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It had been only mere weeks since the snidgets had been saved, since Poppy and Octavia stood together beneath the tree inside the sanctuary, smiling and watching the snidgets move about in their nest. Poppy hadn’t realised it then, but as the days passed, she couldn’t help but notice the ashen tint to her friend’s green eyes, darkening day by day. It became too hard to ignore once Octavia had met up with Poppy by the fireplace in the Great Hall. The Slytherin’s typical small smile was plastered on her pale lips, but it didn’t quite reach her bleary eyes. Something was brewing behind those emerald eyes, a silent storm Poppy couldn’t make out in that moment, still riding the high of having beaten the poachers and rescued the snidgets.
It didn’t take long for Poppy to find out why Octavia looked so tired.
The entire school assembled in the Great Hall as they listened to a stuttering Professor Black struggle to give a speech for Professor Fig, who apparently saved them all from Ranrok and his loyalists. To say Poppy was shocked to hear the news would be an understatement. She had fond memories of the late professor, having taken his class in her first year. Despite struggling immensely with the class itself, Professor Fig had the patience of a saint, guiding her through the lessons with a bright passion akin to the one she had for beasts.
Professor Black stumbled through his eulogy, prompting students and staff alike to glance at one another in dismay. Then, just as the students couldn’t take any more of his speech, Professor Weasley stepped forward, delivering a much smoother and warmer speech, speaking of loyalty, courage, and braving the hardships that may lie ahead. It all touched Poppy dearly, yet a bitter sorrow gripped her heart.
Her gaze shifted across the Great Hall towards the Slytherin table, eyes searching for a particular member of the house. To her great disappointment, Octavia was nowhere to be seen among her housemates.
Poppy frowned, glancing towards the back of the room. Her brown eyes widened once she finally spotted Octavia standing near the doors of the Great Hall.
Octavia looked absolutely haggard.
The dark circles under her sunken eyes, despite the distance, were noticeably darker than ever; her skin looked sickly pale, as if she were seconds from fainting. Her emerald-green eyes, usually so vibrant and gentle, were now downcast and dull, as if her soul had been ripped from her very being. The sight nearly ripped Poppy’s heart in two.
Poppy knew Professor Fig had been a significant influence on the Slytherin since she arrived at Hogwarts, and even before then, from what Octavia had told her. The older professor had served as a mentor figure since the two met, but looking closer at Octavia’s grief-stricken face, Poppy could tell she wasn’t just mourning the death of a mentor. There was something more hidden beneath Octavia's stony expression, trying to hide the anguish. Something more had happened, and Octavia needed to tell someone.
Poppy was determined to be that someone.
The Hufflepuff searched high and low for her friend the next day. She checked everywhere she could think of that Octavia would hide: the Greenhouse, Transfiguration Courtyard, the library, and even the Room of Requirement. Deek had informed her that he hadn’t seen Octavia either since the previous night, which didn’t help settle the growing worry coiling in her chest.
Poppy shifted nervously in her seat, hardly paying attention to Professor Ronen’s lesson. Her eyes remained trained on Octavia’s empty seat across the classroom.
Octavia hadn’t come to class.
The moment Professor Ronen dismissed the class, Poppy sprang from her seat. “Natty!” Poppy called out, hurrying after the Gryffindor outside Professor Ronen’s classroom.
Natty blinked, surprised to see her friend in such a state. “Oh, hello, Poppy. Are you okay? You seem a little shaken.” Natty asked, dark eyes glancing over the Hufflepuff’s tousled hair and wrinkled uniform from running around the castle all morning.
Poppy nodded, raking a hand through her brunette hair. “Yes, well- no. Have you seen Octavia? I’ve been looking all over for her.”
Natty frowned, shaking her head. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen her since last night after Professor Weasley dismissed us. I was actually going to look for her myself. I’m very worried about her.”
A disheartened sigh left the Hufflepuff’s lips. “As am I. Well, perhaps we should both look for her. We could cover more ground that way,” Poppy suggests.
“That is not a bad idea, my friend. Maybe Ominis or Imelda will know where she is?”
“Yes! Great idea. You find Ominis, I’ll ask Imelda. If we can’t find any answers, let’s meet in the Great Hall at lunch, alright?” Poppy says, backing away from the Gryffindor, ready to begin her search.
“Very well. Good luck, my friend,” Natty smiled, turning and disappearing down the hallway.
Poppy marched to the Quidditch pitch, searching for the captain. To her surprise, Imelda wasn’t anywhere on the grass or in the air; instead, she sat on a bench near the sidelines, broom in hand, her gaze cast downward with a troubled crease between her brows. Slowly, Poppy approached the dejected-looking girl, her footsteps on the grass alerting the Quidditch captain to her presence.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, Sweeting,” Imelda said, rising from the bench.
“Hello, Imelda. I need to speak with you.” Poppy says adamantly.
“Well, you have my attention,” Imelda crossed her arms over her chest, her brow raised in curiosity.
“Have you seen Octavia? I’ve been looking for her all morning but… I can’t find her anywhere.” Anxiety was prevalent in her voice.
A frown tugged at the Quidditch captain’s lips, diminishing Poppy’s hopes for any useful answers. “I haven’t seen her. She never came back to our dorm last night after the ceremony, and she wasn’t anywhere to be found this morning. She… always had a habit of doing this, retreating into her own company when things got hard, but usually she at least came back for a fresh change of clothes or a bite to eat at breakfast.”
Poppy had never seen Imelda Reyes look so concerned. She tried to hide it underneath a mask of furrowed brows, folded arms, and a deep frown etched into the corners of her lips. Octavia held a special place in her heart, being one of the very few people to look past Imelda’s brash and assertive nature and see the passionate, ambitious young woman she was. Seeing her friend in such a state clearly burrowed beneath Imelda’s thick skin.
“Alright,” Poppy sighed, defeated. “I’ll see if I can find her. Thank you anyway, Imelda.”
Imelda offered her a curt nod, eyes glancing to the side, a brief flash of conflict in those chocolate brown eyes. “When you find her, tell her we’re gonna have a word. Okay, Sweeting?” She huffs.
The Hufflepuff sent her a half-amused smile. “Of course, I’ll send her your way after I find her. Bye, Imelda,” Poppy rushes off the pitch as more Quidditch players file in for some practice.
Poppy’s shoes clicked in a constant, speedy rhythm as she jogged across Central Hall. In her rush, she failed to notice and ran headfirst into Professor Weasley. The older woman let out a small gasp, turning towards her student, looking most displeased.
“Just where are you running off to in such a hurry, Miss Sweeting?” The deputy headmistress asked, straightening her glasses and looking down at Poppy in a way that made her immediately feel admonished without the professor even saying anything.
Poppy swallowed thickly under the professor’s scrutinising gaze. “I- I- um…” She stammered before clearing her throat. “I was looking for Octavia. I’m… I haven’t seen her since yesterday, and I’m worried about her.” Poppy blurts.
Poppy did not expect Professor Weasley to let her off easily; in fact, the last thing she expected was for Professor Weasley’s face to soften. The stern crease between her brows smoothed out as her intense gaze morphed into a look of… sadness. Her thin lips turned downward in a remorseful frown before she sighed, letting her shoulders sag.
“I see,” she said, brown eyes glancing away from the student before her. She straightened her glasses once more. “Well, perhaps you will find her in Professor Fig’s office. I am sure she could use a friend like you right now, Miss Sweeting.” Her voice was soft, almost encouraging, guiding the Hufflepuff in the right direction.
Poppy’s stiff shoulders dropped for the first time that morning. Of course, why didn’t she think that would be the first place Octavia would retreat to? A relieved smile spread across her lips. “Thank you, Professor Weasley,” Poppy thanked, beginning to speed off up the stairs.
“Ah, ah!” Professor Weasley called out, halting the younger witch’s movements. “There is still no running in these halls. Please walk, Miss Sweeting, or I will be deducting points from Hufflepuff!” She warned.
“Sorry, Professor!” Poppy called back, correcting her pace to a very brisk walk.
Professor Fig’s classroom looked as it always did. The room was packed with papers and objects strewn about across the shelves and empty desks, light poured in through the windows, bathing the room in a gentle golden hue as Poppy slowly walked across the creaking floorboards. The familiar scent of old books, dust, and academia hit the Hufflepuff all at once, bringing her straight back to her first year. It almost felt surreal that Professor Fig would no longer stand before his class, animatedly explaining his subject to a room full of bleary-eyed students.
Pushing down the feeling that she was intruding somehow on the tranquil atmosphere of the uninhabited classroom, Poppy walked to the back of the classroom, keeping her steps careful and quiet. The Hufflepuff paused at the door to Fig’s office, her small, slightly shaking hand hovering over the doorknob. Poppy hoped and prayed that she’d find her friend inside.
With a gentle push, the door quietly creaked open as Poppy poked her head inside. There she found Octavia slumped in Professor Fig’s plush chair at his desk, her vacant eyes trained on what looked like a photograph pinched between her thumb and pointer finger.
“Octavia?” Poppy said, her voice quiet and cautious.
It took the Slytherin a few seconds to react before her eyes blinked back into focus. Her head lifted, exhausted, bloodshot eyes meeting Poppy’s. “Poppy?” Her voice was gravelly and laboured, as if speaking took great effort.
A frown tugged at the corners of the brunette’s lips. Seeing her friend in such a state caused her heart to clench as she softly shut the door behind her. “Hi,” she whispered tenderly.
Octavia sat up straighter in the chair, watching Poppy take a few steps away from the door, stopping a few feet from the desk, clearly hesitant about intruding on the grieving girl. “Why are you here?” Octavia croaked out. Her questions were far from accusatory; she sounded more curious than anything.
Poppy swallowed the small, nervous lump forming in her throat as she clasped her hands behind her back. “I’ve been looking for you,” she explained, “Been asking all around, then I ran into Professor Weasley, literally- and she told me you might be here.” The recounting of her literal run-in with the Transfiguration Professor managed to bring a faint smile to the Slytherin’s lips.
Poppy counted that as a win.
“I’m sure she wasn’t too thrilled about that, hm?” Octavia hummed quietly, leaning back in the chair as Poppy closed the distance, standing in front of the desk.
Poppy smiled, shaking her head. “Not at all.”
Her friend stared up at her, head tilted in curiosity. “Did you need something?”
“What?” Poppy blinked, confused.
“You said you were looking for me,” Octavia said, her sleepless eyes boring into the Hufflepuff.
A small “oh” escaped Poppy’s lips. She unconsciously tucked a stray strand of her fringe behind her ear before she spoke. “No, I was just- I…” Poppy glanced away before mustering up the courage to look her friend in the eyes. “I just wanted to see if you were alright,” she said sympathetically. “I know… I know you and Professor Fig were close, and I can only imagine how hard this has been for you.”
Octavia stares at her for a moment before turning her head away from the freckled girl. Her first clenched, her bottom lip trembling, as a flash of anguish similar to the one she had the night of the memorial ceremony crossed her face.
Poppy panics, believing she overstepped and reopened the still extremely fresh wound beneath the Slytherin’s hard outer shell. Before she can apologise, Octavia plasters on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine, Poppy. You don’t need to worry about me.”
But I do. Poppy frowned, unconvinced. She could feel Octavia pushing her away; those stone walls, always so prevalent, kept the Hufflepuff at arm's length. It was a similar dismissive response Poppy had come to expect whenever she tried to dive deeper into the Slytherins’ thoughts and feelings, or her past before Hogwarts, which she was always extremely cagey about.
Octavia Grace was like a sealed book, sealed by a thick, silver lock with no key in sight, leaving you to wonder what was written on the pages within to warrant such security and caution. From what little she did know about the Grace family, she knew Octavia’s childhood couldn’t have been anything other than… difficult. Perhaps it was the reason her friend kept that chapter of her life so close to her chest, hidden away, much like Poppy had about her own family.
Poppy’s brows furrowed, her hands clenched at her sides. Getting through to Octavia was like getting through to a particularly stubborn beast. Poppy had never given up on anything that needed her, and she refused to let Octavia Grace be the first.
“But I do,” she said firmly, ignoring the surprised glance Octavia sent her way. “I do worry about you. I know you, Octavia. I know something is wrong, and you don’t have to carry this burden alone. You can talk to me.”
Octavia stared at her, wide-eyed at her friend's sincere words. Her lips parted before pressing together in a thin line, conflict swirling in those vivid emerald-green eyes. Seconds of silence ticked by, but to Poppy, they might as well have been decades.
Octavia’s shoulders slumped, her eyes briefly fluttering shut as she took a deep breath through her nose. “I…” she frowned. “It’s a long story to tell.”
Poppy offered her a patient, compassionate smile, placing a soft hand over Octavia’s gloved hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Gran always says it’s best to start at the beginning,” she says reassuringly.
Octavia looked her in the eyes, those intelligent green eyes Poppy had spent recent weeks gazing into, much more than usual, looking unusually timid. “It…” she swallowed thickly, throat bobbing before she continued. “It wasn’t just Fig who saved the school. I was there too.” She admitted.
The Hufflepuff looked shocked for a moment before she squeezed her hand, rubbing her thumb attentively across the stitching of the black leather gloves the Slytherin always wore. It was enough encouragement for Octavia to carry on.
“Fig- he… We were both there that day. Merlin, Poppy, there’s so much I want to tell you, but…”
“It’s okay, just tell me what you can,” Poppy said, her voice soothing.
Octavia nodded slowly. “I fought Ranrok. I tried to fix it all on my own, but Fig came, and he helped me. I couldn’t have done any of it without him, but…” She squeezed Poppy’s hand, blinking back the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I couldn’t save him. He- he saved me, and I-” her voice cracked, a heartbreaking sound. “I led him to his death.”
Tears slipped freely from her eyes, streaming down her pale cheeks and dripping onto the desk. It was the first time Poppy had ever seen her friend cry.
Poppy frowned deeply, blinking back tears forming in her glassy eyes at the sight of her friend in such a state. “Oh, Octavia…” she whispered, heartbroken. Her friend had been carrying this guilt as if she were to blame. “That wasn’t your fault.”
Octavia shook her head fiercely. “Yes, it was. If it weren’t for me, he’d still be here. He’d- he…” her voice trailed off as she bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.
“Octavia,” Poppy said, waiting until she met her eyes. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” She insisted. “Ranrok is the one who attacked. You did everything you could. You didn’t force anyone to fight by your side; they chose to. None of it was your fault.” Reaching out, the Hufflepuff wiped a stray tear from Octavia’s cheek, too caught up in the moment to give thought to her brave action.
The Slytherin sniffled, looking down at the desk. “I just… I wish he were here.” She whispered.
Poppy nodded, letting a silence fall between them for a few moments as Octavia wiped her teary eyes. “What did you mean when you said Professor Fig saved you? She asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.” She quickly added.
Her friend sniffled, voice a little nasally. “Well, first, how much do you know of my family?”
Poppy blinks, surprised by the mention of Octavia’s family, a topic that had scarcely come up over their past few months of blooming friendship. “They’re… Purebloods, yes? One of the- um…”
“Pureblood fanatics,” Octavia finishes matter-of-factly. She wasn’t naïve about her family’s reputation among the wizarding world. “Their hatred of Muggles is on par with that of the Blacks and the Gaunt family, although my family is far more discreet about it. You’ve heard about my father, haven’t you?”
Oliver Grace, patriarch of the Grace family, a line spreading back centuries. She heard whispers about what a cruel and calculating man he could be, mostly from her gran telling her whispers she’d heard around the Ministry over dinner. His ministry connections spread far and wide, guaranteeing him nearly free rein to do whatever he pleased. He was a powerful man with very, very powerful friends. It sent a chill up the Hufflepuff’s spine to imagine Octavia had grown up with such a father.
Poppy nodded slowly. “I know a little. He has many friends in the ministry.”
“Yes, he and Professor Black were friends. Anyway, all my father ever cared about was power and our image. Any wrongdoing, any mistakes were met with… harsh correction.” Octavia murmured, standing from Fig’s chair and slipping her hand from Poppy’s. She moved towards the fireplace, enchanted to burn endlessly. “He controlled every aspect of my life, and chided me if I ever wanted for more. You can imagine how that made for a very difficult childhood.” Her tone was sharp, fists balling at her sides as she stared into the flames.
Poppy slowly walked over to stand by her side, watching the hurt swell in those emerald eyes. “I can,” she said, understanding where the Slytherin was coming from, having dealt with her own family and their harsh ways.
Octavia glanced her way, noticing the empathetic look in her friend's soft, honey-brown eyes. The memory of Poppy, under the brilliant moonlight with freshly fallen snowflakes dusting her hair, telling her about her poacher parents with a heartbreakingly sad and ashamed expression painted on her soft features, flashed at the forefront of her mind.
Her shoulders relaxed a little as she turned her eyes back to the fire. “It was hell living in that house until my letter came, along with Fig shortly after. He spoke with my father, but he was adamant that I would not be attending. Told me I was not to fraternise with half-bloods, Mudbloods, and blood traitors, as he called them. I didn’t know what else to do; I knew I couldn’t stay. Staying would confine my life to two paths: marrying into another pureblood family or carrying on the Grace legacy. So, I made my choice,” Octavia turned to face the Hufflepuff, half her face illuminated by the orange light of the fire. The light reflected off her eyes beautifully. “I packed my bags and ran. Wrote to Fig, and he sent a carriage for me. I got on and never looked back. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. He saved me.”
Poppy felt the full weight of her words, digesting them carefully. No wonder she was so hesitant to share about her past. “I’m… I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that, Octavia. It seems Professor Fig was far more than just a mentor to you.”
A small, reminiscent smile crossed the dark-haired witch’s lips as she thought back to the late professor. “Absolutely, he was like… a father, almost. At least, what I always imagined a father should be like.”
Poppy smiles at that. “If I may ask,” she begins, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Did… did your mother have any reservations about you heading off to Hogwarts?”
Octavia shakes her head. “I doubt she cared. She hardly ever acknowledged me, always far too busy drinking in the garden or her room.” She said bitterly. Her pointer and middle fingers came up absentmindedly to run along the two scars across her left eye. Poppy didn’t pry further; Octavia’s dislike for the woman was clear as day.
“Again, I’m so sorry, Octavia. You deserved far better than that.” Poppy’s hand moves to rest on the taller girl’s upper arm.
Octavia’s muscles relaxed under her touch as she brought her hand up to place over the Hufflepuff’s appreciatively. “Thank you, Poppy. That- that means a lot.” She says, smiling down at the shorter witch.
Poppy offers her own smile in return with ease. She found in recent weeks that Octavia always had a way of bringing a smile to her face. “Of course.”
Octavia’s eyes glance towards the desk, slowly removing herself from Poppy’s touch, and making her way over to it. She gingerly picked up the photograph she had been holding earlier and handed it to Poppy.
Poppy glanced at it, delicately taking it between her thumb and pointer finger as if it were made of glass. Flipping it over and examining it carefully, Poppy realised it was a photo of Professor Fig and Octavia.
The two appeared to stand in front of a carriage in the photo. Professor Fig wore a wide grin, and his hand rested on Octavia’s shoulder. Octavia had a small smile as she stared into the camera. She wore a brown, rugged overcoat and was missing the scar that etched into her right cheek. Her hair, tied in a loose braid, was draped over her shoulder, similar to how it looked when she arrived at the Sorting Ceremony all the way back in September. The two looked happy standing together, ready for the journey ahead. At the bottom of the photo, written in the professor’s familiar hasty handwriting, were the words “Octavia + Fig off to Hogwarts”.
“You two look happy. I can tell he was very fond of you,” Poppy says, smiling before handing the photo back to Octavia, honoured that she would trust her with such a sentimental item.
Octavia nodded slowly. Her eyes filled with tears once more from Poppy’s words. “I hope so,” she whispered. “I… I’ll miss him so much.”
Poppy’s chest aches at the sight. Slowly, she musters up enough courage to step forward and embrace the taller witch. Her arms slowly wrap around Octavia, giving her a chance to process and step back if she wishes to, but she never does, to Poppy’s immense relief. Octavia was never very open to physical affection, hardly ever engaging in it, even with those closest to her, like Natty or Ominis. Poppy felt grateful that Octavia welcomed her hug. To Poppy’s surprise, the Slytherin leaned closer, melting into the embrace.
“Thank you, Poppy. You’ve been so kind to me.”
Poppy hummed softly, rubbing her small hand along Octavia’s back. “You know what they say, nothing beats the warmth of a Hufflepuff,” she chuckled, chin resting on the Slytherin’s broad shoulder.
Octavia laughs, a soft sound that rings in the Hufflepuff’s ear like a harmonious melody. “That’s true, but really, Poppy, thank you. Very few people in my life have ever been so compassionate. It truly means a lot. You’re a great friend.”
Something in Poppy’s stomach twists once the word “friend” leaves the Slytherin’s lips, but she shoves the feeling down deep into the pit of her stomach. She steps back, a cold rushing into the space left between them as they part. “Happy to help. If you ever need someone to talk to, Octavia, you can always come to me. You don’t have to carry this burden all on your own. Not anymore.”
Octavia smiles gratefully, Poppy’s words radiating with sincerity. “I know, and neither do you.” Poppy knows what she means by that. They both share harsh backgrounds; perhaps that is what drew them together. A sense of understanding was potent between the pair, offering a sanctuary from the scrutiny they may face from others. A sanctuary much like the snidgets called home.
“We should get going,” Octavia says, catching Poppy a little off guard.
“Go?” She echoed, perplexed.
Octavia chuckles, taking in the Hufflepuff’s confused expression. “Don’t look so worried. I’d just like to leave now. This place, it reminds me of him.” She explains.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Poppy said, glancing towards the clock. It was almost time for lunch anyway. “Maybe we should head to the Great Hall?”
On cue, the Slytherin’s stomach rumbled, reminding her she had neglected to stop by and have breakfast earlier that morning. “Sounds perfect.” Octavia hums.
The two walked out of the classroom. Octavia’s shoulders felt unburdened after their conversation. After years of dealing with her problems in silence, handling them all on her own, it felt nice to have someone she could turn to. She was overjoyed to have found that person in Poppy.
Compassionate, brave, generous, impossibly underestimated Poppy Sweeting. Octavia considered herself lucky that someone as incredible as Poppy decided to be friends with her. She was everything Octavia could’ve hoped for in a friend. Intelligent, passionate, resilient, beautiful-
Octavia blinked, her cheeks flushing a subtle shade of pink, before casting her head downward, hoping Poppy wouldn’t notice.
Beautiful?