Mockingbird
By Author Gal.
Summery: A Mockingbird does not have an individual voice, instead it copies the songs of those around it. Penelope can only imitate life, because to forgive Percy would mean she would have to sing a song of her own.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Mockingbird:
She was sitting at her dinning room table in her dressing gown, her head in her hands, her thoughts as far away as the moon is from the stars. Beside her was a full cup of once-warm coffee, which had now turned cold and begun to curdle. The sun was just beginning to stream in through her kitchen window, it's warm rays resting on the woman's back. Before her on the table, lay a large pile of letters and opened envelopes, all written by the same hand and all addressed to her.
A rap at the window broke the woman out of her reverie, and she lifted her weary head and gazed at the owl, revealing dark rings under her eyes that were caused by a lack of sleep and mascara. Her eyes were half closed, and her hair lay about her shoulders in a mess, straggled and tangled. Slowly she stood up and shuffled towards the window, pulling it up and allowing the owl to drop the letter on the table. Sitting down once more, she painfully opened the letter and read.
Penelope,Please stop ignoring my letters, I need to talk to you. I want to apologise, I'm sorry. I was wrong, I know I was. But please, please Penelope, please see me. Just once, I swear that is all. I didn't know, I swear I didn't. And I love you.
Please send a reply back, I need to see you.
Love,
Percy.
Penelope's shoulders sagged, and she put the letter on top of all the others. Hermes nipped at her fingers, but she shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Hermes. There's no reply." She said quietly, and the owl hooted and flew off. She stared after the owl, a tinge of regret, before sweeping all of the letters into a bin and leaving to get ready for work.
She could hear the whispers follow her all day; "Look at Penelope, doesn't she look awful?" "Does she take no pride in how she looks?" "I hear she has a lover." "I've heard it's the Weasley bloke."
She didn't care. She knew she looked a mess, she knew her work was terrible. As she walked down the corridors, she could feel the curious and sympathetic glances stare after her like she was a freak show. No one came to talk to her, she didn't expect it. She had driven them all away, she never wanted to have someone close to her again. Not yet.
And so her day dragged on, owls arriving every half an hour, all written in the same hand, all with the same message: "I need to talk to you… I need to see you… forgive me… Percy."
And as they arrived she read them quietly, told the owl there was no reply, and threw them neatly into the bin.
By the end of the day the bin was full.
And so the months passed, and the letters grew less and less frequent, and more and more desperate.
Penelope,
Why won't you reply?Percy.
Or;
Penelope,
Don't ignore me, I can't take this anymore! Please, don't cut me off like this!
Love,
Percy
Then;
Penelope,
Please, a word, a token, anything! Send me a paperclip and I'll die a happy man, knowing that somehow, through all of my mistakes and foolishness, you've found it in your heart to give me such a small token!
Love,
Percy
Finally;
Penelope,
I love you. I'm sorry.
Percy.
The letters stopped coming after that. A Death Eater killed Percy a few weeks later.
Life went on for Penelope, because Mockingbirds only imitate.
A/N: The first in my fanfic100 challenge at Livejournal. Links are in my biography.