Penelope had only just gotten home from the book shop, changing from her work clothes into the sort of things one ought to wear on warm summer evenings when there was a knock on her front door. Grabbing an apple from the counter that was to be her dinner, she made her way through her flat. Hopefully it wasn't Carl from across the hall saying that his ferret had gotten lose again and had she possibly seen it. Honestly, if he couldn't take proper care of his pet than he shouldn't have one in the first place.
Who awaited her on the other side, however, was certainly not Carl. Or Mr. Mason from the floor above who liked to complain that her music was too loud even though she could hear the BBC well past midnight emanating from above. No, instead it was Terence. Terence who couldn't floo call to let her know he was settled in Poland. Who couldn't post an owl letting her know how his team was. Who couldn't ward her in the journals to let her know he wasn't dead. He was lucky she didn't throw the apple right at his head, but then again her hand eye coordination had never been her strong suit. So instead she just slammed the door in his face.
Immediately opening it back up again.
"Terence," she said stiffly, wishing for just a moment that she was wearing the smart slacks and blouse that tended to be her work attire rather than the shorts and men's shirt that had once been her father's. "You're looking well."