Lookie!  This is the longest chapter I've done for this story yet!  Be ye proud?

Crystal Lightning: I  couldn't resist a cute dream.  Thanks.

Jenny:  Yeah, Hawthorne is irritating. But I still like him. I'll be getting to the functioning of Brown soon, don't worry.  Those letters Percy found earlier are part of it. 

nkittyhawk:  Thanks for reviewing all my stories! I'm sitting there writing this chapter and all these review alerts keep coming. 

On with the story!

Penelope remained in the room for nearly an hour, watching over Brogan Marchent and reviewing again and again her plan.  Which wasn't much of a plan as it was gratification to her own sick curiosity and a Florence Nightingale syndrome-induced request.  She hoped it would fade, the idea that Percy just might have been telling the truth, but it didn't.  It kept her from realizing the passing time until Asa Cortez entered and insisted she go do something else with her time, that the patient would be fine.  Indeed, Brogan had said nothing else in his dreams.

            She flew from the tavern and down the road, still a disheveled mess from the healing.  What did it matter?  Percy didn't deserve to see her at her best.

            The afternoon and subsequent evening had long since faded, and a muddle of clouds had covered the sky—it was different from the clear night of before.  The entire village was practically dead.  She pulled out her wand. "Lumos," she muttered, and a dim light penetrated the darkness around her.  Now to find out exactly where the monster was staying.  There were so few actual homes in the village—the tavern she was staying at was the only one of its kind.  Matthias Dormand had a house.  It would be so like Percy to throw himself closest to whatever dictator was in charge.  But somehow she didn't think Percy would be staying there.  So she wandered the road, hoping for some sign of locating him, until it led to the outermost edge of the village.  That's where she saw the tent.

            She laughed aloud, an unnatural sound in the quiet setting.  A tent, of all things.  It was the most un-Percy thing she could imagine.  He had lowered himself to living in a tent.  Not camping, but living.  Oh, but justice did exist!  Mood completely changed, she crept up to the tent.  It wasn't even a very good once.  It probably had an embarrassing bathroom as well.  Ducks or frogs or something.  Restraining another derisive laugh, she lifted the tent flap and entered.

            It was even better than she could have hoped for.  A couch actually in the kitchen!  Upon it lay Percy, asleep.  He was still in his robes.  He hadn't even removed his glasses.  Or his hood.  Penelope crossed the floor and ripped the hood back.  With a cry, Percy sat up.

            "I need to talk to you," she said stiffly. 

            Percy straightened his glasses, which had been knocked askew.  "P-p- Penny!  What are you doing in here?"

            She cringed involuntarily.  The situation was almost frightening.  She was alone in a tent with Percy, who was, by all accounts, a Death Eater.  And someone she had once cared for deeply.  The light from her wand danced over his face, his glasses, that horrible scar. . . She swallowed.  "I need to talk to you," she repeated with a hiss.  "And don't ever call me Penny."

            He returned the glare and fixed his hood. "Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

            She sniffed.  "As if you care about appearances any longer.  We're not prefects at Hogwarts anymore. I can do whatever the hell I want."

            "You didn't want to talk earlier.  Why the change of heart?"

            "I'm going to be reasonable.  I was a Ravenclaw, after all.  It's only fair that you tell your side of the story."

            Something inside of Percy twisted painfully.  He hadn't expected this.  He really didn't have a story prepared.  And here was Penelope, asking for one.  "You sure you want to know?"

            Of course she didn't want to know.  She didn't even know why she was here.  Brogan had been speaking nonsense.

It's not what you think, he had said.  It's not what most people think. 

Who was she kidding?  She had spoken with Arthur Weasley.  She knew what happened.

"Of course I do," she finally said.

Percy signed and ran a hand through his red hair.  "Do you want to sit down?"  Proper etiquette had set in.  Was the damn stuff built into him?  He scooted over, leaving most of the couch for Penelope.  After a moment's hesitation, she quickly sat down on the most opposite end.

"Are you a Death Eater?" she asked.

The question was sudden for both of them.

He stared at her a moment, then laughed bitterly. "Depends on your definition."

She sprang to her feet, her face pale with shock.  The wand, still lit, dropped to the floor.  "You're not serious?" she screeched.

"You've heard the news; this isn't necessary," Percy snapped. "You said you wanted to hear.  Sit down and listen!"

Now that was the old Percy.  Without thinking, Penelope scowled and obeyed.

"I was never in The Dark Lord's inner circle, if that's what you mean," he said softly.  "The Ministry was so corrupt anyway, with so many Death Eaters worming their ways in.  Then Fudge admitted it, that the Dark Lord was indeed back.  And after all those months of denial."  He shook his head.  "What was the point after that?  The Minister of Magic didn't even know what was going on."

A wave nausea washed through Penelope, and she fought another impulse to run.  "So. . . so you did try to kill your father?"

"That's part of the lie you've been fed.  I can't believe I'm just sitting her, letting you accuse me."  He folded his arms tightly over her chest. He really didn't want to continue.  Not with this story.  "My father was suspected of being in the Order of the Phoenix for a long time.  With me around, information was easy to pick up.  I admit it:  they got it all from me.  The Death Eaters thought they could somehow infiltrate the Order.  They even let me in on a little plan of theirs: One of them would pretend to be reformed, a repentant soul willing to give out information.  He persuaded my father to meet him one night after work.  My father would then be tortured for information, then probably killed.  I don't care what anyone thinks:  I don't hate my father so much as to let something like that happen to him.  So I went to the meeting place early.  Turns out I had outlived my use as well."

Penelope gasped, comprehension dawning on her.  "You were framed."

Percy nodded. "The Death Eater attacked from a hiding spot.  He was so well positioned that my father thought it was me.  He thought I was the one to kill him.  We fought." He ran a hand over his face. "That's where I got this from."

"And the Death Eater summoned the authorities and you ran," Penelope said softly, finishing the story.

He gave her a look somewhere between fury and gratitude.  "Happy?"

She felt even more ill than before.  "You just. . . left?  You didn't even try to defend yourself?"

"What was the point?  For all intents and purposes, I had joined Voldemort."  He thought of the scars marking his wrist.  She didn't need to know about that.

"You're a coward," she hissed.  "You found out you were wrong, and backed out."

"What was I supposed to do?!" he shouted.  "What other choice was there?  Go crawling back to my family after fighting against what they believed in?  I wasn't going to be on the wrong side again, with Voldemort back!"

Penelope opened her mouth, probably to scream something, but quickly closed it. Then she turned and marched from the tent.

Percy sunk to the couch, panting.  He had done it.  It was all out.  Fatigue overwhelmed him, then sickness, and he had barely enough time to stumble to the bathroom before vomiting.