Disclaimer: All belongs to the fabulous J.K. Rowling, I'm just playing with them.
Toothpaste Kisses
Chapter Two
The smell of strong Scourgify charms permeated the air as the doors to the Hospital Wing creaked open for Minerva. She steadied herself to the onslaught of past memories, letting them wash over her before she crossed the threshold into the infirmary. Cautiously she made her way passed the rows of empty beds, heels echoing across the hall, until reaching the office at the far end. A crisp knock and a cheerful 'come in' granted her entrance. The medi-witch beamed a smile and ushered Minerva into a cushy armchair before the roaring fireplace. Three small cauldrons were bubbling away, one emitting mauve smoke.
"Dreamless sleep," she offered by way of explanation. Clapping her hands together the young witch beamed yet another smile. "Would you like some tea? Your arrival emboldens me to ring for some."
Without waiting for an answer the medi-witch bounced out of her chair, pulled a cord hidden to the left of the fireside, then proceeded to rummage through the potions cabinet behind her desk. She returned with what Minerva recognised as a draught to relieve her headache. If Minerva was meant to be impressed by Pomfrey's intuition, she wasn't, instead wondering at her self-importance.
"Come now, Professor, you only ever frequent my infirmary when your stock is running low. In fact, I often wonder where you would turn if, Merlin forbid, something terrible were to occur and others were not around to insist you sought my help."
Minerva swallowed the potion to gain time to formulate an adequate response. She absentmindedly conjured a glass, filling it with water, wandlessly – power rarely exhibited. Further evidence of her tiredness.
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey – "
" –Poppy, please. Now why don't you sit back and await your tea?"
"I really must be getting back. I have forth year essays that must be marked before this evening."
If Pomfrey was disappointed she did not show it for her cheerful countenance did not falter.
"Oh, yes, Flitwick's birthday bash. Just what we need. A little laughter is good for the soul, especially in these hard times. So I can expect to see you there?"
Minerva was aware the witch saw her hesitate but before fully correcting her mistake, Poppy caught her off guard.
"Or shall you be off on search and rescue again tonight?"
Minerva's eyes narrowed, surprise replaced by suspicion but Pomfrey remained oblivious if her smile was anything to go by.
"I have friends at St. Mungo's." She offered by way of explanation. "You must be tired, Professor, those long hours you are keeping."
Minerva chose not to answer and remained silent even when a tea set arrived. She watched as the medi-witch poured them each a cup then made a show of settling herself back in her armchair.
"Might I inquire as to how your shoulder is healing?"
Was there no such thing as healer–patient confidentiality?Nosiness was another Hufflepuff trait Minerva looked upon with disdain.
"Quite well, thank you." It was clear from Minerva's curt tone that no further enquiries were welcome.
The medi-witch plowed on, once again seemingly oblivious to the chilling atmosphere.
"It will no doubt remain itchy for another month at least. New skin is not healed without a certain amount of discomfort. The Headmaster's phoenix may be of help though."
"I have no need for Fawkes' tears and I would also appreciate it if you did not gossip about my health with others, including the Headmaster."
Minerva further observed that again Poppy did not take offence and put it down to yet another Hufflepuff failure.
"Are you and Professor Dumbledore old friends?"
"Is that what he told you?"
"Yes."
Minerva struggled not to frown as the few wisps of Pomfrey's golden curls sticking out from under her hat bobbed as she nodded. Eagerness engulfed each and every one of the witch's gestures.
"Then that is what we are."
The case was closed and the tea drunk. With a polite parting Minerva was on her way with a half-hearted assurance of making an appearance at Flitwick's party.
"Come on out, let your guard down, let your hair down, let your mother down."
Evidently, Pomfrey knew nothing of her family history. Never would Minerva admit but she still awoke from nightmares. Cried out with strangled sobs. An increasingly larger part of her longed for a time when Albus would hold her firmly against him. Sometimes she wished that where her tears had soaked his nightshirt, through to his shoulder, there was a mortal wound. She hoped her tears had burnt his skin like tiny drops of lava, piercingly. He would deserve each twinge, for his heartache was nothing compared to her tortured soul.