Poppy Pomfrey was just sitting down to a nice hot cuppa when the door to the Hospital Wing groaned open, carrying agitated voices with it.

"Really, Ian, it's not that bad. You didn't need to walk me all the way here," said a very disgruntled girl.

An equally disgruntled boy quickly replied, "Oh, and you could have carried your school bag like that, could you?"

"I'd have managed," said the girl, though Poppy could plainly hear in the girl's voice that she could have done no such thing.

There was a pause, and the boy responded more quietly this time. "It's okay to accept help, y'know. You don't have to prove anything."

Poppy thought she might've heard an addition of, "Not to me, anyway," but she couldn't be sure, as she'd decided that she'd dallied listening for long enough. Pushing her chair back loudly to alert them to her presence, she bustled out to find that the mystery couple was Rose Weasley, and Ian Purches.

Like the plethora of Weasleys that had preceded her, Rose had been sorted into Gryffindor house. Ian Purches, however, was the first of that name to attend Hogwarts that Poppy knew of, and he'd been placed in Ravenclaw.

Poppy had seen enough injuries through the years to be unfazed by even the strangest of ailments, so her tone was calm and businesslike as she assessed the situation. Weasley's hands and arms were covered in angry purple pustules, the clear result of a Potions mishap.

"The Draught of Valor?" said Poppy, more as a mental note than anything else. Weasley nodded her head, her teeth clenched tightly. The girl was clearly trying not to let Purches know how painful the burns were. Poppy smiled inwardly.

"It was my fault, Madam Pomfrey," confessed Purches. "I'm Rose's Potions partner, and I forgot the counterclockwise stir after adding the regalis berry paste." He was carrying two school bags, and seemed unable to raise his gaze above the hemline of Weasley's skirt.

"Thank you for escorting her, Mr. Purches. I'll take it from here. You may leave her belongings on the chair behind you." Poppy was already running through the treatment for this particular Potions burn, and dismissing Purches was the first item on the list.

"But I—"

"Mr. Purches," enunciated Poppy, "These burns are very painful, and I'm sure that Ms. Weasley would prefer that I attend to them in private. You may go."

Purches blanched and nodded, quickly dropping the extra school bag as instructed. "I'll get your assignments, Rose. Don't worry." His worried stare was locked on the young girl until the heavy wooden door blocked her from view.

Poppy quickly ushered Weasley to the first empty bed, and with a flick of her wrist, secured privacy screens around it. The last of the girl's resolve crumbled away now that Purches had gone, and Poppy could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Let's get you out of these robes and assess the damage, shall we?"

The girl's pitiful look tugged on Poppy's heartstrings. She helped to ease the cloak down Weasley's arms, and then removed the girl's necktie and shirt. The potion had splattered the poor thing up to her elbows, and there were also a few of the vivid purple splotches under her chin.

"This will help to ease some of the stinging while I prepare the poultice," said Poppy, tapping each of Weasley's biceps in turn with the tip of her wand. A brilliant blue band encircled each arm, acting as a tourniquet and staunching the spread of the pain.

The girl sagged in relief and sat down on the bed as Poppy hurried off to prepare the next step of the treatment. The poultice would drain the stinging agent from the sores, and remove the purple stain, but the swelling would take a few days of bed rest.

Within minutes Poppy was back at the girl's side. "This will feel a bit tingly as I'm putting it on," she said, spreading the mud-like substance onto the livid pustules, "but when it dries, it will be hard like a rock. This will make the pustules itch, but you mustn't scratch! Scratch, and you'll be left with scars."

Weasley's eyes grew wide in fear. "Oh, freckles are bad enough! I don't want scars, too!"

Once again, Poppy softened. "If it starts to be a problem, I can give you a sleeping draught, so that the itching won't bother you."

Weasley smiled, and Poppy found herself smiling back. "You know, Ms. Weasley," she said as she finished applying the last of the poultice, "you look a great deal like your father."

"Yeah, Mum tells me that all the time, but she frets because I got her hair," said Weasley, running a hand through her bushy red curls.

Poppy nodded, still smiling. "Tell her not to fret. It suits you." She watched the girl blush, and Poppy promptly cleared her throat. "Well, I'll go and see about that sleeping draught. Let me know when the itching starts, dear."

***

Once she was safe within the confines of her office and out of earshot from the Weasley girl, Poppy berated herself for being so, oh, what was the word? Emotional? She prided herself on giving her patients the utmost care while still maintaining a professional distance. So what was it about this girl that had put a huge smile on her face? Of course, she knew right away what it was. But admitting it was different.

Poppy had watched scores upon scores of students flood in and out of Hogwarts in all her years there. For the most part, she didn't become interested in their lives. Her job was to mend what was broken and send them on their way, after all. But every so often there'd be a few particular students that she found great difficulty in letting go. Perhaps they'd had a hard time of it, and she could empathize, so she might fuss over them a little more when they were under her care. Or maybe they'd been gravely injured doing some great heroic thing, leaving her grateful that she'd played a part in their recovery. Or, as in the case here, Poppy had watched two students fall in love, and it simply warmed her heart.

In the beginning, Poppy told herself that she was simply being a meticulous record keeper. After all, detailed notes were one of the cornerstones of Mediwitchcraft. Okay, so she included things that weren't strictly pertaining to the malady at hand. However, Poppy was a firm believer in treating, and therefore thoroughly documenting, the patient, rather than the injury.

The walls of the pristine office were lined with shelf upon shelf of records, all neatly labeled in her own tidy handwriting. They spanned the whole of her career, and were marked with patients' last names, patients' first names, house affiliations, and finally, start and end dates. Each record consisted of a heavy-grade parchment folder with seven sections, so that injuries could be categorized by year.

For some students, these folders might only contain a single sheet of paper. Many of the students who passed through Hogwarts' halls never even required a folder. But every year without fail, there were a few students who couldn't seem to pass three weeks without falling under Poppy's care. One glance at the shelves could tell you who the accident-prone were. Then, there were the trouble makers, and lastly, those reckless, would-be heroes and heroines. Of course, it didn't escape Poppy's notice that most of them had sprouted from Gryffindor.

Her fingers found the bulky files before her eyes did.

Weasley, Ronald—Gryffindor—1991-1997

Granger, Hermione—Gryffindor—1991-1999

Poppy flipped open Weasley's folder, taking in the pleasing scent of old parchment, and chuckled as she read over its contents. It wasn't the injuries, of course, that amused her. It was that extra bit of 'documenting the patient' that drew the memories from the back of her mind, like cracking the spine of an old, beloved book. On the surface, it was:

Treated mysterious animal bite.

Administered four draughts of Pepper Up Potion.

Mended broken leg and associated cuts and abrasions.

Applied Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction to thought-scars left by brain.

Administered essence of rue for poisoning…

But intermingled with the black and white medical jargon were her own personal observations:

Patient visited seven times by H. Granger.

H. Granger asked to leave homework assignments while patient slept.

H. Granger argued with patient over incomplete assignments.

H. Granger fell asleep at patient's bedside.

H. Granger cried and held patient's hand all through the night…

Each entry brought forth more and more memories, until she was laughing and crying out loud at her desk.

Suddenly, the portrait of Florence the Fierce-hearted, Hogwarts' first school nurse, shouted, "That's right, my dear! The art of medicine consists of amusing the patient while nature cures the disease."

"Oh, what did Voltaire know, anyway?" replied Poppy, annoyed at having been interrupted by the barmy witch. She mopped her eyes with her handkerchief and closed Weasley's file, trading it for Granger's. Hers too, was full of notations about Weasley's visits. And just like Weasley's file, she was greatly amused by some, and greatly moved by others. It was obvious from the start that they cared for each other, though neither was skilled at showing it. Poppy watched Granger fuss over the boy on several occasions, and in his turn, Weasley, too, fussed over Granger.

Of particular note, in Granger's seventh year, it was quite clear that they had at last admitted their feelings to one another, and that they were a couple. She remembered receiving a visit from a very adamant and worried Weasley, and an eye-rolling and very tired looking Granger.

"Madam Pomfrey, is there something you can do for Hermione? She's exhausted and driving herself mad over her NEWTs." Weasley had grown into a fine young man, and she could easily see the concern for his girlfriend in his eyes. Granger, on the other hand, was doing her best to look annoyed and offered several excuses that Weasley continually brushed aside.

"Honestly, Ron, I'm fine. Really." The two shared a couple of meaningful glances, and then, "Okay, yes, I've been revising rather a lot, but I'm way behind in Transfiguration, and I've got loads to do in Arithmancy, and I'm still not sure what I've missed in Potions." Granger did her best to look contrite, but Weasley wasn't having any of it.

"I'll bet you haven't even been outside this week, have you?" Weasley's eyes were fixed on Granger as if she held the secrets to the perfect Quidditch strategy.

Granger scoffed. "Of course I've been outside." After she spoke, though, she looked unsure. "At least, I think I have."

Weasley turned back to Poppy. "Please, can't you do something? Make her take a Pepper Up Potion? Or a Sleeping Draught? Or a Vitamin Vial? Something?"

Poppy had wanted to laugh, but she didn't even crack a smile at the boy. She could tell how deeply he cared for his girlfriend and could equally tell that Granger knew this. Before Poppy could open her mouth, Granger spoke.

"All right, Ron, all right. Madam Pomfrey, I'm sorry we've troubled you. Do you think I need a Pepper Up Potion?" Weasleys shoulders, which had been rigid with tension, suddenly relaxed, though he still wore that expression of concern on his face.

Poppy placed her hand on the girl's forehead and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "Yes, Ms. Granger, I definitely see what Mr. Weasley is talking about. You're much too pale, have you been skipping meals?" Granger nodded her head, and Weasley snorted in frustration. "Well then, I'll prepare a dose of Pepper Up, and I want you to be sure to eat three full meals a day. No skipping, understand?"

"And spend at least an hour a day OUTSIDE," added Weasley. Granger nodded solemnly at both of them.

Poppy had walked away then, to see to the potion. "I'm sorry, Ron. I know you're right. I've been working way too hard." Granger's voice was soft, but it carried, and Poppy acted as if she hadn't overheard.

"Can you write that down for me, please?" asked Weasley just as softly.

"Write what down?"

"The 'Ron, I know you're right' bit."

"Oh for heaven's sake!"

Poppy's shoulders had shaken in silent laughter so forcefully that she'd sloshed half the cup of Pepper Up Potion down her apron.

***

She closed Granger's file and placed it, along with the Weasley boy's, back on the shelf where they belonged. Poppy supposed she should feel guilty for keeping records like this, but she was close to retirement now, and she found that she no longer cared about the possible impropriety about it. She'd never had children of her own, and she'd grown to care a great deal about the students she'd nursed along the way. It only stood to reason that she might enjoy watching them mature into good, responsible adults with children of their own. She could tell dozens of stories like this one, but all didn't have such a happy ending.

"Madam Pomfrey?" called Weasley, stirring Poppy from her thoughts. "It's really itching badly!"

She stood and strode purposefully out the office door towards her patient. Within a minute or two of drinking it down, the girl was already heavy-lidded and drooping against her pillow. "If Ian comes…" she said sleepily, "can you…tell him…it's okay…I'm not…ang--" and she began snoring softly.

Poppy chuckled and tucked the blankets carefully under the girl's chin. "Yes dear, I'll tell him," she said, smiling gently. If her suspicions were correct—and they often were, in these cases—the next Hogwarts nurse might be making a new Purches folder. One for a Ravenclaw child with red, bushy hair.

A/N: Heh, you won't know how many times I typed Poopy instead of Poppy, while writing this! This story's dedicated to my good friends Mo and Vannessa, for keeping me sane, and for keeping me laughing.