3.5 - Penelope's Interlude
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Penelope slumped on her bed, her head filled with thoughts and regrets about her actions over the past few years. The weight of her decisions pressed down on her like a heavy blanket, suffocating her with shame and remorse.
If only she had had a bit more self-control, perhaps she wouldn't have to be indebted or sell her body to a fourteen-year-old. The idea made her stomach churn with disgust, but the reality of her situation left her with few choices.
She didn't like it at all, who would? But the only other choice would be the mundane world. One thing she had noticed each summer back in the Muggle world was that it simply lacked something vital present in the magical world - a spark, a feeling of electricity coursing through her skin, energizing her, and a vividness of color that was missing there. It was like being half-alive, existing in a dull, muted reality. Once you arrived in the magical world, it was difficult to leave it, to not crave that spark of magic, of possibilities. And now, she may potentially lose all of it because she couldn't control herself, because she had let her anger and thirst for revenge consume her.
Was angering some of the richest and most influential people of society - despite how undeserving they may be - wise? Of course not! But the revenge felt oh-so sweet at the time, a heady rush of power and satisfaction that had blinded her to the consequences.
She thought back to her first year, naive and excited to exceed any expectations placed upon her, and she did. For a while, she aced every single one of her exams, her practicals, and was outgoing. She had had a perfect life until the older Slytherin bastards decided to butt in, to torment and humiliate her for their own twisted amusement.
The younger years? Until 2nd Year, she could handle them easily. Those self-entitled and arrogant fuckers' weakest trait was their complacency. They never tried to learn ahead, knowing that they had a perfect little life ahead, with their family simply taking care of everything. Need a job? All it would take was a word from a friend to a friend, perhaps a favor or a bribe, and they'd be set for life, having to do practically nothing. They coasted through on their family names and fortunes, secure in their privilege.
She remembered what the older years had done was humiliating. They had burned her assignments, the fruits of her hard work and dedication turned to ash. They tracked her in hallways to send stripping spells her way, exposing her to the jeers and catcalls of the crowd. They subjected her to all sorts of humiliating jinxes and even a few curses, though that was only once, but she still remembered the searing pain lancing through her body.
The teachers interfered, of course they did. It wasn't something tolerated at Hogwarts, but only to the extent of House Points and detentions, most of which that motherfucking Potions professor waved away with a sneer and a turn of his greasy head. If it weren't for the fact of how much she enjoyed Potions, she might genuinely not mind strangling him with her bare hands for his callous disregard.
She took a deep breath as memories of her revenge came back. It took time, careful planning. She wasn't a reckless Gryffindor. She went in with a calculated plan to tarnish their reputation, to make them suffer as she had. She slowly learned and observed each and every habit they had, taking meticulous notes in the shadows, and gave whatever happened to her back tenfold, striking them where they were most vulnerable.
Unfortunately, she had been caught, while they never admitted who it was to the professors, and the professors would likely think that they were lying either way. After all, how could a 2nd Year defeat 6th and 7th Years? And it would ruin their reputation as well, those smug bastards, to admit they had been outwitted by someone so young.
It had all felt so great when they had left Hogwarts, miserable like they had made her in her first year. It wasn't as if she had used the Unforgivables or anything of that sort, but modifying and combining spells - a process that could have easily led to her death, with at that time poor magical control, but righteous anger had blinded her to the risks - she worked tirelessly to create life-like illusions, using spells to read aloud a book and modifying it to take on the voice of others. She had nearly blown up her eardrums while attempting that, so focused on her vengeance that she disregarded her own safety.
Being homosexual in the Wizarding World was hated, despised even. While the Ministry wouldn't give a single shite about muggle-borns and half-bloods getting it on, but a "Pureblood"? One whose duty it was to Mother Magic to continue their line, a direct quote from another pureblood in their house, a somewhat decent one. She didn't hate all purebloods, that would be idiotic, but their ingrained prejudices sickened her.
It wasn't at all simple to get her due. She had kept her head down, completely broken down any relations she had with other people, constantly disillusioned and silenced, moving about in the castle like a ghost to collect information on them. She had burnt a lot of bridges and in some cases went too far, using all the blackmail she could find to further her plans, consumed by her single-minded desire for retribution.
Unfortunately, her own chances of a career and mastery were utterly ruined. There wasn't a single Master of Enchanting Potions willing to take her on as an Apprentice, not after the stunts she had pulled. Doors that should have been open were now barred to her. She couldn't even go to other countries as most ministries had strict policies which prohibited outsiders, trapping her with few options.
Knowledge outside of Hogwarts was utterly coveted. Every wizard had a different take on magic and all of them worked; in truth, magic truly was Imagination and Intent. Magic, in the end, is what you wanted it to be… or well, that was the conclusion that she had come to after reading volume after dusty volume, desperate for any scrap of insight.
Taking Spellcrafting as an example, some Wizards created spells using complicated math, weaving formulas to shape the magic. And some, mainly the Africans, created spells through intent which was a less tedious but a far more dangerous process, channeling their will directly into the spell, but could potentially result in stronger spells if properly harnessed.
That led her to Harry Potter, the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. She had thoroughly tried to search for him the previous year, but there was surprisingly little known about the boy beyond his tragic backstory, discounting the silly children's books capitalizing on his fame.
Then she met him and wasn't particularly impressed. A scrawny little thing, ill-fitting clothes hanging off his frame. Then again, to be fair, she had had only three brief conversations with him, but her desperation led her to be beyond sloppy, to think a first-year could so easily figure and catch onto what she was trying to do.
She hummed, recalling the moment he'd told her to be blunt, his green eyes sharp and assessing behind those ridiculously oversized glasses. There was something in his gaze, scorn perhaps for her clumsy manipulations. Seeing that he wanted to go to the Library, she'd offered to tutor him, to let him get ahead of his peers, a deal that any ambitious Ravenclaw would leap at.
She felt ashamed and humiliated when she had rashly offered herself, flushed further in shame at his blunt reply seeing through her ploy. She had honestly thought with him being in the peak of puberty, all it would take was to show a bit of affection and skin, and then she could lead the hormone-addled boy around by his desires.
Unfortunately, the boy proved to be far more perceptive than she had thought. Not the naive, lovestruck fool she had assumed.
She'd led him to the broom closet, intending to seduce him, at which point she'd felt an erection stirring, so that avenue could still be used, as much as she would hate herself for it. She was desperate, principles be damned.
It was smart of him not to let her lock the door and keep his wand near her eye - would he have stabbed her eyes? - she doubted it, but the implicit threat was clear. Then, he'd asked for her wand, that was a difficult one to agree to. Her wand had a soothing feeling that she would get whenever she held it, something about her Phoenix Core being naturally more attuned to her with usage or well that was what Mr. Ollivander had said.
Knowing that he already distrusted her, and refusing to hand her wand over could result in a more negative opinion of her and potentially ruin her last chance.
She would do whatever he asked of her, until she completes her mastery. The Apprenticeship Contract would ensure that after providing the payment, the master wouldn't be able to back out without some nasty consequences befalling them - curses, hexes, perhaps even the contract draining their magic entirely. She had researched it thoroughly, this was her way back in.
With a flick of her wand, she summoned several pieces of parchment as well as ink and a quill as she began to write everything she had learnt about magic, spellcrafting, enchanting, and potions. Every hard-earned scrap of knowledge she had pored over, committing it briefly to the parchment. This would be her offering, to demonstrate her worth and secure an apprenticeship. It had to be enough.
He really was her last option, even if she didn't like it. Even if the idea of being beholden to a mere child made her skin crawl with disgust and shame. She had gambled everything on this one desperate play and now there was no going back. Pride and principles had long been abandoned in the endless pursuit of more knowledge, more power. The magic was all that mattered now.
Author's Note: Just a short interlude showing Penelope's reasons. It will be further expanded, I should have just added this in the previous chapter.
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Wordcount (Pre-Disclaimer AN): 1707