Charlotte emphasizes, sounding too defensive for Rory’s liking. “Really. You think we haven’t tried to ask her before?”

“To be fair, the last time we did was in second year.” Arthur adds, wearing an apologetic expression that further increases the awkwardness in the room.

Lenora throws up her hands. “Well, if she wanted to join so much, she would have said something by now. It’s not like we would say no to her face.”

Why Poppy would ever step out of her comfort zone for that attitude, I wonder. 

Too tired for a full-blown argument, even if she’s quietly taking notes, Rory lets it go. 

Luckily, Charlotte changes the subject before she can.

“What were you working on?” Rory turns, finding the paper she tossed carelessly away a few seconds ago now in Charlotte’s hands. “What are all these shapes?”

The paper in Charlotte’s hand depicts a door of some sorts. When Rory taps it with her wand, it reveals two sets of puzzles. Each puzzle is shaped like a triangle, with 3 pyramid blanks on each end and a center. 

In the first puzzle, the center is 17. From left to right, the pyramid blanks are ?, 6, and what looks like a bull with tentacles. 

In the second puzzle, the center is a spider. From left to right, the pyramid blanks are 3, what looks like an owl, and ?.

The only thing Rory thinks could be a hint is the arch above the door, where the animal figures are listed in an order. Rory doesn’t even recognize half of what these are supposed to be, let alone what the order is supposed to signify. 

Rory sighs, her subconscious reminded of her budding migraine and increasing the pain twofold.

“I honestly wish I knew. I’ve been trying at it for hours to no avail. My head hurts now.”

Charlotte chuckles, sending Rory a teasing glance.

“The Perfectly Brilliant Rory Watson being stumped by something? Never thought I’d ever see the day.”

Rory swallows the bile rising in her mouth, knowing her friend is genuine and not trying to guilt her into feeling stupid. She watches as the paper is passed around, feeling more and more in despair at every look of utter confusion she receives in return.

By the time it gets to Arthur, who grimaces before he even reads it, Rory is this close to just giving it up altogether. 

But the boy brightens with an idea, and Rory feels in her chest lit a spark of hope.

“I know exactly who to ask about this. She can do some crazy math in a split second.” Who— “ Ah, speak of the devil.”

Rory turns her head, half expecting to find a gray-haired seventh year or someone equally as old and wise. But it’s Poppy. Poppy with her sweet smile and kind eyes, walking into the Common Room having no idea how effortlessly she just took Rory’s breath away.

Rory frowns. This sounds a little too intense for what she had thought to be a small crush. Perhaps some introspection is in order. Later.

Sensing all eyes on her— or maybe just Rory’s, but that’s her delusional arse talking— Poppy gives a small, but adorable wave.

“Hi everyone. What are you all up to?”

Rory can tell everyone is waiting on her to answer, which makes sense considering this is her puzzle, but alas, Rory’s mind is still stuck on the way Poppy’s hair looks in this warm light, or the way her skin looks pink flushed like she just got a good workout, or the way she's smiling so prettily, makes Rory wonder who even needs the sun when you’ve got this smile right here. 

Letting out an award-winning, if not slightly eyebrow raising, sigh, Rory proceeds to turn herself into a dum-dum. 

“Poppy.”

“Rory.” Poppy returns her greeting in kind. Rory swears her eyes look brighter when she’s looking at her. “Are you alright? You look like you're in pain.”

Rory blinks, self-conscious. Hurriedly sitting up and smoothening her rat nest hair. “Just a teeny headache. Nothing big.” Teeny? Really? What are you, 2? “Hi, Poppy.”

Her ears pick up a couple snickers, no doubt the others laughing at whatever display this is. 

Poppy at least looks amused, not off-put, so that’s a blessing.

“Hi, Rory. What were you up to today?”

“Trying to solve a puzzle, evidently.” Arthur answers for her, which, okay. Rory is a little bit grateful. “You’re good at math. Can you take a look at it?”

Wait, what?

Poppy is good at math? And no one's told her this? This bloody school and their fixation on the stupidest things.

Blissfully unaware of Rory’s brain eating itself outwards at the new piece of information, Poppy gingerly takes the paper in her hand and gives it a long look.

Meanwhile, the spotlight turns to Arthur. “Since when is Poppy good at math?” Adelaide asks, genuinely interested. 

“Poppy and I shared Basic Arithmancy a while back. It didn’t catch on for me as much as it did Poppy, so I dropped it.”

Lenora hums, looking at Poppy with renewed distinct interest. Now you know how I feel.

“I never even knew Poppy took Arithmancy.” That’s because you lot don’t care enough to ask. “What do you even learn in that class, besides the obvious?”

“It’s actually not math that we are taught. We are taught numerology. You just confuse them because math is the only form of numerology you’ll encounter in your life. In Arithmancy, we study the magical properties of numbers, including predicting the future with numbers and numerology. Most people who excel in this class go on to become Curse-Breakers, who are basically Gringotts’ version of treasure hunters.”

Everyone gives a hum of understanding. Rory specifically remembers Curse-Breaker being Professor Weasley’s previous occupation before she came to Hogwarts. Maybe that's why she has such a soft spot for Poppy, it all makes sense now.

Charlotte looks Arthur up and down, making the boy blush. “Treasure hunter, huh. I can see it.”

They share a giggle, Arthur’s a little more demure and shy.

“Poppy wearing leather would be a sight to see.” And just like that, Rory’s brain has ceased working again. “Rory, what do you think about—”

“The first ? is the hydra and the second ? is the quintaped.”

Had Rory not been sitting here this entire time, she would have thought the entire Common Room just got dosed in sleeping gas, with how suddenly speechless they are. Rory shares the sentiment, actually, because it's barely been a minute and already Poppy’s solved the puzzle. The same puzzle that took Rory hours and got absolutely nothing.

What. The. Fuck.

“How the fuck?” Lenora exclaims, leaping off the loveseat she was sitting on and running over to Poppy, who semi-recoils in fear of an accident. Thankfully both girls are safe from Lenora’s enthusiasm. “What— how— where did you get that from?”

Poppy blinks, understandably surprised but kind enough to explain. “By the archway. See, every animal is a number. So you add or subtract the number an animal correlates to or vice versa.”

Charlotte’s hand shoots through the air, almost poking Rory in the eye in the process. “Hi, hello. Idiots in the Common Room. We need you to dumb it down for the rest of us.”

Rory wants to protest, but honestly she does feel a little stupid. And smitten. And starstruck. And gay. Just, very gay.

“Okay, okay,” Poppy chuckles, automatically coming to stand right by Rory. Their hands graze in greeting, and kid everyone not, Rory almost melts straight into the couch. “So. Let me just begin by saying the animal and what number it correlates to.” Like moths to a flame, they all intensely follow Poppy’s finger as she draws along the archway on paper. “Demiguise, 0. Unicorn, 1. Graphorn, 2. Runespoor, 3. Fwooper, 4. Quintaped, 5. Salamander, 6. Grindylow, 7. Acromantula, 8. Lastly, Hydra is 9.”

Another moment of silence for Rory’s last brain cell.

“I’m not at all surprised that you recognize all those creatures, but holy shit I’m impressed.”

The compliment comes from Adelaide, on whose tongue the cuss word sounds inexplicably wrong yet so terribly right for the occasion. Everyone else seems to agree, looking at each other dumbly.

“Wait,” Arthur’s hand rises now. “It starts at 0? Not 1?”

Poppy, eager to move on, explains. “It wouldn’t add up.” Huh, is it really that simple? “Plus, demiguises are known to make themselves invisible so they’re hard to catch. Poachers love them because they can be used to make Invisibility Cloaks.”

Charlotte nods repeatedly. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who actually owns one of those. They’re bloody expensive.”

Poppy gives her an approving nod, continuing.

“Exactly. And if my suspicions are correct, the rest of these drawings correlate with the same logic. Demiguises disappear, 0. Unicorns have 1 horn. Graphorns have 2 horns. Runespoors have 3 heads. Fwoopers come in 4 different colors. A quintaped has 5 limbs. A salamander can survive up to 6 hours when not literally on fire. A grindylow has 7 legs. Acromantulas have 8 legs. Hydras have 9 heads.”

In the distance, there is the sound of Lenora whining about “How did I not realize this?”. But Rory pays no mind, focusing on tapping the paper with her wand and repeating the answers Poppy just gave.

It works. It fucking works!

“Poppy, you are a genius!”

Rory is not proud to say that she practically leaps off the couch and wraps her arms around Poppy like an over-enthusiastic troll with no concept of personal boundaries. But any hesitation she has is gone right out the window when smaller, but no less gentle, arms wind themselves around Rory’s neck, Poppy’s high-pitched giggles against her skin sending shockwaves throughout her body.

Rory has to put her down eventually, but she's too transfixed by the giggly flush painting Poppy’s cheeks to actually let her go. Poppy doesn’t let go either, fingers even toying a little with the baby hairs on the back of Rory’s head. 

“You’re incredible.” Rory almost gushes, and is definitely not hallucinating the way Poppy’s cheeks turn even redder.

“Oh, stop. It’s just math.” Poppy ducks and peers up under her fluttering eyelashes, looking so beautiful that it physically hurts. “What's the puzzle for? Do you get a prize if you solve it?”

Nodding so fast her head almost dislocates itself, Rory shows Poppy the new words that just pop up. 

“I’m supposed to follow the hints and find more until I get to the ultimate treasure. You bet I’m going to use the money to buy you something.”

Poppy is chuckling as she shakes her head. Like Rory just said something silly.

“Keep it, you goof. Buy yourself something nice.”

Rory pouts, suddenly brave. “But I wanna buy you something nice.”

Poppy turns even more pink, eyes even closing shut in, hopefully, endeared speechlessness. Rory is just about to say something else, something smart, maybe, when they're interrupted by a cough.

“Get a room.” Charlotte says, not at all trying to make herself subtle.

It has the intended unfortunate effect of making Poppy shy and pull away. Rory tries really hard not to pout, but maybe she lets slip something anyway, when Poppy taps her cheek for consolation.

“Put that away.” Rory obeys, earning another pat on the cheek. “I’m gonna take a shower, I’m all sweaty from wrangling the kneazles.” She turns to everyone else, addressing them too. “See you guys later for dinner?”

Everyone echoes out a variation of affirmative, and Poppy soon takes her leave, but not without looking back to wave at Rory one last time. Rory waves back of course, surely wearing a dopey smile, eventually forcing herself to look away before she ends up looking like a creep.

Rory will soon regret that, for the moment she turns around, she finds not just her gaggle of Hufflepuffs but also half of the Common Room looking at her, all wearing various expressions of mischief.

“So.” Charlotte goes first, eyebrows raising all the way up her hairline. “You and Poppy.”

“Me and Poppy… what?” Rory says, subtly Accio-ing her bag from the couch. “There's nothing going on between me and Poppy. Nope. None whatsoever.”

“None whatsoever?” Lenora asks, the smugness from before coming back with a vengeance. “So explain what that was just now.”

Rory balks, cheeks flushing hot. “Nothing! That was nothing!” She laughs, sounding awkward at best and crazy at worst. “Just friends helping friends. Gals being pals.” Merlin, if you can hear me, please strike me down now. “Come to think of it, I should go and thank Poppy. All that mental math must be exhausting. Yep, I should really do that. Since I… forgot.”

Contrary to what she hoped, Rory’s words only proceed to elicit more laughter. Some of them even started wolf whistling.

Rory understands why when Charlotte, with the widest grin ever worn by mankind, says. “Thanking her… in the showers?”

WHAT?

To say the images assaulting her mind right then and there are mortifying is a huge understatement. Rory‘s cheeks absolutely explode in heat and with colors, brain going 5 miles a minute, and mouth stuttering so badly she can't even talk. 

But Merlin does she try. “No! No, that’s not— I would never— Jesus Christ, shut up, Rory—” Okay, let's pack it up now. “BYE!”

—

“Wand at the ready!”

Feet apart. Arms by her side. Head hung high. 

“On your marks.” Deep breath in. 

“Get set.” Deep breath out.

“Accio!”

Magic thrumming in her veins, Rory lifts the dummy into the air and summons it right towards her. Then, before it can land, Rory winds her arm back and fires.

“Expelliarmus."

Successfully disarmed, the dummy wiggles helplessly. Rory knows it won't last, its wand will come back, so she goes on the offense immediately.

“Depulso.” It stumbles back, but its wand is back too. Rory doesn't give it a chance to get revenge, hitting the dummy with a triple combo. “Glacius. Diffindo. Confringo.”

And down the dummy goes. Rory doesn't stop just yet, moving to close-range practice instead.

Yanking the dummy back up with a swift Accio!, Rory shoots another combo of spells, hands and feet moving in a rhythm that her own body created all by itself. 

“Incendio. Protego. Stupefy. Bombarda!”

Hit after hit, the dummy is still standing. Occasionally it shoots a spell or two back at her, but every one Rory deflects or dodges with ease. She’s so lost in her practice that she fails to notice the passage of time flying by, seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours. 

Finally, Rory feels the irresistible exhaustion in her bones, manifested in her sluggish movements and aching jaw. Her chest heaves as she dodges a particularly close call, the dummy’s Diffindo spell soaring past her head and nicking a good chunk of her hair.

“Oh come on!” Rory groans, her arms shaking as she pulls herself back on her feet. “I spent so much money on this haircut, you stupid thing.”

Vengeful, Rory’s arm winds back for the finishing blow. Blue eyes fluttering shut, Rory calls upon the now instinctive ancient magic powers inside of her, eyes snapping wide open the very second her wand glows a familiar silverish blue.

Arm shooting into the sky, Rory summons a lightning bolt from heaven and strikes it down the dummy’s head. The blinding light and piercing explosion temporarily disorient her, but Rory resolutely stays put, only loosening the tension when she sees the dummy now nothing more than a piece of charred coal.

Take that, fucker. 

“Whoa! That was brilliant!”

Whirring around, Rory gets the scare of her life when she realizes she isn’t as alone as she thought she was. “Lucan, you scared me…”

Wearing his usual maroon and gold robes, Lucan Brattleby gives Rory a sheepish smile as he walks in.

“Apologies. You looked so focused, I didn't want to distract you.”

Knowing he’s genuine, Lucan always is, Rory waves the boy away with a tired smile. “No need for that. What are you doing here so late anyway?”

Physically hearing her bones begging for help, Rory finally sits her ass down, almost moaning in delight when her butt touches the cold hard floor. She’s almost tempted to just flop down on her, but figures that wouldn’t be very polite.

Half a beat later and Rory still hasn’t heard Lucan’s answer. Concerned, she looks up from her spot on the floor, finding the boy already staring at her.

“Lucan?”

His mouth is open, like he’s been trying to find words to say, but couldn’t. Eventually, perhaps a result of Rory’s encouraging smile, he says. “It's… morning. I was just about to set up for Crossed Wands.” Oh. “Have you not slept?” Oh shit.

Rory wills her fuzzy brain to come up with an excuse, cursing to herself how she didn’t even notice so much time has passed since she first walked into the Clock Tower. 

“Oh uh… I wasn't tired.” Sounds about good enough. “Yes, that’s it. I wasn’t tired. Figured I could get some additional training in.”

By the looks of Lucan’s small, worried face only scrunching up even more at every word she says, Rory knows her excuse isn’t working. Admittedly, she can’t bring herself to care about it too much, truly exhausted to the bones. 

“Right.” He drawls, cautiously walking over to her. “What was that lightning spell you just did, by the way? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Jesus, Merlin and whoever else is listening, why does she keep putting herself in the sort of situation where she has to lie out of it.

“Uh… nothing too special. Just a spell I, uh, came up with. Yeah.”

Perfect. 10 out of 10. The Department of Mysteries is practically pounding at her door with a job application form as they speak.

Looking less than unimpressed, Lucan drawls. “Sure…” He pauses, rethinking his words. “Seriously, Rory. Is everything alright with you? Did you come across someone dangerous?” Lucan asks again, looking like he’s convinced himself Rory has got herself into the troubles of a lifetime and is now responsible for the safety of the entire school, not to mention the whole world.

Oh wait.

Rory gives a wry chuckle, more directed at herself than her small friend. “Yes. Yes, of course. And no, I just wanted to get my spell-casting perfect.”

Whatever else Lucan has to say is thankfully cut off, or so Rory thinks at first. The interruption comes from the clock tower ringing its first bell, alerting Rory, Lucan, and everyone in the near vicinity that the school day has officially started.

Rory’s mind comes to a sudden pause, an inkling scratching the back walls. A new school day. Which means classes. Which can only mean—

“Professor Hecat!” Rory screeches, finally remembering her own timetable. She stumbles a bit trying to stand up, deliria now piling up on top of exhaustion and sleepiness, but ultimately standing firm on two feet again. “Shit, that was close.”

Hands creep into her vision, alerting Rory to Lucan’s presence. “Rory, you don’t look alright. Maybe you should take a day off.”

Rory’s head is already shaking before the boy can even finish his first sentence, bristling past him with a vengeance and a dismissing wave.

“I’ll be fine! Thanks though, see you for the next Crossed Wands!”

Secretly, Rory wishes she had taken Lucan’s advice and gone back to the Hufflepuff Common Room. If only to avoid this really awkward, really uncomfortable situation she has just put herself in.

“But Professor Hecat, I’m feeling perfectly fine—”

“And I’m the Minister for Magic.” Rory’s mouth opens to object further, absolutely enraged that she’s being denied her education, but Professor Hecat’s firm hand stops her dead in her tracks. “I mean it, Miss Watson. You are not in any condition to practice any spell-casting, not the least the offensive spells I teach.”

Lump stubbornly in her throat, Rory tries to beg. “Professor, please. I don’t feel as bad as I look, I promise. I just… didn’t sleep much, that’s all.”

Right away Rory knows she’s let something slip, the woman’s scribbling hand freezes with her quill still in her grip. Ridden with anxiety for her secret, Rory tries to say something else, maybe make up a lame excuse about staying up for a sleepover with the Hufflepuff girls, but Professor Hecat interrupts her again.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Knowing better than to try and lie to Professor Hecat’s face, Rory simply says. “No, ma’am.”

“Are you positive?” Rory nods. “Very well. You leave me no choice.”

Her brain has barely registered the words when, all of a sudden, a powerful force comes barrelling into her chest. Exhaustion and sleepiness joining forces, Rory has no way to even see the attack coming, let alone anticipating it. As a result, she is sent flying all the way across the room, her back smacking painfully against the training dummy that Professor Hecat so loves to use for demonstrative purposes in her class.

All that time spent hurling spells after spells at the thing, Rory never thought there came a day where it hurts her in return. 

Mostly using the dummy itself to keep her standing, Rory chokes out a pained whimper. “Professor, why—”

“If that wasn’t enough proof you shouldn’t be anywhere near this class until you get some god-honest sleep, then I don’t know what would.” Rory hears Professor Hecat, but she can’t see her. Eyes blurred to a speck of gray and blue, coming closer and closer. “Close your eyes, Miss Watson. You’ll be home before you know it.”

Rory wants to object, wants to cry out and demands why she would do this to her, but sleep has finally won their little battle. Eyes fluttering shut, the last thing Rory sees is a pair of gray eyes filled with worry and wrinkled hands cradling the back of her head.

Hmm. Just for that, Rory promises to give Professor Hecat less of a heckling once she wakes up. 

—

Rory doesn't always dream, but when she does, they're almost always violent.

When she was young, they almost always consisted of the violence the nuns inflicted upon her and the fantasies she harbored about fighting back. The more she grew up, the bleaker and lonelier her dreams became, and they’ve only gotten worse since she first set foot into Hogwarts. 

Rory tries not to let it show how affected she is by those faceless evils, recalling the last time she said something, the nuns almost immediately brought out the bible and started praying her soul out of her body. The experience, to this day, leaves her terrified of being tied down and restrained. 

Which is what makes this particular dream so bloody terrifying. 

In this dream, Rory is surrounded by her loved ones. At her feet are her friends, her sides her professors, and hidden just a bit in the dark is the gleaming twinkle of her best friend’s eyes and her pearly white smile.

But they’re… they’re different.

They look scared, for starters. Blanch-white petrified and cautious deers. Of what, Rory wants to ask. Of whom, Rory wants to kill. Because that’s just who she is. She protects the people she loves no matter the cost, from anyone and anything. 

It just never occurred to her that they needed to be protected from her.

Rory doesn’t remember thinking about pulling out her wand, but she does it anyway. The tip of it glows a silverish blue, traces of ancient magic bold and true. 

Rory doesn’t remember being under the Imperius Curse, but she points the blue where her loved ones stood. Rory doesn’t remember the incantation that leaves her mouth, but she will forever bore the pain of seeing their souls leave their eyes and knowing it was her who did this, her who killed them, her who wore the skin of the devil.

Isidora. Isidora. Isidora.

Rory has only known what she did to her father and all those people today. But already her mind had learned, had adapted, had absorbed. 

Rory doesn’t remember blinking, but suddenly there are bodies at her feet and pain in her soul. Rory doesn’t remember crying, but the people she loves are all gone now. 

Rory doesn’t remember waking up, but there are hands cupping her cheeks and mouths calling her name.

No. Not mouths. Just one mouth. 

“Rory!” Poppy. It’s Poppy. “Rory, can you hear me? It’s me.” It’s Poppy.

“Poppy…” God, Rory can just cry. Rory is crying. “Poppy, I— I’m so sorry. Did, did I wake you?”

Is it the most helpful thing to say after waking up your best friend who is having a sleepover in your bed because you can’t regulate yourself from a horrible nightmare? 

Maybe not. 

Poppy seems to think the same, looking at Rory like a bolt just physically removed itself from her noggin. “Wha— Rory, I’m more worried about you. What happened? You started shaking and now you're crying. Did something happen?”

Rory opens her mouth, then promptly closes it. How the fuck is she going to explain any of this?

“I… I just…” The answer is that she can't. Rory can't say a fucking thing. “It was… a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about.”

Rory expects disbelief from her friend, and she certainly gets it. “Yeah, and I’m Queen Victoria.” What Rory was hoping not to see was disappointment and hurt, all because Rory can't be honest. “I’m not going to judge you. It's me. You trust me, don't you?”

“I do. I trust you more than anyone, Poppy. I just…” Rory holds her breath, and braces herself. “I can't tell you. I’m sorry.”

However much preparation she has, Rory doesn't stand a chance against knowing she's the cause of Poppy’s sadness. There's so much of it and it's all Rory’s fault. She almost expects Poppy to be upset, to yell at her, to leave.

But Poppy does none of that. Poppy doesn't leave.

Frozen in her fear, Rory doesn't get a chance to process before Poppy is climbing into her lap. Her knees bracketing her sides, Poppy essentially has Rory trapped in her arms, smaller hands returning to cup her cheeks and gently craning her neck up so their eyes can meet.

What an odd role reversal this is. “Poppy?”

“Does this have anything to do with your carriage ride to Hogwarts?” How did she— “Or why Rookwood and Ranrok are after you? Or why you are doing all these extra assignments for Fig? Or why sometimes you don't return home for days and come back wearing dried blood on your clothes and reeking of Wiggenweld Potion? Or why you constantly look exhausted? Are all of these connected somehow?”

Stunned speechless, Rory can only nod. Poppy’s face softens out of disappointment, leaving behind a resignation that pours salt in Rory’s heart.

“Then I won't ask. Not until you're ready to tell me.”

The way Poppy looks at her makes Rory feel utterly lightheaded. Not a trace of upset nor anger, just pure, unadulterated acceptance. Rory wants to feel happy, wants to feel relieved, but all this does is sink her organs in boiling water. 

Shame burning her eyes and staining her teeth, Rory blurts out.

“It's… it's to do with ancient magic.” Rory starts, and almost immediately stops. Even that is too much. Even that is betraying the trust The Keepers and Professor Fig put in her. “It… it scares me. It makes me a dangerous person to be around. Poppy, I… you shouldn't even be my friend. You shouldn't trust me.”

If there's ever a time where Poppy wholeheartedly thinks of Rory as an idiot, it’d be now.

“I don't know what's going on nor what you are feeling, but you listen to me and you listen carefully, Rory Watson.” In a movement that takes Rory’s breath away, Poppy leans down and touches their foreheads. Rory’s eyes dart down her lips, but quickly looks away, hoping Poppy doesn't see. “You will never hurt me.”

She sounds so convicted. Like she's saying water is wet and the sky is blue. Rory doesn't understand how someone can have so much faith in her when Rory can't even trust herself. 

“How… how do you know that for sure?”

“I just do.” It can't be that easy. No hard-earned trust is ever that easy. “I believe in you. So are you going to prove me right? You hate seeing me sad, don't you?”

Just the mere thought makes her guts twist. “I do. I don't want to see you sad ever.”

“Then trust me.” Poppy almost pleads. “Trust me that I got your back. Trust that I won't just leave.”

Out of words to say, any one of them feels wholly inadequate and undeserving, Rory ducks her head and allows herself to be guided to the safe crook of Poppy’s neck, allows herself to be held and feel safe and be protected.

In so much bliss, it takes Rory an extra minute to realize the beautiful singing echoing in her ears isn’t coming from the back of her mind, but in real life. 

It’s Poppy. Poppy is singing, and she sounds utterly beautiful. Rory can just melt right into her bones.

“Is this okay?” Poppy asks after feeling the body in her arms slacken. “Do you want me to stop so you can go back to sleep?”

Rory shakes her head, gently so she doesn’t dislodge Poppy in any way. “Keep going?”

She can’t quite see her, but somehow Rory knows Poppy is smiling. Just the knowledge warms her heart. “Alright.”

And so Poppy sings, and sings, and sings. Until Rory’s eyelashes start to feel heavy and sleep becomes impossible to resist.

Rory doesn’t even feel herself being moved, her back touching the mattress and in her arms the sweetest person she’ll ever know. When Rory lets out the smallest whine, Poppy shushes her sweetly with a finger and keeps on singing. 

It’s a losing battle from then on. But one Rory is all too willing to surrender.

Surrounded by Poppy’s voice and Poppy’s smile, Rory allows herself to drift back into slumber. And for the first time ever, Rory is in dreams, and she is at peace.

—

“Today’s lesson is about Amortentia.”

Immediately Rory can hear her entire classroom turn rowdy. She exchanges a quick glance with her friends, finding Natty and Imelda with less than impressed eye rolls, Sebastian and Poppy with curious eyebrow quirks, and lastly, Ominis with a barely noticeable quirk of his lips.

Rory doesn’t know what this potion is meant for, but to elicit this sort of reaction? It ought to be something good.

Professor Sharp clears his throat, immediately getting his entire classroom to quieten, before he turns to Amit. “Mr. Thakar, care to explain to us what that is?”

Say whatever you want about the man, but he clearly knows who bothers paying attention and reads all the materials in his class.

“Yes, Professor Sharp.” With his ever-so cheerful smile, Amit launches into a spiel. For an Astronomy buff, he sure knows his potions. “Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence. It is considered to be a powerful and highly dangerous potion. If consumed, the person under the effect of the love potion would find themselves utterly infatuated with the person who administered it.”

Never been one to compliment a student, Professor Sharp merely gives Amit an approving nod. “5 points to Ravenclaw.” Rory thinks his usual method of incentive works just fine. “It must be noted that Amortentia does not create actual love, as it is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. Hence, the word ‘infatuation’.”

“Obsession is more like it.”

Rory turns to Ominis, who senses her curious gaze and smiles sadly. She won’t pry then, even if the concept of forced attraction makes her feel sick to her stomach. The wizarding world and their constant abuse of consent is one of the rare aspects Rory hates to find out about. 

“I'm assuming this potion is illegal? Or I hope it is?” Rory asks, really for anyone to answer.

“It is, but unfortunately it doesn’t stop people from taking advantage of it.” Hearing Rory’s curious hum, Imela explains. “In our second year, The Daily Prophet published a huge scandal about some older wizard in England slipping half a vial of Amortentia in a cupcake for one of his really young, really pretty nieces.”

The reaction is instantaneous, every one of them letting out groans of disgust and outrage. Rory isn’t an exception, only feeling that earlier nausea coming back with a vengeance and now holding a knife.

“Here goes my breakfast sandwich.” Leander mimes bulging his cheeks, causing everyone standing in his near vicinity to take at least 2 steps back. 

Rory smiles at Poppy when she bumps into her, the former instinctively tugging her closer by the waist and the latter placing her hand on Rory’s chest to steady herself. She tries not to think too much about the feminine curve of Poppy’s hips, or the softness of her skirt fabric, or the scorching way Poppy’s hand feels resting on her upper chest.

She is succeeding (not).

“I would appreciate it if all of you return your attention to my lesson instead of offering a show of your breakfast in great detail.” Professor Sharp remains stoic as the class sheepishly apologizes, Rory the loudest of them. “As for the unsolicited example, I’m regardless pleased to see my students carry the same morals that the Ministry should have regarding Amortentia. Till this day, I’m confused as to why it is even in the curriculum for a bunch of easily-influenced teenagers.”

“Professor, I don’t think it’s the teenagers you should be worried about.”

A small wave of agreeable murmurs spreads through the classroom, surprisingly even earning a nod from Professor Sharp himself.

“Not an unreasonable observation, Ms. Dale. Alas, as your educator, I’m obligated to provide you with a well-rounded education. Therefore, while you will not be learning how to make Amortentia, you will learn how to detect it— what it looks like, what it smells like, and what are its key ingredients— so you’ll know to protect yourself as best you can.”

All the girls let out similarly appreciative statements, while the boys nod in understanding. Rory thinks it’ll do everyone good to stay away from this pesky potion entirely, but hey, maybe if she ever becomes Minister for Magic, the first thing she’ll do is outlaw Amortentia for good. But that’s a problem for Future Rory. 

Present Rory needs to start taking notes, made slightly harder by the fact that she is still not quite used to scribbling on parchment even after months of studying at Hogwarts. Rory manages, in the end, admiring her wordy notes while flapping her wrist to help ease the soreness. 

It’s been quite achy lately, what with all the extracurricular spell-casting she’s been doing. Rory might need to pop another vial of Wiggenweld Potion after class, preferably before she heads to Aranshire to see about that spider situation, then back to Feldcroft for that troll situation. Thinking about it all makes her want to keel over and sleep for the next decade. 

Senses tingling, Rory looks up and catches Poppy and Natty looking at her in worry, apparently catching her slipping. Cheeks warm, Rory smiles at them, mouthing all good and even giving an extra thumbs up.

Just in time for Professor Sharp to call on her.

“To demonstrate how Amortentia would appeal to each of you specifically, I would like a few pairs of volunteers. Firstly, Miss Watson, Miss Sweeting, if you please.”

They make it past the crowd with ease, Rory readily letting Poppy walk ahead before she falls into place beside her by Professor Sharp’s desk. Immediately Rory’s nose is prickling with a euphoric smell, her eyelashes fluttering and body unconsciously leaning towards the source.

“Miss Watson, I suggest you take a step back before you trip and dive headfirst into a boiling cauldron.”

Helpfully tugged away by Poppy’s gentle but sure grip, Rory blinks herself out of her daze, embarrassed blush on her cheeks when she hears her classmates snickering at her.

“One would wonder what you smell in there, Rory.” Sebastian teases, wiggling his thick eyebrows with mocking intents. “Care to share?”

Barely holding back a snarl as there is, after all, a teacher around, Rory decides on a huffy pout instead. One that she swears Poppy’s eyes looked for a second longer than typical.

Rory must’ve inhaled something in the potion that made her see things. Yes, that must be it.

Professor Sharp clears his throat, clearly done with his students’ antics. “That is actually the whole point why I called you here, Miss Watson. Describe to the class what you smell.”

Top 5 weirdest things people have said to her this year, for sure. 

Rory agrees nonetheless, gently scooching Poppy to the side a bit so she can peer into the cauldron. Blissfully, Poppy’s hand remains on her shirt, the small act of affection making Rory grin wide as she ducks her head.

At the first inhale, Rory’s grin turns visibly dopey. She can feel all her muscles relaxing, mind flooded with memories of winged beasts and the crackling of a fireplace. 

“I smell knotgrass and coconut.”

Rory’s eyes open to find the class nodding empathetically and Poppy, who is blushing for some reason. Professor Sharp calls for her attention before she can think about it further, beckoning for Poppy to try it out too.

Obediently, Rory steps aside, allowing Poppy to slide in between herself and the desk. They all wait in anticipation as Poppy takes a small sniff and, just like Rory, mouth curling into a smile when the smell registers.

“Fire smoke, fresh grass kissed by the morning fog and… Wiggenweld Potion?”

All of a sudden, a loud snort echoes from the crowd. Immediately everyone's attention is on Imelda and Natty, the former the one laughing but the latter is obviously grinning too. Rory’s brows furrow in confusion, worriedly glancing over at Poppy. Her heart squeezes a little at the crestfallen expression adorned on Poppy’s sweet face, gently reaching to wrap her fingers around Poppy’s wrist and squeezing.

While Poppy looks better, but no less hurt, Professor Sharp doesn't react all that well.

“10 points from Slytherin and Gryffindor for the rude interruption to my lesson. Care to explain, Miss Reyes, Miss Onai?”

Natty coughs, successfully wiping off her smile. “No, sir. I apologize.”

Imelda subsequently mumbles an apology, but Rory can see that streak of humor evident in her eyes. She unconsciously squeezes Poppy’s wrist again as she tugs them both back, dismissed by Professor Sharp, and lets out a small sigh in relief when she feels Poppy pressing into her side in thanks. 

Rory doesn't waste any more time before rounding up on Natty and Imelda, careful to not make her voice louder than Professor Sharp explaining how Amortentia exudes the smell of what attracts you as a person to lure you into consuming it.

“What the hell, you guys? That was so uncalled for.”

“Did I say something weird?” Poppy chimes in too, sounding and looking so small, it takes all of Rory to hold herself back from screaming at her friends.

Natty at least looks apologetic, reaching to hold Poppy’s other hand. 

“I apologize. I wasn't laughing at you, Poppy.”

“She’s right, Peculiar.” Imelda says, ignoring Rory glaring at her for the nickname. “We just realized something at the same time and it cracked us up. It wasn't directed at you.”

Rory catches Poppy glancing at her, seemingly unsure whether to take them for their words. As for Rory’s humble opinion, Natty is integrity embodied and Imelda never tells a lie to spare someone else’s feelings, so she would wager that they're both being honest.

Still, “Can you two enlighten us on what was so funny then?”

“We can, actually.” Rory grins. “After class. Without you around though.” Rory pouts.

“What? Why?”

Imelda’s mouth opens to say something snarky, no doubt, but the sudden sound of moaning piercing through the air cuts her right off.

All heads turned back to Professor Sharp’s desk, where he has another pair of students, Samantha and Leander, looking at the cauldron, presumably to see for themselves the visual of a correctly brewed Amortentia, mother-of-pearl sheen and steaming spirals. 

The guttural moan apparently comes from Leander, whose cheeks flush as red as his hair, once he realizes he is not in fact in the solitary of his bedroom.

“Sorry, the smell of fresh soil really gets me going.”

What follows is certainly one of the most awkward silences Rory has ever experienced, and the bubble is only broken when Professor Sharp lets out a sigh so tired, his jaw is practically mopping the floor, before docking Gryffindor 20 points.

For once, none of the Gryffindors object, all too embarrassed and eager to move on with the lesson. Mercifully, Professor Sharp grants their wish, and soon their class is dismissed with an assignment, a 9-inches essay on the legality and morality of Amortentia to be submitted in 2 weeks.

Rory goes to pack her things, hearing Poppy and Natty chatting over by their table, and is just about to go join them when a low cough pulls her attention.

Turning around, Rory finds Professor Sharp hovering menacingly by her brewing station, his eyes dark and ominous. 

“Miss Watson, if you can spare a few moments, I’d like to have a word with you.”

Every alarm bell blaring in her head, Rory swallows down her anxiety and asks. “Is everything alright, sir?”

“Everything is fine. I just want to talk.”

Yeah, that doesn't sound concerning at all. Rory glances at her friends, who, once again, are looking at her with worry. Ultimately deciding there's nothing she can do, Rory beckons them to leave without her.

Once Poppy and Natty turn the corner out of the door, Imelda excusing herself earlier to catch up to her housemates for some Slytherin board game tournament, Rory turns to face Professor Sharp again.

“I’m all ears, professor.”

The man doesn't speak right away, instead limping back to his original desk. Rory follows him, returning to her usual position whenever he would have her over to give her extra assignments on potion-crafting and spellwork, hands folded in front of her and head bowed respectfully.

You can take the girl out of the orphanage, but never the orphanage out of the girl, or something of sorts. Rory’s never been one for the wordy proses she so adores.

“You smell.”

Top 2 weirdest things people have said to her this year. Seriously, can this list stop updating itself. 

“I… I beg your pardon?”

Professor Sharp huffs, like it's Rory’s fault for being offended. “Of Wiggenweld, Miss Watson. I have no interest in what perfume is on sale and is particularly trendy towards teenage school girls.”

Cheeks red— and for what, it's him who started it— Rory tries to defend herself.

“Sir, I don't understand what you're getting at.”

Professor Sharp’s eyes sharpen, like Rory’s just walked right up to his trap.

“Do you remember what I told you about my injury?”

Rory blinks, slowly nodding. 

In a rare moment of free time, Rory had popped into Professor Sharp’s classroom and found him there grading papers. Some weird inkling had nudged her inside and told her to make conversation with the man, asking about his past as an Auror and learning about how that career path came to a tragic end, a dead partner and a stubborn limp that won’t heal no matter how much time has passed.

“Yes, professor. An occupational hazard, you said.”

He chuckles. “Hmm, well put.” Then he turns stern again. “What I didn't mention, as I thought it was obvious, was that I had tried every healing available to wizardkind. Wiggenweld, one of the many.”

He knows she’s been topping off on those things. That's what this is about. 

Rory hums, trying not to give anything away. “Ah. That's how you caught me.”

“Me and anyone with a brain who pays attention to my first class.” 

Biting back a curse, Rory tries to divert the topic, lest she slips out even just one word about The Keepers or ancient magic to one of the most brilliant faculty members of Hogwarts. She cannot disappoint any of them, disappoint Professor Fig, she won't.

“What do you suggest I do then?”

He doesn't hesitate, words spatting out like he’s been holding them in for so long. “Stay out of trouble, for once.”

Which is the stupidest thing he can say, Rory almost bursts out laughing right then and there. She barely holds it in, instead tugging her hands behind her back and darting her eyes away, mumbling a non-answer.

“I’m afraid some troubles just come to me, sir.”

A loud, clearly annoyed huff escapes the man. Rory actually flinches back when he suddenly stands up, his arm trembling with the amount of force. Rory fearfully looks up, and whatever pathetic face she must be making, it only makes him more frustrated.

“I dragged this conversation out hopefully to get you to talk, but it seems the indirect approach isn't working.” Neither would the direct approach, I’m afraid. Merlin knows Professor Hecat tried. “Miss Watson, as your teacher, I’m obligated to report to the authorities if I believe you are in danger. Why are you abusing Wiggenweld Potion? So much that you practically reek of the thing.”

Okay, she is trying really hard not to be offended here, but he’s making this difficult.

Not just offended, Rory is beginning to feel annoyed. It’s already been an exhausting week fighting dark wizards, soon she’s going to have to kill a bunch of tarantulas and a troll, any patience she has left is already spent on staying right here when all her friends, who are essentially her only source of happiness right now, have left the goddamn building.

Taking a deep breath, Rory says in a low voice. “And I know to make a case, you have to have a case. I'm really appreciative of your concern, professor, but I guarantee you it's not like that. If you're so worried, you can ask Professor Fig yourself.”

Surprisingly enough, Professor Sharp looks almost delighted that Rory is arguing back. Honest to Merlin, she’ll never understand this man.

“Professor Fig. Hmm, he has been away rather often recently.”

Rory hums. “Ministry business. I’m sure you know how it is.”

The next few seconds are filled with silence, one Rory immediately recognizes as one used to taunt her into speaking, into clearing the dead air. It's interrogation 101, and while she is sure it must’ve worked wonders when he was an Auror, Professor Sharp isn't the one who grew up around nuns whose hobby is psychological warfare.

Eventually he caves, or, more likely, has something better to do, a class to teach maybe, Professor Sharp waves her away.

“Very well. If you don't want to tell me, that's up to you. I trust that you are capable.” Oh. Well that's… surprisingly sweet. “But heed my warning about Wiggenweld. When you get older, you’ll realize the importance of stopping before it stops you.”

Rory nods, standing down and bowing to show her respect. She won't say it, won't even admit it, but his care makes her heart burst.

“Thank you, professor. I’ll consult in the library further.”

He hums, sitting in his chair again and looking infinitely more relaxed than when he stood. “Actually, I have something I want to give you. Go into my office and pull out the first vial on the top left drawer of the wardrobe in the right corner of the room. The one facing my desk.”

Curious, Rory promptly does as he tells her, coming back less than 10 seconds later with the aforementioned vial. It's half the size of a Wiggenweld Potion, in a shade of blue like Rory’s own eyes instead of green, and the liquid is so thick you can barely see past the reflection of the glass.

“What is it, sir?” Rory asks, handing Professor Sharp the vial.

Only for him to push it back to her. “It's an experimental healing potion I’m working on. I got the recipe from a witch scholar in Mahoutokoro, who I contacted with the help of Professor Kogawa. I’ve been using it on my leg, and while it does not completely cure me, it's been helping with the pain.”

Hands shaking, Rory can feel her eyes brimming with tears too. “And you… you want me to have this?”

Professor Sharp hums, awkwardly looking away after he sees her get emotional. Rory would be mortified, but she's so overwhelmed right now she can't give less of a fuck.

“I’m your teacher, Miss Watson. My job is to keep you informed and, most importantly, when you're here in my classroom, to keep you safe.” He coughs, fidgeting with his quill, giving Rory plenty of time and privacy to wipe her face. “It's still experimental, so check in with me often to give me feedback, would you?”

Laughing, Rory tenderly slides the vial in her bag, carefully slotting it in the leather strap that she usually uses for her Wiggenweld Potions. 

“Of course, professor. You’re going to see a lot of me in the future.”

“And what a bleak future that would be.” He says with a small smile. “Run along. I have your essays to grade.”

Rory gives him an exaggerated, spine-bending bow in return, even holds it long enough to hear him huff in exasperation, before skipping out of the classroom and, subsequently, the Slytherin Dungeons.

As she makes her way back to the Hufflepuff Common Room in desperate need of a long nap, Rory reminds herself to be more careful.

This is the second time a teacher has outright asked her about her extracurricular activities, all because Rory can't do a good enough job to keep herself together.

No. This won't do.

This can't do. There are people relying on her, people entrusting her, and there is no fucking way in hell Rory Watson is going to disappoint them.

Never. Not in a million years.

She’ll show them. All of them. She’ll show them that she's worthy, that she's reliable, that she can handle it.

She can keep it together. 

She must.

—

The moment The Keepers disappear back into their portrait, Rory knows what Professor Fig is going to say. 

“I know. I know. Continue to hone my magic.”

He looks charmed, at least, far from the exasperated look he tends to give Rory every time she likes to be snarky. “You do learn quickly.” Rory gives him a grin, all mouth and no teeth. “Hopefully you’ll soon hear from Lodgok as well, and we shall learn how he fared with the helmet you retrieved.” 

Rory nods as he speaks, unconsciously steering them both out of the Map Chamber. She’s just thinking about going to check her mailbox at The Owlery when a hand comes down on her shoulder, pulling Rory’s eyes back to Professor Fig.

“Well done today, as always.” He emphasizes with a squeeze, softening Rory’s grin into a proud, little smile. 

“Thank you, professor.” Waiting till they make it up the stairs and on the path back to Hogwarts, Rory confesses cheekily. “Admittedly, I dread going back to my studies. I have an insanely long essay to write on Amortentia and an even longer one on dittany.”

She fully expects him to laugh, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t take advantage to gently shove him in the shoulder for doing so. For someone who looks so fragile, Professor Fig doesn’t budge at all, merely continuing to chuckle at Rory’s misfortune. 

“Much as I miss being young sometimes, the homework part I do not envy you.”

Rory rolls her eyes, skipping ahead to open the door for him. “Were you a model student? You look like a Ravenclaw.” 

Giving her what can only be classified as a side eye, Professor Fig banters. “Stereotyping houses already? My, you learn quick.”

Laughing, Rory raises both hands in surrender, spreading them out to take in the warm sun cascading down on them the moment they enter the courtyard.

“I’m just saying, you have the aura of a Ravenclaw.” She makes a dramatic pause, then adds. “I also have made a bet with Sebastian that you are a Ravenclaw, please say yes so that I can get unlimited sherbet lemon for a week.”

His side eye morphs into an eye roll, exasperated but no less fond. His head beckons them in the direction of his classroom, where Rory assumes he has a class to teach or whatever other Professor-Fig thing he does in his office.

“You know this is not at all what I envisioned when I told you to embrace inter-house unity.” 

Rory chuckles. “Yes, well, the Sorting Hat did consider putting me in Slytherin, so consider this me reaching my mischief quota of the month.”

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, since you went into the Restricted Section to get the book without me.” Rory still thinks it's the most logical thing to do, after all, isn't the world in literal danger? Merlin knows just how many more trivial meetings Headmaster Black was going to pull Professor Fig away for had they decided to wait. “And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I was in Gryffindor.”

Her defeated groan is so loud it scares away the wandering pigeons. But it’s worth it, Rory secretly thinks, for Professor Fig is laughing and Rory’s heart warms knowing she can still make the people she love happy.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Professor Fig asks her about a few more trivial things, less world-saving and more life-living, and Rory is all too happy to seize the opportunity to talk about what makes her happiest these days, her friends.

One of them, in particular.

By the time they arrive at the steps of the stairs leading up to Professor Fig’s office, where they should split as Rory plans to head back to the Common Room for a quick nap, Rory is animatedly telling him about the grand finale of her and Poppy’s spectacular adventure.

“After we defeated the poachers with the centaurs’ help— who are so cool, by the way, I’m a bit mad you didn’t tell me about them the moment I learned magic existed— Dorran and Elek stood aside for us to set free the Snidgets. So we opened the door and saw the eggs covered in this protective charm. I urged Poppy to go break it so they could hatch, but she said something about, I only ever wanted was to see them safe and they are, and turned to me. Me! Like she trusts me to not hurt them! She said as much, told me I should do it, with her big, brown eyes. How could I say no when she was looking at me like that, you know? 

So I did it— honestly it was pretty simple. The eggs started to hatch and— sir, believe me when I say they’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Almost more than the puffskeins Poppy loves so much. So anyway, Poppy asked Dorran and Elek what to do about the Snidgets, because you know, poachers are going to be actively hunting after them now. They told her not to worry, and that the Snidgets are going to be under the protection of centaurs from here on out. Poppy was so relieved that she pulled me in for a tight hug, one I happily returned of course. 

We spent the entire day there playing with those cute buggers— well, mostly me, Poppy had to go all scholar and took notes. Eventually we had to leave to make it back to Hogwarts before the sunset, which was a bummer, but the centaurs promised us we could visit them anytime. So yeah, that's what I’ve been up to the past week.”

Rory turns her head, half expecting to be admonished as she did reveal willingly going into the Forbidden Forest on at least 3 separate occasions, but what she sees is not at all within the realm of her expectation.

Professor Fig is… smirking? At her?

“What?”

“Nothing.” He says, sounding a lot like something. Seeing her sulk, he continues, taking up an odd tone she hasn’t ever heard from him before. “I just can’t help but notice how fondly you speak of Miss Sweeting.”

Rory squawks, then proceeds to be embarrassed about it. Coughing, she avoids his eyes, staring rather intensely at the tapestry hung on the castle wall. 

“She is my best friend.” Best friend. Best friend. Just friends.

“Is that all she is to you?”

The question itself is fine, but the implication of what is on the tip of her tongue practically makes her heart come to a dead stop. Because no, she is not. Poppy Sweeting is not just her best friend.

She hasn't been for a long time. 

Head turning, Rory goes to list out all the reasons how Poppy Sweeting is just her best friend, just someone she adores with her whole heart, just someone she’s so grateful to be by her side. But the moment she sees his face, all understanding and warm, Rory’s mouth just runs off all on its own.

“I’ve never liked someone as much as I like her, and I’m frightened.”

It's not that Rory hadn't known. She wasn't stupid. Her heart doesn't threaten to jump out of her chest and her eyes don't magnetize for just anyone. But saying it out loud, god it makes Rory want to cry.

Rory is in love, and she's screwed.

Professor Fig reacts exactly like how she thought he would, temporarily jarred by the sudden mood change, eventually nodding in understanding while wearing the exact look of heartbreak Rory knows is imprinted on her own face, the situation hitting them hard and hitting them fast. They both have lost so much, and the prospect of losing more…

Rory thinks back to Headmistress Fitzgerald preparing for the third trial, feeling dizzy at how quickly time has passed. Already she is halfway through her journey, and still there doesn’t seem to be an end to all this tragedy.

Rory has done all she could, but it doesn’t feel like enough. If it was enough, she could have saved more people. If she was enough, this war would have been over. Instead she’s stuck in the same place she always was, watching helplessly as fate tosses at her one thing after another, almost as if trying to see how hard she can be bent before she is broken. 

A gentle hand on her shoulder jolts Rory out of her despair, teary dark blue eyes looking up to their equally wet, lighter counterparts. 

“I’m scared, professor.” What if we lose? What if more people die? What if you die? 

“Then do it scared.” Rory exhales shakily, gently nudged into his arms. She hugs her mentor tightly, and he hugs her the same. “I told you once before that I believe the wizarding world is in capable hands for now there is you, and I still do. You’re doing everything you can, and whether you believe it or not, that’s enough. You are enough, Rory.”

The voice in her head laughs and bares its teeth, mocking her for her belief and nativity, but for once Rory doesn't feed it what it wants, for once Rory allows herself to feel comforted and protected by someone she knows loves her unconditionally.

If only Rory knew this was going to be the last time they ever hugged, she would have remained in his embrace a bit longer.

If only Rory knew.

—

Rory is procrastinating.

She should be studying about graphorns, as that is certainly what The Keepers meant by a face of stone and tendrils, or so Professor Fig says, but here Rory is, laying on the patch of grass in the corner of the forest by Professor Howin’s classroom, watching Poppy play with her favorite puffskein. 

“Come here, Gerald. That's it. That's a good boy!”

In her defense, it's an adorable sight, made even more beautiful thanks to the sun floating behind Poppy’s head, framing her smiling face in a golden halo. Rory lets out a wistful, pathetic sigh, so much longing in her heart with nowhere to put it.

That’s a lie. The subject of her affection is right there.

“You guys must love it whenever Poppy visits.” Rory murmurs, absentmindedly brushing the fur of the beige puffskein snuggling in her lap. Poppy named him Kevin, Rory doesn’t know which one of them is cuter. “I know I would.”

Kevin purrs in response, sounding not unlike Cat The Bat whenever Rory was fortunate enough to be given petting privilege, even if that meant contracting several unknown diseases. She often wonders how he’s doing— if the roommate she assigned to take care of him was feeding him well, if he finally found his family, or if he missed her— and thinks maybe it’s for the best that she left.

Merlin knows what’s happened to every single person she cares about.

“Who would win in a fight, a graphorn-sized puffskein and a puffskein-sized graphorn?”

The question is so jarring and comes out of nowhere, so much so that it makes Rory flinch.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Poppy says airily, sitting down besides Rory. Her skirt rides up a bit with the momentum and exposes creamy skin, which Rory only glances at once before darting her eyes away. Merlin, she really hopes she isn’t blushing. “So?”

Right. The question. “Sorry, I’m going to need you to repeat that. I was um…”

Poppy doesn’t comment on her uncharacteristic response nor her unusual antsy, but she almost never does. It's one of the many reasons why Rory loves her. 

“Who would win in a fight, a graphorn-sized puffskein and a puffskein-sized graphorn?”

“Right.” Rory blinks, runs that through her head one more time, only to end up letting out an incredulous laugh. “Poppy, I don’t even know how to begin answering that.”

Poppy huffs, nudging their shoulders. “Sure you do. We’ve been doing so much revision on graphorns. You’re probably an expert by now.”

Rolling her eyes, Rory looks back down at Kevin, whose eyes are peaked open in a display of grumpiness, a perfectly natural reaction after being deprived of soothing pets. She continues brushing the puffskein, all the while entertaining the hypothetical situation put in her head.

“A graphorn is easily 3 times the size of us, and probably 13 times bigger than a puffskein. I would say a graphorn-sized puffskein is winning easily.”

Poppy hums, not agreeing or disagreeing. “I don’t know. Graphorns have, well, horns. Plus, they’re apex predators. Does it really matter what size they are if they are capable of bloodshed?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Rory asks. “Since when do you think any magical beasts are bloodthirsty monsters?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Rory does, she just wants to make Poppy smile that exasperated smile of hers. It’s special, dripping in fondness, and a privilege Rory will hold close to her heart always. “I’m just saying, if they think you’re a danger to them, they will want to harm you.”

“As opposed to these guys?” Gently, Rory picks Kevin up by his sides, holding back a laugh when the demanding puffskein immediately whines in displeasure. “Look at them, Poppy. A graphorn is no match for their devilish prowess.”

Of course, because the universe loves to make a joke out of her, Kevin chooses now as the opportune moment to stick his tongue up her nose and burp in her face. Rory remembers laughing at Poppy on their first day of Beasts class, finding the strangled squeak coming from the back of her throat and her blushing cheeks utterly adorable. 

Compared to that angelic sound, Rory must sound like a dying crow.

“I deserve that.” Rory grumbles, almost crying at the awful smell of puffskein spit. “You know what, maybe Duncan was right to find you lot terrifying.”

A chuckle sounds into Rory’s ear, sounding louder than before. “Oh don’t be such a baby. Kevin must have indigestion.”

Never has Rory moved faster than when she is transferring the puffskein into Poppy’s hands, mouth curling in a secret smile when Poppy’s laugh echoes loud and bright. Blinking away the tears, Rory opens her eyes and sees the view for herself.

“Was Rory being mean to you? I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m here now, Big bad Rory won’t hurt you anymore.”

It’s such a cliche, maybe even a bit corny, but Merlin knows Rory would do anything to be looked at the same way Poppy is gazing down at that puffskein. 

Her voice too raspy to be casual, still Rory says. “This will not stand in the court of law. Evidence shows that I’ve done nothing but groom him to perfection.” Brandishing the brush like a murder weapon, Rory seals her case. “Exhibit A.”

To her utter dismay, Poppy isn’t at all paying attention to her, more focused on actually helping the puffskein with his supposed indigestion. Rory swears Kevin is smirking at her, the bastard.

Suddenly desperate for her attention, Rory makes a small whine. Her friend makes no other move to acknowledge her other than an eyebrow quirk, which is fine, the longer she looks away from the puffskein the better.

Goodness, Rory sounds like a jealous girlfriend. And they're not even dating. 

Almost grumpy at her mind pointing out that painful obvious, Rory takes to plucking out handfuls of grass, surprisingly finding the motion therapeutic, if not slightly destructive to the environment. The repetitiveness of it gives her mind something to grab onto, careful to not fall into the same slippery slope of horrible memories and heavier burdens weighing on her shoulders.

It’s nice, Rory decides, being here with who makes her happy. The rest of the world can wait for just a bit, it owes her that much.

“You’re smiling again.”

The better question is how can she not be, when the sun is kissing her skin and there is Poppy by her side. Rory doesn’t say any of that, of course, just looking up and finding her best friend’s eyes on her once again.

Rory didn’t think she’d come to crave that feeling so intensely.

“I am.” She agrees, her chest wrecked with a long, aching sigh of content when Poppy plops her head down on her shoulder. She looks at home there, Rory wants to keep her there forever. “You’ve noticed. Is that why we’re here today?”

Small hand slyly taking a hold of hers, currently bandaged and hiding a large scar that, coincidentally, looks like the ax of Ranrok’s radical goblins. Merely a coincidence.

“You’ve been looking so down lately, I just figured we should have a peaceful day.” Oh, Poppy. “Away from poachers, away from dark wizards, and away from… extra assignments.”

It’s been almost a week, four days to be exact, since Rory witnessed Lodgok being murdered at the hands of his brother. She still hears his voice in her dreams, and the sound of his body hitting the rock hard floor. She still feels the sob that shatters the bones in her chest, barely holding it together to tell Professor Fig and The Keepers and receive her next mission. 

Nevertheless, Rory smiles, because Poppy cares and it means the world to Rory that she does. “Yes, extra assignments. Those are the worst.”

For the next few minutes, they don’t talk. Poppy is playing with Rory’s palm, and Rory is quietly thanking every god that’s ever looked over her for the gift that is this beautiful person by her side, in this life, in this moment. 

Rory knows she needs to cherish this for what it is and what it might turn out to be. A stolen moment, a thieving memory, and a long-lasting reminder.

I want you. 

I want you as more than a best friend. 

I can't stop, I hate that I can't stop. 

I’m sorry, I can't stop.

I’m sorry. I hope I’ll make it out alive to tell you that.

I love you. And I’m sorry. 

If I’m gone, please remember me fondly. 

—

Poppy is very touchy-feely.

It isn’t something Rory notices right off the bat.

On the contrary, it only starts to show the closer friends they become. Poppy doesn’t even seem like she’s entirely aware of it herself, every act as casual as they come. To Rory, though, they mean so much more than she can ever say.

Like when Poppy is showing Rory how to properly hold the Hebridean Black dragon egg, she places her smaller hands directly atop Rory’s to guide her, their size difference only a little jarring but so very much heart fluttering.

Or when Poppy and Rory are studying in the library together, Rory would feel a small pressure on her shoulder and turns to find Poppy asking if she can just rest her eyes here for a bit. Rory wants to tell her she can stay there for an eternity and a day.

Or when Rory is sitting in her room frowning over a difficult assignment, Poppy would magically appear out of nowhere and press her ridiculously soft lips against Rory’s temple, greeting and encouraging in the same breath. Rory’s face is hot like a stove for the next 15 minutes and she gets none of her assignments done.

It’s hard to say whether or not Rory is glad for this turn of events. On one hand, Rory loves being able to touch Poppy the way she’s always wanted, dreaming in her bed of a love so pure and kind. But on the other, Rory feels so guilty. 

She doesn’t remember much about her parents, only that they were sparse of affection even when times were good. The nuns were particularly unkind about her desire for skinship, which surely comes as a surprise to no one, always shouting in her face about how she was sinful, filthy, and altogether unworthy of love.

Even after they’ve grown so much closer, to the point where both of them can confidently call the other their best friend, Rory still feels very much conflicted about initiating touches with Poppy. She knows she shouldn’t, she knows it’s the opposite of what Poppy would want, but she can’t get herself to stop.

And that’s not even mentioning the topic of Rory’s feelings for the sweet Hufflepuff. Bloody Merlin, puberty is so complicated for no good reason.

Rory is still lamenting about that as she returns to her Hufflepuff Common Room. While not entirely unfamiliar with receiving looks everywhere she goes— her fate was sealed the minute she sat down in that carriage, it felt like sometimes— Rory still feels pinpricks of discomfort running up the length of her arms when all her housemates turn to greet her. 

At least they don’t ask. That’s the one thing Rory will always be grateful for. Saying a few quick hellos seems like a worthy trade to be afforded such a kindness.

The door to her bedroom is a much welcomed sight after the brief trip she had. 

Rory has no hard feelings towards Professor Weasley, but she genuinely wasn’t ready to hear his name again so soon. The pile of letters she drafted out to a few selected professors asking for a private meeting is still sitting in the drawer of her desk, waiting to be sent. Rory just needs to get better first, both physically and mentally.

But first, Rory needs a nap. She's developing a headache.

Opening the door with one hand already undoing her tie, Rory’s other one almost flinches and reaches for her wand when she realizes there’s someone in her room.

“Rory, welcome back!”

Oh, never mind. It’s just Poppy.

“Hello,” Rory smiles, feeling better already. She turns away briefly to undo her wristwatch, even taking out her hair tie so her migraine can lessen. “I thought you said you had a study group to be at. What are you doing here?”

Just her voice alone tells Rory that Poppy is bouncing around in her bed clearly excited about something. Rory can't help but smile, she truly is so adorable.

“We finished early and I rushed back to tell you something. I think you’ll enjoy hearing about this. I purposely stayed long enough to get the entire gossip for you.” Rory hums to show she's interested, while taking off her robe and undoing a few top buttons of her shirt. The skirt can stay on for a bit. "So. Do you remember Nerida Roberts?”

Brows furrowed, Rory tries to bypass her exhaustion to look through her memory. “Nerida… is she Slytherin by any chance?”

“Yep. That's her. She said you helped her recover an offering from the merpeople?”

Oh, her. Rory smelled like fish for almost an hour after diving into that cave, cool as it is the prospect of healing the gap between wizardkind and merpeople.

“Ah, yes. Nerida, who wanted to become the official Ministry liaison with merpeople. I remember now. Didn't she say she was going to send the artifact to them as a reason why they should do it?”

Rory sighs in content as she lies down on her bed, arm automatically outstretched so Poppy can cuddle her side. Being this close, Rory gets to smell the unique coconut scent of Poppy’s shampoo, every bit of tension automatically seeping through and out.

She's only been gone for a little while. She shouldn't miss her this much.

“Yeah, and apparently Nerida made good on her promise, but something went terribly wrong.” Rory can predict only 2 outcomes, and neither of them sounds particularly appealing. “The Owl Post employee that was in charge of delivering this package with explicit instructions and details of who to find lost the offering.”

Rory blinks in bewilderment, this not being one of the two outcomes she suspected. 

“He what?”

Poppy hums, moving so her body is pressed against Rory’s but her head is tilted up so they can talk face to face. How Rory doesn't explode into fireworks every time is completely beyond her.

“Nerida was furious, even demanded going to the Ministry herself to talk to the employee, who swore that it was an accident, that he didn't know what happened. He swore he had left the package in the mailbox for the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but she swore she never saw it when she came into work the next day. The parchment of apology the poor staff sent was almost longer than the dittany essay we had to write earlier this year.”

“Gnarly.” Rory winces, the movement slightly agitating the thrumming ache against her temple. “You sound like there's more.”

“That's because there allegedly is more.” Poppy looks practically giddy, a sight Rory doesn't often get to see outside of their more dangerous endeavors. And she said she wasn't one for gossip, Rory can read her like a book. “Well, according to Nerida anyway. She is convinced the Ministry is using the staff as a fall guy so they can steal her precious merpeople artifact without anyone knowing.”

Rory hums, bouncing the idea around in her head. 

“Not entirely surprising, if everything I’ve heard about this Ministry so far is true.” And she has been here for only a few months. Imagine what other things they were up to at any other time. “How is she going to prove it?”

“That, she has no idea.”

Rory waits, and waits, yet Poppy doesn’t seem to have anything to add. The whole thing is just so incredulous, all Rory can do is laugh. 

“Remind me to never hire her as my lawyer, good heavens,” Rory trails off into a chuckle, wiping away a genuine tear. “I hope she's not going to the Ministry with an accusation then. She’ll end up getting sued.”

Poppy hums, capturing Rory’s hand for herself. “She might win. Grace Pinch-Smedley is in our study group, and she said she was going to lend Nerida her family’s army of legal attorneys should she need it.”

Whatever face Rory is subconsciously making must look hilarious, as it makes Poppy burst into a round of high-pitched giggles. 

“Not a fan, I take it?”

“I can’t be the only one who thinks she’s a little insufferable.” Rory’s nose scrunches, remembering about the time she, again, dived into bone chillingly cold water for some random astrolabe. “She acted like me having never heard of her family name was a grave personal offense.”

Poppy’s face looks like she understands exactly what Rory means. “That’s Grace for you. It’s kinda sweet if you think about it, she’s clearly just very proud of her family.”

That, Rory won’t begrudge. Grace can use a little more humility though, just saying.

It’s a while later, Rory almost lulled to sleep by Poppy drawing shapeless figures on her palm, when their little bubble is broken.

“What did Weasley want?”

“Mostly she asked about my progress with the Wizard’s Field Guide and my schoolwork.” Poppy hums, encouraging. Rory smiles, remembering what happened next. “She actually mentioned you at the end. Said she was glad to see I found such a good friend in you and how happy she was to see you engaging with your classmates more.”

Her words bring a proud grin to Poppy’s lips, Rory’s chest is filled with warmth at the sight of it. “Oh, that's nice of her to say.”

“She also knows we freed the Snidgets.”

A few moments later, “What?”

Rory just about busts her lungs laughing at Poppy’s shocked squeak, wouldn’t even be surprised if somehow the sound escapes the walls of her room and bleeds into the other dorms. 

“It's alright. We’re not in trouble. Or at least, I don't think we are.”

Poppy still looks shell-shocked, if not a little apprehended. “Blimey, how could she have known? Is she somehow in kahoots with the centaurs?”

Shrugging, Rory tucks Poppy’s head down, both letting out simultaneous sighs of content as they melt into each other. “Beats me. If she knew about my trip to Azkaban, I imagine she knows everything and anything that goes on around here.”

Rory waits a beat, then another, and another. When at least 30 seconds have gone by and Poppy hasn't spoken a word, Rory looks down at her in worry. Only to find Poppy with her eyes the size of saucers and mouth practically lint-rolling Rory’s bedsheets.

A bit self-conscious, wondering if she hadn't gotten all her tear streaks off, Rory asks. “What?”

Poppy blinks, looking not unlike a bewildered owl. “You… went to… Azkaban?”

Rory frowns, thinking back. “Oh shit, I didn't tell you?” Rory receives not 1, not 2, but 5 smacks on the chest for the stupid question, so she promptly explains. “Alright, alright. So, what happened was, I was in Potions when I got an owl post from Lenora—”

Unknowing even to herself, Rory feels almost happy to regale the tales of her adventures. She’s only been able to do this with Poppy, ever since she got severely injured in the battle with Ranrok, but now that she's started, she doesn't think she ever wants to go back to the way it was before.

Victories are bittersweet when there's no one to share them with. Sebastian’s presence was nice when it lasted, but he isn't Poppy, whose sweet eyes and kind mouth are laser-focused on Rory’s well-being rather than the glory itself.

Rory knows she can trust Poppy with her life. Maybe she should start trusting Poppy with her everything else too.

“A few days later, I received an owl saying Madam Thistlewood was on the mend at St. Mungo’s. I was relieved, of course, but now that we’re talking about it, I wonder if there's anything else we can do for Anne.”

“Merlin, I can't even imagine.” Poppy shakes her head, sounding awfully choked up over a mere stranger. “Being wrongfully incarcerated for so long, and in Azkaban out of all places… is there even hope for her to return to society?”

“I’m…” Rory tries, but even she can't see it. “If she's exonerated, she'll need a really good doctor to heal her mind. Azkaban is nowhere humans should live. I was only there for, what, less than 15 minutes, and it felt like everything good in this world was ripped away from me. It was almost like when he—”

“Miriam would have loved you, my young friend.”

Great. Just when she thought she could have a break.

Eyes stinging, Rory tilts her head up her ceiling, hoping to swallow her grief somehow. When that doesn't work, Rory closes them shut, thinking if the tears can't even form, then they won't be able to escape, and she won't have to let them wreck her inside out all over again.

Rory thinks it might work. Rory knows it is when her breathing is calmed and her heart slows down, but what she doesn't know is how they maintain that composure when she feels Poppy’s soft lips press against her cheek.

Eyes fluttering open, Rory finds Poppy’s face only mere centimeters away. Her throat is dry, almost sandpaper, at the look Poppy wears when she opens her eyes, lips still hovering over skin, fiery and full of a meaning Rory has yet to understand.

“What was that for?”

Poppy only smiles, one of her hands stroking down the line of Rory’s chin. “No reason. I just…” Poppy lets out a long sigh. In this distance, Rory can feel its warmth against her skin, raising all the hairs on her arms. “I missed you today, that’s all.”

I wasn’t gone for that long, Rory thinks, but doesn’t say. Doesn’t want to cheapen the moment. Doesn’t want to invalidate what Poppy is feeling, regardless of what it might be. 

Plus, “I missed you too.” Rory always misses her, but she can’t say that yet. There are a lot of things she can’t say yet, not until she gets better and becomes good enough for her. “I like your hugs.” I like you. I like you so much I don’t know what to do with myself. 

“Yeah?” Poppy whispers, her voice rough, arms winding around Rory’s neck and squeezing tight. “I should hug you more often then.”

Please, Rory wants to say. Please never let me go. 

“You should. You make me feel alive.”

When she closes her eyes, Rory will replay the image of Poppy Sweeting looking over her with hooded eyes, and swear they temporarily dart down to her mouth. But that’s another fairytale for another day. Today Rory gets to have Poppy in her arms again, and that’s more than everything she will ever deserve. 

—

On the first morning after their date at the Three Broomsticks, Rory comes out of her room after sleeping past her alarm a tad too long, and is met with a Poppy Sweeting bathed in sunshine.

In the most cliche display ever known to man, Poppy is so beautiful she makes Rory stop dead in her tracks. 

Her drowsy eyes pop open in hopes of taking in the art in front of her, a smiling Poppy Sweeting twiddling with her fingers standing under the golden shower of the morning sun. Rory twitches with the desire to touch, her mouth dry at the reminder of how those plump lips felt on hers just last night, how those small hands tugged her down by the collar as their heads tilted and their mouths slotted into each other, how soft those creamy skin felt beneath her lips when she had a stroke of bravery and nosed her mouth against that slender throat.

Truly, if anyone can walk pass and help her pick up her jaw from the floor, Rory will greatly appreciate it. 

“Here you go.”

Thank you.

Wait, Poppy?

“That’d be me.”

Her vision returning to normal, Rory immediately realizes the situation she just put herself in.

And promptly wants to die.

“How much of that did you hear?”

Poppy does that little giggle she does, one that never fails to make Rory’s heart skip a beat. “Just the jaw part, really, but I can get a grasp on the rest by looking at your face.”

The treacherous bastard, Rory quickly smothers it with her hands, also hiding a painful and toe-curlingly embarrassed wince. Her mouth may have also been making some pitiful noises as well, but for once, Rory genuinely can’t fault her body for doing whatever it wants.

Another pearly giggle reaches her ears, before she feels gentle hands tugging at her wrists to pull her hands back. Rory almost doesn’t want to, wants to hide in a pit after that incredibly mortifying display, but this is Poppy, and Poppy is calling her name, and Rory is capable of achieving great things, but the prospect of disappointing Poppy in any way simply makes her want to keel over and die.

So, painfully slow, Rory removes her hands.

And is immediately blinded by the sun. 

“There you are.” Poppy whispers, almost reverently. “You look good today.”

Heat exploding all over her cheeks, Rory shakes the compliment off. 

“I do not. I barely slept last night.”

Concern briefly flashes in her eyes, but Poppy seems to garner well enough that Rory isn’t actually in distress. Since when has Rory let herself be known so well, it’s bloody mortifying.

“Oh?” Poppy’s mouth forms the sound, but all Rory can focus on is their shape, their fullness, and how they must feel on hers. Good lord, Rory, reign it in. “Something kept you up?”

Fed up with herself, Rory decides to be bold. “More like someone.”

Poppy tries to act nonchalant, but Rory can see her ears turning the most adorable shade of pink. The sight automatically puts a smile on her face, one that’s mirrored on Poppy’s but looks twice as pretty.

“Must be someone pretty lucky then.” Poppy’s head ducks, as if she knows Rory is only talking about her and she’s getting shy. 

Like a game of back and forth, Rory sees an opportunity and seizes the upperhand for herself. 

“I’m the lucky one.” 

Ignoring her own deafening heartbeats, Rory leans down and places a featherlight kiss on Poppy’s smooth cheek, smiling at the small gasp escaping full lips.

When she pulls back, Rory is met with a full-on blushing but smiling Poppy Sweeting, practically radiating with a happiness she knows she carries just as proudly. At some point, they’ve started holding hands, and Rory swears she can feel her own thumping pulses synching with Poppy’s.

Biology can go fuck itself. Rory is in love.

“You know I was just here to ask if you’d want to walk to class together.” Poppy says, her shoulders swaying in that adorable way she always does. 

Rory likes to think Poppy has so much liveliness inside her body that she has to let it out somehow, otherwise she’ll constantly be on the verge of imploding. She’s so full of life, sometimes Rory wonders if she had been living at all before she met her.

“We only have Potions together today, and it’s not until the afternoon.” Rory’s grin grows impossibly larger at Poppy darting her eyes elsewhere, clearly shy. “You must really like me.”

Only half joking, Rory is a bit surprised to see Poppy’s face suddenly growing stern. 

“I do, I hope you know that.”

Rory knows that, logically, because Poppy told her so already, but there's something different about this confession. Like Poppy can see right through Rory and know that her insecurities are stronger than any mind.

It touches a part that's buried deep inside of Rory, a part that has given up on love, the kind that means she is understood and she is loved not despite but because. 

Not wanting to outright cry, she has made a clown out of herself enough, Rory simply smiles.

“I really like you too.” She knows she’s said the right thing when Poppy’s eyes brighten like sunbeam, which gives Rory an extra dose of bravery. “I’m… really glad we’re doing this. Finally.”

Poppy gives an eager nod. “Couldn't have put it better myself.” Her eyes dart over Rory’s shoulder, widening. “Speaking of, we should get to class. I’m about to be really late for Arithmancy.”

Rory takes a second to remember her timetable, she really wasn't kidding about staying up and now paying for it dearly, and winces when the realization hits.

“I’m already late for Flying. Kogawa is going to give me an earful.” When she sees Poppy going to apologize, that adorable furrow of her brows says it all, Rory interrupts her with a soft, barely there kiss on the mouth, one that leaves Poppy gasping and her cheeks deliciously blushing. “No apologies necessary. Now, come on. Let me take you to Arithmancy, I can always pretend like I just got cramps.”

In the end, Rory did not fake cramps to get out of class. She did receive an earful and was given the punishment of running a few laps around the campus ground, which she takes with a smile that perhaps creeped Professor Kogawa out a little.

By the time Potions finishes and the infamous portrait incident with Imelda had happened, Rory is still feeling over cloud nine about it all. Especially even more so now that she got not one, not two, but so many kisses with Poppy while they were snogging in the dungeons. 

“I can't believe I just got docked house points for snogging in a hallway.” Poppy chuckles shyly, holding Rory’s hand and occasionally swinging them back and forth. “I suppose there really is a first time for everything.”

Trying not to be so obviously happy to hear that this is Poppy’s first as much as it is hers, Rory returns with a joyful humming, one that persists even as they walk into Herbology.

Professor Garlick is there to greet them as always, her perfectly drawn eyebrows raised high when she hears the joyous but botched tune coming out of Rory’s mouth.

“Someone seems to be flourishing more than usual.” She says as she hands Rory and Poppy their tools for today’s lesson, a pair of dragon-hide gloves and what looks like a scalpel. “Something fun happened in Potions with Professor Sharp?”

Rory’s dopey smile is promptly wiped off when she hears not one, but two, snickers. One from Sebastian, that brat, and the other from Poppy, who at least gives Rory an apologetic smile before skipping away to her table on the far end of the aisle.

Professor Garlick’s eyebrows seem to hitch impossibly higher at the reaction, mouth curling in an amused smile at whatever petulant face Rory is subconsciously making.

“That bad?” Professor Garlick asks, the twinkle in her eyes showing off a youthfulness she doesn't tend to carry when she's supposed to be professional.

“It was.” Rory resigns, walking over to her table, which is conveniently next to Sebastian, who is still laughing at her. “Imelda Reyes and I made a commotion and got docked house points.”

Rory hopes her friend will take the hint and not say anything else. “You left something out.” Never mind, Rory will never trust the bastard ever again. 

“Sebastian…” Rory growls in warning to no avail, Sebastian happily digging his hand into her bag for the portrait. “Hey! You son of a—”

“Language, Miss Watson.” “Imelda drew Rory a portrait!”

Face already burning up in embarrassment, Rory just about plunges her face into her pot of dirt, her ears turning ten degrees hotter after picking up on Professor Garlick’s attempt to smother her laugh and her peers’ not even bother trying.

She doesn't even look like that!

Thankfully, Professor Garlick doesn't make a comment when Rory comes back up again, even if she looks entirely too humorous for Rory’s liking. Sebastian, Rory will take revenge on him later.

Before that though, “Hey, you.”

One hand already in dragon-hide, Rory peeks over Sebastian’s shoulder to find Poppy, who wears a shy smile and her hands tucked behind her back.

Curious, Rory pushes the boy away, ignoring his whining in favor of approaching her best friend.

“Hey, what's up?”

“I just wanted to give you something before class started.” Poppy winds her arms around and, to Rory’s absolute fluster and delight, in her hand holds a small white gardenia. “I thought of you when I saw it. Garlick won't miss it, I’m sure.”

Without any place to put it in, Poppy takes the initiative and tucks the flower in between Rory’s breast pocket. Rory swears Poppy’s hands linger on her upper chest, making her blush increase in intensity, before pulling back and returning to her table, not without giving Rory a small, cheeky wink.

Rory tenderly cradles the gardenia, a hand protectively hovering over the flora as she makes her way back. She ignores the curious eyes on her, only gazing fondly at the symbol of Poppy’s affection proudly adorned on her chest.

The lesson officially starts not a second later, and Rory is grateful, for it affords her the silence to think.

Gardenia. Commonly known to symbolize joy and purity, oftentimes associated with thoughts of beauty, and is the perfect flower for the secret romantic. 

It fits Poppy to a T. Rory never thought she’d ever be so lucky. 

—

“And then she took me to this backroom at the Three Broomsticks. With how secretive Poppy and Sirona were being, I almost thought they were hiding a dragon back there. Believe it or not, it was so much better than a dragon. So we walked in, right, and immediately I was assaulted with a gorgeous view of Hogsmeade at night. It was so beautiful, Natty, I swear I almost cried. But it gets even better, I swear, I don’t know how that’s possible either. I asked Poppy if there was a special occasion I just forgot, and Poppy said, today is also a special occasion, in a way. I asked her what she meant, thinking I almost forgot her birthday or something, when suddenly there was a gigantic hippogriff appearing out of nowhere! I know, I bloody know, it’s insane. Poppy brought Highwing all the way out there for our date, because she knows I love Highwing too, and it was incredible. Forget Hogwarts. Forget Uaguado. That was single-handedly the most magical thing I’ve ever seen.”

It takes almost running out of oxygen for Rory to realize she hadn’t breathed at all throughout that entire retelling. At least Natty is amused, clearly having a laugh over Rory’s near attempt of self-asphyxiation.

“I never knew Poppy was so romantic.” As if they weren’t already blushing before, Rory’s cheeks are now on fire, being on the receiving end of Natty’s gushing. “Then what happened?”

Glancing around the courtyard, as if Poppy will magically appear instead of being roped up into a meeting with Howin, Rory continues. 

“We had our date. Mainly we just talked about anything and everything. I even told her about my childhood. Poppy was amazing through it all, she listened to me and she made me feel better when I cried talking about Fig. Honestly, it was a bit embarrassing.”

Rory gets an eye roll for her trouble. “She’s your best friend, Rory. I’m sure she’s seen worse.” 

Which is, fair, she supposes. Rory still instinctively cringes every time she remembers the moments right after the battle with Ranrok, even if Poppy has and is doing her best to teach her that vulnerability is nothing to be ashamed about. God, she really is just so amazing. 

“Did you kiss?”

The glass of water Rory’s been slowly sipping slips right out of her hand like a snake, thankfully saved by Natty quickly drawing her wand and casting Arresto Momentum!

“Is this a sensitive topic?” Natty asks and doesn’t even bother hiding her mocking grin. 

“No.” Rory whimpers, furiously rubbing her cheeks so the heat will cool. “I was just surprised by how straightforward you are.”

“I like asking hard-hitting questions.” They share a meaningful look, them and about half the population of the surrounding hamlets knowing very well what that looks like. “Honestly I just want to settle the debate of who kissed who first.” 

Freezing comically in the middle of wiping her face, Rory’s eyes narrow into slits. “Do I want to know why and for whom is it a debate?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.” That’s also fair. Dammit. “I promise to split the money if I win.”

There’s money inv— “You know what, fine. Technically Poppy leaned in first, but I kissed her.” Her eyes blow wide open when Natty grimaces, even mouthing something along the line of drat. “You bet against me?”

Natty raises both hands in surrender, yet looking not unlike the cat that caught two canaries. She offers Rory a sherbet lemon in apology, which Rory accepts with a pout.

“You can’t blame me for thinking you’re too chicken to make the first move. You’ve been pining over Poppy for months now and you didn't even make a peep. She asked you out first.”

That's absurd. “I have not been—” Natty’s no-nonsense glare stops Rory dead in her tracks, rendering her blushing beyond talking again. When prodded, Rory grumbles, her mouth still in water making a gross, gurgling sound. “It's not my fault she's so pretty.”

Natty glares in disapproval at her poor manners, but Rory persists, purely out of pettiness. Which perhaps explains why Rory deserves the following accusation. 

“It's not, but it is your own fault that you’re such a gay disaster.”

While it’s not false, Rory still takes great offense. Her head whips around to deliver a spectacular banter, something carefully curated and so smart that it will render Natsai Onai speechless, when out of nowhere Rory feels something hard hitting the side of her temple.

“What the fuck?” 

Blinking stars, Rory turns around to find the culprit, a blush-worthy cuss on the tip of her tongue. When she realizes just who tossed a literal Quaffle at her head, any anger Rory has promptly disappears. 

For there stands Imelda Reyes, her appearance still flawless despite the wiry hairs falling from her clean bun and the absolutely putrid smell just oozing from her every cloth. An unfortunate result of yet another game of Gobstones with Zenobia Noke, which is also a result of Rory’s one and only interaction with the young Ravenclaw.

She's so screwed. “Imelda, hi—”

“DON’T YOU DARE SAY HI TO ME RIGHT NOW!”

In her ears, Rory picks up on the soft sound of Natty’s condolences as well as half of the courtyard paying her respect. Rory knew it was coming eventually, but she didn’t think her demise was going to arrive so soon, not after she just defeated the evilest of all evils and started dating the girl of her dreams.

Speaking of which, can’t Poppy come and save her right now? Is Howin really that important?

Slowly standing up with her hands raised in goodwill, Rory tries to stall for time. “Imelda, I can explain. I promise—”

Sadly, her plan is immediately foiled. Before anyone can blink, Rory is hoisted into the air, Imelda’s Wingardium Leviosa even giving a bonus motion sickness effect that Rory never even knew existed. 

Maybe this is karma for all the times she taunted those poachers. Hmm, maybe not. They deserved it.

“I reek of Gobstone spit!” Imelda practically screeches, her voice ten times as loud as Rory pleading for her life. “I hid those pieces from Zenobia for a bloody reason! Why would you give them back?”

Dangerously close to tipping herself upside down, Rory tries to defend herself. “I didn’t have a choice! She looked so pitiful asking for my help!” 

A little blemishing won’t hurt her chances, especially as Rory did not at all think Zenobia was pitiful, more devious and maniacal. In her mind, Rory thought as long as she stayed away from The Ravenclaw Tower, she wouldn't ever become a victim of that wretched children’s game. 

If only she remembered that Imelda was also included in Zenobia’s list of favorite victims. Maybe that’ll be written on her headstone.

“You should have looked the fuck away!” Imelda’s shouting startles Rory out of writing up her eulogy, her pale face growing redder by the second. “Zenobia is even more vengeful now that she knew we stole her Gobstones. It’s not just the Ravenclaw Tower that reeks, not even the ghosts dared venture into the Slytherin Dungeon now too. You dick.”

Just as she is near to vomiting, three baozis and a slice of cheesecake may have been too much for a simple lunch, Rory feels the levitating charm wrapped around her slowly disintegrating, her savior revealed to be Natty when Rory’s two feet touch the ground.

Sending her Gryffindor friend a grateful smile, Rory whips her head back at Imelda. 

“I can assure you I do not have one of those. Believe me, I checked.” Receiving a vicious growl in return, Rory quickly whips out her own wand and disarms Imelda with a swift Expelliarmus!, preferably before she actually murders Rory in broad daylight. “You know you could have just refused to play.”

As if appeased, Imelda merely crosses her arms and presents them with a deep scowl. “I’m a Slytherin, you might as well tell me to go spend my precious time throwing rocks at the giant squid.”

Rory doesn’t even know what that means, but Imelda looks pissed off enough, so Rory will refrain from asking. 

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. How do I make it up to you?”

Of course, Imelda doesn’t give Rory the pleasure of an instant answer. Instead, she delights in Rory squirming in visible discomfort, and only half of it due to the anxiety of what she has to do to grovel. The other, well, Rory really hopes she hasn’t actually bled through her bandages, because some parts of her are hurting more than most. 

It’s going to take a lot to calm Poppy down if she knows. Rory would rather not burden her with yet another thing.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Imelda says. “You. Me. Clagmar Coast. Tomorrow. 7 o’clock. We’re having that rematch.”

Eyes almost bulging out of the sockets, Rory clarifies. “Seven? In the morning? Imelda, you can’t be serious.”

“Seven thirty, final offer.” Rory goes to oppose— Who on Earth gets out of bed before 9 on a Sunday?— but Imelda raises an eyebrow and immediately Rory knows she’s stumped. 

Damn Slytherins and their persuasive eyebrows.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll see you at Clagmar Coast bright and early.”

With a snap of a finger, Imelda’s entire face brightens. Natty murmurs something about a whiplash next to Rory, and honestly, she can’t blame her. 

“Good.” Her heels spin, waving like a pageant queen as she takes her wand back and her leave. “Can’t wait for you to lose!”

Annoyed, Rory shouts back. “I beat you last time!”

Having had her fill, Imelda walks away without another word, only a smug smile thrown over her shoulder before she turns the corner. Rory’s proceeding grumbling is only half genuine, admittedly exhausted after Imelda’s little stunt. 

Will this serve as a lesson for her to confide in her friends about her health though?

“Are you okay? You look pale.”

Only when she is directly called out about it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just winded. Can you um… help me check if there’s any bleeding?”

Natty nods without saying anything else, which Rory is immensely grateful for, the stupid flush of embarrassment already crawling up her neck and to her cheeks. She resolutely doesn’t glance around, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with any other well-meaning but ultimately invasive curious students. 

“All clear.” Natty concludes with a relieved smile, infecting Rory with the same energy. “You should still take a closer look. Overexertion can loosen stitches, and it’s about time you change your bandages too.”

Rory quirks an eyebrow. “Are you and Poppy in kahoots?”

“If that’s codeword for collaborating on keeping you alive and in one piece, then yes.” Natty chuckles at Rory’s eye roll, following her gaze and pointing at something on the floor. “Oh, Imelda left her Quaffle.”

Kicking the almost-murder weapon with the tip of her feet, Rory catches the ball cleanly with one hand, the memory of that painful sensation of the hard surface hitting her head making her wince. 

“It’s fine, I’ll return it to her when I see her for our flight test tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Natty nods, helping steady Rory with a hand on her bicep. Rory doesn't even know where to begin to tell Natty how much she appreciates this. “I should take you back. You’re intimidating and all with your ancient magic, but I’m more scared of Poppy.”

Rory has to laugh, allowing Natty to lead them out of the courtyard and back into the castle. “That might be the truest thing you’ve ever said. I love her, but man, Poppy is tiny and mighty.”

When Natty suddenly comes to a stop, so does Rory.

Rory asks why she did, but Natty just looks at her. 

And looks. And looks. And—

“Oh my God, did I just tell you I loved her before I told her?”

An incredulous laugh sputters out of her, meanwhile Natty fakes a shiver. “For my sake and yours, we’ll never speak of this ever again. Agreed?”

The last thing Rory wants is Poppy finding out she dropped the L word to someone else before she got to tell her herself, Poppy’s adorable face crestfallen in disappointment before faking a smile and accepting Rory’s pathetic apologies.

No. That won't do. When Rory finally tells her, it's going to be special. Just the way Poppy deserves. 

“Agreed.” 

—

Rory is jealous.

There's no sugarcoating it, no matter how much she wants to, the monster baring its teeth and banging at her rib cage an almost familiar.

Her mood was already foul from the get-go, freshly coming out of the shower crying her heart out because her shampoo smelt like how Professor Fig did the last time they hugged, and walking back into the Hufflepuff Common Room to see Arthur Plummly being all over her girlfriend has only made it worse. 

Any other time and it would have been funny. First of all, this is Arthur, who while may have had a crush on Poppy before, would never do such a thing to his friends. Secondly, it's always hilarious to realize that, while she can easily spot people trying to flirt with Rory even before Rory herself, Poppy is actually rather oblivious when it's the other way around.

Any other time and it would have been funny, but today isn't like every other day.

Today, Rory is seething in jealousy. 

She feels silly, truly. This is Poppy, for fuck’s sake. 

Poppy Sweeting. Sweet, loyal, and beautiful Poppy. Who had more than once showed Rory how much she adores her, and who continues to prove that everyday with small acts of sweetness and words of tender affection. Her feelings are almost brighter than her smile, and that's saying a lot, considering Rory is still willing to burn at the sight of it every time it's directed at her.

But her feelings don't have to be rational to be true, and the fire burns the more Rory watches as Arthur makes Poppy laugh with his jokes. 

Rory should calm down. Rory should be careful, wisps of silverish blue already materializing at her fingertips and dangerously sizzling. Rory should calm the fuck down, before she hurts everyone in this room and herself, just because she can't keep her green-eyed monster and her emotions in check.

Some hero she is. Some girlfriend she is. It's no wonder everyone leaves or dies on her in the end.

“Rory?”

All her animosity is put into the strangled, frankly growled out, “What?”

Head turning, Rory comes face to face with the first consequence of her action.

Sweet, soft-spoken Adelaide looks downright frightened, her small mouth agape in a display of shock. Rory’s heart shrivels up.

“It's… your turn.”

Rory blinks, and blinks, and blinks, finally understanding when a small spark of fire catches in her hands and, subsequently, the deck of cards she’s been holding. Quickly, Rory closes her eyes shut and wills the magic to disappear, putting out the fire outside and inwards. 

Another tally to the list.

She opens her eyes to find Adelaide switching from fear to concern, which honestly is ten times worse. “I'm sorry, Addy, I must've… zoned out.” Rory’s voice dips, drenched in shame. “I didn't mean to yell.”

Adelaide, who is always nice and so sweet, merely smiles at her. “It's alright. Are you alright?”

Embarrassingly, tears spring to Rory’s eyes. She quickly wipes at them before any can escape, looking away to hide. God, she's pathetic. 

“I have a headache, actually. I’m probably going to take a nap.”

Rory stands before Adelaide can say anything else, already making to leave when her friend kindly offers. “Do you want me to get Pop—”

“No.” It takes everything in Rory not to yell, her fists curling so hard her nails are digging painfully into her skin. “No, you don't have to. Let her enjoy herself, I’ll just be in my room. If she asks.” If she even noticed.

No, stop. Say whatever you want about me, but you don't get to say a thing about Poppy.

Her inner voice, the one that sometimes sounds like Sister Prya, other times The Keepers, occasionally Professor Fig, most often herself but darker and cruel, promptly zips it. Rory doesn't even have the heart to be proud of herself, sulking out of the Common Room and practically shoulder-checking herself into her dorm.

By the time she sits down on her bed, Rory is a mess. Even more so than ever before.

Closing her eyes, Rory recites the breathing exercise Professor Garlick taught her, synching her breathing with her heartbeat. Her mouth runs through numbers as she does this, eventually finding somewhat of a tranquility after what feels like hours but perhaps only a few minutes.

When clarity comes back, the shame does too. And Rory is left wondering just what the fuck has gotten into her. How could jealousy turn her into someone like this? Or has she always been this mean, this vengeful, this possessive, and she just never knew it?

Fuck, how can she expect anyone to love her like this. What is wrong with her?

The errant knock on her door startles her out of her spiral. Confused and a bit apprehensive, Rory calls out. “Come in.”

Hypocritical and unworthy as she feels, Rory’s lungs feel so much lighter when she sees Poppy sticking her adorable head in, big eyes imploring in a wordless question.

Rory chuckles, patting the spot next to her. “You know you didn't have to knock. You’re always welcomed.”

“I wasn't sure.” Poppy sounds small, her movements timid even as she accepts Rory’s invitation. “You didn't seem very happy with me just now. I was going to give you some space, but…”

So Poppy heard her, and she's clearly hurt about it. As if Rory couldn't have fucked this up even worse. 

Gut wrenches with guilt, Rory waits impatiently for Poppy to come sit down by her side. Her longer hand hovers over Poppy’s smaller one, only moving to intertwine their fingers when she receives a consenting nod.

“I’m sorry. It's not that I’m unhappy with you, I never am, I was just…”

Poppy waits another beat, but when she doesn't see Rory say anything else, she picks up the conversation, eyes darting here and there before landing back on Rory’s again. 

“You don't have to apologize for needing space. Though I wish you could have told me.”

Round, brown eyes staring intensely into her soul, filled with nothing but pure affection and concern, Rory gets a burst of courage.

“I was jealous.” Poppy nods, doesn't sound at all surprised. “And it's not because I don't trust you. I do, with everything in me. I just… don't like the way I feel when I see people look at you like that.”

Saying it out loud, surprisingly, does make Rory feel better about herself. She still feels weird about it, but being made to verbalize her feelings helps her feel less crazy.

Poppy’s humming blinks her out of her thoughts, pretty face not revealing any emotion other than attentiveness. “Um hum, but I don't think that's my fault, is it?”

It isn't. It's no one but my own. “No. No, it's not. And I’m sorry. This was selfish of me.”

Shame creeping in her eyes and making them sting, Rory looks away and wills at them to stop, already embarrassed enough as it is.

In a movement that still surprises her despite how many times she has done this, Poppy reaches for the empty space in Rory’s lap, before promptly depositing herself into it. Rory’s mouth barely holds back a gasp, always flustered whenever her girlfriend is this close.

Poppy only means to have them maintain eye contact, clearly, so Rory wrangles all her lewd thoughts away and focuses on brown eyes staring down at her from above.

“Poppy?”

“That’s not what I’m annoyed about.” Arms go to drape over her shoulders, leaving Rory a little bit more than bewildered at the contrast of Poppy’s words and Poppy’s action. “You know I get jealous too, and you know I’m very upfront about it. What ticks me off is how you can't find it in yourself to do the same for me.”

Rory blinks, an inkling knocking at the door at the back of her mind.

It comes to her like a moving portrait, the memory of that one day during her quarantine period in the Room of Requirement playing out in a series of sequences that make her want to cringe.

Rory was so angry. At what, she still can't say. Most likely herself, or the world, or even Professor Fig, but the subject didn't matter in the end, because Rory had projected all that angst and stubbornness onto the only 2 people who cared to help.

Rory still remembers the way Deek’s ears fold back and Poppy’s eyes sharpen with anger, and even though now isn't then, Rory fears Poppy might be just as angry as she did that day.

“I’m doing it again, aren't I? I closed off and I pushed you away.”

Poppy smiles sadly, and that's all the confirmation Rory needed. Her eyes sting even more now, lower lip quivering and hands unconsciously clutching the fabric of Poppy’s shirt, like she's trying to prevent Poppy from leaving.

Rory hates herself even more for that train of thought. Poppy had promised multiple times that she wouldn't, had practically screamed at Rory that day until it finally got into her head. Rory doesn't want to think these things about her girlfriend, she really doesn't, how rotten Poppy must feel to be thought of so little. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Soft lips landing on the top of her head, Poppy gently nudges Rory to fall into her embrace, which she promptly does with a small whine. “I’m sorry too, and I forgive you. Promise me you’ll keep working on it?”

There's no amount of words that will successfully convey just how determined Rory is to not screw up again, so all she does is nod.

Something didn't sound right though. “What are you sorry for?”

When Rory pulls back, she comes face to face with Poppy’s signature pout, apologetic and soft in equal measures. “I didn't notice your upset. Took me this long to say something too.”

Rory blinks, once again bewildered. “That's not your responsibility.”

“I know, but I also know you need help sometimes.” Anticipating Rory’s gut-punch reaction, Poppy shushes her with a finger on her lips. “Being in a relationship means sometimes taking an extra step to meet the person you love halfway. I don't mind. As a matter of fact, I want to do it. And I hope that when I eventually show you an ugly side of mine, you’d consider me worth the effort of taking an extra step too.”

The words sink into her brain not unlike quicksand, leaving Rory gasping for air and holding on for dear life. How can Poppy make something so complicated, something that has been nagging Rory for weeks as they date and for months as they were friends, into a phrase as simple as helping each other meet the other halfway. 

Rory is so incredibly lucky, and not because she can see traces of an ancient magic that is hundreds of years old, but because she has the most understanding partner in the world.

“You’re so wise.” Poppy laughs, shaking her head like Rory knew she would. “You know, I have trouble believing this is your first relationship sometimes.”

Wiping the one bastardous teardrop that escaped with her thumb, Poppy’s smile blossoms into a grin, a perfectly understandable thing to do when Rory hears her explanation.

“You should forward your thanks to Gran when we go home. She’s the one who drilled it into my head about the importance of being emotionally intelligent. No chance in hell would she accept teenage angst under her roof.”

Rory finds that utterly fascinating, especially in contrast with how the nuns at the orphanage used to act. If something seemed fucked up, you’d get even more fucked up if you point it out, so best keep your mouth shut.

On one hand, Rory loves that communication is so valued in their family, which explains so much why Poppy is the person that she is. On the other, the prospect of putting herself through this sort of exhausting, taxing experience on a regular basis is rather…

“You guys talk about your feelings a lot, don't you?” Whatever face Rory must make in response to Poppy’s nod must look rather hilarious, as it makes her giggle. “Sounds exhausting.”

Poppy giggles again, the sound injecting schools of butterflies in Rory’s stomach. She’s even more beautiful like this, sitting in Rory’s lap with her arms wrapped around her, beaming like Rory genuinely makes her happy.

“It is exhausting, which is why we make it a point to reward ourselves.” Poppy says, grinning when she boops Rory’s nose and hears her sputter. “Me with her pastries, her with my cooking.”

It’s so sudden, the way the air suddenly shifts. Rory's heart is slowly picking pace, and Poppy can certainly feel that as she is pressed right up against her chest. Her wide grin gradually loosens, to the point where it becomes more like a smirk than a smile, and boy is Rory’s brain short-circuiting itself inside out because of it.

Still, not wanting to be all you’re so hot please make out with me in the middle of a vulnerable moment, Rory tries to banter.

“And do I get a reward too?” Even if her own body betrays her by saying it in the raspiest voice she can conjure.

“I don't know,” Poppy doesn't seem to mind, leaning down and touching their noses. Rory’s lungs promptly cease working, head instinctively tilting to the side. Is it hot in here or is it just her? “I don’t think you have been a very good girl, and only good girls get rewards.”

Yes, it's indeed just Rory.

They’ve been kissing for weeks, and yet Rory can feel her entire world crumbling down and building itself back up every time their lips touch. Her hands shake when Poppy audibly sighs into her mouth, long digits curling into the soft fabric of Poppy’s school blouse and tugging her even closer. 

Someone’s hips jolt, and Rory’s little dorm is instantly filled with twin gasps. The haze of her attraction and her previous exhaustion depletes all of Rory’s energy like a balloon, pushing her to lie down on her back. Poppy seemingly takes it as an invitation, easily slotting herself atop of Rory while continuing to kiss her stupid, one hand on the side of Rory’s head and the other stroking down the trembling line of her jaw. 

The new angle allows Poppy to slide her tongue into Rory’s mouth, eliciting an embarrassing moan that sends the heat from her chest to her cheeks. Not willing to just lie there, Rory gently tugs Poppy’s shirt out from her skirt, smirking in triumph when her hands slither inside and caress soft, supple skin. Poppy lets out a surprised squeak in return, coincidentally opening her mouth wide for Rory to slide her tongue in too, taunting its counterpart out to play.

Safe to say, they didn't get to continue on with their conversation until way after.

Moon now way abovehead, Rory and Poppy are content to snuggle up under Rory’s nicest blanket. While Poppy is immersed in admiring Rory’s eyebrow slit, one of the many injuries she got from the battle with Ranrok— (“And the hottest.” Poppy says with a clumsy wink, any attempt at playing coy ruined when she laughed at Rory’s dumbstruck face), Rory is thinking back to today, and has to give herself a self-deprecating chuckle.

It immediately catches Poppy’s attention, pulling her away from her newest fixation. “What?”

“I was just thinking about today.” Poppy hums, attentive and encouraging. “I feel bad. Here I am, claiming I want the best for you and for you to make more human friends, only to turn all green-eyed at bloody Arthur Plummly out of all people.”

Poppy gives her cheek a small, admonishing slap for the last bit, but doesn't comment any further about it. She does lean down and kiss where she hit, making Rory grin in the dark.

If only Poppy could see ancient magic. She’d see her eyes glow for a brief moment too.

“Don't feel bad about being jealous.” Rory hums, wanting to keep hearing Poppy’s voice. “It's normal, it's human, and if I’m being completely honest, it's nice knowing that normally you’re so selfless, but you like me in a selfish way.”

That's certainly not what she ever expected, but Rory appreciates the bare truth, if not a lot flustered by it. Because it's true, Rory likes Poppy in a way that she sometimes thinks is wrong. She likes her so much she just— 

“I… do want you all for myself, sometimes.”

Another kiss placed on her cheek, only lower and closer to her smile line. “The feeling is mutual, baby.”

Rory turns her head, stealing a kiss since Poppy is already there. They have to separate soon as they're both smiling too widely, Rory’s softening under the pure smolder of Poppy’s affection.

“Are we going to be okay?” She asks, sounding not unlike a child.

Poppy nods, the firmness of it makes Rory believe it too. “As long as we communicate. Promise to always talk to me, and I will do the same for you.”

“Everything is better in moderation.” Poppy nods, looking so proud that Rory listened. Rory doesn't deserve her. “I will, I promise. I want to do right by you. I want to be good for you.”

Poppy chews on her lip, drawing Rory’s attention to it for a split second, admiring how wet and swollen it still looks. A gentle finger comes tucking under her chin and lifts her head up, blue eyes meeting brown once more.

“Just love me as you do now, and I’m the happiest girl in the world.” 

Rory challenges Poppy for that title the very next morning. 

She is sitting at the table in the Great Hall with her friends, who are all chattering excitedly about this group trip to Hogsmeade. They’ve all eaten breakfast and were just about to leave, when Poppy apologetically excused herself to run back to the Common Room for something she had forgotten.

Poppy said they could leave without her, but Rory didn't even have to look before she knew none of them would even want to.

Munching absentmindedly on a raisins muffin while listening to Sebastian, Imelda, and Natty argue about sports, also secretly exchanging exasperated Morse Code with Ominis, Rory receives a small tap on her shoulder.

Figuring it's her girlfriend, Rory turns to welcome her back, swallowing the rest of her muffin in one go.

Only to immediately start choking on it instead.

“Whoa! Whoa!”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Why does Rory sound like a walrus? Is she dying?”

Punching her chest enough times to feel the bones sucking in, Rory finally manages to get the muffin past her throat and into the tube leading down her stomach. Cheeks heated in embarrassment, Rory blindly reaches for a cup of water, cluelessly thanking the person handing it to her.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Merlin fuck, of course it has to be Poppy. 

“Jesus Christ, I can't believe I just did that.” Rory mumbles, frantically rubbing her cheeks to cool them down. 

“And I can't believe no one else was here to see you choke on your own spit after seeing Poppy in your shirt.”

Imelda isn't wrong. Poppy is wearing Rory’s shirt, the one that's a tad long and bigger on her due to Rory being a smidge taller, the same one with the wide collar that exposes an expansive amount of collarbones and even one shoulder.

This is Rory’s favorite shirt, because it's soft with a masculine cut and it makes her shoulders look broad and strong, but also because adorned on its chest is a little black badger, Professor Fig’s special gift for her after Rory was sorted into Hufflepuff.

Rory had never told anyone about that, but everyone who knows her also knows this is Rory’s most favorite piece of clothing, which is now all over Rory’s most favorite person.

Is the room spinning? Is Rory spinning?

Is she in heaven?

“Way to go, Sweeting. I think you went and broke the bitch.”

“Imelda, don't call Rory that. But yes, I believe you may have rendered our Rory completely useless.”

“Natty, that's mean. She's just a little too gay to function right now.”

“I can try smacking her?”

Now that drags her out of her daze. “Ominis, what the fuck? Where did my kind and gentle friend go?”

Glossy eyes roll so hard they must touch the back of his head, Ominis beckons to the doors. “Your gentle friend is peckish for some iced butterbeer, and he would like to get some before the sun gets too high and boils him alive in this weather.”

“You Slytherins and your cold lizard blood.” Rory earns not one, not two, but three punches for that snark. Honestly, it's worth it. “Fine. Fine, let's go. If we hurry, we might make it to The Three Broomsticks before Sirona starts her dart throwing contest.”

Leaving the 4 of them to go ahead, Rory waits for them to at least exit out into the hallway before snatching Poppy’s hand for herself.

She tugs, gently, and catches Poppy when she crashes into her chest, pretty eyelashes fluttering up at her in delighted surprise. The sight alone makes all of Rory’s organs turn to mush. 

“You… you are being so mean to my heart rate right now.”

Her adorable smile sputters into a giggle, Poppy’s eyes gleaming with a speck of pride and, if Rory is correct, relieved that Rory took the surprise so well.

“I can't help it, it smells like you.”

Rory is melting, melting, into the floor. There's so much love in her head and her mouth that nothing she can do or say will convey how many worlds she will burn for this beautiful goddess.

But she can at least try. “I want to kiss you so badly.” 

Blushing cheeks growing dark crimson, Poppy swings their joined hands and presses her full, antagonizing lips to Rory’s knuckles.

“I want to kiss you too.” Sneaking a glance at their friends, who somehow have yet to notice Rory and Poppy are still all the way back here. “Full confession, though, I wear your shirt to tell the world I’m yours.”

Oh.

Right. Well. 

If Poppy’s already going through all that trouble, it’d be rude of Rory to not help her make her case, right?

So it’d make perfect sense that Rory would pick Poppy up by the hips and push her into the wall, cutting off her surprised squeak with a feverish, passionate kiss. It’d also make sense that Rory would try to kiss Poppy for as long as she can, drinking in every sigh and every moan that spilled out like honey and wine.

Rory isn't even mad that she ends up with an actual smack to the head for making her friends wait, grinning victoriously with swollen lips and hooded eyes. Poppy is embarrassed though, so they put a sock in it for now and go to join their friends.

If Rory spends the entire outing staring at Poppy, kissing her cheek or her hand or her mouth every time she looks over and gets shy, then really it's not at all her fault.

“I beg to differ.”

“Oh someone will be begging, and their name starts with M and ends with E.”

“Rory!”