Shout-outs!

            Jenny:  You got to do "Romeo and Juliet"?!  That would have been fun to be "Nurse".  Teehee.  Happy Birthday!  I can't sing the happy birthday song cuz it's copyrighted, but I did something else for you besides giving you an update, if you wanna read the chapter….*giggles*

            Hydraspit:  Thanks!

            Nkittyhawk:  Who needs sanity?  You'll find about the envelope… pretty soon, if my plot judgement is correct.

            Crystal Lightning:  Ooh. . .Penelope's acting like you?  Cool… I love it when people relate to my characters.

Penelope Apparated into the room and immediately dove at the parchment and ink bottle still next to her bed, having been forgotten in the excitement of the prior evening.  Well, she needed them now.  Any doubts she had previously had concerning writing to the Order were gone.  For now she had something to write about.  She jumped on her bed, a text book displaying the parchment on her lap, and jabbed her quill into the bottle.  She watched several drops ooze onto the parchment before letting the words rush from her, writing almost faster than she could think.

            Brown.  Little more than a fierce and quirky petty organization bent on saving, of all things, dragons.  Charming in its own, people thought.  One had to admire an entire village that, despite a surprisingly small size, would attempt such an upright thing.  A smile came unbidden at that thought.  They had declared themselves to be protecting dragons.  From what?  Being assimilated, imperiosed, into some fantastic army devoted to the services of Lord Voldemort?  It sounded like a front-page story of "The Quibbler".  She had laughed along with everyone else when she had heard that excuse from the also-chuckling Head Healers.  She had half-expected someone to jump out with a rousing "You're on Candid Camera!" like on that show she had watched as a child with her family.  Certainly the villagers were nut cases, but the Healers had always considered them harmless and ignorable in most cases.  Even Dumbledore had not been too concerned with the bunch when he had given her the assignment.

            Good grief, how wrong they had all been!

            The muscles in her hand were throbbing.  Penelope let the quill fall from her hand and took a deep breath.  The ink was still glistening on the parchment.  She frowned.  Not her finest handwriting, but she had been so scared.  Panic did strange things like that to people.  Like that basilisk incident five years ago.  She hadn't panicked then, of course.  Yes, she was a "mudblood" as that nasty Malfoy punk had said.  But she hadn't thought the creature would attack a prefect.  She flicked at a particularly large bubble of ink, smeering it across the parchment.  Goodness, she had been just as snotty as Percy.  No wonder the relationship had seemed so wonderful then.  An idiotic match made in heaven.  Only. .. she had grown up, and apparently he had only grown worse.

            At least. . . at least he wasn't as bad as she had once thought for so long.

            Percy.  Why did he always have to invade her mind at these times?!  She again grabbed the quill, praying it would help her concentrate, and focused on what she had written.  A recap of the whole "dragon army protection unit" and the conversation between Mr. Dormand and that Jason man—only in not such words.  It was vague, very vague, and she could only hope Dumbledore would know what she meant.  She had mustered every bit of Ravenclaw writing talent to explain herself.  Still, if the letter was intercepted. . . she shook the thought away.  An entire system of mail delivery had been set up for such situations.  Yes, it took longer for a letter to get anywhere, but the system was so twisted and tangled that it was virtuously impossible to infiltrate.  And Mr. Dormand had sounded very sure of himself that no one knew what he was up to.  For all he cared, Penelope was just another healer-in-training sending a friendly letter or asking her parents for money.  She read the letter again before folding it up.  It was as much a hybrid of ambiguity and clarity as could be possible.  And it didn't mention Percy.  She had considered it, but had decided no.  As furious as she was with him, he had suffered enough.  He needed to make a move, but it was his move to make.  And he wasn't involved with Brown. He couldn't be.

            She prepared the letter, stuck it in the pocket of her robe, and went downstairs to find an owl.  A party was going on—at least, what counted for a party among the students.  It was Jenny's birthday, so someone had baked a pumpkin cake and conjured up some balloons for decoration.  The "partiers" currently sat around eating cake and talking.  The fact that there some people who were relaxed and not worrying about a threat to the Order was comforting.

            Pearl sprang from her seat as soon as she saw Penelope.  "You're back.  Did you talk to Mr. Dormand?"

            Penelope cast a glance at Asa, who too was taking time off for cake.  "Yeah," she replied. "I saw him."

            "Good.  Some of the guys have already ran out there to study the plants, but I Asa figures we should get permission eventually.  Have some cake."  She thrust a large piece smothered with frosting into Penelope's hand.

            "Mm."  She did like cake.  She took a bite and swallowed. "Thanks.  Are there any owls around?  I want to send my mum a letter."

            Pearl raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said your parents were Muggles."

            "They are, but they're used to owls.  Trust me."

             "Darren just sent out the last one, Penelope," someone called.

            "Damn."  The urgency to get the letter out returned.

            "Are you okay?" Pearl asked, cutting another piece of cake.

            Penelope sighed.  She didn't want others to panic.  Heck, they probably wouldn't even believe her, but then she would be labeled the freak.  "I'm fine."  She took another bite of cake to prove it.  "How's the patient?"

            "Asa was just with him.  Then Jenny insisted he should have some cake as well.  Yeah, he's awake.  Still a little woozy, but I heard he liked the cake."

            "He's awake?"  She scooped off some of the frosting with her finger and sucked on it.  "Good frosting.  I think I'll go see him."

            Pearl let out a giggle. "You think he's cute?"

            Penelope rolled her eyes but smiled.  "Yes, Pearl.  I'm crazy about him.  I'm suffering from the Florence Nightingale syndrome and am going to ask him to marry me while he's still out of it enough to say yes."

            "Great way to get husbands.  Marry them while they're unconscious.  Got it."

            Penelope laughed and made her way to the back room.  The table was gone.  Someone, presumably Asa, had gotten around to conjuring up a bed for Brogan Marchent.  He was sitting up in bed, eating a piece of cake.  Burns and cuts were still visible on his face, but evidently healing fast.  He was cute.  Blonde hair, brown eyes.  Good figure.  Maybe she should marry him while he was still woozy.  "Hi," she said.  "Feeling any better?"

            He managed a smile that was more grimace. "I guess so.  Cake helps."

            She circled his bed and fluffed the pillows.  "They said you had been attacked by a dragon," she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Doesn't sound very fun."

            "Dragon?"  His voice rose slightly, and Penelope frowned.  He was either about to lie, or was genuinely confused.  "That's what they said?  Dormand and Morsley?"

            "Don't you remember?  You were the victim."

            Brogan's eyes were wide, and the color he had regained drained from his face.  "I. . . yeah, I remember.  Dragon attack.  We were looking at some nests.  Dragons don't take kindly to people messing with their nests."

            "No, they wouldn't."

            He took a deep breath and studied Penelope's face.  "You're trying to make a point, I'm sure of it."

            She laughed lightly and fluffed his pillow again. "I think you're lying."

            "Lying?"

            "I don't have any veritseram on me right now, but I think you're attack was a little different than your story suggests."

            Brogan's lips twisted into a small smile. "Really."

            Her hands fell to her sides. "Do you have something else you want to tell me?"

            "Like what?"

            "I was in here cleaning up.  You mentioned something in your sleep."  She stopped.  What did that have to do with her point?  "Never mind.  Like your real story."

            He was quiet for a long time, his eyes still on her.  His face changed during that time.  Confused, again.  Almost scared.  "You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?"

            Now she was getting somewhere.  "You have my promise."

            "I'm not saying that Dormand tried to murder me or anything. I don't even think that.  It doesn't make sense.  But he's done some things in his past.  Like during the first war. . . . he really didn't do anything then.  But he supported You-Know-Who.  For awhile, at least.  Then he changed."  He gave a small laugh and shook his head. "I guess it doesn't make much of a difference out here.  I didn't grow up in Dragon's Tooth, but I grew up in the nearest town.  It wasn't much bigger than this place.  The wars don't much affect us out here, so it's strange when anything comes through.  That's why we're all so weird about the dragons."

            Penelope nodded.  "That's understandable.  Well, I suppose I should let you rest."  She turned to go.

            "One more thing."

            "Yes?"

            "I really don't trust Winston Morsley.  Or Valentine Munk, for that matter."

            Winston and Valentine.  She'd have to remember that.  "All right."  She left the room, thinking.

            Asa spotted her when she entered the main area again. "You've a visitor.  Chico." She winked.

            Percy was standing at the door, hood up.  Glaring at a giggling Pearl, she marched toward him.  "What are you doing here?"

            "You live here."  His tone was sarcastic and a little. . . embarrassed?

            "I do," she snapped.  "But why'd you come?"

            "I. . ."

            Her heart skipped a beat. "You didn't come here to confess to another horrible deed?!"

            He groaned and took a step back. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't plotting my murder or anything.  I just wanted. . . to tell you I didn't do it."

            "You already told me that," she said, but her tone had softened without her realizing it.

            "I wanted to make sure you believed me."

            She glanced back at the others.  They had all lost interest.  "Percy, of course I believe you.  You came all the way here to tell me again?"

            He didn't respond.

            She suddenly wanted to laugh. "You're unbelievable."  Before she could stop herself, she pushed back his hood and kissed him on the cheek.  "Now get out of my sight."

            He jarred back at the kiss.  "Oh.  Okay.  I need to get back to work anyway."

            She was just as surprised herself.  Why had she done that?  Well, she couldn't show anything else.  "Goodbye."  She slammed the door.