Chapter Ten: A Merry Little Christmas

Percy awoke on Christmas morning feeling very fine indeed.

The biting-doorknobs charges against Willy Widdershins had stuck -- the trial had been held just two days before, and Percy ranked it as one of the most delightful experiences of his life -- so Willy wasn't going to be doing much Muggle-baiting from the third floor of Azkaban. The regular letter from Charlie indicated that their father would be out of St. Mungo's within the week. The day before, the annual "P" sweater had arrived from his mother ... he'd politely declined, of course, but it was cheering to know that he was still being thought of at home.

Percy strode down the stairs. Mother Swainbrooke stood in the kitchen, packing an enormous basket with fruits, sweets and pastries. He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek before settling down to enjoy the impressive Christmas breakfast that she had laid out on the table.

Mother Swainbrooke nestled a final jar of toasted nuts into the basket and heaved it onto her shoulder. "Good mornin', Mr. Weasley," she said fondly. "Sure you won't be coming to see Mr. Peasegood with me?"

"I'm sorry, no, but wish him well for me." There was no way he could risk running into the Muggle he'd brought in, or for that matter, his family.

Mother Swainbrooke sighed. "Tisn't for me to judge," she said, in a laissez-faire way that indicated she was going to judge anyway, "but it seems you could do with a bit more compassion, Mr. Weasley."

Percy's mouth hung open.

"Happy Christmas," she said, and swept out the door.

He finished breakfast a little bit offended.

"More compassion," he huffed, plopping onto the couch in front of the fire. "Risking my bloody neck every other night for people I don't know --" He picked up an old Witch Weekly, flipped through it, and tossed it back down in disgust. "Spent half my life running after Fred and George, trying to keep them from killing anyone ..." He spotted his owl on a perch by the front door. "Hermes! Am I compassionate?"

Hermes hooted irritably and hid his head.

"Well, you're no Saint Mungo yourself," Percy snapped, and buried himself in yesterday's Daily Prophet.

***

Mother Swainbrooke returned around eleven, with groceries, local gossip, and tidings of Johnny's health.

"The poor lamb's near healed," she reported, "though he's terrible scarred. The Healers wish to keep 'im over the full moon."

"And a good thing," Percy said. It was one thing to live next door to a carouser, quite another to live with a ravening beast.

Mother Swainbrooke pursed her lips. "They've given me a potion to brew, what'll keep him his mind whilst he's in the wolfskin," she told Percy, digging into her basket and handing him a scroll. "Sure an' I could use some help with this. It'll keep him harmless durin' the difficult days."

Percy looked over the recipe and whistled. "Complicated."

The doorbell rang.

"I've got it." Percy handed back the scroll and went to the door.

It was Penelope.

The snow that alighted on her golden hair made a fragile halo. Her cheeks were pink with frost.

"Come in!" said Percy eagerly. "You look half frozen -- take off that cloak, Mother Swainbrooke will dry it out for you --"

The landlady had appeared from nowhere and was looking Penelope up and down approvingly. "Oh yes, come in lass," she crooned. "I'll have that dry for you in just a moment." She whisked the cloak from Penelope's shoulders with the deftness of a magician and spirited it away.

The grin faded from Percy's face. "Penny," he said, his voice croaking oddly, "what are you wearing?"

Over her blue jeans, Penelope wore a baggy knit sweater with a large P sewn on the front.

"Do you like it?" she said, cold as the winter wind. "Your mother gave it to me."

Percy's mouth hung open.

"I think I'd like to speak with you alone," said Penelope conversationally.

Percy nodded dumbly and led her up to his bedroom.

When they were inside, Penelope closed the door behind her. Then she turned to Percy. "I've heard from your mother again."

Percy was pale. "Have you."

"Oh yes. She's been telling me things. Interesting things." She paced around to his other side and Percy rotated to follow her. "For instance, she told me that your father was injured. Gravely, in fact. And that he could have died."

Chills went up Percy's spine just to hear it again. "That's true," he said uncertainly.

"Hmm." Penelope paced to the other side. "You didn't mention it to me. I would have liked to go see him with you. Of course that would have been difficult, seeing as she also told me that you never went to see him in hospital."

"That's ... true too," said Percy. He didn't like the direction this conversation was taking.

Penelope's shoulders seemed to sag. "I wasn't sure it was," she said quietly. "That's why I came to see." She took a deep breath. "Percy Weasley, you are an unbelievable prat."

Percy was stunned. "What?"

"You abandon your whole family over some stupid row about your career. When your mother came to see your flat you slammed the door on her -- oh yes, she told me about that too, funny you never told me she'd been to see you -- you sent some horrible letter to Ron telling him to dump his best friend --"

"That letter was --" Percy stammered.

"It's not just them," Penelope went on viciously. "You wouldn't bring me to that dinner party, you won't take time to see my parents, we had to sneak around for a whole year because you thought dating me would compromise your position as prefect, you wouldn't dance with me at the Yule Ball because you were there on government business --" She was now shoving him forcibly with every word. "All right, you can be horrible toward me -- I don't care -- but your own family, Percy! Your own father!" She punched him feebly in the middle of the chest, then sank down onto a large stack of books. "You never cared about anyone but yourself."

"Penny --" There was something desperate in the way he said her name. Quite unselfconsciously he went to his knees beside her. "Penny, you know that's not true --"

"It's very true, Percy." Her voice was very quiet now. "Everyone else has been able to see it. I can't believe it took me so long."

"No --" He grasped for her hand but she pulled it out of his reach. "Penny, I care about you more than -- I ever thought -- Please, Penny, I gave up my family, you're all I have left --"

"You gave them up?" She met his eyes with hurt fury. "You walked away, Percy. You left them behind. And now when they need you most of all --" She broke off, took a deep breath, and then stood up. Percy scrambled to his feet.

"I hate what you've done to them, Percy," she said calmly, not meeting his eyes. "And I'm terrified that you may do it to me. I'm afraid I can't live with that." She swallowed hard. "Goodbye."

Percy's face went still and pale. Then he said, very weakly: "Goodbye?"

Penelope turned away wordlessly and walked out the door.

Her feet made little sound on the staircase.

The door closed quietly.

Percy sank into his chair and put his hands over his face.

***

Young men of Johnny Peasegood's constitution tend to stay up late; middle-aged men go to bed early. Perkins was past both stages of life and existed quite happily on five hours of sleep per night. Things were quiet in the wee hours; he liked feeling alone and comfortable, liked knowing that this time was lost on all but a few. A cup of tea around one o'clock usually hit the spot. He was in the middle of his preparations when a slow, weary knocking sounded from his door.

Perkins put down the kettle and shuffled to the door.

Silhouetted against the falling snow stood Percy Weasley, looking bent and bedraggled. A faded Gryffindor scarf was thrown carelessly over one shoulder; his glasses were steamed and drooping on the end of his nose. His hair was damp with melting snow.

"Weasley! What happened, was there trouble? Are you being followed? Come in, come in, lad."

"It's Penelope," said Percy dully as the old man gripped his arm and propelled him indoors.

Shutting the door after a suspicious look around the deserted street, Perkins turned and surveyed his young friend.

"Now, you tell me all about it, and I'll put on some tea."

He hurried into the kitchen and reached for the teapot. Then he looked back over his shoulder. Percy stood in the doorway, listlessly watching the snow puddle around his boots. Perkins changed his mind and got out his bottle of firewhiskey.

Percy staggered across the kitchen and sank into a chair, oblivious. Melting snow pooled on his shoulders and the floor. Perkins poured half a glass, eyed it up, and filled it to the top before shoving it into Percy's limp hand.

The redhead glanced down at the drink without interest. "I think I've lost her, Perkins," he said hollowly. He drained his glass without noticing the taste. "Now all I've got is you. You and Johnny Peasegood ..." He laughed mirthlessly.

"Did she say why, now?" Perkins asked soothingly.

Percy bent his head and muttered something about a sweater.

"Isn't that always the way with women," said Perkins sympathetically, without the foggiest idea what a sweater had to do with anything. He had encountered enough similar instances in eighty years of bachelorhood to have his course charted regardless of the situation. He refilled Percy's glass.

"I don't know what I've done," said Percy, leaning his head so far back that it rested on the back of his chair. "I don't know what she wants. I have a good job --"

"Two of 'em," said Perkins cheerfully.

"I'm responsible and mature, I can support her, I appreciate her --" Percy swallowed the second dose, coughed, looked down at the empty glass with swimming eyes, and let it fall to the floor. Perkins, without the blink of an eye, Summoned it back to the table and filled it again.

"I'm dignified," Percy went on bleakly. "I'm ... motivated ..." He reached for the glass, hesitated, and picked up the half-empty bottle by its neck. "I ..." He stood up swaying, gripping the bottle with white knuckles. "I ... miss her already."

He stumbled into the living room.

Perkins looked across the table at the full tumbler, shrugged, and drained it.