Penelope Merryweather was sitting quietly in her living room on a Sunday afternoon when she received the news.
It was sunny, and her muggle husband, Eric, had gone out to pick up cat food for Snickers. Penelope was seated on their couch, flipping absent-mindedly through a magazine and enjoying the sun dancing across her feet as it spilled into the room. Her cat foolishly tried to catch a few dust mites but gave up after only two tries and lay down at her feet. She scratched at her cat's ears absent-mindedly.
"You're getting old, buddy," she whispered.
Her gaze drifted to the photo over the mantle. She smiled fondly, wrapping her arms around herself. In it, a beaming Penelope was all in white, staring adoringly up into Eric's face. Her porcelain skin and white blonde hair were juxtaposed magnificently against his chocolate brown skin and dark hair.
And tonight it would be six months since they had become the couple in that picture.
She twisted the white gold wedding band on her finger absent-mindedly and settled back into the pillows on her couch, not before grabbing the cool glass of iced tea dripping beads of condensation onto the oak coffee table in front of her.
The doorbell rang just as she took a sip and she set the glass down on a coaster, and then stood up. Snickers let out a small mewl but didn't move and she resisted the urge to pick the feline up and bring it with her. Brushing her hair out of her face, she walked over to her front door and opened it. A muggle policeman stood in front of her.
From afar, the neighbours in this small, suburban neighbourhood just outside of London watched as the new Mrs. Merryweather clapped her hands over her mouth and then seemed to crumple to the ground before the policeman could catch her.
A few miles away, a coroner zipped up a body bag and nodded to the paramedics to take it away.
"Did you hear about what happened to poor Penny?" Mrs. Weasley asked her son.
Fred Weasley looked up from the pile of work in front of him and raised an eyebrow at his mother. The fact that she was even attempting to make conversation with him right now was a little irksome, and though he loved her dearly, sometimes he wished she'd go bother George.
"I'm sorry, who?" he asked, shuffling a few papers to the side. His mother frowned.
"Penelope! Fred, pay attention!" she snapped. Mrs. Weasley may have been nearing eighty, but she was still as sharp and feisty as ever. Fred's eyes widened as comprehension dawned on him.
"Oh! Penny..." he trailed off and absent-mindedly reached around to touch a patch of skin at the base of his neck.
"Yes! Penny, you blithering fool," she said. "Remember how she married some months ago?"
Fred nodded, vaguely remembering checking 'no' to an RSVP on a cream-coloured invitation.
"I'm sorry, mum, how do you know anything about her, still?" he asked. His chair creaked as he leaned back into it and he thought better of swinging his feet up on his desk in front of his mother.
"Oh, I owl her occasionally. Don't look at me like that! I loved that girl with all of my poor old heart and it's unhealthy to simply break connections like that. Anyway, do you want to know, or not?"
Fred responded with a tiny nod.
"Well, poor little Penelope's husband, Eric, was killed last week. He was in one of those muggle cars and he got hit."
Fred's face registered shock, and his hand instinctively went to the back of his neck again. He let out a low whistle.
"Merlin... is she alright?"
Mrs. Weasley shrugged. "She told me she was selling her home and moving back in with her folks for a little while until she could find a decent flat in London. But... no, I wouldn't imagine she's alright, would you?" she asked sadly, her face drawn.
Fred looked over at the door behind him and let out a heavy sigh. He couldn't imagine losing his partner- it was unthinkable. The fact that Penelope- someone he'd once called his best friend and lover- had lost hers made his heart ache more than he cared to mention.
A woman poked her head in Fred's office.
"Mr. Weasley?"
"Yes, Veronica?" he looked over at her, sitting up straight in his chair.
"Kim is here to see you."
Fred smiled and nodded. "Send her in."
Mrs. Weasley stood up almost straight away. "I should leave."
"Mum! Stay! You barely ever talk to Kim- you can come for supper with us!" Fred implored, but his mother was already grabbing floo powder from the pot by his fireplace.
"No, no. It's fine. I have to visit George, anyway. I'll see you soon, I imagine? And do try to write Penelope a quick note- she's so broken up about this and I imagine she'd love to hear from you," and with that, she was gone.
A knock was heard on the door and a tall, slim, brunette woman entered. Her full lips curved into a smile and Fred mirrored it. He walked over to her and kissed her lightly, wrapping his arms around her.
"I thought we might go for a late supper," he suggested.
Kim smiled apologetically. "Freddie, love, nothing would make me happier, it's only that I can't stay. I'm being whisked away tonight by my boss on another business trip," she said, biting her lip.
Fred frowned and pulled away from her.
"Kim, I haven't seen you properly in weeks! When is this boss of yours going to find someone else to lean on?" he whinged.
She sighed, and stroked some of his deep red hair softly. "I know, darling. I'm sorry, honestly. I've been a terrible wife. I promise I'll make it up to you when I'm back."
"And when will that be, exactly?" he asked.
Kim looked down, closing her eyes. "In... two weeks," she said quietly.
"What!" Fred exploded. "Kim! Christmas is in two weeks! You can't bloody well miss that! No! No, tell your boss you're not going," he said firmly.
"Fred! I'll be back just in time for Christmas! I can't just go back on a promise like this! My boss is trusting me with this responsibility."
"I don't care!" Fred began to pace angrily in front of his desk and Kim leaned against his fireplace, her face in a mask of distress. "This marriage is supposed to be a partnership, and I should get a say in this! You're not allowed to go! I can't believe you would make a decision like that without asking me, first!" he yelled.
"You are being ridiculous! This is a fantastic opportunity for me and all you can think about is yourself- as usual! Go fuck yourself, Fred Weasley! I'll see you in two weeks!" she screamed, storming out of his office right afterwards.
Fred stared at his door for a few moments before collapsing against his desk. His temper was always short- quick to ignite but quicker to burn out, as well; Kim's was different- she held grudges.
They'd been married for two years now and they still fought like that almost every day. Usually they'd give each other an hour or so to cool down and then they'd come back and apologize and make love but today... she would be gone for two weeks.
And yet he couldn't bring himself to run after her. A part of him got a sick pleasure out of the idea that she might torment herself over the things she'd said to him before leaving. He imagined her in Penelope's position- him dying, leaving her to deal with the guilt.
Except Penelope probably never fought with her husband. She'd never been like that; she was too much of a pacifist. She would sit down and reason everything out and it would be solved in no time at all. He shook his head, angry at himself for even thinking like that. His mother had reminded him of her and now he was thinking of her again, and that was all.
'Maybe this is what we need,' Fred mused to himself. 'Some time away from each other.'
He walked over to the door behind his desk that he'd glanced at earlier.
"Veronica?" he called back over his shoulder. "Would you mind locking up shop today? I need to be elsewhere."
A shout of assent came from the other side of the room. He smiled and then opened the door to the flat above his shop and began to climb the stairs. Once he reached the top, he opened the door and stepped into the old flat, the smell of it flooding his lungs and making him ache for something- what, he wasn't sure.
Kim had pushed him to rent it out months ago, but he couldn't bear to part with the flat he had spent just under seven years of his life in. This was the first place he'd lived in alone, the first place he'd felt something, the first place he'd made love to someone...
He looked over at his old writing desk and in two strides was sitting down in the comfortable old chair. His hand found the handle on one of the desk drawers and it slid open with resistance due to almost four years of no use. He extracted an inkwell and a quill, and then flattened a piece of parchment in front of him.
Dear Penelope-
He stopped there, staring at the words on the paper. A large drop of ink fell off the tip of his quill as his hand hovered over the letter, unsure of what to say next. What could he say? He couldn't begin to imagine her position- especially right in the beginning of a marriage, nonetheless.
I am deeply sorry for your loss. If you ever need a shoulder, I am always here for you in the same place. I heard you might be coming back to London? Why don't we have tea sometime?
Warmest regards,
Fred Weasley
He sealed the letter and stood up, calling to his owl as he did so. The small, grey elf owl immediately appeared at his window and he undid the latch, grinning as it stepped in. He tied the letter to the patient owl's leg and then stroked his beak lightly.
"I know you remember her, mate. You can find her," he whispered. The owl nipped his fingertip lightly and then took flight into the cold night air. He closed the window and did the latch, watching momentarily until he could no longer see his small owl. Then, suddenly feeling exhausted, he found his way over to his old bed and fell into it, nodding off into a deep sleep.
Penelope took the cup of tea from her mother gratefully, setting it on a coaster in front of her. She was sitting on a bean bag chair in the middle of her parent's living room, staring into space. Opposite her on a very worn-in couch was her father, staring at her concernedly.
Penelope's mother, a short, brunette woman with a decidedly dotty air about her was bustling around her daughter, fussing about her appearance and her weight. Finally Penelope's father, a small, kind-looking man with grey eyes, touched his wife on the arm as she passed by him.
"Alice, sit down," he said calmly. Penelope looked over at her father as her mother sat down and thanked him silently.
The sale of her and Eric's newlywed home had been finalized the day before and she'd packed up everything she deemed worth keeping and hastily moved it into a storage space. At the moment, she was living out of a trunk her mother had quickly packed for her after her distraught daughter had called her and begged her to come save her.
Penelope's dad opened his mouth to say something but then stopped, looking around at the descending darkness.
"Maybe it's best if we all get some sleep, tonight," he said carefully. Alice nodded.
"Poppy, darling, we'll be in our room if you..." she swallowed and looked over at her husband, David, imploringly.
"If you need anything," he finished for his wife.
The two got up and so did Penelope, but she turned in a different direction to her old room, walking down a hallway and pulling down some attic stairs. She climbed up them slowly, barely even having enough strength to make it, and then stood in the middle of her adolescent room.
She was nearly blinded by the colour, and had to blink quickly to get everything into focus at first. She took out her wand and lit a few candles, casting a softer light around the room.
Fabric was draped across the ceiling in different, sparkling colours, and the walls were lined with countless photographs- most of them moving- giving the room an eerie feeling. On the left wall, however, there was a giant mural Penelope herself had painted, and she smiled fondly at it.
She turned to her bed in the corner of the attic by the window. For a moment she felt thirteen again, learning new magic and trying desperately to understand why the neighbourhood children didn't want to play with her. She almost cried aloud at the memory that she was now married, and widowed, and only twenty-five.
She stumbled to her bed as tears stung at her eyes, but they never spilled over; she was too exhausted to cry. She had practically thrown the responsibility of funeral preparations at Eric's family and ran home to her mother.
She sank into the soft bedspread and leaned against the wall behind her, curling her knees into her chest, lost in her own grief.
A sudden loud, rapping noise at the window made her jump. Looking over, she saw an impossibly tiny owl hovering outside the window, tapping impatiently on the glass. She leaned over and opened the window, letting it fly in. It landed gracefully on her arm as if it had been there a thousand times before. Penelope frowned.
"Strange, owls never do that unless..." she stared at the owl closely, scrutinizing it. The owl held out its leg.
"Oh! Thank you!" she exclaimed. She undid the letter from its leg. "Er... I only have my old owl cage with some old treats..." she offered meekly, pointing at the cage in the corner of her room. The owl flew over to it, grateful for a place to rest in.
Penelope sat down, turning the piece of parchment over in her hands and then seeing the familiar wax seal; she started, almost dropping the letter.
"That's why you looks so familiar!" she whispered, looking over at the owl that had fallen asleep. Carefully, she broke the wax and opened the letter, her eyes scanning the page. When she was finished, her put it down on the table next to her bed and placed her head in her hands, overwhelmed with a emotion.
"Why now?" she breathed out, barely audible to anyone else.
The next morning she still wasn't sure what to reply. It was early- maybe six o'clock in the morning and she had barely slept. She had a quill, some parchment and ink in front of her but she couldn't bring herself to go further.
Fred-
She scratched that out.
Dear Fred,-
That, too, was given a neat quill stroke.
Fred,
Thank you for your letter, it meant a lot that you even thought to send me one.-
She paused. Was that too mean?
Not that you wouldn't have, but just the same, thank you.
I'm still getting settled in here- I haven't even begun to flat-shop down in London. My parents told me I could take as much time as I wanted but I honestly just feel as if it's trying on all of us for me to be living with them again. Hopefully I'll be moved by Christmas.
Please give my warmest hello to-
She paused here, again, not able to remember his wife's name.
-your wife. I hope to see you soon.
Penelope-
She stopped here for the last time. For years she'd hated her last name and had been overjoyed at the prospect of changing it. Now, it was just an echo of a life she no longer belonged to.
-Penelope Pompadour
Fred's owl was awake and fluttering about excitedly in the attic and it took her a few minutes to calm it down long enough for her to get the letter attached to its leg. Finally it was out the window and she collapsed backwards onto her bed. Her eyes fluttered close and she soon fell asleep.