"I'm sorry for how I behaved last night." There was little remorse in Penelope's voice, just enough to make for evidence that she was sincere. Sincere, brave, and determined. She had waltzed right into the office with that line as her immediate greeting.
Percy could only stare at her, his hand still clutching a ragged quill. Again he was struck by how pretty she was. That, and the memory of her actions of the prior night. It had been is fault, he decided. It was all up to him to tell his story, and he had. She had possessed every right to act the way she had.
Penelope met his eyes, her face expressionless. "I really am sorry. I didn't expect what you told me."
A little more empathy had weaved itself into those words. He felt his cheeks grow hot, and dropped his eyes back to the paper he had been working on. Another list of notes from Valentine. "There's no need to apologize," he muttered. Why wouldn't she leave?
Instead, she sat right on the desk itself. "Percy. . . don't you feel bad about any of it?"
He jabbed the quill violently into the bottle of ink. "Of course I do."
"You really should go talk to your father."
"It's a bit late for that."
She picked up the ink bottle and read the label with mild interest. But her eyes had lost the deadpan visage and were now nearly fiery. "I should have said this last night. You were. . . nearly innocent. You don't have any dealings with the Death Eaters anymore, do you?"
He had never wanted those dealings. "I didn't have a choice."
She slammed the bottle down, splashing ink. "Only cowards say that. You just didn't want to say you were wrong."
Something inside of Percy snapped. He was on his feet before he was aware of it. Penelope, surprised, leapt from the desk.
"You and that temper," she hissed, her blue eyes flashing. She wasn't scared; she was daring him to make a move, challenging him.
He wouldn't prove her right. Face burning, he lowered his hands. "This isn't going to turn out like last night, is it?"
A cool smile spread over her face. "Maybe more violent. I just wanted to apologize. For the last time, I'm sorry." She brushed the brown curls from her face and marched out the door.
And their relationship had not improved any. Percy slammed the chair underneath the desk and took after her. "Penelope!"
She stopped near the corner of the building. "Yes?" she asked in the same cool voice.
"I'm sorry, too." He did not know what he was apologizing for.
"You know, I dumped you because you were so. . . " For the first time that day, something akin to fury billowed into her face. "So damn bigheaded and selfish!"
The words stung. She had said them to him before, and the pain they inflicted had not abated. He didn't let it show. "I had to look out for myself."
"Yes, well, an apology is good to hear from you. Makes you seem almost human. Now I have work to do. Unless, of course, Mr. Dormand is in. I'd much rather speak to him than a Death Eater."
"He's. . . " Damn. He sounded like Crouch's little go-for again, making excuses.
But at that moment, Dormand decided to make his appearance. He strode quickly up the road toward the building, talking animatedly to a wizard Percy had never seen before. He was old, older than Dormand, and completely bald except for a long, silver, and rope-like mustache.
Penelope raised an eyebrow with an air of sarcasm. "Wow. You really can be helpful when you want to be. I'll go speak to him. Mist—"
Dormand clearly didn't plan on noticing her. He and his companion stomped right past Penelope and Percy and through the door. ". . . doesn't matter he saw those letters," Dormand was saying. "He won't do anything anyway. Wouldn't dare."
The letters from the desk. Percy grimaced.
Penelope noticed. "Letters?"
"It's nothing. . .it's."
"They seem to think it's important." She darted past Percy to the doorway, which had remained open. Thoroughly disgusted, Percy followed.
The two men had paused before Dormand's office door. "I really don't care how unimportant you think this Ignatius man is!" the new man was saying—more appropriately yelling—at Dormand. "The Order has their ways of spying, almost as much as the Dark Lord!"
Dormand was considerably calmer and watched his companion with near-contempt. "You grow paranoid, Jason. The Order of the Phoenix doesn't have any idea of our existence, of my existence."
"Those healers and their students from St. Mungo's. What of those, Matthias?"
"Blissfully ignorant healers and students. Don't worry about Ignatius—where is he, I wonder? But my men, they love me, they'll do whatever I command."
Jason's anger abated somewhat. "You're certain? You know for a fact that no conspiracy is being carried out under your nose? The Dark Lord wouldn't be pleased if your little operation out here suddenly experienced a mutiny."
"Brogan Marchent is still unconscious, according to Asa Cortez."
Jason actually chuckled, his brown eyes crinkling with mirth. "Your story was a dragon, I hear."
"It's not a complete fabrication." He laughed and led Jason into his office.
Penelope whirled to Percy. "What was that about?" she said accusingly.
Percy was just as shocked. He stared at the door, which was now fading. "I. . . I didn't know anything about it. I. . . You don't suspect me!"
"Ignatius is your middle name," she mused. "So. . . you read some letters?"
"I didn't read them. I just glanced at them and stuffed them inside a report."
She wasn't satisfied, and continued to study his face, watching for any signs of lying. "Uh-huh. What did you see in this 'glance'?"
"I don't know. Something about the Order of the Phoenix."
"Oh, no." The blood drained from her face, and with a small pop, she was gone.
