The reasoning behind this story is as follows: I wanted to write a romance. I am incapable of writing anything remotely emotional without it dissolving into sap, and so most romances were out of the question. I tried to decide on who was the most stuffy, unemotional character in the series who actually had a romance. I came up with - Percy Weasley! Huzzah.
Temporal Explanation: This takes place sometime during Harry and company's third year.
Rating: K. Really, no explanation required. They don't even snog.
Disclaimer: No, I DO NOT own any of the terms, characters, locations, etc. specific to Harry Potter. How many times do I have to say this?
Penny and I often discuss the nature of reality. She is a proponent of the view that nothing, nothing at all, is knowable. Cogito ergo sum, I respond, but she claims that even Descartes' supposedly flawless argument leaves room for doubt. She says it ignores the possibility that logic may be inherently flawed, that seemingly foolproof arguments can be rendered invalid due to levels of reason beyond our comprehension.
We have a most wonderful relationship.
On occasion my childish siblings will mock me for walking out with a Ravenclaw. They believe that those students belonging to Rowena's house are stuffy and dull, far less interesting to spend time with than members of our own house or even Hufflepuff. They claim that I only go out with dear Penny because only a Ravenclaw (and a Ravenclaw Head Girl, at that) could possibly find me interesting.
They are, of course, mistaken. If they were only mature enough to realize that pranks and jokes are the pursuits of the unenlightened... I am positive they would come around to my point of view. If they would consent to try reading about the importance of proper cauldron construction to modern society, they would surely find it as intriguing as I do. Sadly, the influence of their many friends has prejudiced their judgment to the point that I doubt they will ever so much as glance at a pamphlet mentioning some of the less well-known dilemmas faced by our government today. In my modest opinion, they would be wiser to distance themselves from their peers – too many 'friends' must certainly sway the mind away from truly important pursuits, although I cannot confirm this, having never made the mistake of associating too closely with people of my own age.
Anyway, I was discussing my brilliant girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. Not only is she highly intelligent, as indicated by the Sorting Hat's choice of Ravenclaw as the most suitable house for her, but she is also level-headed, unbiased, beautiful, insightful, and dignified. She can argue about existentialism as well as anyone I've ever met, too. I truly cannot understand why I was the first person to ask her out.
On one particular autumn evening, whilst my fun-loving brothers and sister were visiting Zonko's, Honeyduke's, and other frivolous locations in Hogsmeade, Penny and I were strolling through the corridors talking about the inaccuracy of the sentiments expressed by many popular characters in famous novels and other media.
"It particularly irks me when someone says, 'I will fulfill this vow, no matter what happens', or makes some other similarly unconditional promise," Penny stated, her lovely brown eyes serious. "After all, no one can predict exactly what will occur in the future; even seers are limited to visions of specific times and places, and prophecies are not always proven true. Even when they are, they often come about in a manner different from the one anticipated. It is not reasonable to make an unconditional promise when you know very well that there is every possibility – or rather, an infinite number of possibilities – that you will be either unable or unwilling to fulfill it."
"True," I replied, "but we must keep in mind the fact that those who make such promises are likely less than entirely aware of the theories stating that even the seemingly impossible may, indeed, be possible. Even in the rare cases that they are aware of these theories, they may make an unconditional promise in order to strengthen their resolve."
"Good point," she conceded, "but only when the promise is an important one which might prove difficult to keep. When someone vows to remain eternally faithful to their 'true love' (another turn of phrase I find infuriating), for example, it is both unnecessary and entirely unreliable."
I nodded, gazing at my remarkable girlfriend with sincere appreciation of her mental faculties. It was ridiculous, how my brothers placed attributes like beauty and popularity before intelligence – not that Penny was not beautiful, and of course neither of us gave a thought to such a petty concern as popularity. Even Ginny, who had at first seemed so quiet and responsible, was clearly besotted with Ron's friend Harry Potter. Not that there was anything wrong with Potter, of course; he was nice, seemingly, he had a lot of friends and admirers (which of course was irrelevant), and he didn't cause too much trouble, although he'd gotten a detention in his first year and several of them in his second, never a good thing. It was just that Ginny barely knew him, and was most likely attracted by his fame and supposed good looks.
Penny and I walked and debated together for a while longer, our path eventually taking us up the stairs to the Astronomy tower. On the way, I reprimanded a group of first years for tracking in dirt from the greenhouses. They ran away, giggling. I frowned at this blatant disregard for the rules – those young troublemakers were already set to follow in Fred and George's footsteps. It is a sad thing when even the authority of the Gryffindor Head Boy has no influence over the senseless crimes of impulsive youngsters.
We reached the top of the tower and observed the distant shapes of Dementors drifting over the grounds. Although our conversation had wandered through many different, winding paths of philosophy and politics, we had eventually returned to the subject of ridiculous, unconditional statements.
"I mean, I would never say 'Percy Weasley, I will love you forever'," Penny stated. "Oh yes, I love you, and shall probably do so for a long time in the future, but it would be foolish and illogical to make such a declaration as the one I just mentioned without first placing careful limits upon it."
"Indeed – so, for example, you could say 'Percy Weasley, I currently perceive the nature of reality as including the fact that I love you, and I cannot at present foresee a likely event which would cause me to cease doing so, but of course my perception of reality, if such a thing exists, could be entirely mistaken, and so I won't promise anything'," I replied, smiling at her.
She laughed. "That's it exactly, Perce. Nice job." We turned and leaned on the railing, watching the sunset sink behind the hills. Penny held my hand, and we stood there until the last rays of light vanished below the western horizon.
"We should return to the dormitories," Penny sighed regretfully, turning away from the railing and slipping her hand from mine. "We don't want to be out after hours."
"No, of course not. I'll see you tomorrow, Penny."
"Goodnight, Perce." I watched her as she turned and descended the stairs, her gleaming, chocolate-colored hair cascading down her back.
"Goodnight, Penny," I whispered, as my perfect girlfriend disappeared around the curve of the spiral staircase. "I'll love you forever."
So admittedly, there was a little sap, but only a little. I realize the writing style was somewhat pedantic, overly intellectual, and obnoxiously superior. It's first person to Percy, so this was intentional. I'm slightly disturbed by how easy it was, though... Anyway, thanks very much for reading. Reviews would make my day.
Note: Yes, I know he doesn't end up marrying her. That doesn't necessarily mean he broke up with her; she could have broken up with him, or she could have been killed during Voldemort's ministry takeover - she was a muggle-born after all.