Here's to the Night

Here's to the Night

a terence/penelope moment

> ~ <

"Will you miss me?" asked Penelope Clearwater in her sweetest voice, which also happened to be her most annoying. She stared at the young man across the table, jabbing her high-heeled foot into his when he didn't respond immediately. "Terence," she emphasised his name impatiently, "I asked you a question."

Terence Higgs smiled, placed his bookmark into the novel he was reading, and looked up.

"I said, 'will you miss me?' " Penelope said pointedly, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I can't believe you! You

have had your nose in that book since we got here. We're leaving tomorrow; this might be the last time we're in the Three Broomsticks. The last time we're sitting at these chairs, the last time we're ever at Hogwarts . . ." her voice broke, and she cupped her hand over her mouth.

"Well, last night for some of us at least," Terence replied wryly, and he picked up his novel again.

Penelope tilted her head, her blue eyes drilling into Terence; defeated, he laid his book back onto the wooden table. "Marcus, dear," Terence continued. "He won't know till tomorrow morning if he has to repeat the seventh year. Again."

Nodding slowly, Penelope took a sip of her hot water. "Merlin help him if he has to."

Terence and Penelope sat in an uncomfortable silence as the jostling of the Three Broomsticks carried on around them. Patrons and Hogwarts students ordered drinks, firewhisky and butterbeer being the most popular on the menu tonight. Several third years ran past them, a bushy-haired witch, a freckled wizard, and Gryffindor's Seeker. Terence thought he heard the name, "Sirius Black," but with another consideration, that was absurd. So he took a drink from his mug, the hot chocolate already cold.

The wind outside rustled the budding trees and banged against the shutters as another entered the Three Broomsticks. Terence's dirty blond hair whipped forward and into his chestnut eyes, and the door slammed shut.

"Higgs!"

Terence cringed as Slytherin Chaser Adrian Pucey and eighteen-year-old Marcus Flint grabbed a chair, spinning it a hundred and eighty degrees. Marcus sat first, resting his folded arms on the back of the chair, and Adrian, after missing the first time and falling onto the sticky floor, sat second.

Penelope rolled her eyes in irritation. "Excuse me, but can we help you?"

Marcus grinned toothily. Well, as toothily as a smile could get for Marcus--one of his front teeth was missing. "Just thought we'd join the party," he replied, and ordered a firewhisky from the bosomed barmaid with the red curls after slapping her on the rear. "Oh come off it, Clearwater. This is our last night here, thank Merlin, and--"

"Last night for some of us," Penelope pointed out.

Marcus glared, Terence stifled a laugh, and Adrian buried his head in his hands.

Penelope, besides being at a loss for words, was confused. "What's his damage?" She nodded her head towards Adrian, who now was raking his hands through his shaggy black hair, mumbling incoherent words.

"We tried to have him committed," Marcus replied. "He's been like this all week."

"Separation Anxiety," Terence supplied through a sip of cold chocolate.

Adrian began rocking back and forth in his chair, hugging his knees to his chest.

Penelope shimmied away in her chair and flipped her black curls over her shoulders. "See, Terence, there is someone who's torn over leaving Hogwarts," she said in a haughty tone. "Maybe you should be behaving more like him."

Terence raised an eyebrow, regarding Adrian with a hint of disgust and scepticism. "Behave like a sniffling snake? I think not," he droned as he kicked Adrian beneath the table. Adrian's head snapped up; he glared daggers at Terence and leaned forward on his chair, his mind-set balanced. "But if that's your fancy, Penny, then maybe you should be shagging him tonight."

"Oh, Terry!" Penelope exclaimed as she latched herself onto her boyfriend's arm. "I never meant it that way. It's just . . . everyone, including Percy, is so anxious to leave this place! I spent the best seven years of my life here, and tomorrow we're leaving and never coming back! We might never see each other again! Here we are, seventeen, the best years of our lives are behind us. What's in front? Nothing but dead-end jobs and debts and loneliness and . . ." She inhaled sharply, and once again cupped her hand over her mouth as tears brimmed in her blue eyes.

Terence pulled her closer and pressed his lips to her forehead. "It's not the end of the world."

Marcus snorted, and Adrian rolled his eyes. "And you wanted to commit me?" Adrian commented dryly as he took a sip of the butterbeer that the redheaded barmaid set down before him. "I may have been emotionally wrought like a woman, but I wasn't as bad as--" He stopped, realising all the dubious eyes that were plastered to him--"okay, sod it all, then." He slumped in his chair, arms crossed at his defeat.

When Oliver Wood and Percival Weasley entered the Three Broomsticks minutes later, the three Slytherins and the Ravenclaw were sitting in an uncomfortable silence. The silver bell above the door chimed as closed, and Oliver pulled two chairs from a nearby table and joined their schoolmates for the first time in many years--Percy sitting next to his ex-girlfriend Penelope, and Oliver stuck between Percy and Adrian. Both placed an order for Butterbeer, and Oliver hoped past conflicts could be forgotten here.

"Who said you could join us?" grunted Marcus, casting Oliver a disgusted look.

Oliver kicked his feet out and sat back. "Eighth year's the charm, ain't that right, Flint?" He flashed a superior grin, and beamed inside when Marcus scowled, clenching his fists.

"Keep that tongue inside your mouth, Wood," Marcus threatened, "or I just may cut it out."

Oliver rolled his dark brown eyes and snorted. "I will miss this, though," he replied airily, cracking a thin smile. "We've spent seven years of our lives here. How many of us know something outside the walls of Hogwarts? We don't know what our lives are going to be like, and change is scary, is it not?"

Percy shrugged, tucking his red fringe behind his ear. "Change is inevitable, Oliver. It's how we handle these changes that define us as people, as productive members of society."

"You even sound like you have a pole up your arse, Weasley," Marcus grunted.

Percy glared at Marcus, mentally sending him an array of daggers. "I will be Minister of Magic, Flint, as I'm sure Oliver will be a famous Quidditch player. This is what separates us from the rest of you, we have ambition."

"Ambition? Isn't that a Slytherin trait?" Adrian mumbled, resting his head on his forearms. He sniffled, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his dark green robes. "Don't think that you're the only one with ambition, Weasley. We all have what it takes to make something of ourselves one day."

"Everyone except Marcus, maybe," Terence murmured, his nose back into his book.

Marcus growled deep from his throat, kicking Terence beneath the table. "I will have a career in Quidditch, but what can you say for yourself, Higgs? Not many places besides the Quidditch teams hire Slytherins right out of Hogwarts, and you're not a Quidditch player, Higgs. Never will be."

"The Ministry, Flint." Terence shrugged, closing his book and placing it on the table after marking his page with a ratty old bookmark. "Unlike you, I aced my N.E.W.T's and was offered a job in the Ministry."

Percy automatically perked up at this, and for the first time, Terence didn't seem like such a bad guy. Never mind that Terence stole the only girl who ever gave him a second look. "Really? What department are you with? I'm with Muggle Cooperation, working for Mr Crouch."

"Department of Mysteries," Terence replied. "I work alongside Mr Chuckles Denton." And he flashed Percy a smug smile, a look of satisfaction spreading across his face. At this, Percy remained silent, having nothing else to say.

"I propose a toast," Penelope stated suddenly through the unnerving silence between the seventh years, lifting her glass into the air. "Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well. Here's to the night we felt alive. Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry. Here's to goodbye, tomorrow's going to come too soon."

"Here's to the night," the others echoed, lifting their glasses and clinking them together.