Penelope Clearwater (ravelling) wrote in pastabsolution, @ 2011-07-17 19:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 1998 july, ! complete, ! log, oliver wood, penelope clearwater |
Who: Penelope Clearwater and Oliver Wood, with Madam Pince NPCed.
When: Mid-July, 1998.
Where: Hogwarts.
What: Penelope and Oliver bump into each other and chit-chat about unofficial TBA staff appointments.
Rating: A fairly tame PG.
Madam Pince was standing by with a clipboard, surveying the work of two volunteers as they unpacked and itinarised the contents of boxes, when Penelope arrived. She couldn’t place the two students, but their faces were familiar, making them at least fifth years if she could recall them. As she approached, one of the girls raised her wand and sent a novel shooting towards the fiction section and placed it neatly amongst a collection by a famous crime writer, the accuracy of the charm proving her assumption correct. Pince seemed to approve of their work too, as she was wearing her pleasant frown as opposed to her angry one. After seven years in the same library, Penelope had learned to distinguish the difference.
“Here you are,” she said, placing the box down on an empty table. “I came by after work as I promised - hope I’m not late.” This statement, issued with brisk cheerfulness, was to remind the older woman that she had invaded her sanctuary through appointment without being explicit about it - Pince would not take kindly to an overt reminder, seeing it as a suggestion that her memory needed nudging. Penelope had to bite down a smile at that - as if. “They’re mostly classical novels, some Charles Dickens and E. Nesbit. I stuck with settings in an earlier period so that the technology wouldn’t clutter the story too much for people unfamiliar with it, but I can look for some more recent works if there’s a demand.”
Pince flicked open the box with her wand and scanned over the spines. “I am not familiar with any of these authors,” she said curtly, “but I’m certain that whatever you choose will suffice, Miss Clearwater.”
Penelope thanked her and after a few more minutes of chit-chat (more from her side than Pince’s, and she had apparently been a favourite of the librarian’s during her time!) departed for the grounds. It was an unusually hot day for - not the time of the year (July) - but the location (Scottish highlands) and she found herself loosening the silk scarf around her neck as she walked, ruffling her hair off the back of her neck in the bright sunshine.
Naturally Oliver had ended up working on the Quidditch pitch. He’d been helping out ever since the call for volunteers came out and after an interesting conversation with Professor... no, Headmistress McGonagall, he felt an even bigger need to get the school in tip-top shape before the new school year started, particularly the pitch.
Although the area was apart from the castle, it had suffered from the battle. Giants had rampaged through it, smashing stands and knocking down the goal hoops, and while the worst of the damage had been fixed, there was still work to be done. Having done an aerial sweep to see what needed the most attention, Oliver had checked the stability of hoops and was now removing debris. The unusually hot weather and the absence of anyone else around meant he’d stripped off his shirt to be more comfortable. Carrying some large planks on his shoulder, not really bothering to use magic to make them lighter or shrink them, he walked out of the pitch to find a suitable place to dump the burden and saw a female figure coming towards him. He smiled and lifted his free hand. “Hullo!”
“Hi!” said Penelope back brightly, taking a step closer to the wizard. Fortunately in order to bolster her rather meagre height, she had worn wedges, not stilettos, today, and was able to traverse the ground rather easily. As she approached, the smile on her face stiffened, becoming something a deal more forced. Oliver. With the exception of Percy, he was the first classmate of hers that she had seen since being released...since returning back to the magical world, and somehow that made it more real. There was a twisting feeling in her stomach as she stopped a few paces away, surveying him. “I trust you are well?” she added. Her tone was friendly enough, but the choice of words added a formality, a distance, to it.
Recognising Percy’s former girlfriend, Oliver’s smile broadened in contrast to Penelope’s, pleased to see a face that didn’t belong to either a former professor or someone years younger that he only remembered as an ickle firstie. The formality of her comment did cause one eyebrow to lift slightly, but he didn’t point it out, just nodded. “Aye, it’s good to be out here and getting stuck into the work,” he shifted the planks on his shoulder into a more comfortable position. “Congratulations, by the way, Prof... the Headmistress mentioned you will be part of the staff as well.”
“Did she?” Penelope asked noncommittally. McGonagall had not mentioned to her that Oliver would be working here too. Sensing their differences in height, she took another step back in order to level the playing field - as it were. In contrast to Oliver, she was fortunately not shirtless, in fact dressed rather neatly in a red shift dress of her sister’s. Prudence was somewhat slimmer than Penelope, but well, there were charms for that. “I’m not actually on the teaching staff,” she clarified. “Professor - well, Minerva - hired me as a counsellor.” Forgetting her company for a moment, and that Oliver wasn’t someone she particularly liked (and Penelope, fortuitiously for her job, did like the vast majority of people), she pursed her lips in a brief expression of amusement before adding, “Apparently there’s a need for one.”
Oliver waved his hand in a casual dismissal of the technicality of her position. “Still part of the general Hogwarts staff though,” he said with a twinkling grin. The planks were digging into his shoulder, so he drew his wand out of the modified pocket on his trousers and casually cast a shrink spell on them so they were soon the size of matchsticks. His expression turned slightly more serious. “Doesn’t surprise me,” one corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “I don’t envy you that job, with all these kids and their emotions running high,” Oliver didn’t want to touch on the still raw wounds from the recent war though. “Better watch out you don’t become the school agony aunt.”
“That will be rather difficult to avoid, being my job description.” She reached up, brushing a lock of dark hair off her forehead. “Fortunately though, I’ll have set hours. And what will you be teaching?” she asked. Rather to the point, but he had never seemed to be the...scholarly sort to her. To put it kindly. She grimaced inwardly, feeling a bit guilty at that uncharitable thought.
“I’m the new flying instructor and ref for the Quidditch matches,” Oliver grinned broadly, not having a clue what Penelope was thinking of him and if he did, he was more likely to agree with her. He wasn’t a scholar and he much preferred being outside, up in the air and on a Quidditch pitch rather than pouring over a book. He wasn’t thick, having achieved decent results in his NEWTs and therefore didn’t need to retake a year like some people (Marcus Flint), but it was no secret that complex discussions about history or theory sent him straight to sleep. Slipping the matchstick sized planks into his pocket, he rubbed his hands together. “I’m looking forward to Gryffindor winning the Cup this year!”
“You’ll have to keep on looking then.” A good-naturedly competitive edge came to Penelope’s voice. “Nathan Boot and the rest of his team are sure to win the Quidditch Cup this time. Unless of course, you’re planning on favouring your former house on the pitch?” She quirked one eyebrow.
Both his eyebrows went up. “I never play favourites when I’m the ref,” Oliver spoke lightly, but there was a steely serious undercurrent. Yes, he wanted Gryffindor to win, but he wasn’t about to ignore fouls in their favour. However, his mouth soon quirked up in a grin again. “Care to wager on the outcome, Ms Clearwater? Boot might have talent, but my money is on Robins this year.”
“I’m a Ravenclaw, so I know better than to wager on a particular outcome with the man who’s officiating the game,” she said, taking some of the edge off her words with the ghost of a wink. As it was her job to be perceptive in regards to other people’s moods, she had discerned that Oliver had been a bit disgruntled by her suggestion of favouritism. Deeming it best to stray from the topic of Quidditch for now, she added, “And what do you think of this year’s batch so far? They seem like quite a resilient lot.”
Oliver pretended to be wounded by her words, hand to his chest as he pulled a mockingly mournful face. “I’m hurt, truly hurt,” he claimed, shaking his head. He didn’t seriously think Penelope was accusing him of playing foul, and therefore didn’t mind her teasing really.
“Well, I haven’t really had a chance to see them in the air yet, but I would say they are,” Oliver didn’t say that it wasn’t any surprise considering what had happened. “I’m hoping to see some young Harrys in the first years,” there was an eagerness in his tone as he imagined finding a natural talent like Harry Potter and nurturing that.
She chuckled a little at his mummery, in spite of herself. Perhaps he was different to the boy who had spread rumours about her during OWLs – something she had considered to be out of character for Oliver anyway – and the war had changed everyone to some degree. “I was talking about how they’re coping with the emotional aftermath of the war, Oliver,” she added gently, a small smile on her lips. “Not about how they would fare on the Quidditch pitch. But that’s more my area to worry about.” She glanced down at her watch, seeing that it was approaching seven. Typical of the highlands this time of the year, the sun was still straining high in the sky. “I should be going,” she said. “I’m meeting Percy for dinner.” Which he didn’t know about, but she would. Her mouth creased into a line of worry as her thoughts returned to her ex-boyfriend.
“Oh,” Oliver had the grace to look a little sheepish at his misunderstanding of her meaning. It wasn’t really his fault that Quidditch occupied such a large portion of his brain, it was just the way he was. He nodded. “They’ll be all right, and if they need help, I couldn’t think of a better person to straighten their heads out,” he gave Penelope a friendly pat on the shoulder.
The mention of Percy turned his mouth down slightly, reminding Oliver of Fred. “Give him my regards, eh?” he asked.
“Sure.” Penelope started to turn away, then glanced up at him. “Would you – I don’t know – go and see him, if you feel like you can? Except don’t tell him I suggested it.” She paused, swallowing, before adding softly, “He blames himself for what happened to Fred. You know. He’s the only one who feels that way, but – well – it’s Percy.” She trailed off awkwardly, watching the toe of one of her wedges as it ground a circle into the ground. Today she’d charmed her toenails a coral shade. Pedicures were something that she paid attention to, that she’d had the luxury of doing since Azkaban.
“I was going to pay him a visit anyway, so... you didn’t suggest it, just ‘reminded’ me,” Oliver smiled, glancing involuntarily down as her foot started moving about. She had nice feet, not that he had a fetish or anything, but the thought just popped into his head. He pulled his gaze up and looked at the sky. “It’s hard not to blame oneself,” he murmured, thinking of poor Colin and how light the boy had felt when he carried him. He gave his head a little shake and then regarded her again with with a reassuring smile. “Anyhow, if anyone can cheer up old Perce, it’s you.”
“‘Reminded’ you.” Penelope tried that one one for size, then smiled. “I like the way you think, Mister Wood.” Inwardly she wished she was as confident of her own abilities, and her smile wavered somewhat. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around then, I suppose?” She offered her hand.
“Can hardly avoid me now,” Oliver winked and took her hand, giving it a firm shake. Had he been someone different he might have flirted and kissed the back of her hand, but it didn’t even occur to him.
She said her goodbyes and then started towards the topiary gardens nearby, where she’d been told Flitwick would be. Oliver had seemingly being tucking something towards one side of his mind while they were talking of blame, and she reminded herself that while it was something of an occupational hazard with her job to notice things like that, she was not obliged to act on them, nor would it be healthy. It was up to people to approach her themselves, when they were ready, and... you can’t save everyone, Penny, a nagging voice reminded her as she turned her attention to yet another former Gryffindor, wondering just what she would do with the Percy Problem.