Roger Davies graduated Hogwarts that June, and he started at Dust and Mildewe in July. He was only there for two weeks before he decided that, previous acknowledgment of the Voldemort's presence aside, the Daily Prophet was still a worthless piece of propaganda, and it wasn't doing any good for anyone outside of the Ministry.
It wasn't the first time someone said anything about it, but it was the first time someone did something about it.
Penelope marveled silently as he drafted plans to turn half of Dust and Mildewe into a newspaper. Not a Ministry-sponsored rag, he said, but an independent press, designed to get the truth out among the wizarding population.
This, Penelope realized, was what Remus had meant when he challenged her to do something, and she felt a tinge of guilt that she hadn't thought of it sooner.
But she could do something now.
There was no reason to visit the Burrow, really, because the Weasley family had left it behind for the summer and gathered at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. But Molly had insisted, "because I just feel like something's wrong, Remus." Remus accompanied her, because no one liked traveling alone those days, and he'd had more than enough of number twelve, Grimmauld Place—and anyway, the Burrow was an obvious target for attacks from Voldemort's forces.
The Burrow was fine, of course, but they spent a few minutes securing the protective spells around the house before Molly sat him down at the kitchen table and started brewing a pot of tea. Remus watched her bustle noisily around the kitchen for a few minutes before he let his gaze drift out the window.
She came running through the yard to the back door, dark curls streaming behind her, and he recognized her immediately through the window. But it wasn't until Molly answered the door and said, "Oh, Penelope, it's lovely to see you," that he realized that she was there, and she was real, and she was standing directly in front of him.
"Hello, Professor Lupin," she said, and he realized with dismay that she still wouldn't call him by his first name. "I haven't seen you in…"
"I know, Miss Clearwater," he replied, relishing her nearly indistinguishable frown as she realized that he wouldn't call her by first name, either. "What brings you here?"
For a second, he'd been sure she wanted to mention their last encounter, but at his question, her eyes lit up again, and she smiled in spite of herself. "Well, it's Roger's idea, really, but I'm doing the legwork," she began, as Molly ushered her into a seat at the table and set a teacup in front of her. "The Daily Prophet is rubbish, you know, and if we're to have a successful opposition to…to…"
"Voldemort," Remus supplied quietly. "You don't have to be afraid to say it."
She glanced quickly at him, before turning her gaze to Molly and the teapot. "Right. Well, if we're to have a successful large-scale opposition, we're going to need more than the Prophet."
Remus sat back with his tea, watching Penelope as she explained that paper's concept to a concerned but interested Molly. Her hair shone in the sunlight that filtered in through the window, and her eyes sparkled with excitement as she explained, in those familiar melodious tones, this project into which she'd obviously already poured her heart and soul.
He didn't know when he decided to speak up, or if it was even an appropriate time to speak up, but suddenly he was speaking, leaning forward in Penelope's general direction. "So you've finally decided to do something, have you?"
Penelope turned to him, the elation on her face already beginning to fade. "Well, it's really Roger's idea. I'm just doing the legwork, like I said."
"It doesn't matter if you thoughtit, Miss Clearwater. Your involvement means just as much, and you're obviously more than peripherally involved, so that's something to be proud of." She blushed and dropped her gaze to her teacup, and that was all the pause he allowed himself. "Do you need money?"
"We need information," she replied softly, glancing at a worried Molly. "We'll never get anywhere without the information to print."
"You'll get your information," he said softly, in the tone he'd learned so long ago to placate Sirius. To be fair, Penelope was no Sirius, but the determination in her eyes was all too familiar. "Right now, I'm asking if you need money."
"We—well, yes. Dust and Mildewe is taking enough of a risk by letting us print there. They can't afford to support us financially, too. And if we're to—"
"That won't be a problem, Miss Clearwater. Just do what Dust and Mildewe will allow you, and I'll take care of the rest." At that point Molly, who'd wisely bowed out of the conversation, threw him a questioning glance, which he ignored as he gazed at Penelope. "You will trust me with that?"
For a split second, she looked like she might argue, but then she nodded. "I will. Thank you, Professor."
"Don't thank me. It shouldn't even be my money to give." The Burrow fell uncomfortably silent for a moment, as Molly and Penelope stared at him while clearly trying not to stare at him. Remus sighed heavily. "I inherited half of his fortune, you know. It's mine, so long as I do everything I can for the Order."
"But this isn't for the Order," Penelope said quietly.
Remus nodded. "I know. That's why I'm doing it."