Ixora
By The Atomic Café
Disclaimer: Harry Potter fan fiction is based on the series by JK Rowling. All characters and situations other than my own are the property of the original author.
Author's Note: I was inspired by Slughorn's story about Lily and her charmed fish, as I'm sure will be obvious. The flower described is Ixora, as the title implies.
Dementors. Poppy tsk'ed angrily as she moved throughout the hospital wing, checking on assorted potions and other healing aids. What kind of person would let them loose in a school? She could hardly blame Dumbledore; he seemed to dislike them as much as she did, if not more. If there was anyone to be angry at, it was the Minister of Magic for thinking they were the best protection for Hogwarts.
Flicking her wand, she watched the bandages in the cabinet roll themselves up into tight cylinders before resting in their place once more. No doubt she'd use up the roll quickly enough. Students had already come in after falling off brooms and fainting each time a dementor felt the need to torment them between classes. It was a shock her beds were still empty.
Poppy crossed to the other side of the wing, glancing at the beds. Only one was occupied - a young student whose fingers had been temporarily engorged and dyed an unsightly shade of yellow during Herbology class. As he was sleeping, she was able to glance in on him before turning onto the other beds to check their cleanliness.
A small burst of color caught her eye, and she quickly snapped her head up. No student would be trying to sneak in, would they? It took a moment to locate what it was: a small, blue pot full of red flowers beside the very last bed in the wing.
She walked closer to examine. Each flower had four diamond-shaped leaves, a light orange-red. The pot sat on the bedside table of an empty bed, and she tried to remember who had last been there. Had they forgotten flowers that a friend brought? There was no possibility; it was only the second day of classes, and she hadn't assigned anyone to this bed yet. Poppy carefully lifted them, tsk'ing again as she tried to decide where to put them.
Now she noticed the small scroll of parchment tucked behind the flower pot. Adjusting her glasses, she opened it to read the cramped but neat handwriting.
Thanks for all the care.
- RJL
Poppy stared at the note for a long moment before she felt a small smile rising. Of course, she realized. No one was ever assigned the last bed of the wing, not unless they were completely packed. No one besides the one special student she cared for years ago. A werewolf had occupied this bed for seven years, kept in his favorite bed for the privacy. The same werewolf had spent much of those seven years in the hospital wing, not for injuries, but for performing small tasks in thanks to her. She had spent a great deal of that time passing along her knowledge of medical spells, always surprised but glad to see a student wanting to learn some of her craft.
The smile remained on her face, and Poppy couldn't help but allow herself a brief chuckle as she crossed to the other side of the wing. The flowers were exactly what she needed to brighten up her desk, and she placed them on a shelf where they would be visible from the rest of the wing.
Let this serve as a reminder, she thought, the smile still lighting up her face. Not a reminder of the tough months they suffered through or how long it had taken her to learn how to help her newest, strangest student. Instead, let it serve as a reminder that sometimes obstacles are worth overcoming. Had she never struggled through the hard months of learning how to deal with such injuries, she would not have been able to feel the overwhelming joy of seeing her favorite patient back to teach at Hogwarts.
The flowers remained on her desk through the years, bringing a small smile to her face each time she saw them. The petals never become brown, never fell. They remained looking as pristine and beautiful as they had the day she found them. They only hurt to look at for the first few months after he had resigned, but they quickly brought back their warmth during the trying years when Voldemort had risen.
And when she returned to her office after the final battle, her body and mind exhausted as she considered how much repair there was to be done, she looked at her desk for some comfort. They would be waiting for her through all of this, ready to make her smile again and feel whole. When she saw their beauty, she would know that things would be better.
The flower pot remained, but the petals were dried and brown, scattered on her desk. The stems had shrunken, curling in on themselves into the water. Poppy stared at them for a long moment, trying to make sense of it all.
Carefully wrapping her arms around herself, Poppy bit her lip and turned around slowly. It would be time to view the bodies of those who had died during the battle, and she already knew who to expect.