During the last week of August, just as she was pinning her cataloguer's badge to the lapel of her Gringotts robes, Poppy heard a loud thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of owl talons against glass. She turned from her dresser with a start.
At first she'd thought it to be Errol. The half-crazed, half-dead, but somehow still somewhat reliable owl owned by Percy, who had been sending Poppy near-daily complaint letters since Harry had been acquitted without charge by the Wizengamot just two weeks before.
But what she found was more curious. There, perched precariously on the windowsill, sat a rather large and important looking owl.
She smiled, expecting that it was a reply from Charlie. He still hadn't managed to find time to reply to her note. Though she knew he would.
When the owl saw her staring it, it tapped once more and then hopped backwards, flapping its large wings to stay in the air, giving her space to open the window.
Poppy took the letter gratefully and fed it a little treat from a bag she had left over from Hogwarts. Once it had gone, she waved her wand to finish dressing herself as she frowned down at the stamp at the top of the envelope. The letter was definitely not from Charlie.
"Post already?" Fleur asked when Poppy walked into their living room/kitchen, holding the letter.
Just like Poppy, Fleur was dressed in the standard Gringotts uniform of black robes with a golden sigil on the left chest plate. Her badge, though, indicated that she worked in the Foreign Currency Department.
Poppy nodded slowly and sat on one of the breakfast stools. A plate of omelette settled in front of her, and juice began to pour itself into her cup.
"Thank you," she said, still staring at the letter.
"Are you alright?" Fleur asked distractedly, her eyes on the book on translations open on the counter in front of her.
"It's a letter from the Auror department," Poppy replied, frowning. "I don't know if I want to open it."
"You 'ave to!" Fleur said excitedly, moving forwards to take the letter from Poppy's hand. She looked it over and nodded. "This is too important to miss."
"But it's just going to-"
"Open!" Fleur cried, thrusting the letter back into Poppy's hands.
Poppy laughed and shook her head when Fleur passed her an ornate-handled letter opener. "Where do you keep this?"
Fleur sent her a mock glare, threw her hair over her shoulder, and turned back to the stove, where another omelette was cooking itself. She waved her wand and a plate moved to catch the breakfast as the pan tipped it out.
Poppy sighed and opened the letter finally, blanching as she read the parchment.
"Well? What is it?" Fleur asked happily, but Poppy was standing now.
"I… I've been summoned to a meeting."
Fleur squealed, but stopped abruptly at the look on Poppy's face.
"I don't think it's good," Poppy said. "They want to ask me some questions regarding an ongoing matter."
"When?" Fleur asked, her smile long gone.
"Uh, today," Poppy replied. "Can- can you tell Deirdre I'll not be in? Or Bill? He can uh… he can-"
"Of course," Fleur replied straight away, "Bill will tell Gornuk." She seemed more worried now. "Will you be home for dinner?"
Poppy groaned and shook her head. "No, I'm meant to see Percy tonight. He's got a new recipe he's trying."
Poppy screwed up her face but Fleur flicked her on the forehead and Poppy groaned, reaching a hand to rub the now aching spot. Despite Bill's anger at his brother, now that she and Bill are official, Fleur was hopeful for a reconnection between the Weasley siblings.
She saw Poppy's 'friendship' with Percy as the first step in healing that particular gaping wound. Therefore, whenever Poppy spoke ill of Percy, she would be poked, flicked, or slapped lightly on the arm.
Poppy knew that one day Fleur would give up on Percy and Bill, but she admired her persistence and so let it go.
"You could cancel? I shall cook?" Fleur said a moment after taking the letter from Poppy.
"No, I uh- I can't," Poppy replied.
Just last week Dumbledore had chastised her during an Order meeting for not spending time with Percy – he'd reminded her that any information Percy let slip could help the Order, and so she was resigned to continuing her 'friendship' with him.
Since then, they'd had an awkward coffee and Percy had apologised for assuming she could cook based solely on the fact that she was female. He'd said he would make it up to her. How, she was still unsure. But to start, he had invited her to his flat to sample his dinner menu - he wanted her opinion before he debuted it for 'Audrey,' his mystery woman.
"I will see you on Monday then?" Fleur asked, heading to the door. She waved her hand, which was holding a packet containing the second omelette. Poppy smiled and nodded, knowing that Fleur was visiting her parents this weekend.
"You having breakfast with Bill before you go?" Poppy asked despite her trepidation at her summons to the Ministry.
"Maybe," Fleur replied with a laugh. "Well, yes… I will miss him…"
"Of course you will. Now go, have fun and enjoy the free flat tonight. Make him come over for a farewell dinner?"
Fleur grinned and nodded. "Thank you. I will see what he thinks. And you must tell me how it goes today. I hope well."
Once she was sure that Fleur had left, Poppy ran to her small stash of Veritaserum antidote capsules and placed three into her bra. The idea that she would be questioned for more than eighteen hours seemed ridiculous, but she wanted to be prepared just in case.
Then, she changed into a set of everyday black robes. She felt more comfortable, still, in Muggle clothes, but this was too important a moment to not adhere to Wizarding dressing conventions.
Poppy arrived at the Auror Offices as she had done for the assessment week earlier in the summer, walking through the large pair of oak doors. Only, this time there was no excitement, only anxiousness.
She'd slipped one of the antidote capsules into her mouth when she was in the lift so she knew she'd be fine if they used Veritaserum for the initial questions. But she was still worried.
"Jacobs?" a rather tall Auror with a scar over his left eyebrow asked the moment Poppy arrived. "Follow me."
Poppy was taken into a different door this time, following the office straight to the end. They walked through another pair of oak doors and then turned left immediately.
She was shown into a small room which contained three chairs – two on either sides of a large desk, and one in the corner.
"Wait here," the Auror barked, and Poppy nodded, choosing to stand until she was told otherwise.
She only had to wait for around five minutes before the door opened again and Scrimgeour himself walked in, flanked by a rather tired looking witch dressed in navy robes who moved to the seat in the corner and pulled out a quill and some parchment which floated in the air in front of her.
"Sit," Scrimgeour commanded, pointing at the chair nearest the door.
Poppy did as she was told and watched as Scrimgeour raised his wand towards the door. Chancing a glance, she heard a noise and saw a faint glow emit from the only exit. She tried not to show her worry that they were now locked inside.
"Your wand," Scrimgeour asked, holding out his hand.
"My… my wand?" Poppy asked, frowning. "You need my wand?"
"Standard procedure for interviews such as this," he replied.
"No it's not," Poppy argued quickly. "The Proper Interview Guide for Interrogating Non-Combative Wizarding Folk states that-"
"I know what it states," Scrimgeour growled out. "I wrote the thing, didn't I? Now. Wand."
"You think I'm combative?" Poppy asked quietly.
This was bad, she thought. Did they know about the Order? Her palms began to sweat as she thought about the fact that she'd had dinner with escaped convict Sirius Black and the Auror leading the hunt for said convict just last night. And Harry Potter had been there. If she accidentally revealed anything, she'd-
"Wand," Scrimgeour commanded again, holding out his hand more insistently. "Or would you prefer I take it by force?"
Poppy took a deep breath and reached into her pocket, narrating her movements as she went, before she handed the wand over, handle first.
Scrimgeour handed it to the woman behind him, who produced a set of weighing scales. The witch spent a moment examining the wand before she weighed it and a small piece of parchment appeared from the scales' base. She compared it to whatever was written on her parchment and then nodded and handed it back to Scrimgeour.
Any hope Poppy had that her wand would be returned was lost when he placed the wand in his pocket and said, "The date is Thirty-First August Nineteen-Ninety-Five. Rufus Scrimgeour, accompanied by Beatrice Nomhinder, interviewing. Interview will commence at zero-nine-twenty-six."
The witch behind him watched as a quill began to fly across her parchment.
He launched into the questions immediately. "Please state your full name for the record."
"Poppy Jacobs," Poppy answered.
"Your full name," Scrimgeour countered.
Poppy tried not to move. "Poppy Margaret Lisa Jacobs," she admitted.
Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes. "Your birth name."
Poppy shifted in her seat. Her birth name made her uncomfortable now. But still, she answered; "Margaret Lisa Jacobs."
"How did you change your name?" he asked.
Poppy frowned. She wanted to say, 'the same way everyone else does,' but instead she recounted the process of going to the Ministry, down to the cost - "Eighteen Galleons and six Sickles." It had been a massive expense for her, but she felt that it was worth it.
"Why did you change it?" he asked dismissively, reading from the list of questions in front of him.
"Everyone called me Poppy," she explained simply.
"Is that a reason to permanently alter your name?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"For me, yes," she replied truthfully.
He sent her a look but continued;
"You spent some time last summer staying with Arthur Weasley and his family," he said emotionlessly, turning over a page, "and attended the Wizarding World Cup?"
"Quidditch World Cup," she corrected. She cleared her throat when he didn't answer and nodded. "Uh, yes sir."
"With Harry Potter?" he asked, noting something on his page.
"He was in attendance, yes. As was Percy Weasley, the current Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic," Poppy replied, knowing that Scrimgeour wouldn't be able to make a case against her if he didn't also make a case against Percy. And Percy was protected by Fudge.
Scrimgeour looked over his glasses at her, and then down at the paper in front of him again. It seemed that he knew what she was doing.
"Following the unfortunate display after the final," he said, "you gave an eyewitness account to an Auror named…?"
Poppy frowned and thought hard for a moment. "Rid- uh… Rikkark, sir. Auror Rikkark. Is this about those children who-" She fell silent when Scrimgeour held up a hand for her to stop.
"Your family currently resides at…?" Scrimgeour asked.
Poppy opened her mouth to ask, "Why do you-"
"Your family currently resides at-?" he repeated stiffly, and Poppy nodded, understanding that he meant her birth family, as he had meant her birth name.
"Uh, Twenty-Four Wellcrest Avenue, SW10 6DX," she rambled off quickly.
"Please state your O. W. L. results. Grades only," he asked.
"Uh, seven Os, three Es and one A," Poppy answered.
"You achieved an Acceptable in which class?" Scrimgeour asked.
"Herbology," Poppy said quickly. She was still embarrassed by that, as a Hufflepuff, but Professor Sprout hadn't held it against her.
"You have known Harry Potter for how long?" he asked.
Poppy blinked. Here it was. "Well I barely know him, but we were at school together for four years."
Scrimgeour huffed but moved on. "Explain your relationship with Albus Dumbledore."
The questions felt never ending, forcing Poppy to reveal as much of herself as she was able, and making her repeat certain lies (like her not agreeing with Dumbledore and Harry's version of events) over and over again until even she wasn't sure if she really did believe them or not.
Cup of tea after cup of tea also came and went, and Poppy took one or two sips from each, after Scrimgeour had done the same with his drink.
She just had to hold out hope that the Veritaserum antidote she'd taken would last long enough for her to answer all of the questions 'correctly' and leave the office. Otherwise she would inadvertently reveal something important, she was sure.
Finally, after what must have been hours, Scrimgeour allowed Poppy to go to the toilet, and she quickly removed one of her two spare antidotes from her bra.
She placed the capsule in her mouth and bit down, releasing the colourless, odourless, flavourless potion.
When Poppy returned to the interrogation room she found herself alone for what felt like another hour, until Scrimgeour returned.
"Nice lunch?" she asked, noting a single crumb on his lapel. Scrimgeour wiped it away with a glare.
"The interview will recommence. Please state your full name as at birth," he said humourlessly.
The sun had set in the window behind Scrimgeour by the time he set his quill and paper down and laced his fingers together in front of him.
"You achieved Acceptable in which class?" Scrimgeour asked.
Poppy, who had been asked this four times now, said as patiently as she could, "Herbology."
"Interview will cease at twenty-one-forty-five. We will reconvene in the morning," Scrimgeour said, standing. The witch behind him looked as relieved as Poppy felt. She stood also, waving her wand to pack away her parchment and quill.
Poppy sighed. She'd been here for over twelve hours now and couldn't wait to get home. She stood as well, but at the look on Scrimgeour's face, sank back into her seat.
"We will reconvene," he said. "You will remain in this room until I return."
No, Poppy thought. She couldn't be left alone here. The window wasn't real, the four walls already felt as though they were closing in, and she couldn't be sure that she would be able to contact anyone if needed.
"What if I need the toilet?" Poppy asked, indicating the mug of tea she'd been drinking.
Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes. "If that is a concern, I could move you to our holding cells."
"Do they have toilets?" she asked.
"Of sorts," he replied.
A bucket then, Poppy thought humourlessly. Though it was better potentially than what she was facing here.
"And… meals?" Poppy asked slowly, realising for the first time that she hadn't eaten since her breakfast of half an omelette. It was all she could do to keep her stomach from rumbling loudly.
She was also acutely aware that if she continued to take the Veritaserum antidote on her empty stomach, its effects would lessen, and begin to create a delirium. If it did, she was sure Scrimgeour would know what she was doing to try and evade his questions.
"I believe dinner will be served in half an hour," he replied.
"Whereabouts are the cells?" Poppy asked, shrugging slightly to hide her fear. "I'd like to have all of my bases covered."
Scrimgeour didn't react, but banged on the door three times. It glowed around the edges of the frame and then opened. To the faceless guard, he said, "Holding cells."
The witch who had been taking notes shuffled out of the room before Scrimgeour, and refused to look at Poppy in the eye. Scrimgeour swept out of the room after her, and the door shut behind them.
After a while, a witch in Auror's robes accompanied Poppy to the Ministry's holding facility which was, "Downstairs", taking her down via an unmarked lift at the back of the Auror Office.
The office itself was near-deserted as they walked through, so any hope that Poppy had to see Tonks or Kingsley to alert them to her whereabouts wilted away quickly.
On their way down, Poppy thought to herself that the hidden lift made sense. She supposed they wouldn't have wanted everyday workers taking the usual lift only to be subjected to potentially dangerous suspects.
The holding cells were sparse and badly lit. Poppy knew that they were underground, but the main light came from candles along the walls, and some large windows on the ceiling which were currently projecting the night's sky. The scant moonlight lit their way as she was taken to a cell towards the middle of the block, passing what seemed like endless bars.
As the cell gate materialised behind her, Poppy thought maybe she'd made a mistake. But it was too late to change her mind.
A quick look around told her that the bench which lined the wall of her cell was her bed, the bucket in the corner was her toilet, and the guard standing by the entrance wasn't paying attention.
She sat down on the bench and let out a long breath.
When she made eye contact with the wizard in the cell across from her, he bared his teeth and snapped at her.
But she was far enough away that she simply rolled her eyes and laid down, feigning indifference as her heart raced, thumping harshly in her chest.
She fought to stay still and stare up at the ceiling.
A clatter in the cell next to hers alerted her to someone using their bucket. She primed herself for a smell that never came. Magic, she thought, mentally shaking her head at her own stupidity. Of course the buckets would have vanishing spells inbuilt.
Dinner wasn't at all as bad as she'd thought. There was some kind of meat which she didn't touch, some broccoli which, after a sniff test she decided to leave, and a large piece of bread which she picked apart before only eating the bottom crust.
Around midnight, or when the waning crescent moon was at its highest, she laid down again and stared at the enchanted ceiling, deciding to make up a story in her head to pass the time - there was no way she could sleep with the noise of prisoners grumbling, crying, growling, and snoring around her.
She didn't know why, but her mother came to mind that night and together they went through her answers to Scrimgeour's questions, as if hers was a case to solve.
She imagined herself sitting on the kitchen floor across from her mother.
At the start, Poppy took the time to remember her mother, with her long tightly curled black hair which fell down her back, to her beautiful deep brown skin which was the same colour as Poppy and her eyes and seemed to shine in all lights. Her smile, which Poppy had inherited, was wide and joyful - it had always felt to Poppy as though her mother smiled with her whole being.
She was tall as well. Poppy, as a child, had been sure her mother was as tall as a giant. But now Poppy was the same height as she had been - five feet ten.
She had worn long fitted dresses with wide sleeves during the day, switching to shorter ones when they went outside or Poppy's father came home. So Poppy imagined that she wore a long dress, her hair up in scarf, a tea towel slung over her shoulder.
In Poppy's mind, they sat at the kitchen table and spent hours talking through everything Scrimgeour had asked Poppy (or Peggy as her mother called her) until they broached the subject of her friends and their opinion on the war that Poppy was terrified they wouldn't be prepared for. Then they moved on to Poppy's life, her wants, her dislikes…
It was the first time in years that Poppy had allowed herself to remember and imagine her mother in such a way. Consciously, that is, for her mother popped up in her dreams here and there.
Poppy's day dreaming meant that by the time the sun had risen and the guards had come to find her, she hadn't slept a wink, but her mind was still sharp.
And as the doors to the lift closed, ready to take her back up to the interrogation room, she remembered something her mother had said once.
Back then, Poppy had been Peggy, a little girl with bright brown eyes, a large smile, and curly hair held in pigtails. A magnifying glass and stick went everywhere with her, stashed in the pockets of her dungarees or trousers. Sometimes, a little notebook and pencil accompanied her other objects, but not being able to write yet, she only used it to doodle squiggles when 'interrogating' her subjects.
Her mother had found Peggy questioning her dolls, asking each one if they had taken her chocolate. Her mother had laughed, pointing to one discarded doll in the corner;
"That's the culprit," her mother had said, shaking her head.
"No, it's Trixie," Peggy replied, picking up a different doll.
Another laugh. "Oh Peg," her mother said, picking up the accused. "The guilty ones sleep. Trixie's been awake all night, hasn't she?"
In the present, Poppy frowned at the dark door of the lift. So she wasn't guilty. Whatever they wanted to know, she really didn't know it.
It didn't make her feel any better.
That day went quite the same as the last. Although this time there was no tea. They provided no water, and Poppy only had one bathroom break during which she placed her mouth under the tap and let the water run over her tongue. She allowed herself to drink a mouthful, and then she returned.
The holding cell was more populated that night, and she passed the time by speaking to a witch who was in for smuggling.
Bored out of her mind and starving, Poppy ended up giving the witch advice on what laws exactly she'd broken, and why agreeing to hold Glumbumble eggs for her boyfriend wasn't him trusting her, it was him smuggling through her.
The grateful witch swapped dinners with Poppy, giving her her mashed potatoes. Then she agreed to watch out as Poppy closed her eyes.
Poppy managed to get around half an hour's sleep by her own count and then the cell was opened and she was dragged back out by her upper arms.
On the way upstairs, something in her leg twinged, and her thigh began to ache for the first time in weeks – an uncomfortable reminder of the injuries she'd sustained at the end of her last year at Hogwarts. She assumed that her exhaustion must have aggravated it.
The dull pain eased as she sat back down in the interrogation room, where Poppy continued to answer the same questions as yesterday and the day before. And then, once again, she was taken to holding.
Finally, the next day, after hours and hours, after two changes of interrogator, and another sleepless night due now to her leg pain as much as her exhaustion, Scrimgeour took off his glasses.
"Can you tell me what the ongoing issue is?" Poppy asked hopefully.
She was running on sheer willpower at this point. (And on the twenty minutes of sleep she'd managed to get the night before.)
"I might be able to help you if you stop asking me about my childhood and focus in on something specific," she said, widening her itchy and drooping eyes so that she wouldn't fall asleep.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Scrimgeour said, "You are aware that we have not recruited for the Auror programme for a number of years now?"
"I am," she said, confused.
Her head lolled for a moment and she snapped back to attention, shook her head, and widened her eyes again. "Sorry."
Scrimgeour appraised her. "You are aware that your application was denied due in part to the fact that it would be embarrassing for the Ministry to have to explain why someone previously connected to Harry Potter in any capacity was recruited to a programme as prestigious as this?"
"I- I wasn't aware of that, no, sir," Poppy said slowly, lying.
That was why she'd written to Esther, wasn't it? To try and get her to believe that she no longer believed Harry and Dumbledore. It had worked.
"Does that mean that I passed the other tests?" she asked quietly.
He watched her for a long moment. "You will not mention this to anyone. Do you understand me?"
Poppy nodded slowly.
He continued to appraise her for a minute and then stood and walked to the door. "Follow me."
Poppy did as she was told. She stumbled slightly when she reached the door and used the doorway to hold herself up as her still-recovering leg gave way slightly.
She slowed down and limped along, using the walls to push herself along the corridor.
Finally, Scrimgeour opened a door and stepped to the side. He pulled something from his pocket and held it out.
"Get cleaned up," he ordered, handing her her wand.
Poppy stared at it for a moment and then looked into the room. Was it a trap?
Inside, there were benches set out against the walls. What looked like lockers stood proud in the middle of the room. On the front of one hung a set of deep green robes.
"In," he ordered again, and she did as he asked now. "Showers to the right. Be ready in ten. The robes are yours."
Poppy moved as quickly as she could, taking the hottest shower she could bear in an effort to wake herself up and stop her leg from hurting as much - the pain was dulling her senses even more than her tiredness. Once her leg began to ease, she dried with magic and changed into the new robes.
She had just finished pulling on a pair of new black boots when the door opened again and an older wizard stepped into the room.
He was wearing scarlet robes with an Auror badge on his lapel and Poppy recognised him as the Auror who had first taken her into the interrogation room.
He was taller than her. And he had greying hair. His wrinkles proved he was quite a bit older than her indeed. Poppy thought if he was a Muggle, given his age, she could have overpowered him and made her escape. But she knew if she tried to even lunge at him she'd not make it out of the Ministry.
"With me," he said gruffly, nodding his head towards the corridor again.
"Where are we going?" Poppy asked, limping along behind him.
She knew she wasn't free to go. If she had been, she would have been sent to the Atrium, not to get changed.
But the wizard didn't answer. Instead, he pulled a bottle from his pocket and uncorked it with his teeth. "Here," he said, handing it to her.
Poppy, starving and thirsty, eyed up the bottle nervously until he stopped walking, gulped some down, and then handed it to her again.
She took it finally and raised it to her lips, taking a swig. Strong alcohol made its way down her throat and she coughed and spluttered. "That's not good," she wheezed, though it did lessen the pain in her leg.
The wizard grabbed the bottle back and rolled his eyes. "You get used to it." When the bottle was safely back in his pocket, he pushed open a door at the end of the hallway and Poppy was assaulted by bright lights.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust and then she realised she was in the main Auror Office once more.
She followed him just a few steps, to the nearest cubicle. Looking inside, Poppy's eyes widened when she saw that almost every inch of wall was plastered with moving images of Sirius Black.
"What's this?" Kingsley asked, standing from his chair. He eyed up Poppy's robes, and then a smile came across his face, confusing Poppy immensely.
"Kingsley Shacklebolt, meet Poppy Jacobs. She'll be helping you with research today," the other nameless Auror said.
"What?" she asked the two men, who were shaking their heads at her expression.
"New recruit," the older wizard said to a passing witch. "Kingsley's babysitting today. You're up tomorrow."
"Good to meet you," the witch said, smiling at Poppy. "Got to go though. Finishing up the MacInson case." She left with a wave and ducked into another cubicle.
"Wait. Wait. Rec - recruit?" Poppy asked, the information taking a moment to sink in. "You mean… you mean I'm…"
"An Auror-in-training, yeah. Sorry about the secrecy and everything, Scrimgeour's a bit nervous about the optics. If I'm telling the truth, that whole thing," he said, waving his hand dismissively, "was Fudge's idea. But I didn't tell you that. Anyway, you convinced him, so," he trailed off with a shrug. "Glad you did if I'm honest. Rikkark said you had good instincts at the World Cup."
"Did they do this to you when you joined?" she asked, frowning as she swayed slightly.
His laughter broke through the chatter of the room, and Poppy rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be mean about it."
"See you later," he declared, turning to the main doors. "I'm on nights now," he added over his shoulder.
"That explains the alcohol," she whispered.
"You alright?" Kingsley mouthed, and Poppy took a moment to understand what he'd said.
She nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah. Bit dazed. What… what date is it?"
"Third."
"September?!" she asked, her eyes wide. She'd known she'd been in there for what felt like days, but she'd not thought it had been that many. She'd assumed they'd not really kept her overnight – that maybe they'd had her in the cells for six hour slots and then pretended it was daytime again.
This realisation came with the horror that Kingsley didn't seem worried about her. Which meant that no one had been looking for her.
The smile dropped from Kingsley's face as her expression fell, and he beckoned her into his cubicle. "Here," he said, thrusting a chocolate bar at her. "Sit. Eat."
Poppy shook her head. "I've been here for four days," she whispered, her eyes wide. "I've barely slept. I've answered ridiculous questions about nothing, and now I'm meant to do what? Research?"
She placed her forehead in her hands and shook her head as she tried to stop herself from crying from sheer exhaustion.
Kingsley looked concerned, but before he could say anything a wizard popped his head into the cubicle and handed over a stack of papers. Poppy gulped down her upset and watched him closely.
"French intelligence. Breadcrumbs, but might have something," he said, eyeing Poppy up. "Green robes eh? Haven't seen those in a while."
"Just started," Kingsley explained with a shrug.
"Thought we weren't recruiting this year," the wizard replied.
"Who knows what Scrimgeour's thinking. But she can look through these," Kingsley said, chucking the stack of parchment onto the desk next to Poppy. "Saves me an hour or two."
Poppy was grateful for Kingsley's quick thinking. It gave her something to pretend to focus on until they were alone again. She picked up the stack and pretended to read the first page.
Kingsley turned back to the other Auror. "Did you get that report from Weasley yet? I was hoping it would come in before the weekend but nothing."
"No, but I think I saw him this morning. Might be in his office."
Kingsley thanked the wizard and let him go, and then turned to Poppy and raised his voice so that anyone nearby could hear him. "Alright. Jacobs is it? Good. Well, ignore that research for now. First job, I need you to go to Arthur Weasley's office. That's Arthur Weasley."
"I know him," Poppy said, playing along.
"You do, eh? Good. Down the hall, left then right," he said, pointing out of the oak double doors nearest his cubicle. "Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office."
Poppy almost shook her head - her first instinct was to never retrace her steps past that interrogation room again - but after a moment she let it go. She'd have to go back that way sometime. Why not now.
Kingsley continued, "Tell him I don't care how busy he is, I need that report on motorcycles now." He lowered his voice and passed her the chocolate once more. "Eat this on the way. Don't stop to talk to anyone. Go. Now. Tell Arthur everything. I'll see what I can find out here."
Poppy nodded quickly and stood shakily.
"Here," Kingsley said, passing her a mug of steaming hot coffee. "Drink some of this too."
Once she'd downed half the drink, and made a note to tell Kingsley that that much sugar in coffee couldn't be good for him, she headed off to find Mr Weasley. Only, he wasn't in his office when she arrived so she had to wait outside for over an hour.
She could have returned to the Auror Office but she was too tired, and thought Kingsley would forgive her for choosing to sit on the floor and rest. The chocolate gave her some energy but her eyes kept drifting and soon enough she was asleep, her head lolling forwards as she dreamt about her mother again.
"Poppy?" Mr Weasley asked, waking her up with a shake.
"Sorry, motorcycles," Poppy muttered, waking with a start.
"What?"
"Kingsley needs… uh," Poppy mumbled, wiping her mouth as she stood. "Sorry. Kingsley needs the report on motorcycles. For uh… I'm guessing for the Black search."
Mr Weasley frowned but nodded. "I've almost finished it. Come in. How was your weekend?" he asked as they crammed into a tiny office which had stacks and stacks of pieces of parchment covering desks. "Mine was good. Most of the kids went back to school, and Ron was made prefect, if you can believe it!" he said in a loud voice, pointing to the door. Poppy moved to close it. "We had a party actually. Gave him a broom. Not every day we have a prefect in the family!"
Poppy tried to hide her breath of a laugh. Bill, Charlie, Percy… Ron made four out of seven Weasleys obtaining badges. Hardly rare. But she was happy that they'd made a fuss of Ron. He deserved it.
Once she'd closed the door and they were safely inside his small, crowded office, Poppy turned back to Mr Weasley.
"We missed you at the party. We put it all together quite quickly really. Bill knocked at your flat to see if you could come but no one was in. Said Fleur was abroad so if you weren't there you might have been busy." Mr Weasley frowned. "Green robes… and helping out Kingsley. Is there… dear Merlin. Sit down," he said, pushing her into a chair when Poppy began to sway. "What happened?"
Mr Weasley's face grew redder and redder as Poppy explained what had happened to her, the questions she'd been asked, and her new job.
"Go back to the office," he said once she'd finished. "The moment you finish work, go to headquarters. Alastor will want to speak to you. Tell Kingsley that Molly's making stew and you're both to be there by seven."
Poppy shook her head slowly. "I- Mr. Weasley, I don't know if I can. I'm half dead on my feet as it is and I've got to go through some stuff about Sirius sightings and I think it's all in French, and I don't even know if I can translate it," she whimpered, her eyes filling with tears.
Mr Weasley placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Poppy, but you have to. The Order will need an update. I'll call the meeting. Just prepare yourself to tell your story again. Now, here's the report you need," he said, handing her an obviously complete report. "Go. You've already been away too long."