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It takes all of four seconds for Poppy to decide, whether recklessly or not, that the unusually empty beds of the infirmary are a sign — perhaps one conjured by James Potter himself, in all his wisdom.
With the kind of aplomb that doesn’t quite reach one’s - ( @alltoughlove)
With the kind of aplomb that doesn’t quite reach one’s - ( @alltoughlove)
- depths, she snatches the free time for personal use and sets off downstairs for the staffroom. The staffroom with two occupants: one expected and welcome, the other less so.
“Ah, Horace, you’re here! Excellent, I—. . . Um, s-some of your Slytherins were in an -
“Ah, Horace, you’re here! Excellent, I—. . . Um, s-some of your Slytherins were in an -
- altercation. Arithmancy. I offered to fetch you for Septima.”
And though there are screaming gaps in this excuse, mainly geographical, there’s enough logic to send their grumbling colleague from the room. In his absence, the matron slumps with relief.
“. . . I do -
And though there are screaming gaps in this excuse, mainly geographical, there’s enough logic to send their grumbling colleague from the room. In his absence, the matron slumps with relief.
“. . . I do -
- hate lying, even to him. I’m quite surprised he bought it, actually. . .” The briefest of frowns, stolen away by a false smile.
“But that’s irrelevant now. I need to talk to you; could I have your ear for a few minutes?”
“But that’s irrelevant now. I need to talk to you; could I have your ear for a few minutes?”
