Another Auld Lang Syne
J.K. Rowling is the creator and owner
of the entire Wizarding world, and everyone and everything that may be found
there. I am merely borrowing parts of it to hang my own story on.
Thank you to my beta,
reading the several, minutely-changed incarnations of this story. Huge thanks to the Queens of
Awesomeness, for being so supportive and kind, and cheering me on to this.
Diagon Alley on Christmas Eve was a
beautiful sight to behold. Every shop front was draped in garlands of
holly and fairy lights; every door had its wreath. The street lamps were
tied with great red bows, while red, green and gold candles glowed within them. The Chamber of Commerce had even changed
the rain that had been falling earlier to snow, and it glowed spotlessly white
in the lantern-light. Carollers sang on every corner, the shops were
offering mulled cider and cookies to the throngs of merry last-minute shoppers,
and the air was filled with gaiety. It seemed that everyone in the world
Percy Weasley, however, was in a right foul
mood. He should have Apparated directly home from the Minister’s
Christmas party; he had forgotten that he was supposed to make the Christmas
Trifle for his entire family, until Ron had mentioned it at the punchbowl. So,
here he was, stumbling through the snow, his cloak billowing around his ankles,
his hat about to fly off his head.
He reached the grocer's and stepped inside, straightening his cloak and
tucking his hat behind his belt. He grabbed a basket and began throwing things
into it; if he hurried he could be home before dark. He was debating the merits
of cook and serve pudding versus instant when he caught a glimpse of a familiar
face out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look, and came face-to-face
with his ex-girlfriend from Hogwarts.
Penny- Penelope Clearwater?" He reached out to touch the woman's arm;
then thought better of it and just brushed her sleeve.
The woman looked at him blankly for a second, then her eyes widened with
recognition and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Percy? Is that you? My God, it is! You are the last
person I expected to see here! How are
you?" She moved to fling her arms around him, and instead dumped her
handbag all over the floor. Blushing, she bent to retrieve the contents
of her bag.
Percy squatted down to help her. "I'm quite well, quite well! And
speaking of the last person one expects to see! What are you doing back in London?"
“Being clumsy, evidently. That hasn't changed." Their eyes met
for an instant, then she laughed nervously and looked away. "I'm here to have Christmas with
some friends." She beamed at him, that old, familiar smile. "It's so
good to see you! God, it's been so long! You haven't changed a bit!
You're working at the Ministry of Magic, aren't you? I read about you
occasionally in the papers.”
“I have worked at the Ministry since
I left Hogwarts; I'm Deputy Minister of Magic, now," Percy chuckled, a bit
nervously. She read about him? "I guess I haven't changed that much; I
work until I drop and then wake up and work some more. What about you? What
have you done for the last ten years?" Was that accusation in his voice?
"Oh, nothing much, traveling and working. I started my own firm; we do
research for, well, whoever wants to hire us. Listen; do you have to go
anywhere right away? We could go get a drink or something, do some catching
She smiled at him, hoping she didn't sound too eager.
"I have some free time just now; let's go to Rakarowciewitz's; they
should still be open." He threw the instant pudding into his basket.
They brought their groceries to the checkout line, where they waited in
awkward silence while the things were totaled up and bagged. While Penelope was
paying the jolly witch at the register, Percy was looking at her hair. It was
as long and lush as he remembered it; it still caught the light in its twisting
curls. He wondered if it was as soft as it used to be. His hand twitched, as if
to touch it. He sighed and put his hands in his pockets.
Penelope shrank her parcels and stuck them in her purse. Percy asked the grocer to send his
along to his flat. Outside,
the wind had let up a little, and the, huge, feathery snowflakes spiraled
lazily to the ground, catching in Penny’s hair, sparkling in the early evening
"So, what is Rakaro-shew-its's?" She frowned, struggling with the
unfamiliar word; remembering that Percy never had trouble pronouncing even the
longest, most foreign-sounding words.
"Rakarowciewitz's. It's a coffee shop, where Florian Fortescue's used
to be. Rodolfo Rakarowciewitz opened it a few years after Fortescue
disappeared. He has the best selection of any shop in London. Also, they have
the most comfortable chairs in Diagon Alley." He grinned at her,
remembering her fondness for squashy chairs.
They walked on in silence for a while. Penelope watched Percy out of the
corner of her eye. He still looked as confident as he had always been, but
something had changed, around his eyes. He looked as if there was no true joy
in his life, no time for fun or relaxing. She reckoned that wasn't really a
change for him; he had always been work-before-play. She also noticed he still had the most beautiful
complexion. She wondered if the
skin on his temples was as soft as it used to be. Her hand twitched, as if to
touch it. She sighed and put her hands in her pockets.
Inside the coffee shop was warm and quiet, with the comforting smells of
freshly brewed coffee, hot milk and baked goods. Soft Christmas music was
playing in the background. The place was nearly empty; not many people had time
for a coffee on Christmas Eve. They chatted while they got their drinks and
some enormous cookies, and settled on a cloud-like purple sofa in the corner.
"So, Deputy Minister of Magic! You always said you wanted to be Minister
of Magic one day, and it seems you're almost there. You're doing so well, you
must be incredibly happy." She hoped he was, though he was alone on Christmas Eve.
"Yes, I'm very happy." Was he? "I have certainly gotten to
meet many people I wouldn't ordinarily have had contact with. I've had the
pleasure of working on many international agreements, to forward the goal of
international magical cooperation." He smiled. "I've also been
fortunate to attend quite a few state dinners and balls. But it is not an easy
job; there is always more work to be done than there are hours to do it in, we
put in many late nights. And if anything goes wrong, it's often the future
relationships of nations that are irreparably damaged. It's horribly stressful
at times, and of course there have been personal sacrifices; it's hard to go
out on the town when whatever you do might end up on tomorrow's front page. But
that is such a small thing beside the importance of what we do."
As he leaned forward to pick up his coffee, he caught a whiff of her
perfume, the same one she had worn as a girl. With it came the memory of how
the back of her neck had felt in his hand . . . He pushed the thought away.
"The last time I saw you, you were off to travel around the world, with
nothing but a knapsack! Here you are, ten years later, with your own firm! What
sort of research do you do?"
"Like I said, we will gather information about almost anything a client
wants to know about." He was looking at her in that intense way she
remembered, as if what she had to say was the most important thing in the
world. He had always listened to her, even when no one else would. He must have to treat everyone that
way, now; listening must be an important skill for the Minister of Magic.
"We mostly do document searches,
for members of the Benevolent Congress of Magickind, and many attorneys use our
services. We get some requests from journalists and authors. We've even done
some work for Universities, but they usually prefer to do their own research.
We get many requests from wealthy college students," she laughed at his
disapproving look, "but we refuse all of those." She laughed again.
"In fact we have a special letter we send to them: 'Although we will be
glad of your business in the future, we feel that we cannot accept your request
at this time. Your education is a valuable asset; it is not wise to let another
party do this important work by proxy.' If they persist, we threaten to tell
their mothers . . . That works every time."
She could tell he was impressed; there was that little crease between his
brows, and she could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. She
had forgotten how lovely his eyes were, blue and as changeable as the sea. His
lashes were far too pretty for a man, thick and long and coppery-gold. She
remembered how they felt on her cheek . . . She pushed that thought away.
"You live in America, then?" Percy had wondered why his letters
had come back. Owls wouldn't cross the ocean.
"I do. After Hogwarts, I toured around Europe and Asia, just like a
thousand other grads. It was sort of hard keeping in touch with people, since I
was usually surrounded by Muggles. I would send mail whenever I found a
Wizarding kiosk to owl from, which is where I met a group of Wizarding kids
from America. I spent the rest of my trip with them, and when it was time for
them to go home, they asked me to go with them.
"The Wizarding community in America is wonderful! They don't avoid Muggles like we do, although
they're careful not to do magic where Muggles can see. They marry Muggles more
often, too, and they have a very close-knit community. Many American Wizards
dress in Muggle clothing all the time, and some even drive cars!
"I had planned to return to England, but then You-Know-Who came back,
and I decided to stay in America." Penelope took a sip of coffee. Percy
looked . . . stunned? Before she had left, he had begged her not to go. She had kissed him and promised to be
back in a year, but he had said no, it was over between them if she left.
"I had to get a job, of
course. I had always loved research, so I went to work in the Library of the
Magickind Congress. After a few years, some of the Foyerists asked me to find
some information for them; they paid me better than the government did, and my
firm was launched.
"Anyway, to put a short ending on it, I got homesick for England, so,
here I am, back where I started. How's that for adventures?" God, she
sounded far too perky.
Percy was indeed stunned. She had lived so much more than he had. He had
never traveled for pleasure. Never gone out with his colleagues after work.
Never gone outside his cramped little universe. "Merlin! Those
are some pretty impressive
adventures." His voice sounded so strange. He took a large swallow of
She sighed. "So, haven't we both gotten to be grown-ups? When I
used to dream about the future, it never included Government, and certainly not
America." It had included Percy,
though, once upon a time. She forced herself to smile at him.
"Congratulations to you, though, you have just about everything you ever
wanted." She cringed. Please, don't let that sound bitter.
"Deservedly so, I've never known anyone who works as hard as you."
He looked down into his coffee cup and muttered, "Sometimes,
accomplishment is a poor substitute for experience." He cringed. Please,
don't let that sound bitter. He forced himself to smile at her. "But you have definitely lived every minute of your life. You have done things that
most people never dare
to." He blushed, and said softly, "And- you are still as lovely
as you ever were."
"Thank you!" It was Penelope's turn to blush. Surely he didn't . .
. She looked around the room; she couldn't look at him just now. Her eyes
came to rest on the huge clock across the room "Oh, my God! Is that what
the time is? I've been gone much longer than I said I would; everyone is
probably wondering what's happened to me! I need to go!" She jumped up off
"I should get home, too." Percy was startled to see how long they
had been talking. They left their mugs on the counter and walked out into the
"It was so nice to see you, Percy." She faced him in the snow, a
bit too close.
"It was good to see you, too. Happy Christmas, Penelope." He could
see his breath touch her face . . .
"Happy Christmas!" She stood on her toes and kissed him softly,
then turned and walked away.
Percy wanted to call her back,
wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her back, to tell her he wanted her to
come back and stay. But he just watched her go. And, just for a moment,
he was eighteen again, watching her leave, thinking he would never see her
again. He was surprised at the almost unbearable pain he felt; it filled his
chest, inhibited his breathing. Then, the feeling passed. He sighed, and
turned to go home. The snow that had been falling all day had turned to rain.
A/N this story is based upon the
song Same Auld Lang Syne, by Dan Fogelburg. It was popular around 25 years ago;
you can still hear it sometimes at Christmas. It is a lovely, melancholy song;
if you can, track it down and listen to it.