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Author: TheGov Story: Redefining Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 16 Words: 47,960
A/N: Penny’s not mine. Please don’t sue. (Although, I don’t really know if JKR would recognize her at this point, since she was given such a throwaway role in Chamber of Secrets) Thanks to my beta, Arnel. I really am running out of superlatives to describe the work she does. It’s great work. Couple of literary references here. One’s really obvious. One’s not. House points for the one that’s not. Love you, darling! -- -- -- -- “Where are you going tonight?” Hermione asked, when Penny came by the Burrow to drop off Arthur. “Oh, just out with some friends,” she replied. She hadn’t told anyone about the date, because she was afraid it would be a disaster, and she didn’t want to have to tell about it. “Well, don’t worry about Arthur,” Molly said, slipping her grandson a biscuit. “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. And Ron and Harry are going to be here for dinner as well,” Molly said. “We hope,” Hermione offered somewhat darkly. It was obvious to Penny that Hermione was already frustrated with her husband’s long hours. “Well, Harry will be here in any case,” Molly said. “Now you run along and have a wonderful evening with your friends.” “Thank you again,” Penny said. “I really appreciate this.” “Oh, posh,” Molly said. “Now go, shoo.” Penny smiled. “Thank you.” She closed her eyes and Apparated back to her flat. She went into the bedroom and to her closet, her mind spinning, trying to decide what to wear. She had no idea what was appropriate. She went through several combinations, discarding some, and finally deciding on a long, ankle length skirt, and a flowered blouse that she hadn’t worn in ages. She brushed out her hair, quickly checking her reflection in the mirror. “You look younger tonight,” the mirror said. “It suits you.” “Thank you,” Penny muttered, feeling the butterflies in her stomach. This is crazy. What am I doing? She took a deep breath, and steeled herself. It’s too late to back out now. “I’m ready,” she said. “Of course you are, dear. You look very nice. Have a good time,” the mirror said. Penny stood up and Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. She stepped through and exited onto Charing Cross Road, strolling out of the magically cooled pub into the warm, humid air of the city. The bookstore was only a few steps away, and the door chime jingled as she entered. Chris was already there, standing by the café and leaning heavily on his cane. He was dressed in slacks and a collared shirt, and he was frowning darkly as he stared off into space. He looked up and spotted her, and his face cleared immediately, his smile would have lit up a darkened room. Penny felt the butterflies return. “Hi,” Penny said, as she reached him, and started to extend her hand. “You look nice tonight,” he said, taking her hand. He raised it to his lips, and brushed them on her knuckles in the continental fashion and Penny felt herself blush deeply. “Thank you,” she said. “You do, too.” He shifted around, and offered her his arm – the one without the cane – and smiled. “Shall we?” She nodded, and they started out. “You looked upset about something when I came in, is everything all right?” “It’s nothing,” he said. “Trouble at work.” “What kind of trouble?” she asked. “Problems with your boss?” To her surprise, Chris laughed bitterly. “Oh, I wish it were that simple,” he said. “No, a young woman turned up dead in the East End this morning, and I had to tell her parents that she’d been murdered while working as a prostitute.” “Oh.” Penny felt as if she should have been shocked, but she found that after the war, nothing really shocked her any more. “I’m sorry I dragged it back up. I should have known.” Chris looked at her, surprise, and perhaps a note of respect in his features. “It’s all right, it’s part of the job.” He shrugged, letting go of her arm. “Sometimes, life just isn’t very pretty.” “I know,” she said, softly. He had half turned to raise his arm and call a cab, but he caught what she said, and he stopped, and Penny saw his features soften for the first time, showing tenderness and compassion. She held his gaze for a moment, and then a car horn blew, and broke the moment. “Cabbie!” he called out, raising his arm toward the street. A single black cab detached itself from the pack of traffic to pull up at the curb. Chris held the door for her as she got in. “Where to, guv’nr?” the cabbie asked. Chris gave the cabbie the address, and with a lurch, he merged back into traffic. “How was your day?” Chris asked, breaking the silence that had descended on the cab. “You heard about mine.” “Oh, it was the same as it always is,” she said, putting a false cheerfulness into her voice. “Up early, pack Arthur off to day care, off to work, pick up Arthur, head home.” She sighed. “Sounds like a comfortable routine,” Chris said, diplomatically. “It’s tiring,” Penny admitted. There was a brief silence. “Well, it’s been an interesting week at work,” Chris said. “You get to celebrate with me.” “Oh? Celebrate what?” “My Superintendent told me she’s put me in for a promotion,” he said, and Penny heard the note of pride in his voice. “That’s wonderful!” Penny said. She looked at him. “How does one earn a promotion in your line of work?” She was genuinely curious. There was a reason she’d been sorted into Ravenclaw. “I solve a lot of cases,” he said. “I’m no different than Ron, really. I catch bad guys, and help put them in prison. We just go about it in a different way.” “So, you’re an Inspector now, what would you be promoted to?” she asked. “I’m a Detective Inspector now,” he clarified. “We usually drop the Detective part, because it’s too much to say, but it means I’m a qualified investigator. My promotion, if it’s approved, would be to Detective Chief Inspector.” “What would that mean?” she asked. “It means I’d be in charge of several Inspectors, be able to choose my own cases. It would be an increase in prestige and influence. And I suppose it would mean an increase in pay,” he said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t really given it much thought.” “You don’t need the money?” she asked. He shrugged. “I live alone, simply. I don’t need a lot. I live comfortably off my current salary.” The cab pulled up in front of a restaurant in a storefront. The neighbourhood looked a little busy, as if it was a popular location. They got out, and Chris paid off the cab. He escorted her in on his arm, limping gently. “Ah, Inspector Collins,” the maitre’d said as they approached. “Your table is waiting.” He spoke with a thick French accent. “Thank you, Philippe,” Chris said. “And who is this lovely vision of beauty?” Philippe asked, taking her hand and kissing it. She blushed a little. “This is Penny Clearwater,” Chris said, introducing her. “Penny, this is Philippe Charbouneux . He owns the restaurant.” “Enchante, Mademoiselle,” Philippe said, bowing slightly. “Any friend of the Inspector’s is a treasured guest indeed.” “Enchante, aussi, Monsieur Charbouneux,” Penny replied. “Vous avez un restaurant très joli.“ “Be still my heart, she speaks mon language with the voice of an angel, as well!” Philippe cried. “What an enchanting creature, Inspector. I commend your good taste! Right this way, Mademoiselle.” Philippe lead the way into the restaurant. It was brightly lit and cheerful; the walls were painted with the Paris skyline. Penny was relieved. She had been afraid the atmosphere would be too romantic, or intimate, with soft music and candles. This was casual, and more like a place one might go with a large group of friends. After the curious introduction to the owner, it put her at ease. The restaurant had a large dinning area that was a few steps down from the entry level, with large round tables. The upper level was narrower, with tables for two and four, and along one wall, a series of curtained-off booths for those who preferred privacy. Philippe lead them to a table for two on the upper level. It was set in an open archway that faced the street, and immediately below them was the garden and fountain that were in front of the restaurant. There was a card on the table that said, Reserved, and as they arrived, Philippe plucked it off. “Here we are,” he said with a flourish. “Your table, Inspector.” Chris stepped deftly over and held out her chair for her and she sat down, murmuring thanks. He took the seat opposite her. “Would the Inspector and the Mademoiselle care for some wine?” Philippe asked. “Would you care to help me celebrate?” Chris asked her. “Certainly,” Penny agreed. “Two glasses of champagne, Philippe. Superintendent Pitt has recommended me for Chief Inspector.” “Congratulations, Inspector! At once! With my compliments.” Philippe gestured at the waiter, and clapped his hands, issuing his order in rapid-fire French. He handed across menus to Penny and Chris. “Our soup of the day is onion soup topped with croutons and smothered in cheese. Today’s specials are Quiche Alsacienne and Cheese Soufflé and for dessert we are featuring Crepes Suzette, Mousse au Chocolate and a delectable confection known here in London as the ‘Floating Island’. I will return in a few moments.” Philippe disappeared, and Chris smiled wryly at his retreating figure. “There’s a story here,” Penny said, grinning. “When I was a Police Constable, this was my neighbourhood. I arrested one of Philippe’s busboys for selling drugs. Philippe was horrified it had been taking place under his nose, and he’s been forever grateful for my assistance in cleaning up le riff raff. The busboy in question had also been helping himself liberally to Philippe’s wine cellar, so it cleared up a long-standing and painful mystery for him.” Penny grinned. “So you have an arrangement?” “Something like that.” The waiter Philippe had signalled to arrived with two glasses of champagne, and set them down on the table, bowing slightly before disappearing. Penny picked up her glass. “To your promotion, then.” Chris smiled, and picked up his glass. “And to a beautiful evening with a friend.” Penny blushed, and they toasted each other with their glasses. “So what will you have?” Chris asked. “What do you recommend?” Penny asked, scanning down the menu. So far, the evening was going well. It was light and casual. On the whole, Penny felt the butterflies in her stomach turn to light bubbles of pleasure. That might also have had something to do with the champagne, which was excellent. “I usually disappoint Philippe by ordering beef every time I’m here, but I understand the pork tenderloin is very good.” Penny sipped her champagne and considered the menu again. “I think I’ll try it.” Philippe returned a few moments later, took their orders, and disappeared, leaving them alone. Penny swirled the champagne in her glass, looking over it at Chris, and smiling shyly. “So, tell me about yourself,” Penny invited, her curiosity overtaking her. “How does one become a future Detective Chief Inspector?” “Well,” Chris began, a little slowly. “It’s quite a long story.” He picked up his glass and took a sip of champagne, then began to swirl it gently. “I was born here in London, in 1972. By the time I was five, my father had walked out on my mother, and never came back.” He paused. “I don’t really know why, of course, I was too young. But Mum – her name was Annabel – couldn’t afford our flat anymore, so we moved in with my Aunt Anastasia. She has this nice, odd little cottage in Cambridge, back in a wooded lot. That’s when I started to learn about the magical world, and how my mother was a Squib.” Chris had lowered his voice a little, glancing around them, but the tables immediately on either side of them were empty at the moment and no one was paying them any attention. “That must have been quite a shock for you,” Penny said as Chris took a sip of his drink. “It was and it wasn’t. At five, I really didn’t understand the difference. Things adults did were a mystery to me anyway. How was I supposed to know that all Aunts didn’t make dinner with a wooden stick, or jump into their fireplaces?” He shrugged. “They explained it to me at some point. I don’t remember exactly when. Aunt Anastasia kept hoping that I would have magical talent, since I guess Squibs have been known to have magical children.” Penny nodded. “But I never showed any sign of magical talent.” There was a pause in the conversation as another couple was seated next to them. From the small shrug Chris gave Penny guessed he was just going to try and be more discrete, rather than abandon his story. “Anyway,” he continued. “Things were a little rough. Mum didn’t seem to have much luck in the relationship department, or the job department. We moved a lot. Sometimes we’d be on our own, sometimes we’d be living with Aunt Anastasia. Aunt Anastasia had never married, so I didn’t really have a good male role model.” He paused again, staring into his champagne glass. “It must have been hard on you,” Penny offered, trying to be diplomatic. “It was,” he sighed. “And it got even worse. Mum was killed in a hit-and-run accident on her way home from work.” “Oh!” Penny was horrified. “I’m so terribly sorry.” Chris shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I was fourteen. After the accident, they put me in group homes. I kept telling them I wanted to go stay with my Aunt, but they told me I was making it up. It took me a long time to realize that as far as the British government was concerned, my Aunt didn’t exist.” Chris smiled, and it was a bitter, sardonic smile. “So I ended up being bounced around a lot and I fell in with the wrong crowd. I learned to shoplift, spray paint graffiti, and all those other nasty little petty crimes that teenagers get themselves mixed up in. I was young and stupid.” Philippe returned with their meals and set them down. “Do you require anything else?” he said, setting out the wines they had ordered to compliment their meal and taking their empty champagne glasses. “No, Philippe, we’re fine, merci.” “Bon appetite!” Philippe whisked off. “That looks good,” Penny said, as Chris cut into his roast beef. He nodded, taking a bite. “It always is. Philippe has some excellent chefs.” Penny cut into her pork. “So, what happened then?” she asked. “I don’t want to bore you,” Chris said, worriedly. “I feel like I’ve done all the talking.” “No, it’s fine, continue, please. I’m curious.” He turned to look out the window, unable to meet her eyes. “Well, as I got older,” he said hesitantly, “I kept getting into bigger and bigger crimes which brought with them greater risk. I had just turned seventeen and the best thing that ever happened to me occurred.” “What was that?” “I got caught,” Chris said, turning back to her with a grin. “By a big, giant, hulking police constable, while I was stealing the rear tyres off a parked car.” He took a bite of his beef. “It really turned me around. At my hearing, the judge told me he’d give me a chance to turn my life around and gave me a choice. I could enlist in the army, or I could go to jail.” He looked up at her. “Now, at the time, I gave it some hard thought, but I decided to enlist. It was the best decision I ever made. “I joined up and told the recruiting officer I wanted the toughest challenge they could give me. At the time, I figured if I flunked out, I’d be free. They enlisted me in the Parachute Regiment.” “Parachute Regiment?” she asked her fork half-way to her mouth. “What’s a parachute?” “Oh, we jump out of airplanes. The parachute is the big cloth thing we float down in,” Chris tried to explain, but it was obvious from the look on his face that he wasn’t sure how to do it. She knew what an airplane was, but she had no idea people could jump out of them and survive. Perhaps he saw her confusion, and reached into his pocket. He withdrew a pen and a small memo pad. He began to sketch on the paper. “Here, it looks like this,” he said, showing her the drawing. It showed a stick figure of a man with lines drawn from his shoulders attached to an umbrella shape. “This is the cloth bag,” he said. “It catches the air and slows you down. It’s attached to harness you wear. You jump out of the plane, and the parachute opens, and you float to the ground.” “Why do you to that?” she asked. “It’s a type of attack,” he said. “The airplanes fly over enemy lines, and we jump out and attack from behind.” “Oh,” Penny said, beginning to visualize. “I think I understand.” Chris nodded. “Well, the Paras, as we are called, have a reputation of being tough, elite troops. We can be quite full of ourselves at times, but the training is harder than regular army training. The funny thing was, I loved it. I really liked the ordered lifestyle, the physical challenges, the camaraderie. When I finished my training, I was part of the first Para battalion, and we saw a little bit of action here and there. The Major who was the second in command of the battalion recommended me for training at Sandhurst.” Chris paused to take a bite. “Sandhurst?” Penny asked, a little confused. “The Army’s command school. You go there to learn to be an officer,” he explained. “See, in the Army, you have regular soldiers, and you have officers. When you’re an officer, it’s like you’re a manager. There are varying degrees of rank. When you finish Sandhurst you’re a Second Lieutenant, the lowest ranking officer, but it’s a start.” Penny nodded to show her understanding, and Chris continued. “So, they sent me to Sandhurst, and I started my officer training. I was quite excited, because as an officer, it would be possible for me to join the SAS – the Special Air Service,” Chris explained, seeing her confusion. “They’re a very small elite force that takes on even greater challenges than the Paras. Their motto is ‘Who Dares Wins’.” He took a deep breath, and looked out the window, swirling his wine in his glass. Penny was already beginning to recognize the gesture as Chris’s way of expression reluctance. “So what happened?” Penny asked gently. “Well, I suppose, it couldn’t last. What’s the poem? Nothing gold can stay?” Chris shrugged. He took a large sip. “I had to take a break from my Sandhurst training to participate in a NATO exercise. NATO is an alliance between the United States and various Western European nations. There was a jump involved and I needed it to keep my jump certification. It’s like a license; it has to be renewed every so often. It was a night time jump, which, if jumping out of an airplane wasn’t bad enough, doing it at night is downright treacherous.” He paused and had a few bites of his dinner. “We were supposed to be dropping in an empty area on the coast of Scotland, but as soon as I was clear of the plane, I knew something was wrong. I could hear the waves crashing on the shore. I knew the coastline well, I had studied the maps, and I knew that the coast was nothing but boulders, and the water was deep. I was either going to land in a rock garden, or land in the ocean and drown. I had so much gear with me I would have hit the surface and gone right down.” Penny sat up a little bit, watching Chris carefully. His eyes were unfocused, and it was clear he was no longer in the restaurant with her. “There was a strong cross breeze as well. We were jumping from low altitude, so I was only in the air for a few seconds. When you parachute jump, your kit bag is suspended below you on a cord, so it hits first and warns you you’re about to come down. I heard mine scrape against something, and then a gust of wind slammed me against a rock face. It knocked me unconscious. I woke up once, and I was in the evacuation helicopter, looking up at the company medic, in a haze of pain and morphine. Then I passed out again.” Penny couldn’t find her voice, as she was riveted by Chris’s story. “When I woke up again, I was in hospital with a cast on my leg from my waist to my toes. When I was knocked unconscious, my body went limp, and my leg got pinned underneath me. It snapped in three places, with a compound fracture. The doctors told me I’d be lucky to walk again.” He stared out the window for a moment. “As it was, I was lucky to be alive. Paddy – he was one of my mates, he found me – told me that my head had landed on a rock. My helmet saved my life.” “That’s…” Penny struggled for an adjective. “horrible.” “Parachuting is a risky business. My number had come up, I guess.” Chris shrugged, and paused. “So what happened?” she asked, when it was clear he had drifted away again. “They told me that I could finish my commissioning course from the hospital bed, but when I was discharged from the hospital, I would be discharged from the Army for medical reasons. Major Munro had arranged it all. The whole life I had known had been packaged up and disposed of and I hadn’t even been awake to mourn it.” “I’m so sorry,” Penny said. She was beginning to understand the lines around his eyes, the tell-tale marks of inner pain. “Naturally, I was quite bitter. I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t make things easy on the hospital staff. I think I scared them a little. Here was a very angry man who’d been taught to kill people silently with his bare hands. I think in their position, I would have been scared too.” Chris poked at his vegetables, but it was clear they weren’t his favourite food. He cut himself another slice of beef. Penny was momentarily chilled by the idea of Chris being trained to kill, but she realized it really was no different than Harry, Ron, or anyone else who’d killed during the war. “In any case,” Chris continued. “I was in hospital for nearly a year, first with the cast, then learning to walk again. My mates came by to visit when they could, but most of them were deployed off to the Balkans, so I didn’t see them. I finished my coursework, and I was commissioned. I got my Sandhurst ring, and my sword, and three days later, I got my medical discharge papers in the mail. I balled them up and threw them away, but the medical orderly pulled them out of the trash and filed them in my medical records.” Chris grinned wryly. “I suppose it was probably a good thing. Someday I might need them to prove I’m entitled to my disability pension. “The day before I was discharged from the hospital, Major Munro came into the hospital to tell me that he had arranged an interview for me at Scotland Yard. My leg didn’t prevent me from joining and Major Munro thought I would enjoy the work.” “You must have been pleased,” Penny said when Chris stopped talking to eat. “No,” he said, after swallowing, “At the time, I thanked him politely, and had no intention of going to the interview. I was still bitter, and I suppose I wanted to sit and be bitter for a while.” Chris cocked an eyebrow. “Forty-eight hours later, I was limping up the steps of Scotland Yard on my way to the interview. A whole day of being a bitter, idle man was too much, and I was bored.” Penny chuckled a little. “I can see that.” “So I was signed on as a Police Constable. My military record probably had something to do with it, as well as Major Munro’s string pulling. I started out walking a beat. My sergeant didn’t think I could do it, but I did it anyway. It was painful, yes, but after a while, I got used to it. I realized I enjoyed investigating crimes, and I enrolled myself in the Yard’s Detective qualification course. I was hoping that I could get into Special Branch, which is the part of the police force that handles terrorism and other major crimes. But I ended up in Homicide.” He shrugged. “I suppose it worked out well,” he continued. “Superintendent Pitt, my supervisor, took an interest in my career. She’s brought me along from Detective Sergeant all the way to now.” “It sounds as if you’ve done well for yourself,” Penny said. “What about the rest?” she said. “Non-professionally?” “My social life?” Chris laughed. “Non-existent. Oh sure, when I was in the Paras, I’d go out with my mates and paint the town. We tore down more than one pub in our time. Since the accident, though, I haven’t had time to have a social life. Every day was a struggle, and I was too exhausted to do anything but go to sleep. And even now it’s not such a struggle, I’ve just gotten used to the routine of being alone.” “What about your Aunt?” Chris shrugged, and looked out the window in his gesture of reluctance. “I patched things up with her eventually, but for a while, I had blamed her for what happened when I was younger. It wasn’t until after I started at the Yard that I reconnected with her. I see her every so often now, and we keep in touch.” Penny looked down at her plate to find more food, and realized with a start that she was finished. She’d been so absorbed in Chris’s story she’d barely noticed the food. Chris was pretty much finished as well, by the looks of it. “That’s all there is,” he said. “I feel like I’ve been talking the whole time,” he admitted, with a note of chagrin in his voice. “No, it’s fine,” Penny said sipping at the delicious white wine she’d had with her pork. “I’m really, quite curious,” she said. “I don’t usually meet…a lot of people like you,” she finished hurriedly, suddenly aware of all the people around her. Chris’s mouth turned up at the corners in a sardonic smile. “No, I don’t imagine you do.” He paused. “But what about Ron’s wife? Didn’t he say that she…?” he trailed off purposely. “Yes.” She nodded. “But she’s been with us for so long. She went to same school we did and never had a job, or anything like that.” Chris appeared to understand, and nodded. “Aunt Anastasia used to tell me about her school. I always found it fascinating. I never realized how…your sport…is played, until I saw a store in the Alley the other day. Ron told me a little bit more about it.” Penny laughed. “Ron would. He’s a big fan. He and Harry played for their house team. I’m a big fan too, actually. Maybe you’ll get to see it played someday.” “That would be nice,” Chris replied. “They played it at your school?” “Yes,” Penny said. “Inter-house rivalries.” “Houses…” Chris seemed as if he was calling up long-forgotten memories. “The brave, the smart, the loyal, and the sneaky,” he said, looking very proud of himself. “I remember that much.” Penny laughed. “Yes, indeed. That’s one way to look at it.” “What house were you in?” he asked. “The smart,” she said. “We were called Ravenclaw.” Her smile faded a little as she thought back to her school days. And Percy. She was surprised it was the first time in the evening that she’d thought of him, and guilt began to come over her. “Was Percy in the same house?” Chris said. At first Penny was a little shocked that Chris’s tone was so neutral. But why wouldn’t it be? How was he to know that everyone else still talked about Percy in hushed tones, with sympathy in their voices, and his own mother broke out in tears every time his name came up. Three years. It was a long time. Long enough. “No,” Penny said, swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat. “He was one of the brave ones.” Again, Chris’s face softened toward her. Tenderness and compassion, he held her gaze. “I’m sorry. Clumsy of me for bringing it up.” “No, no,” she waved her hand hastily. “It’s all right. Just thinking about his house, it makes me think about…” how he died. “They all were, you know,” she said, “the Weasleys. The brave ones.” “All of them?” Chris looked a little confused. “All seven, plus Harry and Hermione. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were too, when they were in school,” she confirmed. “Wait, seven?” Chris’s eyes widened. She began to laugh. “Ron never told you how many siblings he has?” Chris shook his head. “Five older brothers and his younger sister, Ginny.” She paused, feeling the sadness touch her again. “Well, three older brothers now, but he grew up with five.” Chris laughed. “I had no idea, but it explains a lot.” “Ron is the youngest boy, only Ginny is younger. The Weasleys are just one of those big…octopus families,” Penny declared. “Octopus families?” Chris said, arching an eyebrow. “Yes. They have dozens of tentacles that stick to you and won’t let you go. They bear hug you with acceptance and smother you with caring. Mrs. Weasley has been a surrogate mother to everyone who needs it. Harry…Hermione…me.” Penny shrugged. “She has an amazing capacity to love.” “She sounds like a wonderful woman,” Chris said. “I’d like to meet her some time.” “Devon’s pretty far out for a London boy,” Penny said, playfully. “What’s the farthest you’ve been out of the city?” Chris laughed. “You forget, Penny, I was in the Army. How does Lebanon grab you?” Penny, put a hand to her mouth to keep from spitting out her wine in laughter. “That’s right, I’d forgotten. What on Earth were you doing in Lebanon?” Chris’s expression sobered immediately. “Unfortunately, it’s nothing I can share. Official Secrets Act you know.” A moment’s pause and then he smiled again. “It’s too bad, because it’s a heck of a good story.” Another pause. “But I never have been to Devon. I’ve never spent much time in the country on my own. I mean, when I was training, I slept under a lot of stars, but it was never very relaxing, or comfortable. I always wanted to go on holiday out in the country somewhere. It’s funny how I grew up hating London, and yet never managed to leave. Where did you grow up?” “Oh, my family has a sprawling, half-crumbling Manor house in Norfolk. My Grandparents rule the roost there, and for some reason, they can’t be bothered with making repairs. It was a lonely kind of growing up,” she admitted. “There weren’t many kids around to begin with, and then of course, I didn’t really mix with them. And for some reason, with the exception of the Weasleys…our…families have tended to be small in the last couple generations, so I was an only child. I suppose that’s how I came to love books and reading, so much time walking on my own in the country side.” “I’ve been to Norfolk, actually, on manoeuvres. Place called Studley Constable. Barren, desolate place. Must have been very lonely.” “I had my books,” she said, shrugging. “So then you went off to school and you met Percy. What was he like?” Chris asked. He sounded genuinely curious. “Do the Inspector and the Mademoiselle desire dessert, or coffee?” Philippe asked, interrupting politely. Penny looked at her watch. “Oh, Merlin,” she said without thinking. “Look at the time. I need to pick up Arthur from Molly.” If Philippe thought it strange that she invoked the name of a supposedly mythical wizard, he did not say so. “We’ll pass tonight, thank you, Philippe, just bring the check,” Chris asked. Philippe bristled. “The Inspector knows his money is not good here,” he said, haughtily. He smiled at Penny, “Compliments of the house, ma chére.” “One of these days, Philippe, I’m going to pay for a meal here, if it’s the last thing I do. At least let me pay for Penny’s dinner.” “Your meal, out of gratitude, Inspector. Her meal, for her beauty and culture.” Philippe kissed Penny’s hand again as they rose. “Au revoir, ma chére, peut-être nous vous reverrons bientôt.” “En effet, bon monsieur, c'a été un plaisir,” Penny replied. Chris led her out on his arm, and Penny was not surprised to see a busboy busy hailing them a cab. Chris helped her in, and then got in beside her. Chris told the cabby to take them to Charing Cross Road, and then smiled at her. “I never answered your question,” she said, when a silence descended on the cab. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I probably shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place,” Chris said, and Penny could feel him tense up beside her. “No, it’s fine. It helps. To talk, you know.” He nodded beside her silently. Penny turned to stare out the window of the cab, watching London go by. “He was bookish. Different from the rest of his family, really. Except for perhaps his father. The Weasleys are loud and happy people. Percy was much more withdrawn, and studious. He never got on well with his brothers, and there was a break at one point. Things were patched over, shortly before he died, but there’s still some guilt about the whole thing. “He was brave, let there be no doubt about that,” she sighed, blinking at the moisture pooling at the corner of her eyes. “But it was in his own way. He had the courage to face up to his family. I think…I think he could have been a lot more like his father if he hadn’t blamed Mr. Weasley for how they grew up. They never had a lot, and I think Percy never understood why he never did the things that would help him get ahead. I think Percy might have started to understand towards the end. But the damage had already been done.” Penny turned, and Chris was nodding silently, without judgement. “Even I wouldn’t speak with him for a while before we were married. One thing about Weasleys…they’re stubborn and Percy was no exception. Even when he had to know he was in the wrong, he clung to his position with a fierce tenacity.” Penny was aware that, while she was tearing up, she was able to speak levelly, almost wistfully. It was the first time she’d been able to talk about Percy so long without breaking down. The cab pulled up in front of the bookshop and they got out. “Do you want me to walk you back to your flat?” he asked. “No, I’m just going to head inside the Leaky Cauldron and then Apparate over to pick up Arthur,” she said. “All right, then,” Chris said, as they ambled the short distance between the bookshop and the door to the pub. Penny turned to him as they arrived. “I had a nice time this evening,” she told him honestly. “So did I,” Chris said. “Perhaps we can do it again sometime?” “I’d like that, yes,” Penny said. “If I don’t see you, do you mind if I get you a note through Ron?” she suggested. “That’s fine,” Chris grinned. “I’m sure the old chap will be thrilled.” Penny laughed. “You’re probably right.” Perhaps sensing the oncoming awkwardness of the goodnight, Chris reached out his hand. Penny took his automatically, and he kissed it again. “Goodnight, Penny.” “Good night, Chris,” she said. She smiled once more and turned and entered the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was busy on a Friday night, but she didn’t stay long, Apparating out to the Burrow in a blink. Molly was sitting on the couch, with little Arthur asleep in her lap. “I’m sorry it’s so late!” she whispered immediately. “I lost track of time.” “Oh, don’t worry about it!” Molly whispered back. “It’s fine. He’s an angel.” Penny smiled. “Thank you, Molly.” She gently lifted Arthur up onto her shoulder. “He’s getting big,” she said. “I know.” Molly smiled and brushed her grandson’s hair as his head lay on Penny’s shoulder. “He looks so much like his father did at this age.” Penny smiled, but a cold ball of ice had begun to form in her gut. “Did you have a nice time tonight?” Molly asked. “What? Oh, yes, we did,” she said hurriedly. “I should get him home.” Arthur had stirred. “Mummy?” he said sleepily. “Yes, darling, it’s me. We’re going home.” Arthur made no further sound, and dropped back of to sleep. Penny forced a smile at Molly and Apparated both herself and Arthur back to her London flat. As she tucked Arthur into bed, her mind was in turmoil. What was she doing? Going out on dates when there was still Arthur to consider; Arthur who had never known his father. If she started dating again, what affect would that have on him? She hadn’t thought of it before. She was betraying the trust Percy had in her to take care of his son. Waves of guilt rolled over her as she though of the good time she’d had tonight. She wasn’t supposed to have a good time…was she? Uncertainty, guilt, and an overpowering feeling of betrayal washed over her. What have I done? she asked herself. What was I thinking? How can I do this? The fact that she liked Chris and, despite her guilt, secretly wanted to out with him again, only made her feel that much worse. She sat down on her bed and picked up the picture of Percy she kept on the bedside table. Was it betrayal? Should she feel guilty? Chris seemed so nice…it’s been three years…how long is long enough? Her head was swamped. “Oh Percy, what am I going to do?” -- -- -- -- Alone in his flat in Baker Street – an ironic coincidence not lost upon the talented investigator – Chris poured himself a glass of celebratory Cognac. His first date since his accident had gone very well indeed. Better than he had expected. And Penny was a lovely girl. He knew though, that he would have to tread carefully. He sensed she was brittle underneath. He’d met a lot of widows, and a few single mothers, but he’d never been this close personally to one. How would she react, given time to think about it? She’d been overwhelmed this evening. But what would she be thinking when she got home, to her son, to the pictures of her wedding? Chris drained his glass and poured himself another, shaking his head. Six years ago, his only thought on a Friday night would have been to don his best dress uniform, get pissed with his mates, and hopefully take a willing young thing to his bed. So much had changed after the accident. He had developed a protective streak, an extension of his job description to protect the public good. Now he was courting a widow with a child and wanting nothing more than to wave his hand and make all her pain and suffering go away, if it was possible. If only her demons were real life creatures, some kind of flesh and blood. Those he could deal with, he thought, looking up at a framed wall hanging of his past life: rank pips, unit patch, jump wings, marksmanship badges, combat ribbons. He’d been an excellent solider and there wasn’t a day when he looked at the items in the frame that he didn’t feel regret. But even after the accident, he still had many of the skills he’d learned. He still shot well enough to be qualified for his marksman badges, and in the right circumstances, he knew he could still hold his own in hand to hand. If it lived and breathed, he could deal with that threat quite well. It was the intangibles he had trouble with. He hoped he could learn.
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