"You've been spending too much time here," Roger had said the night before Halloween. "Come in late tomorrow, if you come in at all."

There was no way Penelope would consent to miss a day of work, of course, but Roger had repeated that under no circumstances was she to arrive at Dust and Mildewe before mid-afternoon. She couldn't very well defy him, then face him at work that day, so she lounged around the flat until early afternoon, then headed out to Diagon Alley.

It was a rule, it seemed, that she couldn't visit Diagon Alley without seeing someone she knew, so it was no surprise when she ran into Oliver Wood outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies. To be fair, it was a surprise to literally collide with him, but actually seeing him, still glowing after a practice with Puddlemere United, was less of a surprise than a pleasure.

"Sorry, love," he said, catching her by the shoulders. "I didn't see you there. What are you doing out and about on a Thursday afternoon?"

"Roger wouldn't let me come in early today," she grumbled. "Says I've been spending too much time at work."

"Davies is a smart bloke. I wouldn't let you work yourself to death, either." He grinned and extended his arm to her. "While you're in exile from Dust and Mildewe, what say we have some ice cream?"

So they had ice cream together, just as they did every other Sunday, sharing a banana split outside of Florean Fortescue's. Halfway through the scoop of peanut butter ice cream Oliver had insisted on, he decided that he wanted to be involved in the paper. "Why should you and Davies have all the fun? Just because I'm a Quidditch player, that doesn't mean I can't be of use to you."

"You haven't been of use to us since we started," she reminded him, in the syrupy polite tone she'd taken to using when Professor Snape stopped by the Dust and Mildewe offices.

"You've only been in print for three months," he reminded her, in the same tone.

Oliver wasn't about to be talked down, and Penelope had no real objections to letting him become involved with the paper, so she let him walk her down to Dust and Mildewe, once they'd finished the ice cream.

"Quiet down here, isn't it?" Oliver mused, and she had to agree, although that wasn't cause for immediate suspicion; she'd entered through the main door of Dust and Mildewe all of three times in the year she'd worked there. So she shrugged off the mild suspicion and led Oliver into the publishing house.

What happened next, she wouldn't remember until much later. And in the present, she didn't process it at once; she was only aware of Oliver's frantic instructions to go to her office, which she did immediately.

Apparition had always been particularly easy for her, and in retrospect, that was a good thing; she missed three separate curses when she Disapparated from the ground floor. On her upper-level office, through the door she hadn't thought to close, she got her first real view of the chaos below her.

At least ten Death Eaters, possibly more, had descended upon Dust and Mildewe, throwing curses right and left at employees, visitors, and even the presses themselves. There was Landon Davies, dodging a jet of red light; and Roger, defending himself against two larger Death Eaters; and Oliver, running pell-mell into the fray, wand drawn. He went down almost immediately, the Stunning Spell thankfully sending him out of the path of the Avada Kedavra that immediately followed.

After that, everything just became a blur of movement, and Penelope found herself conscious of very little, except the fact that her closest friends were in mortal danger. She was conscious of so little, in fact, that she didn't notice she'd drawn her wand until she was halfway down the stairs, curses and spells flying at every enemy within striking distance.

Roger met her at the landing. "What do you think you're doing?" he yelled, dodging a Stunning Spell. "You could get yourself killed!"

"So could you," she replied, "and I'm not about to sit back and watch."

The Cruciatus Curse hit her at just that moment, and then there was nothing but red-hot pain, drowning out everything but the faint sounds of someone shouting near her—or perhaps that was herself, screaming.

Then as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Penelope dragged her shaking body back onto the landing, where Roger still stood, wand arm frozen in midair as he stared down at the body at the foot of the stairs. "I…didn't mean to…"

She didn't hear the Avada Kedavra, but she felt it in the air; odd, how she could feel this curse when she'd never felt one in her life, and odder still that time seemed to slow down as the jet of green light hurtled toward her. It crawled closer and closer, almost like it was underwater, but then she was underwater, too, and she couldn't move out of its way, nor could she stop Roger's form as it dove in front of her, screaming something that she couldn't quite make out.

Then the jet of light hit his stomach, and Penelope gasped as Roger's body flew back against her chest, knocking her backward onto the stairs. Her head collided with the sharp edge of a stair, and starbursts exploded across her eyes, and she couldn't have dragged herself to her feet if she'd wanted to.

Odds were, she wouldn't make it out alive, either way. Best to just succumb to the inevitable now, she figured, as the chaos around her faded to black.

"They've taken the Informer," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, through the kitchen fireplace of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Remus felt his heart leap into his throat. "The Aurors have done what they can, but it's not enough."

Remus, for the first time since Sirius's death, was genuinely glad the full moon had just passed. He couldn't possibly sit by and let the Informer crumble, and Dust and Mildewe's innocent staff suffer along with the rest, even when Tonks said, "I think you should stay here, Remus."

"There is absolutely no way—"

"Thought you'd say that," she said softly, almost dully. "What are you waiting for, then? Go find her, and bring her back."

It wasn't until later that he realized exactly what she'd said, and more importantly, what she'd meant by it. He couldn't think about it then, anyway, because the instant he Apparated into Dust and Mildewe, he couldn't focus on anything other than the destruction before him.

"Bloody hell," Bill Weasley murmured as he appeared beside Remus. "Are there any survivors?"

As if in answer to the question, Kingsley Shacklebolt ran by with a young man slung over his shoulder. Remus recognized him as Oliver Wood, but it didn't occur to him that there was something strange about his presence in Dust and Mildewe until Oliver murmured something about Penelope. And even then, he didn't waste his time thinking about Oliver Wood when Penelope was still somewhere in the wreckage.

There, crouched on the staircase leading up to the printing presses, was Penelope. He could see her trembling from across the room, her eyes wide and unfocused, staring in the general direction of the carnage below her as she clutched Roger Davies' limp body to her chest.

He left Bill behind, picking his way through the destruction to the foot of the staircase. "Penelope?" His hoarse voice rattled in his ears, and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Penelope?"

She looked down, her eyes finally focusing on him, and his heart sank as he saw the hollowness that had already settled there. "Remus." It was barely a whisper, and he realized with a start that she'd used his first name—and that he'd used hers, for that matter.

That realization was all he had time for before she was at the foot of the stairs, standing awkwardly in front of him. He chanced a smile, and she returned it weakly. "It's going to be all right, Penelope," he said, injecting his tone with as much false confidence as he could muster. For a moment, he almost believed himself.

Then she wobbled slightly, and he barely had time to slide an arm around her waist before her knees gave way, dropping her unceremoniously to the ground. Remus knelt with her, holding her trembling body tightly.

And he swore, in that moment, that he would give his life to protect this girl.