Catherine Adair is small and trim, with sleek, dark hair and intelligent eyes. Looking at her, you'd never guess that she could be as absentminded and scatterbrained as she is-- but Penny went to school with her for years, and she's got storiesCatherine isn't at all absentminded today. When she'd answered the door to her flat-- one she shares with ( Read more... )

[OOC: Immediately after the events of Penny's Black Sunday post.]

Penelope doesn't notice the last note until her quill slips from her hands (her jitters having completely failed to disappear), and she's forced to root around for it beneath the table. Then her fingers come upon it-- one last bit of parchment, hardly big enough to contain anything ( Read more... )

It's strangely surreal, after Milliways, to be crossing this lake again. Penny's boat bobs about-- she's certain that someone behind her is about to be sick-- and she gets the feeling that, like her, everyone is waiting for Hogwarts to come into view ( Read more... )

There are things that Penelope does not leave the flat without.

First off, her wand. That one is obvious. Nobody leaves home without a wand these days-- even muggleborns and half-bloods, who are occasionally inclined to go about their days without using magic. It's an indubitable necessity, but all the same ... it's just one more thing to be tense ( Read more... )

( a few weeks in the life of Penelope Clearwater )

Penelope steps out into the hallway, blinking-- but she's hardly had time to move before she's grabbed roughly by the elbow.

"You're late," snaps a plump aide, dragging her along.

"B-but--"

Oh dear God, how can I *explain* this?

"They're here now waiting for you," the woman continues briskly, ignoring her floundering. "Come along."

But-- ( Read more... )

It's been two days for Penelope Clearwater. Two interminable, humiliating days.

The robes, if you must know, are white, and hers is mortifyingly ruffled. She suspects they've been keeping it on reserve for several hundred years ( Read more... )

"Please explain this to me again, doctor."

The healer taps his quill against his clipboard nervously, doing his best not to quail under Joyce Clearwater's formidable glare. It's amazing how easy it is to ignore the slacks and sensible muggle shoes with those basilisk eyes boring into him ( Read more... )

The Archimedes Gimp Ward of St. Mungo's (Spell Damage) is a horrible place.

Penelope scarcely saw any of it, whisked down the corridor as she was, but what she had seen out of her peripheral vision had been more than enough: Babbling people being rushed by on stretchers; a healer tugging gently at the elbow of an empty-eyed woman whose skin was a ( Read more... )

Penelope Clearwater is distraught.

"Oh no! Where did this come from?"

The "this" in question is a set of very warm (and rather stylish) witch's robes in an amethyst shade that Penelope knows is a good color on her.

Penelope shuts the wardrobe door frantically, then slowly and cautiously reopens it.

The robes are still there.

"Oh, no," she ( Read more... )