The village was barely alive as Penelope and Brogan trudged through it, still sweaty and disheveled from the chaos of the night. Penelope feared to even look in a mirror; it was silly to worry so much over appearance out there, in the middle of nowhere, yet she had always been rather... she didn't want to say vain, but she had always been taught the importance of looking presentable and polishing up one's good features. Yet there she was, robe ripped, dirty, stained with blood, leaves in her air... she was only glad Brogan and Lupin were the only ones to have seen her. Perhaps she could make it back to bed before anyone else arose-Percy would be fine, once she had him in a proper bed. Or couch, she thought, a smile playing at her lips.

Brogan said nothing during the walk, but stared ahead as he followed Penelope to Percy's little camp. She looked back at Brogan once or twice. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed, and the shaky frown had returned.

What must that be like, she thought, to experience the Imperius Curse? To have no control of yourself whatsoever? Even in the worst of situations there would be some comfort in the knowledge that one still had power over oneself. And yet the curse could be fought, Mad-Eye's imposter had taught her that much. Why hadn't Brogan been able to fight it? It was an unfair question. He had said he had tried, and perhaps some people were weaker in such things than others. That didn't make them any less of a good person.

Or did it? What was she thinking, trusting Brogan? What had Lupin been thinking? Brogan... she involuntarily shuddered. Brogan had ATTACKED her and Percy. He had nearly killed her. And now she was letting him help with her ex-boyfriend?

And yet if Lupin trusted Brogan... She had always trusted Lupin's judgement, when he taught, even after everyone learned he was a were-wolf, and especially when she joined him in the Order of the Phoenix. She didn't know what things the two men had discussed before she woke. She had to be fair.

But she couldn't help but feel some relief when they reached Percy's tent.

Brogan let out a low whistle. "Wow. He has been on the run, hasn't he? Remus told me Percy was wanted."

"You probably don't know the half of it," Penelope replied tersely, pulling the flap of the tent back. "Come on in. There's a couch he sleeps on. Pathetic, I know." She crawled in herself and stood for a moment, gazing at the tent's interior. Living in a tent. Rather sad. True, if she had possessed such a tent at the age of six instead of that Muggle Barbie pup tent, she would have been thrilled. She still found most magical tents impressive. But to be in hiding with one... it was pathetic. Well, it would have to do for the time being. She readjusted the cushions and motioned for Brogan to set Percy down. "Remember, please don't tell anyone his real name."

Brogan looked at Percy, then at Penelope. She couldn't read his expression. "I promise," he finally said, heading to the exit. Then he paused. "And.. . I'm so sorry."

He sounded sincere enough, and she found herself smiling. "Just forget it. Go get some rest."

He returned a smile, weak but natural. "You, as well. In fact, maybe it would be best if you lie low for awhile."

"I'm a student Healer. That's all I do."

"I suppose that's right." And he was gone.

She shook her head. Insanity was everywhere.

Percy murmured something unintelligible and shifted somewhat.

"I guess you're feeling better," she said softly, sitting herself on the arm of the couch. She pulled his glasses from his face. They were absolutely filthy. Well, Percy could certainly clean them himself. She folded them and set them on the floor.

The wound seemed to be healing fine. He'd certainly have a headache for the next week, though, but he deserved that, at least. Maybe nothing else, but at least that. She pressed her fingers against the soft bandage, then swiped down to remove a tangle of his red hair. He was awfully cute. She had always thought so. She had once wondered how a prefect would notice her. And a Gryffindor prefect at that. One that was a full year older than her. True, she had been a prefect as well, freshly chosen from among the other good little Ravenclaws. But that wasn't good enough, she had thought. But he had noticed her just the same. . . Some painful echo of a memory clawed at her heart. She had loved him, once.

Once, she told herself. Once. Past-tense. No more. She drew her hand back and stood up. Percy would be fine. She should return to the tavern before everyone woke up, if they hadn't already. She hadn't slept well that night anyway. The fatigue and excitement were catching up, and she'd be asleep on her feet before she knew it. Pearl and the others would have a hey-day with rumors if she didn't return. Every reason and excuse imaginable was available for her to run back to the tavern.

Percy stirred again, and she found herself back at his side. She owed him that much. She was a Healer, and it was her duty to be absolutely certain he was fine. And he had tried to save her life. He had protected her. He had fought for her-if a display of an Unforgivable Curse could count as fighting.

But he had done it for her.

"You're so easy to hate," she whispered, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You're impossible. You'll always be that awful, boorish Percy Weasley that no one can stand." She didn't know what she meant by any of that. Something familiar rushed through her, something she didn't want to feel. She let go of his hand immediately.

Then she saw it. The sleeve of Percy's robe slipped back, and the flesh of his arm was apparent. A series of tiny scars, nothing alarmingly deep, covering a small circle of skin.

Percy's left arm.

Penelope's heart pounded as she took a closer look. It couldn't be. And yet he had said. .. What had he said? He had never been in Voldemort's inner circle? She believed that-not even Percy could be that awful. She ran her fingers over the criss-crossed scars. They were like paint, like a fence, a force to block something else that was far worse than few faint scars. A laugh escaped her throat.

"Percy, I can't believe you. You told the truth after all. And then you. . ." Her heart beat faster. "Death Eater. I was right to call you a Death Eater. The Dark Mark. . . it was here." Or perhaps it never had been. Perhaps Percy had been trying to prevent it from ever coming. She took hold again of his hand as the hot tears poured from her eyes.

"Penny?" Percy's voice was hoarse with sleep and pain. He lifted his head, brown eyes peering unfocused at her. "What-what are you doing here? This is completely against the rules. I. .. Ow!" He had tried to sit up-he collapsed back with his hand pressed to his head.

"You had a rough night," she replied softly. "Really rough."

He shuddered and took a breath. "I... oh, hell. That Marchent fellow. . ."

"It's all right. He was under the Imperious Curse. Lupin-"

Percy's eyes shot open from their misty half-closed state. "Remus Lupin? The were-wolf? He was. . . oh, no."

She brushed the flood of tears from her eyes and laughed. "It's perfectly okay, Percy. He won't say anything. To anyone. He promised."

Percy managed to sit up and stared at the wall, face again pale. "Marchent was insane. He attacked me. I hit my head. . ." He again touched the bandage.

"I healed you, and you're welcome."

"Where are my glasses?"

She handed them to him. He gazed at them for a moment before sliding them on.

"They're a little dusty," she said apologetically. "Cracked in the beginning. I fixed them."

He nodded vaguely. "You... you're crying. Marchent didn't. . . didn't hurt you. He had you under Crucios. . ." He grabbed her hand with such intensity she cried out. He pulled away, gasping. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . ."

He didn't realize she had held his hand only minutes ago. She flexed her hand. She could still feel his warmth. "I should probably go now, if you feel well enough. This probably isn't appropriate, anyway."

"I'll walk you out."

"Do you feel well enough?"

He shook his head, but his expression was stubborn. "I'll walk you out."

The morning was in full swing as they crawled from the tent. So much less dreary than the night, she thought. Mornings always were.

"You really were a Death Eater," she said, turning to him. She had to get it out.

Percy stumbled. "What?"

Fresh tears made their way to her eyes. "I saw them. The scars on your arm."

He grabbed his left arm protectively, almost defensively. "It's none of your business."

"Everyone will know sooner or later," she said. She could feel her heart, racing unbelievably fast, seeming spin through her body, making her dizzy. He stood only a few feet from her. "I cheated last time. Show me them again."

His grip seemed to lessen, but the flame in his eyes leapt. "You don't even want to understand."

"That's never stopped you from sharing things before. You never cared if anyone understood, if they even wanted to. Why can't you be that way now?"

"I can't."

She took a step closer. She was so close she could hear his ragged breath. "Show me. I'm sick of you being a coward, Percy."

A thin scowl twisted his face. "That's it, isn't it? It's always Percy the Coward, Percy the Traitor. Would it make you feel any better if I told you those things were true? Every name you or anyone else has ever called me is absolutely true?"

"It wouldn't matter. You never cared before. You were always above all of that. You had your brothers; you shrugged whatever they said off."

"Always the Ravenclaw logic." The scowl faded. "You weren't supposed to show up in my life again."

She took another step closer. "Nor you in mine. I dumped you for being arrogant and stubborn and blind to everything and everyone around you. That was supposed to be it."

His right arm dropped to his side, and he extended the left one to Penelope. "There. See what you want to see. The ultimate mark of stupid mistakes."

She didn't touch him. "Yet you turned back."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

She stared up at him, wondering what proper reply could be given to that. "You never heard me thank you. You. . . you saved me last night. I.. . thanked you when you were unconscious." It sounded incredibly stupid even before she spoke. "Several times."

Percy gave a dry chuckle. "You thanked me when I was unconscious?"

"Well. . . yes." She continued to watch him, all the while thinking how familiar this all was. Three years back, countless empty classrooms, when everything was okay.

And before she knew it, she was back there at Hogwarts and prefect years, all the time standing at the edge of a little village no one knew about.

Kissing Percy Weasley.