In The Cold

     "What must a wizard do to get some bloody heat around here?" Percy thought bitterly as he apparated into his dimly lit apartment, shivering with cold. The inexpensive, cramped excuse for a living space made hardly any effort to keep the October chill out. He had nonchalantly brought this problem to the Ministry's attention last autumn. Fudge had just chuckled and given his back a quick, impersonal pat saying, "Not to worry, Weatherby, not to worry" before hurrying off to tend to other business. Fudge was always busy with something. The heat problem probably just slipped his mind, which shouldn't have come as such a shock, considering he had yet to address Percy by his real last name.

     Presently, "Weatherby" mumbled a temporary heating charm before slouching into an old green chair, grabbing a half-empty bottle of butterbeer off the table in front of him. The tepid liquid rolled lazily down his throat, calling for a rather unsatisfying drink, but he finished it off anyway. He was about to get up when he noticed a white envelope stained with a yellow ring from where the bottle had rested. The return address was in Surrey. A tawny owl had delivered it to him yesterday, but he didn't open it. He knew it was from her. Penelope Clearwater had not once contacted him since they broke up..until now. He stared down at the envelope for a time, contemplating whether to read its contents or not. Part of him yearned to know what she had to say. It had been so long..yet another part wished that little white rectangle would just disappear, eliminating this worry from his mind. In the end, curiosity got the better of him and Percy tore the envelope open with an eagerness he didn't even realize he was harboring. After a quick adjustment of his horn-rimmed glasses, he began to read..

Dearest Percy,

     You are probably wondering why I address you with such affection, seeing as we haven't communicated in months, but I just couldn't leave things the way we ended them. Though I know this one letter alone will do no justice to the emotion I'm feeling, I will try my best so that you understand. I pray that you understand.

     Ever since we've broken up, I have never given up hope for you. I know awful changes have occurred..with your family and all and I'm sorry for that, but I have honestly never lost faith in your ability to come around again. I know there is good in you, Percy. It was undeniable whenever we were together. You were the first true boyfriend I ever had. The others left me feeling used and broken, but when you came along I was mended. You made me feel appreciated, respected..loved. My parents were divorced and constantly working (one condition that still holds steady), so being with you filled me with the affection I needed. I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that you have been my hero..

     But now you're not here. I've tried hard to stand strong, continue my medical studies in magic, but no matter what I do, I need support. I feel like the world has abandoned me. Every day that I don't hear from you hurts worse than the one before. I've always thought of writing you, but I've been so scared..especially with this one notion building inside of me. Have I been a burden to you? Life in the wizarding world is difficult enough with the rise of You-Know-Who. I feel guilty for bringing my problems to you too. It suddenly hits me why you haven't bothered to acknowledge me. You don't need me..but I need you. This is my shameful confession. I'm not a very strong person. I have all hope in the world for you and none for myself. I'm so foolish it makes my stomach hurt.. Percy, my heart doesn't know when to quit. I love you. I–

     Percy tore his eyes away from the letter and crumpled it into a ball. He sat there, rubbing his temples, his mind reeling from her overflow of sentiments. He couldn't read it anymore. This was too much. Far too much. Instead he hastily snatched up the most recent copy of the Daily Post from the floor, his eyes raking over the moving pictures and streams of words in a desperate attempt to distract himself. His thoughtless scanning came to an abrupt halt at the last article on the cover page. His breath drew in sharply.

"Surrey - A muggle-born witch, 18, was discovered dead in her home on Tuesday night by her mother, authorities say.."

     He let the paper drop to the floor, suddenly realizing that the heating charm had faded away, leaving him in the cold once more. The only source of warmth came from the hot tears pouring down his ashen face. He had always loved Penelope Clearwater. And now he wept for her, for himself..for all that would never be.