𝗕𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗔𝗟

ACT TWO, CHAPTER TWO
penelope's getting really fucking
tired of cleaning up after bellatrix.

HARRY WAS NOWHERE to be found.

After that revelation at St. Mungo's, the boy has basically shut himself away from one of the rooms of Grimmauld Place. Penelope couldn't really blame him — she would also hide herself away if she found out a dark wizard was possessing her.

Despite that, Penelope's mood had brightened. She still fucking hated Grimmauld Place and Mrs. Black's screeches from her portrait (she's had to calm her down at least five times in the past couple of days, how infuriating), but putting up decorations with the rest of the Weasley's and Sirius (who literally had never seemed happier) was amazing. It certainly helped that Andromeda and Ted had come to visit — Penelope apologized for kind of ruining their Christmas plans, but they told her that it was okay and went to go catch up with Sirius.

Currently, Penelope was sitting up in Ron and Harry's room with Ron and Ginny. She was leaned up against the headboard, her legs draped across Ron's lap as him and Ginny sat close to her. It felt so natural, so right — but Penelope didn't focus on that as she watched Ron and Ginny bicker back and forth for a little while. A fire crackled in the corner and the three of them were munching on some sandwiches that Mrs. Weasley had made. Finally, Hermione — who had just arrived — came in with Harry and Venus trailing behind her.

"I came on the Knight Bus," Hermione explained as she pulled off her jacket. "Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's, and he'd given you all permission to visit. So . . ." She sat down next to Ginny, and the whole group looked up at Harry. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry replied stiffly.

"Oh, don't lie, Harry. Ron, Ginny, and Penelope say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."

Harry glared at them. "They do, do they?"

Ron looked down at his lap, like he suddenly found Penelope's jeans interesting. Ginny didn't seem to care. And as for Penelope, she was a Slytherin — she dealt with glares and hard looks all day. Hell, she even used those at Hogwarts.

"All you do is lock yourself in some random ass rooms and feed Buckbeak dead rats," Penelope replied, casually taking a bite out of her sandwich. "I mean, I get it — what you heard at St. Mungo's was super batshit crazy, but you know we all care about you. It's kind of hard to reassure you that when you won't look at us."

"It's you lot who won't look at me!" Harry stated angrily.

"Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other," Hermione suggested, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Very funny," Harry snapped as he turned away.

"Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," Hermione voiced sharply. "Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears—"

"Yeah? All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it . . ."

"We wanted to talk to you, Harry, but as you've been hiding ever since we got back—" Ginny revealed.

"I didn't want anyone to talk to me."

Venus then said that he let her talk to her, but Harry was quick to reassure that it was just because she was Venus.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you, seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels," Ginny responded.

Penelope raised a shocked eyebrow and shared a look with Ron. Oh shit.

Harry remained still for a moment before turning to face her. "I forgot."

"Lucky you," Ginny stated coolly.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and Penelope knew he meant it. "So . . . so do you think I'm being possessed, then?"

"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?" Ginny asked. "Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. "No."

"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you. When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."

"That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though—"

"Harry, you've had these dreams before," Hermione reminded him. "You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year."

Harry shook his head. "This was different. I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake . . . what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London—?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "One day, you'll read Hogwarts, A History, and perhaps that will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry."

"You didn't leave your bed, mate," Ron added. "I saw you thrashing around in your sleep about a minute before we could wake you up . . ."

Harry began to pace up and down the room. Penelope watched as Venus' eyes trailed back and forth, watching the boy as he did so. She then glanced over to Ron, her heart only glowing as he laughed at something Ginny had said. Maybe being back at Grimmauld Place wasn't so bad after all.

Christmas morning, Penelope woke up in the room she was sharing with Hermione, Ginny, and Venus to see that all of them were up opening their presents. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she sat up and joined the festivities. She got some new pairs of jeans and a couple more Weird Sisters t-shirts from Nymphadora, new shoes that she had wanted for a while from Andromeda and Ted, a hand-knitted emerald jumper with a silver P on it from Mrs. Weasley, and a gold necklace with a small gold charm of a crown that had three red gems by the points. It didn't come with a name — and the other girls reckoned it was from a secret admirer — but Penelope liked it anyways, so she put it on.

Her other friends probably had sent their Christmas presents to Andromeda and Ted's house, so she assumed she would get them later. Penelope then arose and got dressed in a fitted green sweater with a white collared shirt underneath so the collar and wrist cuffs were showing, black corduroy jeans, and her black boots. The red gems of the necklace stuck out against the green of her sweater, and she tied half of her hair up before leaving the room with Hermione and Venus. They met Harry and Ron on the stairs.

"Hey, Merry Christmas," Penelope told the two of them.

"Merry Christmas," Harry replied. He then looked down at Penelope's neck. "Hey, nice necklace."

"Thanks. It was in my Christmas presents. Not sure who it's from, but it's cute."

Ron — whose face was very red for some reason — then nodded to the neatly wrapped present Hermione was carrying. "Who's that for anyways?"

"Kreacher," Hermione answered brightly.

"You're giving a present to Kreacher?" Penelope inquired.

"It had better not be clothes!" Ron warned. "You know what Sirius said, Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!"

"It isn't clothes, although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag," Hermione responded. "No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom."

"What bedroom?" Harry asked, lowering his voice as they passed the portrait of Mrs. Black, Penelope glancing at the moth-eaten curtains in disgust.

"Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of — den. Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen."

Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement. When she wished them a Merry Christmas, she sounded like she had a bad head cold. Penelope frowned. Ginny had revealed (after finding out from Fred and George) that she had been crying all morning because Percy sent back his sweater.

"So this is Kreacher's bedroom?" Ron asked, walking over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry.

"Yes," Hermione answered, now sounding a little nervous. "Er . . . I think we'd better knock . . ."

Ron rapped on the door, but there was no reply. "He must be sneaking around upstairs." He then pulled the door open. "Urgh."

Penelope looked inside. Most of the cupboard itself was taken up by a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot's space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made something that resembled a nest. There was a jumble of assorted rags and old blankets that were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it was clearly where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Scattered among the material were stale bread crusts and moldy bits of cheese. Small objects and coins glinted in a far corner, clearly telling Penelope that Kreacher had saved them during Sirius' purge of the house. There was also a collection of silver-framed family photographs, all of them staring back at Penelope haughtily despite the glass being shattered.

That made a Penelope do a double take. For a moment, she could've sworn there was one of her right at the front — but it wasn't. Penelope reached out and gingerly took the picture frame in her hand and looked down at it. It was like staring into a mirror. The woman in the photograph looked exactly like Penelope did, just older and with darker features. Penelope gritted her teeth and set the frame back down. She hated how much she looked like Bellatrix.

"I think I'll just leave his present here," Hermione voiced, putting the package neatly in the middle of the dent in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. "He'll find it later, that'll be fine . . ."

Sirius then emerged from the pantry carrying a large turkey. "Come to think of it, has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?"

"Not since the night we came back," Penelope responded. "He was muttering some shit about blood traitors and then you ordered him to get out of the kitchen."

"Yeah . . ." Sirius trailed off with a frown. "You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, to. . . . he must be hiding upstairs somewhere . . ."

"He couldn't have left, could he?" Harry questioned. "I mean, when you said out, maybe he thought you meant, get out of the house?"

"No, no, House-Elves can't leave unless they're given clothes, they're tied to their family's house."

"They can leave the house if they really want to. Dobby did, he left the Malfoys' to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterward, but he still managed it."

Sirius looked a little unsettled for a moment. "I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something . . . of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died . . . but I mustn't get my hopes up . . ."

Fred, George, and Ron laughed at that. Hermione definitely didn't look happy.

After their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Penelope, Harry, Venus, and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Moody and Lupin this time — no Nymphadora, she was back home with Andromeda and Ted, which kind of made Penelope a little sad, but it was okay. Mundungus Fletcher then turned up in time for Christmas pudding, revealing that he managed to borrow a car for the occasion since the Underground didn't run on Christmas Day. Penelope highly doubted that the actual owner of the car knew that their car was being used for that, but it had an Enlarging Spell so that twelve people with Mundungus driving were able to fit in it quite comfortingly. Penelope squeezed herself beside Ginny and Hermione, the three of them engaging in a very active conversation.

Their journey to St. Mungo's was quite quick since there was little traffic on the streets of London. A small trickle of witches and wizards crept up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. All of them — besides Fletcher, who drove around the corner to wait for them — strolled casually to the window where the dummy was. And one by one, they stepped through the glass.

Penelope glanced around the reception area in wonder. It had been magnificent before, but now it just looked festive. The crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been turned to red and gold so that they became giant glowing Christmas baubles. Holly was strung around every doorway and in each corner was a shining white Christmas tree covered in magical snow and icicles. It was much less crowded than the last time they had been there.

They found Mr. Weasley propped up in his bed in the ward. He had the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap. Okay, Penelope knows when people are hiding something, and Mr. Weasley definitely was, since he had a sheepish expression on his face. Penelope raised an eyebrow.

"Everything all right, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley inquired after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents.

"Fine, fine," Mr. Weasley reassured her, but it was just a little too quick. "You — er — haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

"No, why?"

"Nothing, nothing." Mr. Weasley began to open his pile of gifts. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry — this is absolutely wonderful—"

Harry had apparently gotten him some Muggle tools and such. Mrs. Weasley didn't seem satisfied by her husband's answer. As Mr. Weasley leaned over to shake Harry's hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.

"Arthur, you've had your bandages changed," Mrs. Weasley began, her tone very snappy. "Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

"What?" Mr. Weasley replied, looking rather frightened as he pulled the bed sheets higher up his chest. "No, no — it's nothing — it's — I—" He instantly deflated under his wife's piercing gaze. "Well — now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea . . . he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in . . . um . . . complementary medicine . . . I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies . . . well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on — on Muggle wounds—"

Mrs. Weasley let out a sort of ominous noise between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin instantly strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley. Bill muttered something about getting a cup of tea, and the Weasley twins went to follow him with shit-eating grins on both of their faces. Penelope clasped her hands behind her and tried to look everywhere but the situation at hand. The ceiling was certainly very interesting . . .

"Do you mean to tell me that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?" Mr. Weasley snapped, her voice so loud that the other visitors were scurrying for cover, Ron even going as far to try and hide behind Penelope's back.

"Not messing about, Molly, dear," Mr. Weasley voiced. "It was just — just something Pye and I thought we'd try — only, most unfortunately — well, with these particular kinds of wounds — it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped—"

"Meaning?"

"Well . . . well, I don't know whether you know what — what stitches are?"

"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together, but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid—"

"I fancy a cup of tea too," Harry then announced as he jumped to his feet, pulling Venus along with him.

Penelope felt Ron grab her hand and drag them out of the room to escape Mrs. Weasley's wrath. Hermione and Ginny sprinted to the door with them. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA? Once Penelope got out into the corridor, she let go of Ron's hand and stared back at the door. Thank Merlin they got out of that.

"Typical dad," Ginny admitted, shaking her head as they walked up the corridor. "Stitches . . . I ask you . . ."

"Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," Hermione replied. "I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. . . . I wonder where the tearoom is?"

"Fifth floor," Harry answered.

They walked the length of the corridor through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed, various Healers called out to them while diagnosing off complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was very offended when a medieval wizard called out he had a bad case of spattergroit.

"And what's that supposed to be?" Ron demanded as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the original occupants out of the way.

"'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now—" the Healer answered.

Ron's ears turned red. "Watch who you're calling gruesome!"

"The only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes—"

"I have not got spattergroit!"

"But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master—"

"They're freckles! Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!" He looked down at Penelope, who was watching the whole thing with a straight face although she was trying not to laugh. "That's what you wanna be? A Healer telling people there's something wrong with them?"

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Hey, you heard the wizard. Go tie a toad liver around your neck."

"If you ever become a Healer, I'm never coming to you." Ron then looked at the others. "What floor's this?"

"I think it's the fifth," Hermione replied.

"Nah, it's the fourth, one more—" Harry stated.

However, he came to an abrupt stop stop on the landing and stared at the small window set into the double doors that led into the SPELL DAMAGE corridor. A man was peering out at their group with his nose pressed against the glass. His features gave him away — wavy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and dazzling white teeth that were revealed through a broad vacant smile.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed.

"Holy shit," Penelope commented.

"Oh my goodness," Hermione breathed out. "Professor Lockhart!"

Lockhart pushed open the doors and approached them, wearing a long lilac dressing gown. "Well, hello there! I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?"

"Er — how are you, Professor?" Ron asked, sounding a little guilty.

Back in second year, Harry and Ron had accompanied Lockhart down to the Chamber of Secrets — well, more like they forced him to come along. Ron's wand had been broken that year due to that car crash in the Whomping Willow, and Lockhart had apparently tried to erase Ron and Harry's memories with Ron's wand. The spell backfired and made Lockhart get rid of his own memories, which is why he was here.

"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" Lockhart replied, pulling a battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"

"Er — we don't want any at the moment, thanks," Ron told him, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

"Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't you be in a ward?"

Lockhart stopped smiling slowly and gazed intently at Harry for a few moments. "Haven't we met?"

"Er . . . yeah, we have. You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?"

"Teach?" Lockhart repeated, looking a little unsettled. "Me? Did I?" The smile then instantly reappeared on his face. "Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!"

A head then poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor. "Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?" A very motherly looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair approached them, smiling warmly at the group. "Oh Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas Day too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?"

"We're doing autographs!" Lockhart revealed to Healer with a very glittering smile. "They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!"

The Healer took Lockhart's arm and smiled fondly at him. "Listen to him. He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be coming back a little bit. Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked . . . not that he's dangerous! But—" she lowered her voice "—bit of a danger to himself, bless him . . . doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back. . . . it is nice of you to have come to see him—"

Ron gestured uselessly at the floor above them. "Er, actually, we were just — er—"

The mutter about them going to have a cup of tea trailed away into nothingness. Penelope shrugged and followed Lockhart and the Healer down the corridor. Why not? Plus, it gave her more of an excuse to see more of St. Mungo's.

"Let's not stay long," Ron said quietly.

Penelope smirked. "Why? You don't want anyone else telling you to stand nak—"

"Do not even finish that sentence, Penelope."

The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey ward. "Alohomora." The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a very firm grasp on Lockhart's arm until she settled him into an armchair beside his bed. "This is our long-term resident ward. For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement . . . Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself, and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognize yet . . . well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat . . ."

Penelope glanced around. Unlike the other ward, this one seemed like more like a permanent home to the residents. There were more personal effects around the beds as well — for example, Lockhart had pictures of himself taped around his headboard. The moment Lockhart had been sat down in his chair by the Healer, he pulled a fresh stack of photographs towards him, seized a quill, and feverishly began to sign them all.

"You can put them in envelopes," Lockhart instructed to Ginny, throwing the signed pictures of him one by one into her lap. "I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail . . . Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly . . . I just wish I knew why . . ." He paused, looking faintly puzzled for a moment before beaming again and returning to his signing. "I suspect it is simply my good looks . . ."

A swallow-skinned and mournful-looking wizard was laying in the bed opposite of them, staring at the ceiling and mumbling to himself — it was quite obvious he was unaware of anything around him. Two beds down was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur. At the very end of the ward were two beds, hidden behind flowery curtains to give the occupants and their visitors some privacy.

"Here you are, Agnes," the Healer said brightly to the furry-faced woman as she handed her a small pile of Christmas presents. "See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?"

Agnes responded with several loud barks.

"And look, Broderick, you've been sent a potted plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy Hippogriff for each month, they'll brighten things up, won't they?" The Healer approached the man who was mumbling and set down the plant on the bedside cabinet and put the calendar on the wall with her wand. "And — oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"

Wait a second, Longbottom? Penelope's head snapped up. The curtains at the far end of the ward had been drawn back and two visitors were walking down the aisle between the beds. There was a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat decorated with a stuffed vulture. Trailing behind her, looking thoroughly depressed, was Neville himself. Penelope frowned and looked back towards the curtains. He was obviously visiting people here.

"Neville!" Ron suddenly called as he got to his feet, making Longbottom jump and cower. "Have you seen? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"

"Ron, I don't think—" Penelope began, her eyes widening a little.

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" the older woman questioned graciously.

Penelope realized this was his grandmother, whom Neville lived with. The pieces suddenly started coming together in her mind. Those people at the end of the ward, those had to be Neville's parents. But how had they gotten in the ward? Neville didn't seem exactly eager to share any information, either, which was fine, he didn't have to, but he was blushing deeply and wouldn't make eye contact with any of them.

"Ah, yes," Mrs. Longbottom continued, sticking a shriveled, clawlike hand out to Harry for him to shake. "Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."

Harry shook her hand. "Er — thanks."

"And you two are clearly Weasleys." Mrs. Longbottom held her hand out regally to Ron and Ginny. "Yes, I know your parents — not well, of course — but fine people, fine people . . . and you must be Hermione Granger?"

Hermione looked rather startled at the fact Mrs. Longbottom knew her name, but shook her hand nonetheless. There was then a quick introduction between her and Venus.

She then cast her gaze onto Penelope, and her expression turned extremely dark and her fists clenched. "And you."

Penelope blinked. "Uh . . . hi, I'm Penelope Lestrange, it's lovely—"

"Oh, I know who you are. I don't think Neville needs to be hanging out with you at all."

"I'm sorry?"

Mrs. Longbottom ignored her and looked back to Hermione, leaving Penelope in a state of confusion. "Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy—" she cast a stern, appraising look down her bony nose at Longbottom "—but he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say . . ." She jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, the stuffed vulture on her hat trembling.

"What?" Ron inquired, looking amazed. "Is that your dad down the end, Neville?"

"What's this?" Mrs. Longbottom demanded sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?" Longbottom took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling, and shook his head. "Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of! You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"

"I'm not ashamed," Neville muttered very quietly.

Ron then stood on his tiptoes to look at the inhabitants of the two beds. Penelope rolled her eyes and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him back down to normal height. He turned to her only to be met with a harsh look.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" Mrs. Longbottom exclaimed. "My son and his wife—" she turned to Harry, Venus, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, giving Penelope a glare as well "—were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers."

Penelope instantly froze. Two members of the Order of the Phoenix were tortured into insanity by Bellatrix and her use of the Cruciatus Curse, Andromeda's voice rang throughout her mind. That's why she's in Azkaban. She had never told Penelope exactly who — Penelope always felt like it was her duty to know, since Bellatrix had literally ruined their lives, but it was Longbottom's parents? Was that why Longbottom was always so scared of her, because of her mother? Merlin, Penelope felt awful . . .

"They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the Wizarding community," Mrs. Longbottom elaborated. "Highly gifted, the pair of them. I — yes, Alice dear, what is it?"

Longbottom's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. Penelope felt her stomach twist and her breath hitch in her throat as she studied the woman. Her face was thin and worn, her eyes were overlarge, and her white hair was wispy and dead-looking. The three words Bellatrix did this kept repeating in Penelope's mind over and over again. Longbottom's mother did not speak — she might've not been able to — but she made timid motions toward Longbottom as she held something in her outstretched hand.

"Again?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, sounding slightly weary. "Very well, Alice dear, very well — Neville, take it, whatever it is . . ."

Longbottom had already stretched out his hand. His mother then dropped an empty Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper into it. Penelope's head spun. This is what Bellatrix had done, resorted Longbottom's parents into this, so much where he couldn't be raised by them . . .

"Very nice, dear," Mrs. Longbottom praised in a fake cheery voice.

"Thanks, mum," Longbottom told her quietly, which made Penelope's heart clench.

His mother walked back up at the ward, humming to herself. Longbottom looked at all of them with a defiant expression, as if he was daring them to laugh. None of them did. Nothing about this was funny. Penelope kept her gaze on the floor as her chest tightened. No, she had to fix this . . . but how, his parents couldn't be healed? . . . Bellatrix ruined their lives, and Penelope was a reminder of that . . .

Mrs. Longbottom sighed. "Well, we'd better get back." She pulled on a pair of long green gloves. "Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now . . ."

The door shut behind them. That noise brought Penelope's head back up, and she felt her hands began to shake.

"I never knew," Hermione admitted, looking rather tearful.

"Nor did I," Ron added rather hoarsely.

"Nor me," Ginny whispered.

They all looked to Harry.

"I did," Harry revealed glumly. "Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't mention it . . ."

"My mother," Penelope breathed out, hot tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

Ron looked down at her. "What?"

"Aunt Andromeda always told me that Bellatrix used the Cruciatus Curse on two people that made them lose their minds, which is why she got sent to Azkaban. She never told it me it was Longbottom's parents . . ." She took a step backwards. "I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

"Penelope, it isn't your fault—" Ron began.

She then turned to the closed door. "I — I have to go say something." Ron placed a hand on her shoulder, but she turned to him, her eyes sad — which shocked him right down to his core. "Ron, please."

"Okay," he agreed quietly.

Penelope then pushed the door open and exited the ward. She glanced to the right — nothing — before glancing to the left. Longbottom and his grandmother were walking down that corridor. Penelope quickly walked towards them, and once she got close to them, she put her hand on his shoulder to get him to stop. Longbottom turned around and looked down at her, a sad expression still painted across his face.

"Longbottom . . ." Penelope trailed off, not quite sure what to say now that she was here. "Can we talk? Alone?"

Mrs. Longbottom sneered at her. "He doesn't need—"

"Grandmother," Longbottom interrupted. He nodded at Penelope. "Yeah, we can."

Mrs. Longbottom glared at Penelope. Penelope didn't have the strength to glare back, not at her, not right now. She then walked down the corridor and stopped at the end to wait for Neville. Penelope took a deep breath.

"Bellatrix," Penelope stated. "She did that, didn't she?"

Longbottom hesitated.

Her eyes were pleading. "Neville, please."

He eventually gave in. "Yeah."

Penelope shut her eyes for a moment. "Merlin, Neville, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Maybe I wasn't the one who did it, but all I do is keep finding more and more messes from my mother that I feel obligated to clean up. Your parents are in here because of her, she caused them to be like this, and that's something I can't fix. I know this doesn't help, but . . . I truly am sorry."

"It's not your responsibility to fix everything she's left behind," Longbottom replied. "You know, I've been a little . . . scared of you because Bellatrix is your mother, but I've come to realize that you're nothing like her." He then offered her a small smile. "And . . . and thank you. For apologizing. It means a lot, coming from you."

Penelope forced a smile on her face to at least send him off. "Merry Christmas, Neville."

"Merry Christmas, Penelope."

She then watched as he set off down the corridor towards his grandmother. It felt like she could suddenly breathe a little easier, but that didn't mean the guilt in her heart left.

・゜・。・゜。・。・゜★

THERE WAS A small park across from Grimmauld Place, and that was where Penelope was situated, sitting on top of the merry-go-round.

Just like Harry had done, Penelope decided to seclude herself from everyone else. She completely disregarded her own advice about letting people in and left Grimmauld Place for a little while. Sitting in a home like that where Bellatrix possibly could've been was just reminding her of Neville's parents and St. Mungo's. Everything was just a little much right now.

She sighed, staring up at the stars as she pulled her coat closer around her. Her wand was hidden up her sleeve — of course she wouldn't use it, but just in case. Her knees were tucked into her chest. She suddenly heard footsteps from behind her, but they didn't sound threatening at all.

"If you're anybody but Nymphadora, please go away," Penelope stated. "Don't take it personally."

"I'm actually very offended," Ron's voice replied, sitting down next to her. "How are you doing?"

"Awful, actually."

Ron frowned. "What happened to Neville's parents wasn't your fault, P. You know that."

"Do I?" Penelope countered, finally looking over at him. "All of this feels like my fault. Everything Bellatrix had ever did, every murder, every torture . . . it just falls right back onto me because I'm her daughter."

"It shouldn't. You're not her."

Penelope scoffed bitterly. "My features sure beg to differ. Did you see that picture of Bellatrix in Kreacher's den? We're practically the same person."

"So . . . you look like her," Ron voiced. "But that doesn't necessarily you share the same qualities." He sighed for a moment. "Listen, P. We've only started being friends the past couple of months, right? But in that short amount of time, you've proved to me that you're not who I thought you were."

She shook her head. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"No, I'm not. I mean it. You're one of the best people I know, Penelope. You've got a good heart."

Penelope's eyes trailed across Ron's face. Under the starlight, she could tell he was serious. Her heart warmed at that revelation. It also began to race at how close they were sitting to each other . . . if she focused hard enough, she could look into his blue eyes and feel herself drowning . . . and his lips were right there, practically inviting her to close the distance . . .

And then suddenly, without thinking, Penelope leaned forwards and kissed him.

Ron froze at the gesture at first but soon began to relax into it. His lips were cold from the icy air outside but soon began to get warmer. They were also slightly chapped as well, but that didn't matter. It was also very clear that Ron had no idea what he was doing, but frankly, neither did Penelope (she had kissed Theodore once for a dare . . . never again.) It seemed messy, but it just felt right to the two teenagers. Penelope reached up and placed a hand on the side of his neck, gently tracing her thumb against the back of his jaw. Ron moved closer to her in response and reached out as well, placing his hand on the side her right thigh since her knees were still tucked into her chest.

Penelope didn't know much about romantic relationships, but she did know one thing — the way Ron made her feel was something she had never felt before. He made her heart race, her mind spin, and butterflies fly in her stomach all at the same time. Who cares what the Slytherins would say, who cares what her friends would say — if he made her happy, then Penelope didn't give a fuck about other peoples' opinions.

They kissed each other for a couple moments longer before pulling away. The two of them kept their hands where they were as they stared into each other's eyes. Both of them were breathing heavier than normal due to the fact that they had just been kissing for a little while.

"Sorry," Penelope whispered.

Ron blinked at her. "Sorry? Why the bloody hell are you sorry? That was incredible."

Penelope raised an eyebrow and laughed slightly at him. "I was saying sorry because now you have to put up with a psycho bitch like me." She nodded a little. "I fancy you, Ron Weasley."

He smiled at her. "I fancy you too, Penelope Lestrange." Ron then moved his hand from her thigh to the gold chain with the small crown on it. "Maybe this is also the time to tell you that I was the one who got you this necklace."

Penelope straightened up a little. "You got me it?"

Ron's face turned red, and Penelope could even see it in the dark. "Yeah. You were the one who told me that I should turn that stupid Slytherin song into the Gryffindor perspective. Thought I would say thank you in the form of that. Got it in Hogsmeade, had to borrow a couple Galleons from Harry, but . . ."

Penelope grinned and kissed Ron quickly again. "It's perfect, I love it." She then paused, feeling something so amazing forming between them. "Should I sing a rendition of Weasley Is Our King?"

"Absolutely not."

☆ 彡

penny :(

anyways, currently thinking about how if penelope's this freaked out about bellatrix torturing neville's parents to insanity then she might go crazy in book two when bellatrix k!lls *********

also I'm pretty fucking proud of that kiss scene go me

and penelope and ron's song is 100% bleeding love by leona lewis <3