Chapter Seven : Choices



"Quidditch?"

"Bloody 'ell, you're off your rocker."

"Malfoy will never allow it, Weasley."

"Shut up, Flint." Oliver shoots an icy glare at Marcus before drawing his attention back towards Percy, at whom he gapes in stunned silence. But, it's not long after that Oliver believes what Marcus and Michael expressed is the truth. "Percy ... seriously, are you off your rocker?" He glances around with wide brown eyes, not daring to get his hopes up at ever flying again. Those dreams were killed along with nearly every other member of the Regime Alliance in June of 1998.

"I know it's not much, but Gene and I both believe that this just may be what some of the wizards and witches need. A little time in the air -- a little while to forget where they are and what has happened to them." Percy swallows dryly as his eyes dart from Michael Corner to Roger Davies to Marcus Flint and back to Oliver Wood. All four ex-Quidditch captains form a semi-circle around him, shifting uncomfortably away from each other, but most particularly away from Marcus.

Marcus' lip curls in disgust at this act of kindness from the Death Eater who doesn't seem to understand that he's not supposed to care about the people in the camps. "That is the most repulsive thing I have ever heard. Why would you want to give those people a chance at happiness?" He crosses his arms and leans back in his black marble chair. Marcus has a tendency to believe that everything he ever says will always be right.

"Because we're not you?" Oliver snaps, clenching his fists at his side. With the two rivals together in the simple chamber, the air seems to hang thickly. Nothing decorates these walls, save for the horrid olive wallpaper, which Avery personally selected.

"Just shut up, the both of you. We're not at Hogwarts anymore, this rivalry is irrelevant. Bloody hell, grow up and change with the times," Roger Davies grumbles as he idly twirls his black hair with his left hand. A thin golden band on his left ring finger glimmers through the dust from the sunlight that filters into the room.

"Listen, Davies. You're gonna get fucking panned if you don't shut your mouth." Marcus glares at the ex-Ravenclaw captain with hatred alive in his black eyes. "Bloody hell, if it's a means putting you three sodding gits back into your rows, let's have this bloody Quidditch match!"

"You could try, Flint. Or have you forgotten that you have lost against Gryffindor more times than I can even remember?" Oliver scoffs, gazing at Marcus with a cold eye. If there were anything he considered himself to be better than Flint at, it was Quidditch.

"If it wasn't for ..." Roger mournfully shakes his head.

"That fucking nancy-boy won't be around to save your arses this time!" Flint spat the words at the three rivals, knowing where Roger was going with that sentence. Potter may have been an asset in Quidditch, but he failed when they needed him the most...

"So maybe you'll win this game. Ain't that right, Flint? Bloody hell, maybe you would've stood a chance to clobber us while we were still at Hogwarts if you weren't so shallow." Oliver shakes his head, but smiles broadly. "Kicking Bletchley from the team because he bagged your bird, then giving the boot to Higgs for a few extra galleons and a set of brooms. You never looked out for the team, just yourself. Slytherin may have had the brooms and the brawn, but they lack the brains and the skill. Always will."

Marcus scowls at Oliver, mentally dreaming of ways to flay the annoying young Scotsman. "You pick the bloody Pitch, and I will certainly see you on it. I'll fucking show you that we had the balls to pound you, and still do. Besides, what I do with my team is none of your business. Fuck, Wood, you're always sticking your brown-nose where it doesn't belong."

Oliver stands to address Marcus. "You've got the balls, do you? You wanna take this outside and settle for once and all who is the bigger man?" Oliver's heart hammers as he bunches his fists in rage. Many times he and Marcus met over a battlefield that wasn't the Quidditch Pitch. And most times, both came off bruised and battered.

Marcus jumps to his feet, instantly seizing Oliver by the collars of his crimson robes. He sneers, shoving Oliver relentlessly towards the other two captains. Crossing his arms, he silently dares Oliver to react.

Percy hastily grabs Oliver's wrist, yanking him back before he has a chance to retaliate. "Take your differences to the Pitch and only the Pitch." And with those words, both Oliver and Marcus reluctantly take their seats. "Now to get back to business. Gene, Lucius, and myself will arrange everything. All you need to worry about is getting a good team together by mid-May."

"I don't remember agreeing to that, Weasley," comes a lone voice from the far corner of the room. Percy recognises the voice as that of Lucius Malfoy, and it's confirmed when Lucius stands, removing his hood to show his presence.

"Mister Malfoy. How nice of you to join us," Marcus sneers, regarding Lucius with arrogantly. "Are you seriously going to let Weasley arrange this? Bloody hell, it was probably his bitch that thought of it. Boosting morale. Of all the sacrilegious things I've heard..."

"Do not talk ill of Penelope, Flint," Percy advises Marcus with an icy tone. His eyes narrow with contempt towards the fellow Death Eater; Penelope is the only woman besides his deceased mother who Percy actually respects. And, because of that, he is willing to defend her in any way. "Besides, it's not Penelope who takes to someone else's bed."

"At least Flint can get a shag from a decent woman, Weasley," Lucius remarks, sitting next to the redhead. He glances at the Quidditch captains, his eyes remaining on them for several moments. It causes all but Marcus to nervously shift their weight or crack their knuckles as they gaze around the chamber.

"I would never consider Landon a respectable woman," Oliver states wryly, remembering back to his days at Hogwarts when most of the Slytherin and even a few Gryffindors bragged about shagging her. But then, in her sixth year, Rae did something others never expected her to ever do -- she started to date Adrian Pucey, actually caring for him, not what he could do for her. Needless to say, Marcus always acquires what he wants, and he wanted Rae since his seventh year.

"At least her blood is pure."

Oliver flashes a superior grin towards Marcus. "But we can hardly say the same about you. Right, Flint?"

"Shut up, Ollie." Percy swallows the forming lump in his throat, not giving a second thought to his words before he notices all five pairs of eyes are on him.

"Ollie!?" Marcus snorts. "You actually have a pet name for that fucking puppy? You gonna start balling him now, too!? I bet he's just gagging for it!" Marcus regards Oliver and Percy, appalled, wondering why he never saw it before--they'd be perfect for each other. A nauseating thought it is.

"Why does any conversation with you end up being about sex or death?"

Michael, who has been gawking absent-mindedly around the chamber, decides now is the perfect time to join in on this conversation. With his hands resting beneath his thighs, hugging the freezing chair, his indigo eyes widen with interest. "Well, this one bit I shagged... Pure-blooded, and she was also older." He seems proud of this feat.

"I can smell innocence, purity and ... strawberries ... all over you, Corner." Marcus wrinkles his nose in disgust, turning away from the fifteen year old. "You're still a virgin." The troll genes do have their advantage; Marcus's sense of smell is superior to that of a normal human's.

"If you wish, Flint, you could send Landon over. I'm sure she'd be willing to give poor, naïve Michael some ... some ... hands on experience," Oliver comments sarcastically as he glances over at Percy, who averts his eyes, stifling a laugh.

Marcus remains silent as he jolts to his feet, the chair loudly clattering to the stone floor. He aims his wand at Oliver, daring the Gryffindor to speak badly about his woman again.

"Sit down, Flint," Lucius says boredly as he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs lazily. "I suggest we attend to the business at hand; I have other matters and people that need my attention. And, if I understood correctly Weasley, you have a Mudblood waiting in her chambers for you."

"So the Sex Ed. is over?" Michael pouts, dropping his shoulders abruptly.

"It was never supposed to begin. Listen first, and then you can go back to each other's throats. You have two months to get your teams together by the means of owl post or direct conversation. Now, bugger off before I reconsider this whole event." While the four captains leisurely leave, Percy's eyes remain fixed upon the stone floor. He only brings them forward when Lucius strides by. "Lucius. A moment, if you will?"

"Weasley?"

"If I hear you refer to Penelope Clearwater as a Mudblood again, I will kill you."

"Kill me and you will lose power. My Death Eaters would tear you apart if my blood were to stain your hands. With my word, they would do it now. But I am a reasonable man, Weasley. And you are no fool." And with that, Lucius swiftly departs; he leaves Percy to hope that, in the end, everything will be worth it and it's what he truly wants.

* * *

"Penelope?"

"I have nothing to say to you, Percival. Please, leave me be."

There's a wounded look in Percy's eyes, and he takes a seat next to Penelope on her feather-mattress bed. Cobalt silk sheets rest beneath them, matching the silver fabric wallpaper in Penelope's private chambers. Percy moves a bit closer when Penelope shifts away, and takes her hand gently with his. "Penelope, please listen to me. In the month I've spent at Alpha without you, I've had the chance to think. I almost lost my family for the actions I've taken, and I am not prepared to lose you as well..."

Penelope stands, her eyes brimming with a fiery determination for freedom. "You'd keep me here as a prisoner? Forcing me into everything that you want me to do? I am not an object to be controlled, Weasley, so do not treat me as one. I thought we discussed this. Or have you started to ignore everything I say?"

"Penelope, I love you and want you to be happy, but I refuse to let you walk out of my life." He pauses, dragging himself to his feet and taking the Ravenclaw in his arms. He runs his hand through her soft hair, stopping at her delicate neck to draw her closer, pressing his lips tenderly to hers. She refuses to kiss him back.

"You cannot have both. Why can't you understand that?" Penelope closes her weary azure eyes, melting into Percy's strong hold. "If I had known this was what we would come to, I never would have let myself fall in love with you. Look at what you've become." She's prepared herself for the worse--to leave Percy one way or another.

Percy sighs, arriving at a decision he's thought about but never wanted to come to pass. "What is it you want, Penelope? Freedom? The chance to see your family and friends again?" Placing his hands on her shoulders, he takes a step back to look her in the eye. "Fine. You can have it. You can have it all and more. You can enter and leave the castle and any of the camps spanned across Britain as you wish. I will always be here waiting for you." And he can only hope she will eventually return.

Penelope's eyes dance with a look of hope that grows with each new breath. "You have nothing to fear, Percy. I will always be faithful. And I thank you for what you have sacrificed for my happiness. You may not know it now, but it means more to me than anything else in this world."

As Percy takes a seat on her bed, she smiles coyly, only one thought running through her mind--how much she loves Percy. Not the withdrawn boy she knew at Hogwarts, but the man he could have become only through pain, loss, and sorrow.

* * *

Penelope packs a small bag and leaves early that March evening, only five hours after Percy gave her the total freedom to come and go as she pleases. It's a foggy Sunday morning when Penelope arrives in Camp Delta, and Travers is serving as her escort to a Mister Roger Davies, an old and dear friend. As she walks among the lines with the aged Death Eater, prisoners glare at her with distaste. She hardly recognises any of them; the ones she does remember were old mates or acquaintances at Hogwarts, but she doesn't bother to stop for unnecessary chitchat.

"This way, ma'am." Travers leads Penelope through a crowd of guards and inmates towards a shabby building. He is an old Death Eater with grey hair and dull lifeless eyes; any inmate could easily take this guard out of commission.

Penelope chews on her lower lip, following Travers into the building. For being an important witch in the castle, she's starting to feel like an everyday, run-of-the-mill prisoner.

"Weasley has arranged for you to stay here as long as you wish."

Penelope nods and watches Travers join a group of Death Eaters outside, continuing his rounds. She glances awkwardly around the building, still not believing that this . . . hovel . . . is where Malfoy and the others placed a family as honourable as the Davies's. Their only mistake was siding with the Regime Alliance. But, around here, that's everyone's mistake.

Penelope's only mistake was not helping when she should have.

"Miss Clearwater?"

Penelope takes on a cheerful expression as her eyes meet those apple green ones of Roger Davies. "There is no need for formalities, Roger." She smiles; she and Roger have been mates for as long as she can remember. The Davieses are old friends of the family.

Roger nods politely, bowing slightly at the waist. "It's been a while, Penny. I wasn't too sure if I'd ever see you again. Those Death Eaters refused to tell me if you, or anyone else I inquired about, was still alive. And, from what I understood from Travers, you are well. The lady of a Death Eater. I must say, it's an honour for one of those blokes to want you. But Percy doesn't realise that he is the lucky one." When he steps from the shadows, Penelope can see his dark navy robes are brand new, and his coal black hair is washed but still listless. It falls straight just at his ears, and his fringe rests above his eyes.

"Must we dwell on such matters? I came here to get away from all that," Penelope replies, her voice wooden and distant. She glances around the bland building, grimy and without any furniture. It was once a boarding house for runaway Muggle teenagers. Names of past loves are carved into the walls, and Penelope's heart aches when she realise that most of those young lovers are probably long since dead.

"I understand."

Penelope smiles. "So how is Fleur?"

Roger frowns at the memory of a lost love, remaining silent. While Roger was still attending Hogwarts, he and Fleur were the best of friends and eventually became lovers. Both joined the alliance once Roger had graduated in 1996, but only Roger was found alive. Fleur's body was never recovered; many thought she had been blown to pieces. An empty coffin rests in her grave.

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

"We've all suffered losses." Roger's voice quivers, and he adjusts the golden band on his ring finger. "But that is the past. Only the future should matter." But Roger can't help but be a hypocrite, for every night he lives in the past, dreaming of a second chance he's certain he will never receive.

Penelope nods in agreement. "It is best not to live in the past."

"Right. So we should look to the present, and to the future." He pauses and begins to pace back and forth, his footsteps echoing in the empty room. He appears to have something on his mind. "There's something I must ask you. As you may very well know, there is to be a Quidditch match in a few months."

"Yes. I don't see how this concerns me."

"I'm trying to round up the old team, the best we had while at Hogwarts. And you have skill, Penelope, you always have. I would like you to be my Keeper for Ravenclaw."

Penelope gawks at Roger in disbelief, but she declines. "I can't, because . . ." She trails off, unable to find a reason to justify her refusal. But she should have known a simple no was not good enough for Roger.

"Why not? Don't you want this chance to fly with the team again?"

"I have flown, Roger. On many teams. It would mean nothing to me."

"But, there's flying, and then there's flying!"

"And I have no need to soar with a bunch of arrogant snakes just to be happy!"

Roger wrings his hands, obviously frustrated beyond words at her stubbornness. "You've always been persistent, ever since I've known you. It's a virtue I respect. But, unfortunately, I am just as determined to have you as my Keeper."

"Why does it matter?" Penelope asks, as she feels her walls breaking.

"Because I promised myself, and another, that I'd have you on the team."