Disclaimer/Notes: I don't own any of these characters. I know how twisted and screwed up this story is, but I wrote it anyway. If you don't like it, too bad. :)

I guess I always loved him. Even when I was a student here myself, I had admired him. By the time I was seventeen, I was sure of it. I, Poppy Pomfrey, was in love with Albus Dumbledore.
All right, so he was a little older than I, but what does that matter in the wizarding world? I was muggle born, and at first I hadn't understood how I could be so attracted to a man more than twice my age, but it doesn't seem like such a silly idea now. Wizards live for so long anyway, we don't really have limits on our age. We're only as old as we make ourselves. And I loved him so much, I didn't care about how old he was! I didn't see it as a boundary that he was battling He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! The only thing that mattered was that I was desperately in love. So what if he didn't love me back? I tried potions, charms, even flirting (i once complimented him on his earmuffs. that counts as flirting, right?), but nothing worked. I took a job at Howarts as a medi-witch, just to be near him. Sigh.

It's a lonely life, being the school's medi-witch. I have to stay in the infirmary all the time. I don't even get to eat my meals in the Great Hall like the rest of the staff. They all have the pleasure of his company. Who do I have to keep me company? I have the virus patient, the quidditch injury, and the occasional werewolf to fill my time. Albus hardly ever came to see me, and my days were filled with loneliness. That all changed when Harry Potter came to school.
That boy is just about the clumsiest I've ever met. He's always falling down stairs, breaking his arm, battling rouge socks, getting hurt playing quidditch, fighting dark lords, ect., ect. And when he's sick, he always has a parade of visitors. Luckily for me, this parade is almost always lead by Albus Dumbledore.
That's why I'm happy when Harry get hurt. Albus will almost always come to see him, and I get to see Albus. Those wise, blue eyes, that snow white hair....Where was I? Oh, yes. I wish Harry Potter would get consumption or something. The longer he's in the infirmary, the better. That's my opinion anyway. I practically jumped for joy when I heard that You-Know-Who was back on the scene. With him around, that child will never be well again. It's a dream come true. Not to sound malevolent, or anything.

Unfortunately for me, Harry grew out of his awkward stage in his fifth year. As his grace on the quidditch field grew, he came to the infirmary less and less. He no longer fell down stairs, he had single-handedly conquered the mischievous socks, was evading You-Know-Who with an expertise many grown wizards would never accomplish, and had an immune system that would have made even Nicholas Flammel proud. Needless to say, I was pissed. So, I did the only thing I could.

I started slipping arsenic into his food.

Not a lot, mind you, I didn't want to kill him or anything. I just wanted to make him a little sick. Like, sick enough to visit me in the infirmary. And to have visitors while he was in the infirmary. It all would have worked, too, except I was caught.
I was in the kitchen one night, slipping a bit of the poison into his goblet. You see, each student has their own goblet in the kitchen that appears on the table at the appropriate time. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I nearly melted when I realized that the gorgeous, long, although slightly wrinkly, hand belonged to my one true love - Albus Dumbledore.
"Why, Poppy," he said, in a voice that could charm a raptor, "have you taken to cuisine? Where will we find a new medi-witch?"
I blushed and searched for words, but none would come. Anyway, my heart was beating too fast to say anything. That was when he spotted the vile in my hand.
"Oh, arsenic," he said, observing the label. An important note to myself - never label poisons. "And Mr. Potter's goblet. Poppy, I think you need to explain yourself."
"Oh, Dumbledore, I don't want to kill him or anything!" I said quickly.
"You just want to send him to your infirmary," he quietly said.
"I see," he thought, stroking his beard. I daydreamed about what it would be like to stroke his beard. "Poppy, it has occurred to me that you are infatuated with Mr. Potter. No?"
What to do. If I said that I was, my secret love for him would remain, well, secret. If I said that I wasn't, he'd need a different explanation. And I couldn't think of one, other than I was committing a crime solely because I was in love with the most powerful wizard on the face of the earth.
"Well, I suppose I am, Headmaster," I said shyly.
"I understand completely. I'm not angry with you, I'm not going to fire you, but I am going to have to ask you to stop poisoning my students. Agreed?"
"Yes, Headmaster," I responded. He wasn't going to fire me? Yes! Maybe he does love me!
And with that, he left, taking the poison with him.

I went back to my old regime. Weeks went by, and I didn't see Albus. The man never got sick! An idea starting to formulate in my mind. An idea so simple, I was amazed I hadn't thought of it before. That was when I starting slipping poison into my one true love's cup.
But it isn't as if I didn't do it with the best of intentions.


this story disturbs even me. just laugh it off, it's meant to be crazy and psychotic. i understand that it isn't my usual style, and i'll be going back to my usual soon. i just thought this was a funky idea and needed to share it with you all. okay, toodles.