WHO: Drystan & Penelope Fawcett
WHAT: Someone has an
over-reaction, or: A long, self-indulgent narrative!
WHERE: Fawcett residence
WHEN: Erm... I guess technically yesterday, but we'll say this afternoon!
The house had been quiet when she'd returned with the children in the night, quieter still when she'd snuck out and back in later. It had a feeling of unease, but then, Penelope always felt uneasy these days, what with the multitude of secrets she seemed to be carrying. It was quiet and lonely in the afternoon as well, but that suited Penelope just fine as she stumbled out of the fireplace. She was exhausted, and rather than doze on a park bench, she thought it would be all right to sneak away home this once, thinking it would be empty. She was just reaching to hang up her hat when footsteps behind her had her turning quickly.
Her brother stood at the entrance of the kitchen, looking as dead on his feet as she felt. Upon seeing her, his weary expression melted into concern as he asked, "Pen? You're home so early. Are you all right?"
Trying not to look half as guilty as she felt, she tiredly answered, "Fine, just—a half day," eying him with caution as she pulled out a chair and sat down. He shouldn't have been home, and he most certainly should not have been wearing that glazed look in his eye. "You're home early as well. Are you—?"
Walking into the room, looking so much more graceful than a man of that size was expected to be, he too pulled out a chair across from her, his ordinarily poker expression more dour than usual. "I never went to practice," he admitted dully.
Her eyes widened in alarm. Her brother never missed practice, it was unheard of—even sickness didn't stop him, as she remembered her mother bemoaning the fact that her sick son had lugged himself out of bed to flit around on a broom a country away. She started to fret almost immediately that the glaze over his eyes meant he was well and truly fevered, was he listless, did he need chocolate, but Drystan waved her off before she could get started. "It's just…" he broke off, staring musingly at the table-top. "Has Bess been acting… odd, in your estimation?" Drystan asked, nudging a toy away with his foot before he sat.
Penelope's brows drew together both from puzzlement and concentration. "How do you mean, odd?" Oh, she hoped Bess wasn't pregnant again. They deserved a breather after Brian; bless his little heart, but her nephew was the king of troublemakers.
He sighed. "You haven't seen or heard anything? As if she'd—" he blew out a breath like he couldn't even summon the energy or will to say the words, closing his eyes in an act of sheer tiredness. But Penelope was still mystified and shook her head, asking why he was acting so strangely.
"Because I read this," he'd salvaged the
Tattler, now looking more worse for wear, especially the creased and lined page it was open to now, definitely around the item he was pointing at.
Peering forward, she glanced at the picture and description and felt her heart sink like a stone right down through the floor.
Charlie Spinnet. With a
blonde.
Here. Penelope suddenly felt it was a very good thing she hadn't eaten yet, given the sudden soaring queasiness she felt in her stomach.
"A-and?" she attempted to keep her voice very casual.
Her brother let out a frustrated breath as he mussed his hair with a free hand, a habit she remembered him trying to break as an adolescent, now a boyhood relic save for times of great stress. "That's what I don't know. I think—" Drystan appeared as though he were struggling enormously with the seriousness of his next words. "—Pen, is she cheating on me?"
"
What?" Penelope shrieked, her shock one-hundred percent genuine. That was not the direction she'd expected this little interrogation to go at all! "Drystan, how can—"
"I don't!" he said hurriedly, looking absolutely sick. "I don't, not really. But I can't—first, I find this shin-guard under the couch, and she can't give me a straight answer when I ask, completely innocently, if she knows anything about it. Then I see this," he whacked the picture angrily, "and she won't give me a straight answer about it, either! What am I supposed to think, but that she's—sneaking around?"
She actually felt bile coming up her throat. Her brother thought his wife was stepping out on him with a rival Quidditch player she herself happened to be sleeping with. It was bad fiction come to life—and it was her fault. One look at the picture, and she knew it was her sister-in-law trying to keep the peace and Penelope out of trouble. Only it was starting to look like not only had she not succeeded, she'd dragged herself into it as well. Penelope's heart gave a sick little spasm just trying to picture Drystan's rage. "Did you—" she couldn't speak above a whisper, "did you mention any of this to her?"
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he nodded wearily. "I confronted her about it yesterday. It went, as you can expect, not well. We've—she's… I don't know. I just don't know what's happening, but she's keeping things from me."
Sitting at that table was suddenly much too much for her. Penelope pushed her chair out with a jerk and stood up, wringing her hands together. "Oh, Circe. Oh, bleeding Circe," she nearly whimpered, resisting the urge to pull at her hair nervously and instead began to pace furiously, ignoring the surprised utterance from Drystan at her swear.
"Penelope, what?"
"You actually think she would do that to you?" Penelope cried, whirling on him, not knowing if she was more angry, guilty, or scared. "You think after everything, she would, what?
Betray you like that?"
Bewildered, Drystan only widened his eyes and shook his head. "No, I—" he started to protest but Penelope didn't let him.
"You don't even know how
lucky you are," she yelled, gesturing wildly at him with a hand, "that you have someone that wonderful in your life! She lied for
me."
"I know, I—" he stopped, looking confused. "She what?"
The bravado she'd been temporarily flying on in her outrage evaporated in a snap. Quickly taking a step back and averting her eyes, her hands fluttered a little at her side. "I mean—she—I—" she faltered helplessly for a moment. No, she thought,
no, if, after all the abuse Drystan likely hurled at her, Bess still hadn't given her away, she owed her sister-in-law more backbone than that. She was an adult, and she had damn well better start acting like one. "She's not seeing Charlie Spinnet, Drystan. I am."
He blinked at her. Just blinked, as though the information simply was not comprehensible. "
What?" he asked, polite and soft of tone. The dazed look was gone, that was certain. It was replaced by a steely glint that had her taking another step backwards.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she said quickly. "It just happened—"
Drystan's look was thunderous. "You're dating Spinnet now?"
"It's not—" Penelope started, trying not to lie, but not being sure of the answer herself, "it's just—we're seeing each other. That's all."
He all but hurled the
Tattler at her feet. "Then why is my
wife being photographed with your boyfriend!"
Her stomach was all tied up in knots, but this was the point of no return. Penelope wasn't a coward; perhaps she hadn't been able to prove that in the past, but there was an opportunity to redeem herself here, and even if she felt a little like dying inside from the mortification, she would take it. "That guard you found, I don't—it was his, from when you were at Drake's wedding…" she trailed off, trying not to cringe at the information she'd just revealed.
Well, and now he knew she was sleeping with Charlie Spinnet. Under his own roof. Jolly good for back-bone. "She was warning him about it, that's all," Penelope said softly, staring a hole into the floor by his feet.
Drystan stood up and ran a hand through his hair once more, only now it was due to anger. "I can't—you—" he paced a little, himself. "He's too old for you! Merlin, Penelope, do you know anything about his reputation? You're just letting him—"
"I'm not a child, Drystan! I know wh—"
"You are nineteen years old, Penelope! And it's obvious you don't know what the hell you're doing. Sneaking around!" His face finally registered the shock he felt. "Not only lying but getting your sister-in-law to lie for you, both of you keeping secrets. It's obvious he's a terrible influence on you! You're not to see him anymore, I won—"
Her mouth opened at the dictatorial tone that she'd never expected her brother to take with her. "You can't do that!" she cried, sounding more like a child than ever. "I'm an adult, I make my own decisions!"
"No," he said decisively, "not while you're my kid sister who doesn't know when she's in over her head and living under my roof."
Temper warred with tears. "What about you and Bess!" she cried, unwisely making any mention of his wife at all. "Do you mean to tell me that wasn't the same thing?"
"Because I knew I was going to marry her! We were practically engaged; I wasn't using her to scratch a fe—"
"Don't! Don't—
cheapen it!" she told him furiously as he turned his back. "So what if we're not—
engaged, it's—do you know what he makes me
feel? Like I don't have to be scared! Like I'm normal, like I'm not a failure because I didn't make a single N.E.W.T., that I don't have a job—" her eyes widened in horror before the last word even made it out of her mouth.
Drystan turned around slowly. "What did you say?"
Her mouth opened and closed, trying her best to quickly sort out the best response. Not quick enough.
"Were you fired?"
She was so tired of the lies, of the inadequacy, of the sneaking around, of all of it. It hurt, it hurt so badly, but enough was enough. "There was never a job," she whispered, holding her curled fist close to her heart as she tried to brace herself. "I didn't—I failed my N.E.W.T.s, Drystan, how was I…?"
Suddenly, the look he was giving her, of disgusted disbelief, was the worst thing she could recall experiencing in that moment. "So where were you today, Penelope?" Drystan asked in that same calm, slow, even polite voice that she'd been conditioned to recognise as "danger." "And for that matter, every single day you've walked out of the house in the morning for this past year?"
"Just—about." Her voice was a faint mumble, barely intelligible, but it was as though Drystan didn't care what her answer was, just that it was being given so he could tear at it some more.
"All year," he continued in that icily mocking voice of his, "you've just been—about? While we were congratulating you, proud of you, supporting you in more ways than one as you started your foray into the
adult," he made sure to exaggerate the emphasis on the word she'd obstinately thrown about moments earlier, "world, you've been doing… nothing."
It was a statement of fact, certainly not a question.
"I was drowning in school, Drystan," she pleaded, hugging herself and turning away so she didn't need to face him. "I was going to fail everything. I was so ashamed. Head Girl, and I couldn't—" her voice broke pathetically, "there were days I couldn't make it out of bed, I—couldn't—"
"Couldn't tell anyone about it? Couldn't ask for help?" he asked viciously, her tears softening none of his hard edges.
Penelope rubbed at her eyes wearily, wondering how, just how, she'd come to have the one conversation she never wanted to face with the one person she never wanted to have it with. "It just—it was the end of the world, Drystan. And after—with the—" she swallowed hard, unable to say the words, unable to talk about being taken and not remembering. Unable to admit she'd been weak and incompetent. "Could I really be expected to cope?" she wondered in a low voice, accepting the selfishness of the statement.
"You're not the only one who
lost someone! Do you think it easy for me?" He strode toward her, jaw set angrily. "That one day I woke up head of the house, surrogate father, and everything just fell into place? You think I didn't drown? But I talked about it! I reached out for help when I needed it, even if I hated every moment of it!"
"Not to me!" she shouted, no longer bothering to hide the tears pouring now streaming freely down her face. "We never—you didn't ha—"
"Oh no," he shook his head, "you are not turning this around on me. I never lied to you! I never fabricated an entire life, and I never made up stories to tell the family who cared about me because I was too embarrassed to confront mistakes I made!"
"That's not it!" she protested. "I'm not saying it was right, I just couldn't see I had options, Drystan! So I—"
"So you
what!" he yelled, throwing his arms out in a mock question. "Decide your only option is to
lie to us? Make up stories? Don't trust us enough to help you? Don't believe we'd find it in our hearts to?"
She was shaking her head violently, "You're mis—"
"Bess could be working now! Do you know that? Do you know she's staying home because she doesn't want to leave her young children alone? And you, knowing full well, march off to your nonexistent job, with nary a worry nor care! Just leeching off us this whole time, Penelope, is that it?"
"That's not fair!" she cried, dashing away furiously at the tears, lest they make her even more wretched than her brother made her out to be—than she was. "I—have done everything I can to pull my weight around here. I keep house when it's needed, and cook, and I have—happily—minded my niece and nephews whenever it's needed. I put them ahead of
everything, and I always will! You have to know that at least is true!"
He grabbed her arm and faced her forward, wanting her to hear every word loud and clear. "You don't. If that were true, you wouldn't have lied for a whole bleeding year. So what if you failed? There's nothing you can do about it now, so move forward. I ask you to stay here, don't I? We could have
used you at home, you feckless child! So you failed!" He gave her a good shake now. "Fine, so you learn a trade. You take charge, you try to
do something with your life instead of walking around like you're the living dead yourself!" Drystan snapped his hand away in distaste.
It hurt because it was true. It hurt because it was what she told herself for so many months, but still felt scared to act on. It was—
"What has your life been reduced to, Penelope? Let's look, shall we? No job, no prospects, a sneak and a liar—"
"Don't," she whispered, shrinking away.
But he ploughed on, deaf to anything but his own anger and hurt. "Do you think mum and dad raised you to be this? Nothing but an unpaid nanny, and a—a
slu—"
"Stop!" she sobbed, putting her hands up defensively. "Stop, just stop it!"
He broke off, moved to tears as well, but if they were sorrow or rage, no one, not even he himself could say. "I don't even know who you are, Penelope, but it shames me just the same."
Too stricken for words, she fled.
