CHAPTER TWO: APOLOGY

Percy woke with a dull ache at the base of his skull and an acrid taste in his mouth. Groaning, he hoisted himself upright and ran a hand through his tousled hair. The state of his bedroom made him grimace with disgust, and he emptied the waste bin and straightened the contents of his desk with a few waves of his wand. Clearing away the clutter somehow made him feel better, and he glanced down at his rumpled dress robes. It was time to put himself back in order, as well.

A scalding shower and a clean suit made all the difference. Percy sighed and stared at his reflection—not a hair or hem out of place—before sliding his wand into his pocket and making his way down the stairs.

His father was already in the kitchen, enjoying the enormous breakfast his mother had cooked as a continued celebration of the holidays. At the sound of Percy's footsteps, he looked up from his plate, and the jovial smile on his face minutely slipped.

"You're not going in today, are you?" he asked, referring to his son's smart attire and styled hair. "Not on the day after Christmas! You'll be the only one there." Percy noted the hint of disapproval lacing his father's playful tone.

"Exactly," he replied, eyeing the spread of food. "Perfect opportunity to get some work done." He picked up a piece of buttered toast and took a cautious bite, hoping it would help settle his stomach. He still felt a bit queasy. . . .

His mother turned to the pair of them, a frying pan in her hands and a pleading expression in her eyes. "Your father's right, dear," she said in a voice that sent a pang of guilt through him, even though he'd done nothing wrong. "Surely, whatever you have to do could wait just one more day?"

Percy pursed his lips into a tight line, the longing on her face tugging at his heart. He strolled up to his mother and pecked her on the cheek.

"I won't be gone long," he promised. "I just . . . need an hour or so, at the most. There are a few things that I have to do." He smiled apologetically. "One hour, Mother. I promise."

His mother smiled, albeit a bit sadly. She placed a hand on the side of his face. "Alright then, love. I know how busy you are. Hurry back!" She hugged her son tightly before he turned on his heel, and Disapparated.

His father had been right: there wasn't a single soul to be found in the expansive Atrium. He nibbled the rest of his toast as he made his way to the office, relishing the absolute stillness and quiet. He hadn't lied to his mother. Not completely. He had work to do. But the instant he sat down at his desk, he couldn't make himself begin any of it. All he could think about was Audrey. Her laugh, her smile, the devastation in her eyes . . .

Percy groaned and buried his face in his hands. He'd behaved abhorrently. Why, he kept asking himself. Why had he treated her like that, said those horrible things to her? But deep down, he knew it was pure selfishness that had urged him to lash out. He'd been told time and again that his intense personality was off-putting to most, but this had never bothered him. Relationships, of any variety, were not a priority—in fact, solitude was much more efficient. For years, he'd made due with mere acquaintances—a few of them quite amiable—and felt perfectly fulfilled.

Penny had been the first exception.

Audrey—he had thought—was meant to be another. He'd taken a chance, lowered his every defense . . .

But her age barred her from him, and the disappointment had been overwhelming.

"So you yell at her and break her heart," he grumbled. "Brilliant, Percy. Bloody brilliant."

He heaved a sigh, consumed by his thoughts. His nausea returned with a vengeance (as it always did in times of extreme stress), and only then did he realize that feeling sorry for himself would do nothing to repair the damage he had caused.

With a quivering hand, Percy took up a quill and set to work writing a letter to Audrey. The last thing she wanted, he was sure, was to hear from him. But he had to apologize for the way he'd acted. He had to fix this. Or, at least try. She deserved so much better than this. Much better than him.

He reread the letter countless times, rewording and editing, scratching out whole paragraphs at a time. When he finally had an acceptable draft, he tucked it into an envelope and sealed it shut. Fearfully, he stared down at the parchment between his hands, as if waiting for it to explode. When it did not, and he had plucked up enough courage to send it on its way, he awoke the screech owl perched on his desk, stroking its feathered head.

"Hermes," he cooed, clicking his tongue. The owl lazily opened one eye. Percy smiled and continued to stroke the soft down between the tufts on Hermes's head. He ruffled his feathers and turned to Percy with a look that was far from enthusiastic.

"I'm sorry, boy," Percy muttered, holding out the letter. "But this has to be sent to Hogwarts, straight away."

Hermes gave a disgruntled hoot and gently nipped Percy's finger.

"I said I was sorry."

After fixing his master with a long stare, Hermes gingerly took the letter in his beak. He beat his wings and soared into the air, sweeping once around the office before diving through the chute in the floor, designed specifically for owl traffic between levels.

The small clock on his desk chimed the hour. With a sigh, Percy gathered his things and prepared to leave.

He had a promise to keep.

Audrey listened to the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors on both sides of the table, joking and laughing as they tucked into yet another delicious holiday feast. She had no desire to join in. What she really wanted was to escape back to the Common Room, but there was obviously no chance of that. Her stomach turned as she stared moodily down at the vast assortment of food. She sighed. Even her appetite was gone.

The weight of Rhose's stare was enough to stir her from her despondent musing. She turned to her best friend, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

"You sure you don't want some of this?" Rhose coaxed, gesturing to the nearly overflowing platters before them.

Audrey shook her head. "Thanks, but . . . I'm not hungry."

"Ah, but you will be!" George teased, nudging her with his elbow. "Come midnight, you'll be lying in your four-poster, starving! Wasting away to nothing! And you'll think to yourself, 'Why, why didn't I listen to George and Rhose?'"

A smile crept slowly onto Audrey's face. She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to deliver a snarky retort, but she was distracted by the sound of flapping wings. A few more students raised their heads with mild interest. Owls swooping into the Great Hall with a parcel or letter were a regular occurrence, but it was odd that one should appear so late in the evening.

The screech owl soared just above the students with an elegant precision, its yellow eyes glinting in the candlelight. As it neared Audrey and her friends, the owl dropped a letter onto her empty plate. That was strange. . . . Who would be writing to her, that the owl would deliver the message halfway through supper?

George sighed. "Hermes," he grumbled, watching the owl circle above their heads.

Audrey glanced at him, confused, and studied the envelope. Her heart leapt. She recognized the handwriting. So did George.

"Don't open it, Audrey," he advised with a shake of his head. "He was a proper git towards you at the Ball, and he doesn't deserve the time of day from you."

"George . . . he's . . . he's your brother," Audrey admonished, despite herself.

"And you're my friend," George replied, leaning closer. "Besides, I like you better." Audrey tried to smile at his attempt to cheer her up. "Honestly, Audrey," he gently added. "Don't open it. He's the one who should be punished. Not you."

Audrey wanted to ask him what he meant, but decided against it. She gripped the letter tightly, her hands trembling beneath the table.

Later, after dinner and the evening ritual of socializing in the Common Room, Audrey drew back the curtains of her four-poster and slipped out of bed. The floor was frigid under her bare feet as she put on her bathrobe and pulled the letter from beneath her pillow. Treading softly and slowly, so as not to wake her sleeping Housemates, Audrey crawled through the round hole in the wall and climbed back into the Common Room.

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow about the circular room. The portrait of Helga Hufflepuff snored daintily from her frame above the mantle, and even a few of the hanging plants brought in by Professor Sprout seemed to sigh as they swayed their leafy tendrils. Audrey plopped down into one of the squishy, overstuffed armchairs and studied Percy's letter by the light of the flames.

For one horrible second, she felt compelled to throw it into the fireplace. She was, after all, still upset by his anger and abandonment at the end of the Yule Ball. Everything had been going so perfectly (like something out of one of her daydreams) before Percy had transformed into a condescending stranger.

Maybe George was right. Why should she read whatever he had to say? She didn't want to hear from him! She wanted her stupid heart to stop telling her how much it longed for him. Her life would have been so much simpler and so much better if he had never entered it. . . .

She resisted the destructive urge, clutching the parchment to her chest. Try as she might to convince herself that her hateful thoughts were true, she knew—without a hint of doubt—that every one of them was a lie—a defense mechanism to prevent herself from getting hurt again.

Audrey sighed. She'd been hopelessly taken with Percy the moment she'd glimpsed him at her first Hogwarts Quidditch match, redirecting some students who were too busy socializing to move forward so those around them could be seated. Even though he'd hardly noticed her existence until the Ball, she had always sensed that behind the stern expressions and the bossy attitude was a sweet person. He'd proven that the minute he'd asked her to dance. It was all an elaborate mask . . . a defense mechanism to prevent himself from getting hurt. . . .

With trembling fingers and a racing heart, Audrey broke the seal and drew the letter from the envelope. Percy's neat handwriting covered the page of parchment.

Dear Audrey,

I hope this letter finds you well. As you know, I have quite the proclivity for long, rambling monologues, so I'll attempt to make this message brief:

I wanted to sincerely apologize for my behavior last night at the Yule Ball. What I said and did was rude and inexcusable, but if you can find it in yourself to do so, I humbly ask you to forgive me. While your age means nothing to me, as an employee of the Ministry, my actions would be considered . . . questionable, at best, if our interactions were to be made known. Nevertheless, this does not justify my behavior, and again, I wish only to tell you that I am sorry. I cannot stress this enough. I am, truly, sorry.

I wish you all the best in the New Year, and Happy Holidays.

Sincerely,

Percy

Percy Weasley

International Magical Cooperation

Ministry of Magic

P.S. I understand why you gave this back to me. But if you should desire my professional assistance, my offer still stands.

At the very bottom of the letter was the address he'd conjured on the back of his business card.

Audrey lowered the parchment onto her lap and stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace. She sighed again, feeling completely lost. On the one hand, she was so relieved to have heard from him, and he had apologized, no less! And on the other . . .

He doesn't deserve the time of day from you.

Audrey curled into a tiny ball, the letter still in her hand. She lifted it to her eyes and read it again, and once more after that. It was impossible to say how long she sat in the Common Room, figuring out what to do. At long last, she bolted upright and sneaked back to the dormitory. Without making a sound, she retrieved her schoolbag and sat at one of the honey-colored tables in the Common Room, leaves of parchment before her and a bottle of ink and quill at hand.

Having given her words a great deal of thought, Audrey touched the nib of her quill to the page and, against her better judgment (and George's, and perhaps Rhose's as well), composed a concise reply to Percy's letter.

The next morning, she rose startlingly early and, with Lyra perched on her arm, arrived at the Great Hall before most of her friends and classmates. As a thank you, Audrey offered Lyra a few pieces of bacon, which she greedily gobbled down, nearly nipping the tips of Audrey's fingers in the process. Having eaten her fill, she hooted contentedly, and let Audrey fasten the roll of parchment to her leg.

"Take this to Percy Weasley at the Ministry of Magic," Audrey whispered, stroking Lyra's silky head. "International Magical Cooperation Office."

Lyra tilted her head so Audrey could tickle her chin. She opened her eyes and let out her characteristic screech. Audrey smiled.

"Thank you, Lyra. Be safe."

The barn owl spread her wings and flew off toward the ceiling—a flash of white against the enchanted sky above—before disappearing from sight.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" Percy asked, pen poised above the notebook he carried at all times. As this was the first he'd seen of his employer in several weeks, the last thing he wanted was to appear anything short of efficient.

"What?" Mr. Crouch mumbled absentmindedly. "Oh . . . no, no, that will be all, Weatherby."

"Yes, sir." Percy snapped the notebook closed and worriedly studied Mr. Crouch's ashen face. "Forgive me, sir, perhaps it's none of my business, but are you feeling alright? Would you like some tea?"

Mr. Crouch muttered something indiscernible, which Percy interpreted as an affirmation.

"Absolutely, sir. Right away." He walked briskly across the office and busied himself with the kettle.

As the water came to a boil, he opened the ornate box he kept stocked with a vast selection of Mr. Crouch's favorite herbal teas. To his dismay, it was empty. How could he have neglected to notice that the box needed refilling? Luckily, he kept a few extra packets of tea at his desk.

He excused himself with the promise of a prompt return (Mr. Crouch didn't move or acknowledge him), and as he rummaged through the proper drawer, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Percy looked up.

A silvery owl was sitting on his desk. His eyes widened. She was a beautiful creature, and he had the inexplicable urge to stroke her feathers. He reached out a tentative hand towards her, but she opened her beak and emitted a loud, grating screech that startled him out of his wits. He jumped and looked fretfully around, worried that he had disturbed his colleagues. No one was paying him any attention.

Percy turned back to the demonic-sounding bird on his desk and was surprised to see her holding out her foot so he could easily remove the letter tied to her leg. He pried the parchment free, the owl pleasantly watching him. Eying her warily, he unrolled the letter and scanned its contents.

Dear Percy,

Thank you for your letter, and your apology, but I'm still hurt by what happened at the end of that night. I hope you can understand why I might need some time.

I do appreciate your offer to serve as a professional contact, and I may take advantage of your expertise in the future. But for now, I have to ask that you not write to me again, at least for a while. I think it would be in both our best interests, and as I said before, I just need a little time.

Wishing you happiness and success,

Audrey

Audrey. It was from Audrey.

She'd actually read his letter and taken the time to reply! It was more than he'd expected or, quite frankly, deserved. And he would do what she'd asked. If she didn't want him to write, he wouldn't pen a word. Well, except there was still one last message to write.

Percy cleared aside what little clutter had accumulated on his desk and snatched up a quill and leaf of parchment. In seconds, he had a letter ready to send back to her.

Audrey,

I do understand. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

I fully intend to honor your request concerning our correspondence (or lack thereof). I'm writing you now only to confirm that I received your previous letter, and that I respect your wishes entirely.

Warmest regards,

Percy

Very cautiously, he tied the letter to the barn owl's leg, and she didn't object.

"Thank you," Percy told her, smiling. "I very much appreciate this."

The owl replied with another deafening shriek that sent a shiver down Percy's spine. Scattering documents across the desk and onto the floor, she flapped her wings and lifted clumsily into the air. Once she had her bearings, she soared above his head, toward the closest chute, effortlessly dodging other people in the office and stacks of parchment piled nearly to the ceiling. Percy watched her go, his thoughts only of Audrey.

"WEATHERBY!"

Percy started and closed the desk drawer with a bang. "Mr. Crouch!" he stammered. "I'm so sorry, sir. The tea hasn't even been steeped. I was retrieving some more for your private stores, but something . . . urgent caught my attention and I got a bit distracted. I was on my way back, though, I assure you. I apologize, sir, it won't happen again . . ."

"Never mind that," Mr. Crouch barked, looking ill and frail, but somehow more foreboding than ever. "I have a job for you, Weatherby."