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+------ Thread: Revision || Polly (/showthread.php?tid=1174)
Revision || Polly - Galen MacLean - 07-26-2026
Friday, 13 July 1923
Evening
Evening
Galen tilted his glass back and forth a couple of times before downing what was left. He set the now empty glass down on the wooden table top, only to pick up one of the books he had open.
One of the corner tables at Blackwood & Sons had become something of an unofficial office for the past three summers, though Galen would never have described it that way. It was perfect because it was the table with the best light and the least foot traffic, and the staff had learned not to hover.
He had his notes – both on messy pieces of parchment and books he’d made comments in the margins in – spread over the surface. The system was purely chaotic to anyone that wasn’t him.
The cigar in his off-hand had burned down a bit since his last puff because he was so engrossed in his research. Finally remembering it, he took a puff of the cigar and then set it down as he exhaled. He’d been stuck on the wording of a particular section of his notes.
His quill back in his hand, Galen marked out a note he’d made in the margin a week ago, only to rewrite it in a more concise way. And then a shadow fell over the page, blocking his light. He frowned as he finished his note, but ended up marking it out again anyways. He’d clean it up later; he’d remember what he meant to say. He looked up, his brain registering the familiar face while he didn’t fully react.
RE: Revision || Polly - Polly Mortimer - 07-28-2026
Summer time was in full swing. With the student body of Wizarding Britain on vacation mode, it meant that Polly's typical barstool at The Silver Cork was consistently occupied. Yesterday, it had been a group of recent Hogwart's graduates.
The day before? Some belligerent off-duty Aurors who kept heckling the barkeep and anyone who would listen.
Last Tuesday? Don't even get her started. She was still not convinced the occupant wasn't secretly two younger wizards stacked in a trenchcoat.
It's hardly a surprise that Polly Mortimer had relocated her work to the much quieter, subdued Blackwood & Sons in Diagon Alley. Generally, the blonde witch preferred a bit of background noise while she worked, so the slightly dubious shop wasn't her go-to, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
After placing an order for tea, it was time to claim a spot.
The options for seating were a bit rough, with only a few available. She grabbed one that had decent lighting, and delivered equally icy stares back at the few people who eyeball'ed her. The witch untied her outer coat, a deep burgundy with black clasps and draped it on the back of her chair. Settling down in her favorite mustard-yellow sweater, she set up her de facto station: the homework from this week's few clients (she always kept lessons short on Fridays, and collected the previous week's homework then), a Muggle notebook full of her lessons, a well-loved ruddy quill and red ink set, and a few of her favorite books that focused on both theory and practice of Transfiguration. Most were hand-written manuscripts published by her old professors, but one or two were equally revered intellectuals within the field.
If she were at her usual tavern, there would have been no issue with focusing on her tasks. Instead, the lights were wrong, the noises were too quiet, the scent of smoke pervaded the air and she hadn't received her tea yet (she'd give it another ten minutes, before asking). Her blue eyes shifted around, gazing aimlessly.
Until they caught on a book. It was turned over, so as to save the page it was open to. In fact, the table that the book sat at was covered with books in similar predicaments, scattered manuscripts, all seemingly randomly assorted. The witch hadn't even noticed the semi-familiar face sat at said table.
Polly was like a dog with a bone whenever it came to certain academic subjects. Unfortunately for the gentleman who was busy in his own research, Polly was now interested in whatever he could be studying.
Abandoning her table, she crossed over to his quiet little corner and without properly greeting, spoke.
"Are those Madam Jepsen's academic journals regarding her surveys into the Parisian Catacombs?", Polly asked a smidgen eagerly. She had to physically stop herself from reaching out and grabbing said book. The witch had a hobby of keeping track of all discoveries relating to history. While it wasn't quite passionate enough for her, Transfiguration filled that void in her heart thank you very much, it still fascinated her.
RE: Revision || Polly - Galen MacLean - 07-29-2026
"Are those Madam Jepsen's academic journals regarding her surveys into the Parisian Catacombs?"
Her voice was dripping with excitement. He didn’t have to be an empath to know immediately that she wanted to touch the book she’d asked about specifically.
He’d hoped the woman at his table was the server, but alas… it was not Blackwood’s only sister. Instead, it was… someone he recognized but could not put a name to. But he went to school with her. She was a Ravenclaw. He knew that much for sure, but the name was escaping him probably because she was younger than him.
He remembered her bouncing around past curfew, costing his house many a house points. The only good thing about her was that she had taken knowledge seriously. A true Ravenclaw, honestly.
And the questions. He couldn’t recall any of them now, as it had been quite a few years, but he remembered she asked a lot of questions.
Galen followed her gaze down to his books. Perhaps she hadn’t recognized him. Yet. He leaned back, giving up. Clearly he would be done working for a bit. And as his sister Catriona would say, he could use a break from all the book-y stuff.
“They are,” he responded, watching her. She still wasn’t looking at him. Despite his better instincts, he motioned for her to sit and pushed the book towards her. He prayed she wouldn’t make him regret it.
“Mortimer,” Galen finally said after a moment. The name had popped in his head, and as someone raised in a military family, the surnames made more of an impression than their first names. “Ravenclaw.”
Galen reached for his glass, remembered it was empty, and set it down. He caught Blackwood’s sister’s eye. He nodded to her, signaling the need for a refill, and then looked back at Mortimer.
RE: Revision || Polly - Polly Mortimer - 08-05-2026
With the book of her attentions being pushed towards Polly was all the invitation she needed. The witch clad in yellow smiled brightly, taking the nearest free chair from a different table and scooting it a touch to close to the studious man.
Her reading vision was perfectly fine, however from previously experiencing works of Madam Jepsen, Polly knew that the lettering would likely be very small and loopy, which would require a closer vision of the book.
Polly gentled cradled the handwritten book, easing the pages. The book itself was relatively new, having only been published just weeks prior, but this version could have easily been the original. As if breaking from a trance, Polly realized that she had failed to introduce herself to the stranger she now sat beside, or even see who it was.
"And you are... MacLean." Her blue eyes widened slightly in recognition. Quickly, she recollected the few and far experiences she ever had with the man.
They mostly consisted of scoldings, as he was several years her senior and she occasionally would get into trouble... Plus, preferred to stick to her close circle.
With a grin, a particularly funny memory came back to her.
"You helped me to restore my scarves one time in my second year! I had accidentally enchanted them to bite, like a snake, anytime I or another student came near them. They had made victims of nearly every single first and second year student in our house, by the time you discovered it..." She mused, dimples showing. Of course, she was also omitting how it managed to sneak a bite onto the then older student, and how exasperating the following lecture from him had been. Just another of her many failed trial and errors, but she didn't mind. After all, any good Ravenclaw would agree that you learn more when you fail, rather than succeeding.
The witch laid the book down on the table in front of her, allowing it to open to a random page. Since having graduated Hogwarts so many years ago now, it was a little rare to run into a fellow Ravenclaw alumni. Many of them left the country in search of their own careers and knowledge, or tended to be workaholics.
Not that she could judge, having traveled a bit herself, and also working sometimes multiple jobs at the same time.
"I heard that you've been made Headmaster at Hogwarts. Congratulations!" Based off her scant knowledge of the man before her, it seemed a bit fitting. At the very least, she could understand the joy of teaching and passing down knowledge to the next generation.
RE: Revision || Polly - Galen MacLean - 08-06-2026
Galen watched her like he watched all people, with the interest of someone who had been studying them their entire life. When recognition hit her, he almost regretted inviting her to sit. Until…
The scarves.
Galen had forgotten about the scarves entirely, and the memory surfaced without warning; the chaos of that evening, the first years fleeing the common room, the look on Mortimer’s face when he’d finally cornered her about it. The ghost of something crossed his face before he could stop it. Not quite a smile on his lips, but his eyes smiled. Close enough.
“I remember,” he said and left it at that. He was not going to offer up that it had been one of the more creative disasters the common room had produced in his time there. That was not information she needed, and now that he remembered her properly he did not need the conversation that would follow.
"I heard that you've been made Headmaster at Hogwarts. Congratulations!"
Galen considered the congratulations momentarily. People said that it was a reflex, the need to congratulate people even if they really didn’t care. But something in Mortimer told him that she cared. He could warm up to it, maybe.
“Thank you,” Galen said, with the tone of someone closing a door politely. His eyes dropped briefly to the distance between her chair and his, then back up.
He reached for his glass. Still empty. He turned to look at the bar again, only to find Blackwood’s sister appearing with a refill for him. He nodded to her as she returned to her spot behind the bar.
“You’re a Transfiguration master,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but something he knew. He’d remembered, now, hearing about her teaching. Not surprising since she had leaned that way during her school days. He couldn’t help but to smirk. “I assume you have a better handle on it these days,” he added.