Brown

Penelope Clearwater barreled into someone, receiving a crude insult in return, but she barely noticed. The swearing wizard was merely an obstacle, nothing deserving attention. She fled down the street, wanting to get as far from Percy and that office as she could. Last night's confused curiosity had been replaced by a horror unlike anything she had ever before felt. Except that basilisk in her mirror five years ago. But this was comparable.

Fatigue overwhelmed her at the edge of the town. It was far enough. She collapsed into an untidy patch of grass, her lungs screaming for proper breath. Her face was wet with sweat. No, tears. She hadn't realized she had been crying. She glanced back at the village. Shouldn't Percy be coming after her now? Soon? He had always been stubborn, determined to get his way. It was one of the qualities that had first attracted her to him. It was one of the qualities that later repelled her. But even as she had said her goodbyes, she had never expected what the last two years had brought.

She had barely believed the news: Percy abandoning his family; Percy trying to murder his own father; Percy a Death-eater. But it hadn't taken long for the truth to sink in.

"You don't know what happened that night." Percy's words, unwelcome, echoed in her head.

"I do so," she muttered. "You revealed your true colors, your true alignment. You tried to kill Arthur Weasley." She reflected on her words. Reasonably convincing. One didn't need much more information than what had been given. Death-Eater monster, trying to con her.

"Damn you, Percy!" she screamed. She pulled herself to her feet and furiously wiped her eyes.

"Someone doesn't sound very happy." The voice was surprisingly close.

With fresh embarrassment, Penelope whirled around to see a woman standing about fifteen feet away with a basket of herbs clutched in one hand. "Healer Cortez!" she exclaimed.

"Miss Clearwater," Asa Cortez replied. She was a small woman, shorter than Penelope, but stockier. Wisps of black hair, streaked with grey, had slipped from a messy braid and now clung to her face, framing dark, worried eyes. Yet she gave a warm, concerned smile. "I heard you. . . ranting. ¿Usted bien? Are you all right?"

Penelope nodded and wiped the rest of the tears from her eyes. "Yes, Asa. I'm fine." She smiled wryly. "I'm more embarrassed someone heard that."

Asa laughed. "Privadamente delirio es siempre púúblico. But you did sound quite angry. Furious, actually. At a young man?"

Fury certainly described her feelings. Still, it was comforting to have someone to vent to, and Asa was offering that. "No one really. An old boyfriend. I suppose. . . I suppose I still think about him on occasion."

"Clearly in a bad way." Asa took Penelope's arm. "Come. We should return. Did you speak to Dormand?"

The blood rushed to her face. "No," she admitted. "He wasn't in."

"Hm." The elder woman frowned, revealing the small wrinkles around her mouth. "And we need permission to expand the research area soon. He doesn't even have time for my most lindo aprendiz?"

Penelope had to smile at that. "Oh, I'm not the prettiest healer-in-training here. Just the best."

"Of course you are, Miss Clearwater."

After that, there wasn't much left to say. Penelope followed the Healer toward their tavern, only half-listening as Asa Cortez talked about possible medicinal value and some new healing spells she had recently read about.

"Asa," Penelope said suddenly. "What news have you heard recently?"

"About spells?"

"No. News from. . . well, from the main world. Have they caught any Death-eaters? The ones that infiltrated the Ministry?"

Asa seemed surprised. "I believe they've found a couple over the past few months. Are you worried about the war extending out here?"

"Into the middle of nowhere? Not really. I just miss regular news."

"It is a bit scary, I admit. Sino nosotros voluntad estar bien. I wouldn't worry too much." Then she stopped and faced Penelope. "Something else bothers you, doesn't it?"

The Healer's eyes, despite their warmth, were powerful, and Penelope found herself squirming under the gaze. "That boy you heard me ranting about. . ."

Fear washed over Asa's face. ""Yes?"

"There was an incident at the Ministry a few months after they announced You-Know-Who's return. One of Dumbledore''s men----Arthur Weasley----went to speak to someone who claimed to have information. His own son was there instead. He tried to kill Arthur."

Asa nodded. She still looked fearful, but there was also confusion, as if she wasn't sure where this all was leading. "I remember the incident. That young man was a traitor of the worst kind. To have been caught up in such a horrible group. . . and he came from such a good family, I hear. Muy infortunado. At least that's when they discovered him. Didn't he disappear after? Ran and hid?"

It made Percy sound like a coward. Penelope laughed to herself. And he was. "Yes, that's what he must have done."

"But I'm afraid I don't understand why you brought this up," Asa continued. "Did you know him? I take it, then, that he wasn't an old boyfriend."

"No. I just knew him from school. An acquaintance."

Asa laughed, no longer worried. "Then what? You didn't seem him lurking about, did you?"

"No," Penelope found herself saying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Half of an hour had scarcely passed before Percy managed to all but remove himself from Penelope's visit. He again threw himself into Valentine's notes, determined to impress Matthias Dormand. It was difficult, at first, but gradually the shock and horror evaporated into a misty surrealism that might have been explained away, if Percy desire. Yes, it could easily have been an episode brought on by stress and that damned paranoia. Such an idea was plausible. Even if it had been real, what did it matter? Penelope had every right to be in Dragon''s Tooth. True, he did not expect to see her, but coincidences happened everyday.

One question distressed Percy slightly longer than the others: With whom was Penelope with? But, like the rest, this worry did not last long. As he knew from his own experiences, devotion to a cause had to be powerful to be called such. Penelope would stay nothing; he was sure of that. After all, they had dated for two years. She was too willful to entirely give herself to anything like Brown.

That left only one alternative. She had always been interested in medicine and healing. He doubted the St. Mungo's people would remain in the village very long. Soon Penelope would no longer be a problem. She would vanish from his life again.

And so his attention fully returned to his work. It was just past noon when he finished. He gazed happily at the report that was now clean, organized, and completely un-Valentine-ed. Yes, that would please Dormand. The smile slipped from his face. Not that it really mattered. He sighed and flopped back in the chair. He probably should find something to do, but there was no one around to instruct him. He considered looking for Dormand. Yes, that would be wonderful. Keep up the eager puppy appearance. They all loved that.

More out of boredom than actual curiosity, he decided to explore the desk's drawers. The middle one he now knew quite well: bottles of ink, raggedy quills, and a stack of blank parchment. Two more drawers were placed above and below the middle. He tugged the first one out. It came unwillingly with a low, grumbling howl and spat out its own volume's worth of dust. Percy coughed and gasped for clean air, then pulled off his glasses for cleaning. He saw a gleam, alien in the dusty drawer, as he put them back on.

It was a knob. A small brass knob rejected from someone's old dresser. Except it didn't appear loose. It sat upright, firmly attached to the drawer's bottom. Percy fingered it and passed it off as some sort of sticking charm. Why anyone would want to use it on a single knob was beyond him. He pulled the drawer out further and tugged on the knob. A small door opened, revealing a compartment about a foot in depth, theoretically passing through the middle drawer. At the bottom was a thick reddish-brown envelope.

Percy glanced at the front door and Dormand's wall. No one seemed to be coming. Then he pulled out the envelope and slammed the drawer shut.

The envelope wasn't spectacular, neither old nor new. There was no name or address, but the remains of a seal were still attached to the flap. He turned the envelope upside down and dumped the contents into his lap.

The Head Boy in him wasn't pleased. Percy was invading someone's privacy.

Yeah, well, it was his desk, another part of him replied.

There were three pieces of parchment, clean and displaying no sign of intense reading. A fleeting look at the date of one told him it was about two months old. He skimmed the rest of it, not really reading. There was an ink splatter here and there; next to one was The Order of the Phoenix.

Then the door flew open. "I'm back!" Winston Morsley sang.

Percy swore and buried the envelope in Valentine's report. "I'm so glad for you," he muttered.

Morsley raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "Secretary," Percy distinctly heard him say under his breath. The enthusiasm for friendship was clearly gone.

"I finished Valentine's report," Percy said. "Is there anything else I need to do?"

"She'll be back soon with more notes, I bet," Morsley replied. He had returned to the doorway, eyes intent on the street outside. "She quite loves those dragons, the nutter."

Percy knew the feeling. His elder brother Charlie had born the obsession for as long as Percy could remember.

"Oh!" Morsely spun back to Percy. "Dormand said someone from St. Mungo's might stop by to bug him about research areas. Did anyone come?"

Penelope again. "No," he lied.

"Hmm. Well, I'm off again. Got important stuff to do. I'll take Valentine's report with me." Before Percy could stop him, he had whisked the stack from the desk and was out the door.

The envelope had been in that stack. Percy considered summoning it, but there was no real point. Let Valentine get blamed, if indeed there was anything deviant.

Yet it left him with no means of entertainment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Percy had just barely settled back into the chair, slightly perturbed at losing the envelope, when a door materialized on the wall. It flung open loudly, and out ran Matthias Dormand. He must have been in the middle of something when panic had struck him; he still absent-mindedly clutched a paper in his hand as well as his wand, the latter ready to conjur. His face was a distorting of ash and too much blood, his eyes much too bright.

Percy wasn't sure what to make of it. He hadn't known the man long, but. . . he seemed disturbingly out of character. Sometimes that meant nothing, other times. . . the face of Crouch sprang into his mind. Perhaps he should call someone. But no one else was around.

Dormand suddenly remembered the new employee, for he paused, turned around and took a deep breath in an obvious effort to calm himself. "If you're finished, Mr. Ignatius, you can leave now. I expect you back here tomorrow morning. Normally I'd find something else for you to do, but I've urgent business to attend to which Mr. Morsley has just notified me of." Morsley had been watching for something. Clearly he had seen it.

"I gave him Valentine's finished report, sir," Percy said automatically. Damn. Protocol over a man whose heart was nearly jumping out of his chest.

"Good, good. I'm sure you did a fine job." With that, he left, again oblivious to a puppet phrase.

Percy remained at the desk for several minutes, staring blankly at patterns in the woodwork. Something wasn't right. He had felt this way during all those times with Crouch, but had just shrugged it off. Because Mr. Crouch was his superior. Because Mr. Crouch was always correct. Whatever Mr. Crouch said was holy writ. He bit his lip and stood up. This was a completely different situation, one that was, this time, none of his business.

The afternoon was in full bloom, the sun too hot on his drawn hood. He ignored the discomfort as he made his way down the street. No one was in sight.

Someone was waiting at the tent when he arrived. An elegant screech owl, a letter tied around his talon. Percy couldn't help but smile. "Hermes," he called. "I haven't seen you in days."

Hermes hooted proudly and swooped to Percy's shoulder, displaying the letter. Percy's smile faded. He already knew whom the letter was from.

"Dear Percy,

I received your last letter. Very short, as usual, but I guess I don't send you long ones, either. Anyway, Hermes is surprisingly good at finding us. If you ever want to find us, he'll know. I'm not sure how the rest of the family would react, but I'd be glad to see you.

School is going to start soon, and I'm excited. I'm still a Chaser----that's the position that usually handles the ball, since you've always completely ignored the sport. Ron is now completely over his keeper-phobia. So, yeah, over all it should be an excellent team.

But the main reason I'm excited to go back is just because Hogwarts feels so safe. It's one of the few relatively safe places anywhere. I don't know what it's like where you are (where are you, anyhow?) but it's terrible here. Everyone just wants to get away, but there is really no place to go. Which is why I don't believe you attacked Dad. You're my big brother, and no big brother of mine would support Voldemort. Even Dad is doubtful. I think. He still loves you, I hope you know.

Anyway, I don't want to say too much. It''s dangerous. I hope to hear from you soon.

Love,

Ginny

Percy read the letter several times, memorizing it, before crumpling it up. Part of him didn't want to be writing to Ginny. She was the one who started it, after all. He didn't even know why he kept replying----a force of habit? Their communication was sparse as it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Penelope couldn't make up her mind. She sat her bed, parchment, quill, and a textbook cradled in her lap. The quill was even in her hand some of the time. Once it even dipped itself (it had to have been the quill, for she couldn't it have done) into the ink bottle. Several blots of ink were scattered over the parchment like spots on the Dalmatian her parents owned. But nothing had been written.

But something should have been written. She knew it. In fact, in a few minutes, something would be written! She was screaming the command in her mind: "Write to the Order! Write to Dumbledore!"

But somehow, it wasn't getting done.

Of course, he'd understand no major news. Dumbledore had admitted it when, hearing she was traveling to the little village for research anyway, he had assigned her the little spy job. It wasn't as if he was sitting around Hogwarts expecting a declaration of one of the Ministry-infiltrating Death Eaters.

But he wouldn't reject the declaration, either. She took a deep breath and told her hand to write something.

"PENELOPE!"

She screamed, the materials flying from lap. The ink bottle landed on her roommate Pearl's robe which was lying on the floor. Good thing the bottle had a no-spill charm on it.

Pearl darted into the room, her face flush. "The window!"

Her natural curiosity ablaze, Penelope rushed to the window with her friend. "Who are we spying on?"

Pearl pointed to a small group approaching the tavern. "Them," she whispered. "It's Mr. Dormand."

Penelope squinted for a better look. Yes, it was Mr. Dormand----whom she still needed to speak too----and another man she recognized as Winston Morsley. They had their wands out, guiding something before them. . . heading for the tavern…….

She and Pearl gasped in unison.

"Downstairs," she commanded. "Apparate."

They Apparated at the doorway just as one of the Healers-in-training was opening it.

The man in the floating stretcher was a mess. Dried blood covered his face, and his robes were but rags somewhat hiding what were obviously burn marks and more blood.

Penelope was too good a Healer to be disgusted. "What happened?"

"Healer Asa Cortez," Dormand commanded. "I need to speak with her."

Asa appeared almost instantly, running up to the door, her graying hair even messier than earlier. "Ay de mi! What happened?"

"His name is Brogan Marchent," Dormand said. "I need you and your students to take care of him. "

"Él ha ido por infierno!" Asa Cortez exclaimed as she motioned Dormand and Morsley to bring Brogan Marchent in. "But I have seen worse. We can clean him up muy rápido." Her dark eyes caught sight of Penelope and Pearl, instantly commanding them to go wash up without any words.

Penelope was unnerved. She had seen the look on Asa's face. She trusted Asa-Healer Cortez was one of St. Mungo's finest. But the terror that had swept over her kind old face did not generate much confidence. Oh, Marchent would be fine. But Asa, of all people, wouldn't have expected to see such an injury out here.

Pearl seemed to hear Penelope's thoughts. "There are dragons around," she said simply. "Accidents do

happen."

"I guess we should have seen it coming," Penelope agreed. But the fear remained with her as she helped prepare a place of Marchent and pulled out the necessary spell books. Dragons. Dumbledore had mentioned them, even after the mandatory warning of St. Mungo's. These people were out here for a reason. Her urge to write to the Order doubled.

As a precaution, Asa had prepared one of the rooms of the tavern as a healing room. Just in case something would happen. They were Healers, or were going to be, and needed to learn to always look ahead. It wasn't much, just a small corner room with tables and a cupboard full of potions. But it would do. Dormand and Morsley motioned the stretcher over the table before letting it fade. Marchent gave a low groan, the first sign that he was still alive. Asa muttered something to herself, yelled at someone to get her such and such potion, and cast a cleaning spell over Marchent.

"Whatever happened to him?" Pearl asked.

The men looked at each other.

"Dragon attack," Dormand finally said. "It does happen up here."

"Don't you have any small hospitals?" Penelope asked. The question was stupid. Why have a healer's hut when it was so much easier to quickly move someone to St. Mungo's?

"We usually don't have incidents like this," Morsley said quickly. "But it's dangerous as of late. . . there are many things out there.. . "

Pearl giggled nervously, her face reddening. "Besides dragons?"

"Oh, yes-"

"Shut up, Winston," Dormand muttered.

Pearl smiled at Morsley. Penelope winked at her. She had to agree with her roommate: this Winston Morsley was kind of cute.

But there was something else. Dormand and Morsley weren't telling everything. The hesitation had made that quite clear.

"Healer Cortez," she said suddenly. "Maybe he should be transported to St. Mungo's."

Asa gave a sharp gasp, and even Dormand startled-a strange reaction for him. The two exchanged a look, barely perceptible. "It won't be so bad, chica. You'll see, when he is clean. Think of it as practice. Hands on experience. Una educativo hilly. Gavin! Continue this spell!"

Dormand and Morsley turned to leave, now sure Marchent would be cared for. Yet the speed of their departure once again surprised Penelope. They were anxious-anxious to bring the poor man here and anxious to return to whatever they were doing.

I shouldn't pry, she thought. At least not while I'm working. There will be plenty of time for that later. So she stood where she was, watching patiently, mentally copying everything Asa said of burns and cuts.

Asa was correct. Sort of. The injuries weren't quite as bad as it had seemed, once the blood had been cleaned away. But there were many, more cuts than burns thankfully. The cuts were not exactly mere scratches, but he would live and a little salve should prevent scars. The dragon had indeed had fun with the man. No one said so out loud, but the question was still there. Was Dormand sure it was a dragon? Of course there were burns, but burns could come from anything. Things weren't always as they seemed.

Why did Percy suddenly invade her thoughts? She bit her lip and concentrated on the healing.

An hour passed before Asa declared the patient ready for rest. He was breathing now, looking more asleep than dead.

"Well, now," Asa said with the cheeriness of someone who had done nothing more serious than garden. "Wasn't that fun?"

A few people actually dared laugh.

"You wouldn't be laughing were it you, insensible niños. Who would like to clean up?"

Penelope found herself volunteering. She wasn't sure why. To keep her mind off Percy? To see if Brogan Marchent would regain enough awareness to tell her anything? Neither reasons came to action. She hummed to herself as she tidied up, but there were too many questions. What had happened to Brogan? Should she contact Dumbledore? And what should she do about Percy?

She had just finished when Brogan stirred and groaned. She flitted to his side and grabbed his hand. Warm. He was doing better.

"Mum?" he murmured innocently. His eyes remained closed.

Penelope gave a small laugh. There was something charming about a patient calling for his mother. At least a patient who would be fine.

"Just the healer," she said softly.

Brogan didn't take it in. "It's not a color, Mum," he whispered. "I told you. Brown's a thing. And a color. Color of redemption."

A color of redemption? She frowned and stroked his hand. What sort of dream was the poor thing having?

"It's not what you think, Mum," Brogan continued. "It's not what most people think."

Percy again. Damn it all to hell, couldn't he get out of her thoughts.

"It's not what most people think at all, Mum. Brown isn't. Dormand isn't. But there is a lot of death. Huh? I'd love some biscuits, Mum, thanks." He gave a weak smile and drifted back into deep sleep.

Penelope held his hand only a few moments longer, but it felt like decades. She squeezed his hand, her own heart squeezing and pounding as well. She didn't even know what he had been talking about in that fevered dreams. There was no sense to it. And it meant nothing to her, whatever it was.

But the words had affected her. She couldn't believe what she was going to do.