Brown

Penelope remained in the room for nearly an hour, watching over Brogan Marchent and reviewing again and again her plan. Which wasn't much of a plan as it was gratification to her own sick curiosity and a Florence Nightingale syndrome-induced request. She hoped it would fade, the idea that Percy just might have been telling the truth, but it didn't. It kept her from realizing the passing time until Asa Cortez entered and insisted she go do something else with her time, that the patient would be fine. Indeed, Brogan had said nothing else in his dreams.

She flew from the tavern and down the road, still a disheveled mess from the healing. What did it matter? Percy didn't deserve to see her at her best.

The afternoon and subsequent evening had long since faded, and a muddle of clouds had covered the sky----it was different from the clear night of before. The entire village was practically dead. She pulled out her wand. "Lumos," she muttered, and a dim light penetrated the darkness around her. Now to find out exactly where the monster was staying. There were so few actual homes in the village----the tavern she was staying at was the only one of its kind. Matthias Dormand had a house. It would be so like Percy to throw himself closest to whatever dictator was in charge. But somehow she didn't think Percy would be staying there. So she wandered the road, hoping for some sign of locating him, until it led to the outermost edge of the village. That's where she saw the tent.

She laughed aloud, an unnatural sound in the quiet setting. A tent, of all things. It was the most un-Percy thing she could imagine. He had lowered himself to living in a tent. Not camping, but living. Oh, but justice did exist! Mood completely changed, she crept up to the tent. It wasn't even a very good once. It probably had an embarrassing bathroom as well. Ducks or frogs or something. Restraining another derisive laugh, she lifted the tent flap and entered.

It was even better than she could have hoped for. A couch actually in the kitchen! Upon it lay Percy, asleep. He was still in his robes. He hadn't even removed his glasses. Or his hood. Penelope crossed the floor and ripped the hood back. With a cry, Percy sat up.

"I need to talk to you," she said stiffly.

Percy straightened his glasses, which had been knocked askew. "P-p- Penny! What are you doing in here?"

She cringed involuntarily. The situation was almost frightening. She was alone in a tent with Percy, who was, by all accounts, a Death Eater. And someone she had once cared for deeply. The light from her wand danced over his face, his glasses, that horrible scar. . . She swallowed. "I need to talk to you," she repeated with a hiss. ""And don''t ever call me Penny.""

He returned the glare and fixed his hood. "Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

She sniffed. "As if you care about appearances any longer. We're not prefects at Hogwarts anymore. I can do whatever the hell I want."

"You didn't want to talk earlier. Why the change of heart?"

"I'm going to be reasonable. I was a Ravenclaw, after all. It's only fair that you tell your side of the story."

Something inside of Percy twisted painfully. He hadn't expected this. He really didn't have a story prepared. And here was Penelope, asking for one. "You sure you want to know?"

Of course she didn't want to know. She didn't even know why she was here. Brogan had been speaking nonsense, and it was foolish to let his ramblings affect her.

It's not what you think, he had said. It's not what most people think.

Who was she kidding? She had spoken with Arthur Weasley. She knew what happened.

"Of course I do," she finally said.

Percy signed. "Do you want to sit down?" Proper etiquette had set in. Was the damn stuff built into him? He scooted over, leaving most of the couch for Penelope. After a moment's hesitation, she quickly sat down on the most opposite end.

"Are you a Death Eater?" she asked.

The question was sudden for both of them.

He stared at her a moment, then laughed bitterly. "Depends on your definition."

She sprang to her feet, her face pale with shock. The wand, still lit, dropped to the floor. "You're not serious?" she screeched.

"You've heard the news; this isn't necessary," Percy snapped. "You said you wanted to hear. Sit down and listen!"

Now that was the old Percy. Without thinking, Penelope scowled and obeyed.

"I was never in The Dark Lord's inner circle, if that's what you mean," he said softly. "The Ministry was so corrupt anyway, with so many Death Eaters worming their ways in. Then Fudge admitted it, that the Dark Lord was indeed back. And after all those months of denial." He shook his head. "What was the point after that? The Minister of Magic didn't even know what was going on."

A wave nausea washed through Penelope, and she fought another impulse to run. "So. . . so you did try to kill your father?"

"That's part of the lie you've been fed. I can't believe I'm just sitting her, letting you accuse me." He folded his arms tightly over her chest. He really didn't want to continue. Not with this story. "My father was suspected of being in the Order of the Phoenix for a long time. With me around, information was easy to pick up. I admit it: they got it all from me. The Death Eaters thought they could somehow infiltrate the Order. They even let me in on a little plan of theirs: One of them would pretend to be reformed, a repentant soul willing to give out information. He persuaded my father to meet him one night after work. My father would then be tortured for information, then probably killed. I don't care what anyone thinks: I don't hate my father so much as to let something like that happen to him. So I went to the meeting place early. Turns out I had outlived my use as well."

Penelope gasped, comprehension dawning on her. "You were framed."

Percy nodded. "The Death Eater attacked from a hiding spot. He was so well positioned that my father thought it was me. He thought I was the one to kill him. We fought." He ran a hand over his face, fingers just brushing the scar. "That's where I got this from."

"And the Death Eater summoned the authorities and you ran," Penelope said softly, finishing the story.

He gave her a look somewhere between fury and gratitude. "Happy?"

She felt even more ill than before. "You just. . . left? You didn't even try to defend yourself?"

"What was the point? For all intents and purposes, I had joined Voldemort." He thought of the scars marking his wrist. She didn't need to know about that.

"You're a coward," she hissed. "You found out you were wrong, and backed out."

"What was I supposed to do?!" he shouted. "What other choice was there? Go crawling back to my family after fighting against what they believed in? I wasn't going to be on the wrong side again, with Voldemort back!"

Penelope opened her mouth, probably to scream something, but quickly closed it. Then she turned and marched from the tent.

Percy sunk to the couch, panting. He had done it. It was all out. Fatigue overwhelmed him, then sickness, and he had barely enough time to stumble to the bathroom before vomiting.

"I'm sorry for how I behaved last night." There was little remorse in Penelope's voice, just enough to make for evidence that she was sincere. Sincere, brave, and determined. She had waltzed right into the office with that line as her immediate greeting.

Percy could only stare at her, his hand still clutching a ragged quill. Again he was struck by how pretty she was. That, and the memory of her actions of the prior night. It had been is fault, he decided. It was all up to him to tell his story, and he had. She had possessed every right to act the way she had.

Penelope met his eyes, her face expressionless. "I really am sorry. I didn't expect what you told me."

A little more empathy had wove itself into those words. He felt his cheeks grow hot, and dropped his eyes back to the paper he had been working on. Another list of notes from Valentine. "There's no need to apologize," he muttered. Why wouldn't she leave?

Instead, she sat right on the desk itself. "Percy. . . don't you feel bad about any of it?"

He jabbed the quill violently into the bottle of ink. "Of course I do."

"You really should go talk to your father."

"It's a bit late for that."

She picked up the ink bottle and read the label with mild interest. But her eyes had lost the deadpan visage and were now nearly fiery. "I should have said this last night. You were. . . nearly innocent. You don't have any dealings with the Death Eaters anymore, do you?"

He had never wanted those dealings. "I didn't have a choice."

She slammed the bottle down, splashing ink. "Only cowards say that. You just didn't want to say you were wrong."

Something inside of Percy snapped. He was on his feet before he was aware of it. Penelope, surprised, leapt from the desk.

"You and that temper," she hissed.

She wasn't scared; she was daring him to make a move, challenging him.

He wouldn't prove her right. Face burning, he lowered his hands. "This isn't going to turn out like last night, is it?"

A cool smile spread over her face. "Maybe more violent. I just wanted to apologize. For the last time, I'm sorry." She brushed the brown curls from her face and marched out the door.

And their relationship had not improved any. Percy slammed the chair underneath the desk and took after her. "Penelope!"

She stopped near the corner of the building. "Yes?"" she asked in the same cool voice.

"I'm sorry, too." He did not know what he was apologizing for.

"You know, I dumped you because you were so. . . " For the first time that day, something akin to fury billowed into her face. "So damn bigheaded and selfish!"

The words stung. She had said them to him before, and the pain they inflicted had not abated. He didn't let it show. "I had to look out for myself."

"Yes, well, an apology is good to hear from you. Makes you seem almost human. Now I have work to do. Unless, of course, Mr. Dormand is in. I''d much rather speak to him than a Death Eater."

"He's. . . "Damn. He sounded like Crouch's little go-for again, making excuses.

But at that moment, Dormand decided to make his appearance. He strode quickly up the road toward the building, talking animatedly to a wizard Percy had never seen before. He was old, older than Dormand, and completely bald except for a long, silver, and rope-like mustache.

Penelope raised an eyebrow with an air of sarcasm. "Wow. You really can be helpful when you want to be. I'll go speak to him. Mist----"

Dormand clearly didn't plan on noticing her. He and his companion stomped right past Penelope and Percy and through the door. ". . . doesn't matter he saw those letters," Dormand was saying. "He won't do anything anyway. Wouldn't dare."

The letters from the desk. Percy grimaced.

Penelope noticed. "Letters?"

"It's nothing. . .it's."

"They seem to think it's important." She darted past Percy to the doorway, which had remained open. Thoroughly disgusted, Percy followed.

The two men had paused before Dormand's office door. "I really don't care how unimportant you think this Ignatius man is!" the new man was saying----more appropriately yelling----at Dormand. "The Order has their ways of spying, almost as much as the Dark Lord!"

Dormand was considerably calmer and watched his companion with near-contempt. "You grow paranoid, Jason. The Order of the Phoenix doesn't have any idea of our existence, of my existence."

"Those healers and their students from St. Mungo's. What of those, Matthias?"

"Blissfully ignorant healers and students. Don't worry about Ignatius----where is he, I wonder? But my men, they love me, they'll do whatever I command."

Jason's anger abated somewhat. "You're certain? You know for a fact that no conspiracy is being carried out under your nose? The Dark Lord wouldn't be pleased if your little operation out here suddenly experienced a mutiny."

"Brogan Marchent is still unconscious, according to Asa Cortez."

Jason actually chuckled, his brown eyes crinkling with mirth. "Your story was a dragon, I hear."

"It's not a complete fabrication." He laughed and led Jason into his office.

Penelope whirled to Percy. "What was that about?"

Percy was just as shocked. He stared at the door, which was now fading. "I. . . I didn't know anything about it. I. . . You don't suspect me!"

"Ignatius is your middle name," she mused. "So. . . you read some letters?"

"I didn't read them. I just glanced at them and stuffed them inside a report."

She wasn't satisfied, and continued to study his face, watching for any signs of lying. "Uh-huh. What did you see in this 'glance'?"

"I don't know. Something about the Order of the Phoenix."

"Oh, no." The blood drained from her face, and with a small pop, she was gone.

Penelope Apparated into the room and immediately dove at the parchment and ink bottle still next to her bed, having been forgotten in the excitement of the prior evening. Well, she needed them now. Any doubts she had previously had concerning writing to the Order were gone. For now she had something to write about. She jumped on her bed, a text book displaying the parchment on her lap, and jabbed her quill into the bottle. She watched several drops ooze onto the parchment before letting the words rush from her, writing almost faster than she could think.

Brown. Little more than a fierce and quirky petty organization bent on saving, of all things, dragons. Charming in its own, people thought. One had to admire an entire village that, despite a surprisingly small size, would attempt such an upright thing. A smile came unbidden at that thought. They had declared themselves to be protecting dragons. From what? Being assimilated, imperiosed, into some fantastic army devoted to the services of Lord Voldemort? It sounded like a front-page story of The Quibbler. She had laughed along with everyone else when she had heard that excuse from the also-chuckling Head Healers. She had half-expected someone to jump out with a rousing "You're on Candid Camera!" like on that show she had watched as a child with her family. Certainly the villagers were nut cases, but the Healers had always considered them harmless and ignorable in most cases. Even Dumbledore had not been too concerned with the bunch when he had given her the assignment.

Good grief, how wrong they had all been!

The muscles in her hand were throbbing. Penelope let the quill fall from her hand and took a deep breath. The ink was still glistening on the parchment. She frowned. Not her finest handwriting, but she had been so scared. Panic did strange things like that to people. Like that basilisk incident five years ago. She hadn't panicked then, of course. Yes, she was a "mudblood" as that nasty Malfoy punk had said. But she hadn't thought the creature would attack a prefect. She flicked at a particularly large bubble of ink, smearing it across the parchment. Goodness, she had been just as snotty as Percy. No wonder the relationship had seemed so wonderful then. An idiotic match made in heaven. Only. .. she had grown up, and apparently he had only grown worse.

At least. . . at least he wasn't as bad as she had once thought for so long.

Percy. Why did he always have to invade her mind at these times?! She again grabbed the quill, praying it would help her concentrate, and focused on what she had written. A recap of the whole "dragon army protection unit" and the conversation between Mr. Dormand and that Jason man----only in not such words. It was vague, very vague, and she could only hope Dumbledore would know what she meant. She had mustered every bit of Ravenclaw writing talent to explain herself. Still, if the letter was intercepted. . . she shook the thought away. An entire system of mail delivery had been set up for such situations. Yes, it took longer for a letter to get anywhere, but the system was so twisted and tangled that it was virtuously impossible to infiltrate. And Mr. Dormand had sounded very sure of himself that no one knew what he was up to. For all he cared, Penelope was just another healer-in-training sending a friendly letter or asking her parents for money. She read the letter again before folding it up. It was as much a hybrid of ambiguity and clarity as could be possible. And it didn't mention Percy. She had considered it, but had decided no. As furious as she was with him, he had suffered enough. He needed to make a move, but it was his move to make. And he wasn't involved with Brown. He couldn't be.

She prepared the letter, stuck it in the pocket of her robe, and went downstairs to find an owl. A party was going on----at least, what counted for a party among the students. It was Jenny's birthday, so someone had baked a pumpkin cake and conjured up some balloons for decoration. The "partiers" currently sat around eating cake and talking. The fact that there some people who were relaxed and not worrying about a threat to the Order was comforting.

Pearl sprang from her seat as soon as she saw Penelope. "You're back. Did you talk to Mr. Dormand?"

Penelope cast a glance at Asa, who too was taking time off for cake. "Yeah," she replied. "I saw him."

"Good. Some of the guys have already ran out there to study the plants, but I Asa figures we should get permission eventually. Have some cake." She thrust a large piece smothered with frosting into Penelope's hand.

"Mm." She did like cake. She took a bite and swallowed. "Thanks. Are there any owls around? I want to send my mum a letter."

Pearl raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said your parents were Muggles."

"They are, but they're used to owls. Trust me."

"Darren just sent out the last one, Penelope," someone called.

"Damn." The urgency to get the letter out returned.

"Are you okay?" Pearl asked, cutting another piece of cake.

Penelope sighed. She didn't want others to panic. Heck, they probably wouldn't even believe her, but then she would be labeled the freak. "I'm fine." She took another bite of cake to prove it. "How's the patient?"

"Asa was just with him. Then Jenny insisted he should have some cake as well. Yeah, he's awake. Still a little woozy, but I heard he liked the cake."

"He's awake?" She scooped off some of the frosting with her finger and sucked on it. "Good frosting. I think I'll go see him."

Pearl let out a giggle. "You think he's cute?"

Penelope rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yes, Pearl. I'm crazy about him. I'm suffering from the Florence Nightingale syndrome and am going to ask him to marry me while he's still out of it enough to say yes."

"Great way to get husbands. Marry them while they're unconscious. Got it."

Penelope laughed and made her way to the back room. The table was gone. Someone, presumably Asa, had gotten around to conjuring up a bed for Brogan Marchent. He was sitting up in bed, eating a piece of cake. Burns and cuts were still visible on his face, but evidently healing fast. He was cute. Blonde hair, brown eyes. Good figure. Maybe she should marry him. "Hi," she said. "Feeling any better?"

He managed a smile that was more grimace. "I guess so. Cake helps."

She circled his bed and fluffed the pillows. "They said you had been attacked by a dragon," she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Doesn't sound very fun."

"Dragon?" His voice rose slightly, and Penelope frowned. He was either about to lie, or was genuinely confused. "That's what they said? Dormand and Morsley?"

"Don't you remember? You were the victim."

Brogan's eyes were wide, and the color he had regained drained from his face. "I. . . yeah, I remember. Dragon attack. We were looking at some nests. Dragons don't take kindly to people messing with their nests."

"No, they wouldn't."

He took a deep breath and studied Penelope's face. "You're trying to make a point, I'm sure of it."

She laughed lightly and fluffed his pillow again. "I think you're lying."

"Lying?"

"I don't have any veritseram on me right now, but I think you're attack was a little different than your story suggests."

Brogan's lips twisted into a small smile. "Really."

Her hands fell to her sides. "Do you have something else you want to tell me?"

"Like what?"

"I was in here cleaning up. You mentioned something in your sleep." She stopped. What did that have to do with her point? "Never mind. Like your real story."

He was quiet for a long time, his eyes still on her. His face changed during that time. Confused, again. Mad. Almost scared. "You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?""

Now she was getting somewhere. "You have my promise."

"I'm not saying that Dormand tried to murder me or anything. I don't even think that. It doesn't make sense. But he''s done some things in his past. Like during the first war. . . . he really didn't do anything then. But he supported You-Know-Who. For awhile, at least. Then he changed." He gave a small laugh and shook his head. "I guess it doesn't make much of a difference out here. I didn't grow up in Dragon's Tooth, but I grew up in the nearest town. It wasn't much bigger than this place. The wars don't much affect us out here, so it's strange when anything comes through. That's why we're all so weird about the dragons."

Penelope nodded. "That's understandable. Well, I suppose I should let you rest." She turned to go.

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"I really don't trust Winston Morsley. Or Valentine Munk, for that matter."

Winston and Valentine. She'd have to remember that. "All right." She left the room, thinking.

Asa spotted her when she entered the main area again. "You've a visitor. Chico." She winked.

Percy was standing at the door, hood up. Glaring at a giggling Pearl, she marched toward him. "What are you doing here?"

"You live here." His tone was sarcastic and a little. . . embarrassed?

"I do," she snapped. "But why'd you come?"

"I. . ."

Her heart skipped a beat. "You didn't come here to confess to another horrible deed?!"

He groaned and took a step back. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't plotting my murder or anything. I just wanted. . . to tell you I didn't do it."

"You already told me that," she said, but her tone had softened without her realizing it.

"I wanted to make sure you believed me."

She glanced back at the others. They had all lost interest. "Percy, of course I believe you. You came all the way here to tell me again?"

He didn't respond.

She suddenly wanted to laugh. "You're unbelievable." Before she could stop herself, she pushed back his hood and kissed him on the cheek. "Now get out of my sight."

He jarred back at the kiss. "Oh. Okay. I need to get back to work anyway."

She was just as surprised herself. Why had she done that? Well, she couldn't show anything else. "Goodbye." She slammed the door.