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She'd really made a mess of everything. That was the phrase constantly cycling itself through Penelope's head, so much so that she'd habituated to it, almost finding the background hum of it comforting against her thoughts. But she was trying, she really was, to fix it. Admittedly, she hadn't spoken to her brother since, nor had she done more than write a few letters to Bess. She missed her niece and nephews. But Penelope was, for the first time, taking steps that would let her take charge of her own life. Meeting with old professors, hunting for jobs, Dianna and she moving out—or eventually, once her brother agreed to a place of his liking…

Thinking of them made her feel a hint of shame and mortification for them to see her like that. Even Dianna, she'd thought uncomfortably, had never seen Penelope break that way. Because she hadn't. Even with the news of her parents and sister… the tears had flown swiftly and silently before even they drowned in the silence. Revealing just how much she'd hidden from her best friend, it made her feel selfish. Also quite stupid. As if on cue, she heard snatches of Drystan's voice, telling her exactly what he thought of her. If only he hadn't been right. But part of her, quite a small part, dared to hope that the grotesquely emotional highs these turn of events incited in her meant she was changing, she might even be healing. Penelope swore if this had happened but a month ago, she'd have stood quietly and taken everything hurled at her.

In that vein, she thought, today was the day to say good-bye to the quiet, desperate year of her life she'd whiled away here. Tomorrow, she'd receive word from Professor Flitwick about their meeting, and from there… she couldn't say for sure, but she was hopeful, yes. That in and of itself seemed so much an improvement.

Perhaps it was Fate's beastly way of reminding her that she wasn't being so proactive with the other dangling threads of her life, as she thoughtfully wandered the path along the few storefronts with her new hat jammed over the top of her head. Because Charles Spinnet was suddenly there when her attention was directed front again. How was it that her heart seemed to be leaping, turning over, and in her throat all at the same time?

She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. She wanted to shout. She really wanted to run. Instead, Penelope stood stock-still, so shocked it hadn't quite had time to register on her face, just feet from the entrance.