Chapter Text
October 1893
Poppy Sweeting plopped down on the cushioned bench in the tiny room of what would be her home for the next ten days. Her suitcase sat against the side of one of her leather boots, a nabsack by the other. She was outfitted as closely to a muggle woman of nineteen as she could be. Her lace-collared, white shirtwaist was tucked into a dark green skirt, her grown-out hair pinned up loosely under a delicate straw hat, trimmed with a yellow ribbon. She’d studied the ladies’ magazines carefully.
Attempting to look like a Gibson girl was a change from the Hogwarts house-coloured vests and school robes she had once been used to wearing, and even more so from the practical garments she wore when working with beasts at her job. But she wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore. And she was far from the world of wizards.
The ship lurched beneath her as it began to ease out of the port at Southampton. The blow of the low steam horn rumbled through her chest as she braced herself against the cushion. There was only going forward from there.
Even if she didn’t exactly know what she was doing, she was doing it anyway. That, in principle, wasn’t new for her. She was used to throwing herself into unknown situations and wading through until some footing could be found. It often worked out, though sometimes there were consequences to that kind of rashness. Sometimes there were consequences for others.
Poppy wiped her damp hands on her skirt and tried to swallow her nerves.
She’d received a second class ticket for a transatlantic voyage on board a ship of the Norddeutscher Lloyd line, from Southampton to Baltimore. Passenger ships were the best way to cross the Atlantic, even for wizardkind. Broom hopping across the northern lands was arduous, in the best conditions, and there were no publicly available portkeys. Second class tickets were costly, but the expense had been covered by her employer. The Pokeby Society was a fledgling magical beast rescue organisation where she had been hired as a caretaker after graduation.
In addition to the bench, the whitewashed cabin contained two bunks, a wash stand, and a built-in wardrobe. She unpacked her suitcase into one side of the wardrobe. Living back at home with Gran meant that she could afford to use some of her earned money on new clothing, in a more grown up style. She slid the nabsack, containing one wampus cat, underneath her hung garments. She latched the door, removed the key, and slipped it in her deep pocket alongside her wand.
Poppy was to deliver the wampus cat back to its home environs in America. The large magical cat had been staying in the society’s animal sanctuary in Scotland after it was rescued from an illegal smuggling ring. The Pokeby Society had arranged with MACUSA to return the cat when reasonable arrangements could be made. Something came up, so Poppy volunteered to make the delivery, last minute. That was how she ended up on a ship bound for Baltimore. But not really why.
The why—the thing that came up—was Arran. Arran Lindsay was somewhere on that ship, probably, and she needed to find him.
On her way out, Poppy met her new roommate, Mrs. Boone, an older woman also travelling alone. She followed a hallway to the outside deck. Second class passengers had access to the rear half of the covered promenade deck while first class had the front half, and the whole of the one above.
As the ship steamed its way through the Solent toward the English Channel, Poppy promenaded herself up and down the deck, joining a handful of others doing the same. She breathed in the salty air as she leaned on the railing. A bubble of excitement welled up inside. She’d never been on a ship before, nor away from the British Isles. It was a completely new adventure and the biggest of her life.
She sat on a deck chair and pulled out an embroidery project from her reticule bag. The whole of the afternoon she sat. Arran never came by. She was invited to dinner in the dining room by her roommate. There was no sight of him. After dinner, they sat in the ladies’ parlour and listened to music, before retiring to their cabin for the night.
The following day, Poppy tried to remain patient. With over a thousand passengers on board, there were a great many folk to comb through. She stalked the decks on either side of the ship, the dining hall, and the entrances to the men’s parlours, as naturally as she could. Arran never appeared. There were three reasons she could think of for this lack of his person.
One, he hadn’t actually gotten on the ship. If that was the case, her whole plan was shot to manure and she’d have to settle for the cat delivery and try to enjoy the trip and not worry.
Two, that he’d gotten a first class ticket. Second class passengers were kept from going into first class, so there wouldn’t be a chance of happening upon him for the duration of the voyage… short of a little witchery. Of course, she was prepared to do the witchery.
Or three, that he was holed up in his room, reading books. This seemed the most likely. He was accustomed now, with the curse, to seek out solitude. It was understandable. It was too risky to go into crowded places like dining rooms and busy promenades. For this reason, she was sure he hadn’t gotten a third class ticket either. The third class accommodations in the bowels of the ship were guaranteed to be crowded. He seemed to be able to afford it now, so he was likely in his room, on one of the upper decks.
Poppy used disillusion to sneak into first class. She spied on the decks and peeked in the public rooms, but it was in vain.
When it rained, she embroidered in the ladies’ parlour. When it wasn’t raining, she sat on the deck and read Prymak’s Mini Compendium of New World Magical Beasts. She disguised it with a false cover, and could easily slide it into her reticule, if any muggles got close.
She chatted with some of the other passengers. Poppy made a muggle cover story for herself. It was vaguely about a holiday to distant relatives and something about thinking of studying abroad. That gave her a chance to ask lots of questions about what other people did, or had studied, or were doing, without having much to share about herself. It was enjoyable, but all the time her eyes glanced at passing gentlemen. Most men she saw were dressed in the relative fashion of black, grey, or brown suits, and wore top hats, bowlers, and straw boater hats. There wasn’t a ridiculously dashing, Arran-shaped wizard among them.
It was on the evening of the third day, the sea stretching out forever in every direction, that Poppy was yet again on the deck. Dinner was a dressed up occasion in second class, and she had on her more formal dress—the same ivory-coloured crepe and lace she wore to dinner every night. She had several different shawls to drape around her shoulders, to at least create the illusion of variety.
Poppy walked to the far end of the almost empty deck, where the roof ended and the view of the stars was superb. It reminded her of one of the clear nights in sixth year, when Arran had taken them both on his broom to a stargazing spot south of Hogwarts. It was very dark in the Highlands at night, just as it was on the sea, and the stars came alive then.
Friends they were allowed to be for the duration of sixth year, and true friends they had been. Gran liked Arran, generally, since she found him to be respectful. But once Gran had caught wind of their shared feelings, she mandated that Poppy wait until at least seventh year to get officially involved with any boy, and preferably age thirty.
It didn’t matter that he’d saved her and all of Hogwarts from Ranrok, nor that he had rescued Highwing from poachers, nor that he was esteemed by many for the help he willingly gave when it was needed. Gran didn’t know about most of that, nor would it really have mattered, since Arran was, in fact, a boy. Gran was protective like that, and not without reason, due to Poppy’s own mother’s choices. Her mother had left school and ran off with an older man—the man who would be Poppy’s father, who had dropped out himself and was already working as a poacher.
But that didn’t mean an occasional broom ride with Arran was inappropriate. She had to wrap her arms around him, for safety. Those were in the days when she could do that without hurting him. How wonderful those days had been, before the curse. How pleasant those rare chances of friendly affection were, and how fleeting.
“Poppy? Is that you?”
Poppy was pulled out of her revelry of memory, and found that familiar voice coming from a man in a nearby shadow. He was in a black suit, his black shoes up on a lounge chair.
“Arran?” She squinted to see his face better, but there was no one else who it could be. “Arran! Hi!”
“Poppy? Uh, hello. Wha…?” Arran stood up, looking bewildered. She saw his hands were gloved. He always wore gloves now.
“Uh, well—hello, Arran!” Poppy had no chance whatsoever of containing her happiness. “Who would’ve thought, us running into each other like this! Can you believe it? We’re on the same ship!” Who cares if it was obvious nonsense.
Arran’s mouth was still a-gape. “You got on this ship? You’re going to Baltimore?”
“I’m on an urgent assignment. Special beast delivery to America. I’m returning a wampus cat.”
“Oh, I see. That sounds… urgent.” He sounded unconvinced about the urgency. He had begun to comprehend the situation. He always saw right into situations. He always saw right into her excuses, but that didn’t stop her from giving them.
“It is,” she said. “Wampus cats are particular of their environment and do best in their native territory. It was time for him to go home.”
Arran took several steps until he was right in front of Poppy. He was closer than she expected—a sign of his trust in her. He spoke slowly, with a hint of thinly veiled sarcasm. “That wampus cat was certainly, definitely desperate to return to its home country. That over-indulged, under-worked feline was surely begging to be sent back to the wilds of the American mountains.”
Poppy had mentioned the wampus cat last time they’d visited. She might’ve mentioned how its greatest pleasure, after eating and napping, was watching her toss a stuffed animal or a ball and then watch her retrieve the toy herself.
“He was absolutely begging,” she reiterated. “Couldn’t wait another moment.” Her cheeks began to burn. The proximity to him was getting to her. It had been over a month since they’d seen each other.
Arran surrendered his upper hand and let out a huff of amusement that turned into a smile.
“Poppy Sweeting, I dinnae ken what’s going on, but it is a pleasure to see you.”
“I missed you,” she admitted. That was nothing new. “And when I received your note that you’d traced Tempest Thorne to Baltimore, and what your plans were, I n—” Her throat suddenly wrenched. “I needed to come, Arran. I’m sure you sent the note just to keep me updated, but I had to. Even if its just for the crossing. Even if you won’t take me with you. Even if its just for cat delivery.”
“You’re very bonny this evening,” he said, staying on his previous topic.
“Thanks,” she said. “I wanted to blend in with the muggles. I’ve been studying their latest fashions in preparation for… work. I hoped to be making this trip eventually, anyway. And I’ve been trying this new thing with my hair.” She fidgeted with her airy waves of pinned up hair. Magic did wonders for self-styling. She and Anne had experimented with new styles over the summer.
“It suits you, lassie. Though I had to stare rather boorishly, at first, to make sure it was you I was seeing.”
“It seems we’re both taking our blending in seriously.” Poppy studied his well-tailored suit. His black hair had been trimmed since she last saw him, and sat bouncing around the top of his head in the sea breezes. His spectacles, gone for good, after seeing a preeminent wizarding eye specialist during sixth year. He looked so grown up and perhaps like he’d peeked in a fashion magazine, too.
“Ah, well, there’s no harm in securing one’s disguise properly,” he said, using a gloved hand to make a slight adjustment to his jacket. “I wonder… would you join me for some stargazing? I just noticed a wee dolphin swimming next to a swan, up there.”
It’s not that Poppy expected Arran to be annoyed at her inviting herself on his trip, but she did wonder, a little, if it was presumptuous of her. They had been so close before, and still were—at least, she thought. But the waters were murky. He’d been away from school the final half of seventh year. He’d chosen separation from everyone. Well, chosen wasn’t the right word, but he’d been living at his home in London ever since. He’d never pushed her away, specifically, though he hadn’t gone out of his way to pursue her company after that, either.
“I’d love to join you,” she said. “I’ve been roaming the ship for days in search of you, you know.” Poppy helped herself to the lounge seat next to his, her long ivory skirt spilling over one side as she stretched out her legs.
“If I had kenned you were onboard, I’d have come out sooner. I’ve been reading in my room, mostly.”
“I thought that might be the case,” she said. “And I can’t blame you. Do you have a roommate?”
“No. I paid for both bunks.”
“That’s good. How are you eating?”
“I have a meal service with IMPS.”
“IMPS?”
“Intercontinental Magical Provision Services.”
“What’s that?” Poppy asked. “I haven’t heard of that.”
“They provide for the particular needs of wizardkind on oceangoing muggle ships. A house elf named Viney brings meals to my room.”
“The Pokeby Society didn’t mention IMPS. Maybe they didn’t know of it. I’m sharing a room with a muggle. I’m the first person they’ve sent overseas, actually.”
“If you want anything, just tell me,” he said. “I’ll arrange it.”
“Thank you, Arran.”
“I’m so glad I came out here.” Arran took in a deep breath of the sea air. “Two days in that room was about my limit. I could not stay in there any longer. I was happy to find it quiet out here tonight. And to find you.”
“There’s a music performance in the dining room this evening,” she said. “I think the novelty of the sea view at night has worn off for most. It’s only the couples who want to walk alone together who are out here now.”
Poppy regretted those words right away. She meant it to be a casual reference as to who would choose this view of blackness rather than attend the performance, but the contrast between the two of them and those arm-in-arm couples was glaring.
The silence thickened. Poppy searched the stars trying to find familiar constellations. They’d taken Astronomy together as fifth-years, but it hadn’t been a subject of particular interest to her. She remembered something about a dolphin. The swan, she could find easily enough. It flew along the Milky Way.
“Where is the dolphin… Delphinus, was it?” She asked.
“Just there, out from the swan’s head,” Arran said, pointing in the general direction. “It’s small and hard to see. I only ken it because Amit loved to tell stories about them. We would sit up on the Ravenclaw roof sometimes, especially last year. Well… he found me up there once, and we made it a thing after that. Sometimes telescopes were involved.”
“It doesn’t surprise me at all that you sat up there. It’s rather a hidden gem.” That was another place he had taken her via broom. “Ooh, I think I’ve spotted it!” The blob of stars that was meant to be a dolphin came into her sight. “So what did Amit tell you was the story of Delphinus?”
“The sea nymph that Poseidon loved hid from him, and Delphinus swam around until he found her and convinced her to go back to Poseidon and marry him. Poseidon was grateful and cast him in the stars as a thanks.”
Ugh. Another couple. Why had she asked about that particular set of stars?
“Speaking of Amit, have you heard from him lately?” She asked, casually shifting the subject.
“Aye, he’s at Cambridge, via the Ministry of Magic backdoor.”
“Oh, I forgot he was going there! I remember him saying something about their Astronomy program now. That must be really exciting for him. I thought the two of you might end up going th—”
Going there together. Merlin, she could not keep her stupid mouth from blabbing the wrong things. If Arran had finished school, he likely could’ve qualified for the MoM backdoor. In spite of coming in late, he’d excelled in most subjects, even at N.E.W.T. level. He certainly would’ve had the required professors’ references. He hadn’t mentioned attending university to her, per say. He had just been a driven student, and could have.
“I seem to be full of ridiculous mentions tonight,” she said, rolling her eyes to herself. “First, I kept bringing up couples, and now university. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, Poppy. You dinnae have to walk on eggshells around me. I dinnae want you to do that.”
“I just have a way of saying the wrong things.”
“You can mention couples to me.” He gave her a reassuring half smile. “I am not so selfish as to think other people should not be like that just because I cannot. You can tell me how you think I could’ve ended up at Cambridge. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You’re rather gracious.”
“I won't be gracious to Tempest when the time comes. But with you… I will always hear the good meaning behind your words. I ken who you are, so I trust them.”
Tempest Thorne should be drawn and quartered, after a liberal application of Devil’s Snare and lemon juice, for what she’d done to Arran. There was no good meaning behind that thought—only vengefulness—so she wouldn’t say it.
It wasn’t helpful to him for Poppy to rant about the unfairness and cruelty of the situation. She’d done that bit at the beginning. He didn’t think himself innocent enough to freely complain. He’d come through a rough life early on, and had done things he later regretted—but he’d come through it. He was stronger, and better for it, and Poppy would gladly boil the heads of Tempest and anyone else who would hurt him.
Instead of all that, she said, “Thank you for understanding me.”
They sat back on the deck chairs for hours, talking about school and their friends and her new job and stars. Anne and Sebastian were in their seventh year, both behind a year from what had happened during fifth, but doing well. Natty was in the Auror training program. Ominis was at the London house, pondering life, and being generally tended by Mrs. Banks, the cook. Professor Fig was at school. He’d offered to leave and go to Baltimore with Arran, but Arran had insisted that he not. It was too much of a wild goose chase for Fig to disrupt his classes like that.
The two of them arranged to meet up in the morning. Poppy wished him good night and returned to her room. Mrs. Boone was reading in bed, waiting up for her young roommate to return. Poppy changed into her nightgown, got ready for bed, and climbed into the high bunk.
It was late and Poppy was tired—her emotions, held back just under the surface. Now that she was away from him, she could let herself feel the pain of it all over. Wet drips ran down her face and dampened her pillow.
Just over a year prior, at the beginning of seventh year, Arran had made the simple mistake of opening his mail. Poppy was eating breakfast with him in the Great Hall when an owl dropped a large envelope for him, the sender falsely labeled as Ministry Office. Without much thought, he’d dumped the contents of it out onto his hand.
It was a feather quill, its barbs covered with some kind of black material, as if it had been dipped in thick ink and allowed to dry. As soon as it touched his hand, it sent a sharp, agonising pain through him. It was reminiscent of a certain pain curse, he said later, but faded as soon as he had dropped it. Then the quill picked itself up, and they watched it scratch out black words on the back of the envelope.
Love is pain. Cheers, Tempest Thorne
Then it proceeded to draw several hearts that squirted out black ink all over their breakfast plates.
Where the quill had touched his palm, inky blackness spread out, spilling through its creases in all directions. They ensnared his fingers and crept up his wrist. After that, any kind of touch from another person, or any living creature, brought the return of the horrible pain. Poppy had been the first to touch him after that, and caused the discovery of the curse’s meaning.
Arran didn’t recognise the name of the sender. He’d made plenty of enemies during fifth year. Most of them were dead, but it turned out that Tempest Thorne was a surviving Ashwinder involved in the running of the dragon fighting ring. After fifth year, Aurors had finally been sent to dismantle what was left of the Ashwinder gang.
Tempest got away then. Of course she had a bone to pick with Arran, if she knew he had been the instigator for all of it. And it was Poppy who had urged him to involve himself with the dragon fighting ring to begin with. It wasn’t hard for her to follow the trail of guilt back to herself.
Healers weren’t able to extract the curse. Professor Weasley, a former curse breaker, had examined him and the quill. She recognised some markers in the untouchable curse and was able to explain it, but not break it. It was the sort that targeted a single person. The quill had been emptied of the curse when it moved into Arran. Weasley touched the quill herself, as a show of confidence. And it was a reversible-type curse, but only by the will of the maker. Tempest would have to willingly take back the quill in order to break it. Just killing her wouldn’t suffice. And Tempest was nowhere to be found.
In the meantime, Arran tried to go along in school. Crowds of students bustled through hallways and doorways and classrooms, and accidents happened. He was needlessly tortured by the casual brushing of shoulders and bad timing going around corners. Highwing had insisted on her usual snuggling with him, with terrible results. He had to avoid her altogether, since she didn’t understand why she couldn’t do that anymore. It had been hurtful for both of them.
Once news of his curse spread, he had a castle cat thrown at him by the Turd of Slytherin. The Turd had been paid back by another set of Slytherins. But it had all added up to Arran’s retreat from society at Hogwarts. The professors gave him some leeway to work more on his own, and he’d made it through that term. He’d gone home with Fig for the Christmas holidays and never returned. He needed space and needed to find Tempest, and no one else was looking anymore.
The curse had overshadowed and taken away something he truly loved—his education. And it had cut off what they had both once hoped was the inevitable progression of their relationship. It was finally seventh year, for Merlin’s sake. They had beautiful ideas about a future together. They had been holding hands on the bench between them when the envelope fell.
There was no comforting hug that could be given, nor loving kiss, nor assurance of a hand’s caress. There was no more playful physicality with his friends. Those kinds of things had meant a lot to him before, and he was severed from it all—from everyone. Arran hadn’t changed in the way he spoke to Poppy, or anything like that, but the hurt of it all was clearly visible.
Love was pain. The curse had worked as intended.
Now, this long shot of a trip to America was his only hope of breaking it. Their only hope, since Poppy’s heart was inextricably linked to his on a number of levels. And other than the beast overview offered by the Mini Compendium, and the fact that it existed on globes, Poppy knew next to nothing about America.