Always Greener
Poppy hated the snow.
It was cold. It was wet. It was a pain to clean without magic, and it really served no other purpose than to be molded into projectiles and thrown across the school grounds—projectiles not unlike the one she had just managed to sidestep on her way toward the front door.
"Come on, Poppy! You're going to miss all the fun!"
It was Robert McGonagall calling from behind her. He was a nice boy, just a year older than Poppy and one of her best friends, but that didn't change the fact that he was carrying around a sack of snowballs, pulling them out at opportune moments to launch at passers-by.
"I'm quite alright with that, Robbie," she called over her shoulder as the doors opened. "You have enough fun for the both of us." She could hear the snootiness in her voice, but pushed the awareness to the back of her mind. It wasn't necessarily wrong that the boys wanted to play War; it just wasn't how she chose to spend her time. There were more important things for her to do.
She rolled her eyes at Malcolm McGonagall's response of "you got it!" which was quickly followed by a snowy-sounding thud and the screech of a nearby student. Poppy rolled her eyes and let the oak close behind her. Yes, she was quite all right with leaving the fun to Robbie and Malcolm.
But now, as she had noticed with increasing regularity as of late, she found herself alone in the castle; all of the important things she had thought of now evaded her.
It wasn't that she didn't like her friends—the McGonagall boys were great. She had met Robbie on her first day at school, when she sat by him at the Ravenclaw table after being Sorted. A second year at the time, he had taken to showing Poppy around the castle and helping her find her classes. When Malcolm, Robbie's younger brother, was sorted into Ravenclaw a year later, Robbie and Poppy had shared the duty of teaching him the ropes.
It had been four years since the three of them had banded together and taken Hogwarts by storm. They were Ravenclaws through and through, which hid their propensity for mischief. As long as they got good marks, professors tended to leave them be. Some of the adults were even amused by their standard cheek. Professor Slughorn had taken an immediate liking to Poppy on day one, when he had threatened a Hufflepuff boy with 'defenestration' for talking during class. When the boy (and the rest of the class) had simply stared at him in bewilderment, Slughorn had scoffed loudly and tossed his head back.
"Does anyone in this damned room know what 'defenestration' means?"
The class had been quiet for a sloth's sigh before Poppy gave into her impulse. She raised her hand slowly, only to be met by Slughorn's inquisitive gaze.
"What is your name, my dear?"
"Poppy, sir. Poppy Pomfrey."
He had smiled and nodded his head in her direction.
"Good to meet you, Miss Pomfrey. Would you please enlighten the class by telling them just what defenestration is?"
Poppy had cleared her throat before raising her shaky voice, hoping to be heard on the first try so that she could disappear back into the group and pray this was forgotten by lunch.
"Defenestration is the act of throwing something out of a window."
The class had sat in total silence for a moment while Slughorn basked in their new knowledge and, when their minds returned to his earlier threat, their horror.
"Good girl!" he had boomed. "I like you, Poppy Pomfrey. You're just as dark as I am. Ten points to Ravenclaw!"
Poppy smiled at the memory. It had been a while since she'd had reason to cause mischief or speak up in class. Robbie and Malcolm still enjoyed a good prank every now and then, but with every passing day Poppy found she was distancing herself more and more from that part of their friendship. She would be of age in a matter of months. It was time she focused on some long-term goals.
She stood looking at the stones of the entryway for a moment before making her decision. She hadn't seen Professor Slughorn all week, as he had been out with the flu since the first snowfall a weekend prior. She had seen him back at the teacher's table in the Great Hall during breakfast, however, so she made her way toward his office, knowing she'd find him at his desk, buried underneath the pile of essays that Professor Sprout had collected for him the day before.
He was sitting at his desk, his head tipped back, when she knocked on the office door and peeked in. His double chin was flattened by the stretch of his neck and soft snores escaped from his throat. Giving in to a sudden impulse, Poppy ignored her inner voice of long-term goals and propriety. She chuckled softly and tiptoed into the room, perching herself on the guest chair before taking in a deep breath.
"PROFESSOR SLUGHORN, WATCH OUT!" she yelled, raising her hands just in time to shield herself from the rolls of parchment that flew her way as Slughorn jumped to his feet, his mind still trapped in a dream.
"You damn birds of death!" he shouted as his arms flailed toward the ceiling. "Away with you!" He continued his attack on the air until Poppy saw comprehension dawn on his face. He heard her snickering and turned toward her, sending a glare her way.
"Was that necessary, Miss Pomfrey?" he grumbled and returned to his seat.
"I knew you'd want to be woken so you could continue on with your work, sir. I just chose the quickest method I could think of."
Slughorn ran a hand over his face and let loose a string of swears before meeting her eyes once more.
"Cheeky brat."
Poppy smiled.
"Me? Never."
Slughorn sighed irritably and Poppy realized after a moment that maybe her good standing and semi-friendship with the professor might not excuse her rude prank. She had to admit, it had been a childish indulgence.
"I'm sorry, Professor," she said after a moment. "That was done in bad taste. I apologize."
Slughorn raised a brow at her sudden change before waving off her apology.
"What are you doing here, Miss Pomfrey?"
"Nothing, really. I was just passing by and figured I'd see how you were feeling."
The professor ignored this and pushed a large stack of parchment roles her way; a few bounced this way and that, tumbling to the floor.
"Well, while you're here, you can grade these for me. They're absolutely dreadful, and I can't stand looking at them for another moment."
Poppy unrolled the nearest essay and squinted at the chicken scratch at the top, barely making out the term "Swelling Solution" where the title should have been.
"But sir, I'm not qualified to grade assignments. I'm still completing them myself."
"Nonsense, Miss Pomfrey." Slughorn got to his feet and crossed the room, stopping at the door. "Those are second year essays. You're a bright girl; surely you can give adequate marks to the students. If you can make out their handwriting, that is." He chuckled and, seeing Poppy tense to object, continued. "Consider it an impromptu detention for giving me a coronary. Have fun, Miss Pomfrey." He gave her a small bow before walking out of the office. His laughing was quieted only by the growing distance between them.
Poppy scoffed and unrolled the essay in her hands once more. Her gaze wandered from the scrawled writing in front of her to the falling snow outside the window. She suddenly longed to be outside with Robbie and Malcolm, dodging snowballs and watching them trip over hidden tree roots. She could hear prepubescent chuckles filtering through the glass and huffed before relocating to Slughorn's seat in front of his quill.
One hour and three essays later, Poppy had already decided: maybe snow wasn't so bad after all. It was the grading that was the true evil.
A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read my story! If you have a spare minute, please send me a PM or leave a review with any comments or suggestions you might have. Or with your favorite color—that would be fun, too!
A/N 2: On a more official note, this was written for the Semifinals of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. As captain of the Caerphilly Catapults, it was my job to write about Poppy Pomfrey's time at Hogwarts. For judging purposes, the final word count of this story is 1,362.