mirror // pansy parkinson

twenty-four | part one

— third person's point of view

WEEKS AGO.

The young mister was asking a mortifying favour of her.

Poppy Pomfrey was growing tired of sending his letters to the fire. She looked at the small ashtray filled with ashes of his past ten letters, the eleventh one held reluctantly in her hands.

Eleven letters. This young boy sent him eleven letters. No past lovers or family of hers had ever sent her eleven whole written letters.

Ugh. Fine.

With a flick of her wand, the rolled parchment undid itself and she read with a scowl.

Poppy, —

Who was he to address her by her first name? Unacceptable!

Poppy,
you do feel guilty don't you? considering it was your ancestors or some other shit that indirectly cursed her. you do feel guilty, own up to it and help me over here.

Write to me back, nurse,
C

'Rude,' she said aloud. Her eyes burned as she turned the letter into ash, grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled her answer for the first time.

Look here, Mr Felix,
I do not feel guilty. I urge you to stop bothering me, and that is an order. A kid like you should not pamper a respected adult with your silly letters. And goodness, enough with the vulgar words. It simply applies that you are uneducated.

Madam Pomfrey.

She sighed, set down her quill and fixed the letter on her owl's claws. She watched as it flew away and soar into the dark sky.

It seemed to her that Mr Felix had done his research. It was all true. Years and years ago, the Pomfrey family had casted a curse on the vicious Parkinson family. It was victorious at that time but knowing it would effect even generations to come, Poppy could not help but being sorry for those affected. Namely Pansy Parkinson.

So yes, she felt sorry.

But the favour Mr Felix was asking was almost impossible and too much for her to accomplish.

Impossible.

——

A letter of reply came early.

Madam Pomfrey,

I did not expect you to read that one hasty letter of mine. My apologies, it was rude of me.
Though I'll take this opportunity to tell you.
I am giving you a load of my coins—which I had tied onto the little guy— that you must use if you agree to meet up with the individual I had told you in my very first letter. It isn't enough to bribe the individual, but it is enough for you to get there using different transits or trains— I am unsure, as I would not know. I was not being exposed to the world outside, but I did my research on those and weighed how many coins you might need.
You may think I'm a little desperate. And I am. I am very much desperate. I know that individual has Pansy's cure and could not just sit idly by.
If you were to agree, I wish you the best of luck. The individual is not easy to negotiate with. If you were to disagree, I am sorry for bothering you. I wish you the best of health and a good day.

C. Felix.

This time, Poppy didn't discard it into ashes. She laid the letter down and turned to the owl perched calmly on the window. There was, as Mr Felix said, a pouch tied on its body.

She tore it open.

It wasn't much, but for a young boy, it was a lot.

Could this be all his savings?

A sense of dread and guilt rose in her chest. She felt overwhelming guilty for ignoring the young boy, and knew that her reason of so was pathetic. Her sister, who was now seeming to be one of the young boy's guardian, was the sole reason.

And...well, she surely did not want Pansy Parkinson to suffer. The young girl, in the eyes of everyone, was quite horrible at the start of her years. But she always had a endearing streak. And it seemed to her that before she felt ill, the young girl tried to make amends.

She recalled what Harry Potter had said quite distastefully when he got injured recently (qudditch injuries, quite normal) to some students who were badmouthing Pansy Parkinson.

'Aren't you so comfortably throwing dirt on her. Don't you have better things to do? Such as, maybe, I don't know, look at yourselves in the mirror?'

'Oh, Poppy,' she muttered to herself, picking up a quill, 'why must you be so pathetic?'

And she started to write a reply.

Dear Mr Felix,

I

She hesitated. The clock ticked.

I will

She knew it was more sensible to not do it. It was more sensible to write 'I will not'. But there something in her that was pushing her. Something...

I will meet up with the man you mentioned in your first letter. I would like to apologise for being inconsiderate.
I do not need this pouch. It is fine. I will be sending it back to you.
I may need your permission first— if anything was to happen to me, is it okay if I confide this matter with a particular someone? Not now, though, only if things went wrong/ did not go my way. Do not worry, the particular someone I had in mind is a promising student in the school and she will not tear this open in public, I assure you of that.
I will try my best to get Miss Parkinson the cure she needs.
And, Mr Felix, you remind me of

The quill hovered above the paper. She shook her head vigorously, scratched the last four words she had written and replaced it with —

you are a good person.

Poppy Pomfrey.

She rolled it up, placed it on the owl's claws, tied the pouch of coins back onto its body (in which the owl inclined its head as if to say you're not taking it? I brought it to you, damn it) and sent it flying away.

Poppy stared at it for a brief moment.

Tomorrow she will leave, she promised to herself. And she will make sure the young boy will get his patient the cure she needed. She promised.

She hoped she hadn't though, as she didn't know at that time it would be this ridiculously difficult.

a/n —
so...i updated!! and yes!! our best girl poppy is here to save the day!!