Four years, two months, seventeen days, and four hours.
Penelope glanced into the mirror in front of her. She smiled softly at the countenance in front of her: dark curly hair that contrasts with her pale skin, thin red lips, and large green eyes.
Ten men had wanted to enter her secluded world, to take her for their own. One after another she had rejected, she had no strength to deal with a trivial thing like love. She did not care if they were muggle or wizard. When they made the attempt to become more than just intimate with her, she pushed them out the door.
Then she would sit down, against the door, and ponder.
Another minute has passed, another minute without him. Another minute past the moment in time when he stole one last kiss on her lips, the moment he left her naked on the bed, clutching the pillow, knowing he wasn't going to come back.
Why, she wonders wryly, did she still hope he would?
Was it because they were so similar?
The endless nights they spent together at the library, finishing all their homework together in a timely fashion.
How foolish, we were no better than a pair of nerds. She laughs dryly to herself.
Was it dependency?
He bent her over the desk, which creaked under their combined weight, and kissed her furiously. His inexperienced hands traveled the wild forest that was her hair. She let out a small gasp as she saw a pair of bright brown eyes staring at them in shock.
Was it love?
The night he left school was the last time she saw him. He proposed marriage. He actually wanted to marry her.
She refused.
He nodded.
She took her clothes off.
She shook her head. What had she been thinking? Not agreeing was the right choice. He was so ambitious; she took her head into her hands. He wouldn't love her if she conflicted with his career.
Perhaps she wanted to give him something to remember her by. She was wearing her muggle clothes at the time. He looked so shocked when she removed the blouse without a moment of hesitation.
"I…" She stiffened, waiting to see what he was about to say. Was 'I love you' really that much to ask for?
"…think…" She felt slightly disappointed, but he could still say those words, couldn't he?
"…you're a great girl." She felt disillusionment flooding through her body. In one fluid motion, she pushed him off of her and sat on the edge of her bed.
"You should go." She said.
He seemed to take the hint.
"I'll be back." He whispered into her ear. "I love you."
Even as those words fell from his lips, she knew they were both false statements.
Was it love that made her brew a potion to remove the child growing in her just two months after that?
It was faithfulness.
It was the silent promise she made to him as a fifteen year old.
Penelope would always be faithful.
Four years, two months, seventeen days, four hours, and six minutes.