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“Severus!” Poppy exclaimed, smiling in greeting. “What brings you to the hospital wing?"
Severus found her voice to be much too cheerful for a wet and windy Monday morning, and made his displeasure known with a baleful glare and a pointed scowl.
Poppy continued to bustle around as she spoke, apparently immune to his less than stellar temperament. It seemed Poppy’s question had been rhetorical, as the insufferable hen continued blathering on about the ills of what Severus assumed to be the staple brainless, dunderheaded students that passed through her care.
Severus felt both his courage and attention wane significantly.
A delayed reaction to a contaminated ingredient, perhaps? Although extraordinarily careful as to who he did business with, he could never be completely sure as to the exact origins, or the harvesting processes of some of the more elusive ingredients within his storeroom.
“…and before you speak, I feel it prudent to thank you for the potions you’ve supplied me the past few weeks; it certainly saved me a lot of hassle brewing.” Poppy shook her head in what Severus believed to be both a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “I’ve been handing out Pepper-Up like Honeydukes’ sweets. It’s quite extraordinary; I’ve gone through half the stock already, and it’s only a few weeks into winter.”
Severus nodded distractedly.
“You’d think they'd learn to don a scarf when traipsing amongst the Scottish elements,” Poppy continued, exasperated. Her gaze drifted briefly to the dreadful weather showcased in the window above the bed, before she focussed back on her task of straightening the bed clothes (and other such mundane tasks that Severus couldn’t be bothered to take note of).
Some potion accidents happened gradually; exposure to different environments while carrying the foreign matter could easily trigger dormant reactants. Perhaps as much happened with the ingredients known for imitating more… amorous emotions.
Severus knew that Ashwinder eggs were exceedingly finicky in that regard. It wasn’t always as obvious as short lived infatuation.
He had even considered the possibility of his drink being spiked with an aphrodisiac in of itself, but had dismissed it after realising that, while most of the staff members had a hidden mischievous streak, they certainly wouldn’t go so far as to spike his drink; most of the staff, within his knowledge, had a healthy desire to live. Not to mention Minerva, who would have heart palpitations merely at the thought of Severus’ attentiveness towards her protégée, regardless of the fact that said young witch was more than capable, as a young woman, to make her own choice— not that she would, by any means of the word, choose him.
They were friends; nothing more. She cared about him, but he couldn’t expect her to care about him to the extent in which he found himself— however unwillingly— caring for her. The notion was ridiculous. And also futile; he didn’t really care for her like that.
He didn’t.
Surely.
Severus was convinced there was something amiss. Poppy would know what to do.
Hence why he was here in the first place.
Poppy finished fluffing the last of the cushions and turned to him, an expectant expression on her face. “Now, what can I do for you?”
She hurriedly transfigured two of the chairs by the bed into something more comfortable and set them across from each other, gesturing for him to take a seat. He sat, albeit grudgingly. He wasn’t impressed with the look of triumph that flickered briefly across her face, but he ignored it.
“I’ve been experiencing certain… symptoms,” he stated stiffly after a time.
Poppy sighed. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Severus. Despite my many talents, I’m no mind reader.” She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “Now, tell me more about these symptoms.”
He belatedly wished the ruddy snake had taken mercy on him and finished the job. Never had he thought that he would be discussing something so humiliating. “I refuse to speak until I have word of your discretion.”
She blinked. “You already know that anyone under my care -in this very spot- is under my discretion.”
The rain pelted against the window in renewed vigour, punctuating the silence that hung between them. Severus sat rigidly against the chair, stubbornly watching the fat raindrops as they raced down the window.
Try as he might, he found he couldn’t force the words past his lips. Whether from humiliation or self-disgust, he wasn’t certain. Induced or no, he was completely out of his right to be thinking of an ex-student the way he was.
Severus was awoken from his stupor when a warm cup of tea was pushed into his palms. He grunted his appreciation and took a tentative sip, moving his gaze from the window to the witch that sat in front of him. Poppy scrutinised him with a searching look.
Severus struggled not to fidget or look away under her inquisitive gaze.
Suddenly, her eyes widened, and with a whispered “oh”, she reached forward and patted Severus’ leg consolingly.
“Severus, if this is a… manly issue, there are potions you can take, as I’m sure you well know—“
Severus choked on the tea he had just sipped, sending himself into a coughing fit so severe he had to pause for a moment to regain the ability to breathe.
He was quite certain that his ears were bright red from mortification. It was enough that the woman had seen every part of him, given his past with the Dark Lord and his penchant for sending his servants home bleeding, without Poppy mentioning his bits in such a blasé fashion.
After having regained a modicum of composure, he growled, “I assure you, I have no issues with… that.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for assuming, Severus,” Poppy responded simply, not at all fazed by her patient’s mortification, or her assumption, which was very far from the truth. Too far for comfort, Severus thought, holding back a grimace. “Now, how about you explain to me your symptoms? I could cast a diagnostic charm, as you no doubt would prefer, but this way is much more accurate in the grand scheme of things. I will cast to diagnostic charms later.”
There was no point delaying it, then.
But where to start?
He cleared his throat. “My chest has been feeling rather… strange.”
Poppy frowned slightly, and quickly conjured a roll of parchment to scribble notes. After jotting down a quick note, she turned her attention back to Severus, her quill still poised over the parchment. “How long has this been going on?”
“Roughly six months,” Severus answered shortly.
Poppy scowled. “And you hadn’t thought to alert me of this earlier?” she chastised.
Dark eyes flashing, Severus turned on the witch, snapping, “I did not come here to be chastised like a sniveling first year.”
“I know. I apologise.”
Poppy took a small sip of her tea and sat it back gently on the side table, watching Severus carefully. The rain outside quieted slightly, and the echoes of the wind punctuated the taut atmosphere. Very quietly she whispered, “I only want what’s best for you, Severus.”
His shoulders slumped slightly in acknowledgment. She had always cared for him; was the closest thing he had to a real mother. When he had suffered through the worst of the Marauder's taunting and abuse, Poppy had always been there to cure his ailments and offer him comfort.
Severus had never doubted her good intentions.
After a moment, she cleared her throat slightly and continued with her line of questioning, much to Severus’ combined relief and dismay. “What do these chest pains feel like? Are they restricting? Aching? At any point in time, have you felt as though you couldn’t breathe, or perhaps take a full breath?”
“Tightening, and no to everything else.”
More scribbling.
“Is there any correlation as to the frequency and time of day, or perhaps amount of physical exertion? If not that, have you noticed any trends with the constriction?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Yes.”
“I’m going to need more information than that,” Poppy stated matter-of-factly, glancing up at him expectantly.
“Poppy, I believe I have been cursed. Or bewitched. Or poisoned. Or something of the like,” Severus announced suddenly.
Poppy blinked. “And you believe this to be the case why?”
“There’s no other explanation!” he exclaimed. “These,” he searched for a word, waving his arm in a wide arch, “symptoms just grow more and more prominent every passing day.”
“More symptoms,” Poppy muttered, brows furrowed, jotting something down on the parchment sitting obediently on the side table. “You answered in the affirmative for trends in relation to these restrictions.”
“Correct.”
Poppy huffed. “If I must squeeze every piece of information out of you like this, we’ll be here all day. Could you please elaborate on that?”
“Very well,” he agreed grimly. His gaze swum back to the window. If he had to say it, he would prefer not to see her reaction. “It gets… worse when I’m in the same room as Hermione Granger.”
A suspicious sounding cough.
The quill had stopped its annoying scribbling, and instead Severus was met with silence.
“Right.” He heard parchment being shuffled roughly, as though she were composing her thoughts. “It may be possible that, should such a curse exist, it’s attached directly to the presence of Hermione. If we were to assume you were correct about it being from a malicious curse of some sort,” she said carefully, “then I think we need to explore other symptoms.”
Severus did not dignify her with an answer.
“It’s necessary for diagnosis, Severus. You know that.”
There was silence for a moment.
“What are your other symptoms?” she prompted.
Grudgingly he replied, “Increased heart rate and stomach upset.”
It was obvious that Poppy had vanished the quill completely now, and Severus felt particularly vulnerable to what he assumed to be her piercing gaze.
He couldn’t be for certain; he still hadn’t taken his eyes away from the window. The rain was quieting now.
“Anything else?”
Severus felt himself redden, and he fought valiantly to hold back the flush that threatened to colour his alabaster cheeks. “I have given you enough to make a diagnosis, have I not? Get on with it.”
Poppy sighed longsufferingly. “I assure you, I have dealt with a variety of symptoms before, believe it or not. What you say will not shock me.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “Have it your way.” A pause. “There are certain… sexual inclinations felt towards… Hermione.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Severus was met with laughter.
He finally teared his gaze from that of the window, and glared daggers at the blasted witch.
He had had enough of this… this humiliation.
Just as he made to leave however, Poppy exclaimed, “Oh, Severus, honestly, sit down! I wasn’t laughing at you, I was laughing at your situation.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you; you're simply in love with an intelligent and beautiful young lady.”
He scoffed. “Nonsense. Hermione is merely a friend.”
Poppy’s eyes shone with amusement. “I don’t believe I even mentioned Hermione.”
Once again, Severus felt himself colour significantly. It only served to spur on Poppy’s amusement. “It was a purely logical deduction, given my responses to your enquiries.”
“Was it?” she asked lightly.
“Cast the diagnostic charms.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with you, Severus, merely—“
“CAST THE FUCKING CHARMS!” he yelled, finally losing his temper.
Poppy’s lips thinned into a straight line. “Very well. Sit down and stop your tantrum.”
He sat, but not without throwing her the darkest glare he could manage in the current scenario.
And so, Poppy began casting a variety of diagnostic charms. The intricate spells interweaved themselves throughout the Potions Master's body until finally Poppy cancelled the spell.
“Well?” he asked after a moment, his heart sinking with anticipation.
Poppy shook her head. “Listen, Severus—“
“WHAT ARE THE RESULTS?”
She sighed. “Negative. For everything. I’ve checked for curses, diseases, aphrodisiacs— everything.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Do you doubt my expertise?” Poppy asked, slighted.
“No— It’s just…”
“You’re perfectly healthy, Severus. I have work to do.”
And with that, Poppy turned and disappeared into her office.
He followed her. “So that’s it?”
“Yes,” Poppy answered in a clipped tone, her attention now on writing something on a piece of parchment. She attached whatever was written to a waiting owl and shooed it away with a wave of the hand.
“I apologise for losing my temper, Poppy—“
Poppy exhaled. “It’s not that, Severus. I’ve grown accustomed to your prickly attitude.”
Severus didn’t know how to respond to that, and so he just sat down quietly in the armchair over the desk from Poppy.
“It’s the opportunities you let up, boy.”
“Pardon?”
Hermione had long since tried, since the very first day she arrived at Hogwarts as Charms Professor, to lure the taciturn and seemingly aloof man into conversation. It had taken her months, but eventually she had worn him out. Hermione began to spend every spare moment with Severus, and Severus began to spend every free moment with Hermione. It had seemed strange at first, their unlikely friendship, but after a while it had become the new norm. And, from what Poppy could see, it was good for them. Hermione was intellectually stimulated by Severus, who also encouraged her to see the bigger picture, and Hermione, while also intellectually stimulating for Severus, gave him stability in the form of a forgiving friendship, acceptance and pure unadulterated caring. That isn’t to say she didn’t take him to task for being rude and such, though. Poppy had seen a fair few fights over the years break out because of his temper and tendency to lash out (and their combined stubbornness), but they had always overcome it in the end. Hermione’s feelings for the Potions Master has become quite apparent to the majority of staff members (it has taken Poppy’s intervention to alert Minerva to the situation, who had previously been trying to set Hermione up with little success), but nobody, whether out of a sense of indebtedness to Hermione, or a combined fear of putting strain on the pair’s friendship, said anything.
It was the dragon in the staff room, so to speak.
And Poppy had had enough of ignoring it.
“Don’t act daft, Severus. It’s unbecoming, especially on you. Ever since your budding friendship with the young woman, Hermione has made her interest clear. You finally have feelings for a woman that wants you for you, and your immediate thought is to deny the existence of feelings that could potentially make you the happiest you’ve ever been. Why?”
Severus snorted. “Hermione has shown no interest in me, Poppy. Your imagination is running rampant.”
Poppy threw her hands up in exasperation. “Merlin, Severus! Why else do you think the girl has stuck around so long? Why else do you think she spends every passing minute with you?” She leant forward in her seat, her palms on the wood of her desk. “Why does a wonderful, intelligent young woman with wizards lining up to kiss the hem of her robes stay single, rebuff Minerva’s attempts to set her up on a date and glance longingly at you?”
He swallowed. “You— Hermione has shown interest in me?”
“Yes, you silly man!” she exclaimed peevishly.
Just as hope began to swell in Severus’ chest, it deflated in the face of reality. “I have cared once— just look how successful that was, Poppy. How I treated her. No. I refuse. I can’t love, it’s not an option.”
Poppy rolled her eyes. “Unrequited infatuation hardly counts, Severus. You will treat Hermione as you have treated her as your friend: with decency. She won’t expect roses or elaborate declarations of love. She knows you, Severus. And she loves you for it.”
“How can you be sure she does?” he asked cautiously.
“Ask her.”
“I can’t just… ask her, Poppy."
“Why not?”
Silence.
“You love her, do you not?”
He nodded once.
“And what do you think of that, Hermione?”
Severus swiveled around to face the entry of the Hospital Ward, stunned. Standing in the doorway stood no other than Hermione Granger, a letter clutched in her hand and an expression of shock playing about her face.
He would later gripe at the realisation that he had been out Slytherin-ed by Poppy, of all people.
“I think… I think that perhaps we should go out to dinner tonight.” She smiled, and her chestnut curls sparkled brightly in the face of her content. Severus had to consciously remind himself to breathe. “Don’t you think?”