Chapter Text
Penelope Beverleigh was proud of her normal boring life, thank you very much.
At the age of twenty-five she was a devoted history teacher in a secondary school in Wood Green, London. Every morning she started her day with a strong cup of coffee, tuned the news on the telly and made sure nothing strange was happening before driving to work. As simple as it was, Penelope was proud of her normal, boring life. There was nothing amiss.
Many people would differ, though.
As a single young woman, the absence of a partner meant something was wrong about her. Curious neighbours, peeking behind their curtains, scowled at her back, whispering she was an odd young lady.
"No husband, no boyfriend," said Mrs Mckinley to Mrs Kiernan over tea.
"She mustn't be a deviant. I see her every Sunday at church, such a good girl," Mrs Kiernan would reply with faint wonder.
For them and many others it seemed impossible suitors weren't lining up to marry someone as beautiful as Penelope was; small yet slender, elegant in her moves and with perfectly curled golden locks and wise blue eyes. A doll, old folks would call her.
Mr Wallace from the bakery argued that maybe Penelope was waiting for the right men to marry, "Because she is a right young lady who must be aware there are no gentlemen left!"
And Mrs Dawson from the pet shop insisted her son was the perfect match for a sweet young lady like her; "Billy works in finances in this well-known company, he's single and ready to mingle!"
"I don't have time for dating," replied Penelope each time, at the grocery store, at school with her coworkers, at the bakery. "Too much work, you see. Hardly time to breathe!"
Deep down, while waving off her neighbours concerns regarding her love life, Penelope carried on with bigger secrets than would scare her suitors away if they just knew. No, she wasn't a criminal. No, she didn't have a terminal illness. And no, she certainly wasn't a witch.
Penelope was just Penelope. She went to work, took a walk, read a book and attended church. She worried over climate changes and the economy. She drank beer on Fridays, slept until noon on Saturdays and corrected essays on Sundays. Penelope didn't need more troubles than curious cats ruining her little garden or noisy boys kicking the ball down the street. The nuns from the orphanage taught her to keep her head down, avoid trouble and work hard. So that was what Penelope did best. She was a simple woman, with a simple life and little space in her agenda for ridiculous problems.
However, Penelope was a huge believer that misfortune came in threes.
It was October 31st when she woke up later than usual, she didn't worry about her alarm clock not ringing on time — it just needed new batteries! And started her day with a strong cup of coffee, tutted at the reports on the news (never good news, it seemed) and went out of the house only to find a black cat napping on the roof of her car.
Of course anyone else would scare the poor thing away. Penelope, unfortunately, wasn't like anyone else. She strongly believed in bad luck. In her world, bad luck was real. In her mind, she knew it was an indicator something was wrong.
But Penelope left that world long ago. Nearly fourteen years this September.
Mr Kiernan called across the street. "Good morning, Miss Beverleigh! Alright over there?"
"Morning, Mr Kiernan," she smiled tightly. "Just a bit complicated with this little fella."
"What a life! Napping like that!" Mr Kiernan's laughter echoed in the street. "Have a good day, Penny!"
Penelope waved at the man and then glared at the cat. It opened an eye and stirred before changing positions, still napping.
"Excuse me, mister," she used her teacher's voice, as her students often pointed out when they managed to test her temper. "Would you mind?"
The black cat ignored her. Mrs Wallace, who was taking the children to school, turned slightly and nodded politely in her direction. Penelope smiled at them but she saw their curious eyes on the cat and then on her. She supposed it was a ridiculous sight to talk politely to the cat but she wouldn't risk herself.
Not willing to waste more time after three more attempts, Penelope grabbed the cat and placed it on her doorstep before rushing inside the vehicle. She was already late. Penelope was hardly ever late.
For the rest of the day, Penelope kept her mind occupied with her classes and students. The Halloween thrill filled the hallways and classrooms, there was no one at school who hadn't been anticipating the best night to shove sweets down their mouths like there was no tomorrow. Even the teachers, some tired after two periods, were dreading the weekend to celebrate.
"Penny!" Cynthia from the maths department beamed when Penelope entered the staff room. "Have you made up your mind about this Friday? You missed two years in a row! Can't reject me again, young lady!"
Penelope grimaced and Cynthia shook her head. "Oh no! I won't allow another lame excuse!"
"I'm not a huge fan of parties, Cynthia."
"You'd enjoy this! It's just a pub night with your dear colleagues," she insisted with a bright smile. Penelope liked her better when she was talking about numbers and equations. But Cynthia was friendly like this and Penelope did miss more get-togethers than any other normal person.
"It'd be a nice opportunity for everyone to get to know you better," a male voice said behind her.
Penelope felt her cheeks burn. Cynthia's smile only grew bigger as Edward Sullivan sat with them, his takeaway in hand.
"Personally," Mr Sullivan leant forward, whispering, "the best part of the evening is watching Mrs Madlock smile."
"You're lying."
Sullivan just shrugged, smirking. "There's only one way to find out..."
This little flirting was no strange for Penelope. She wasn't naive. She knew Edward found her attractive for a while now but nothing beyond walking her to her car or buying her blueberry muffins happened. Penelope reckoned Edward would stay if he ever found out... Her previous boyfriends hadn't been kind about her past. The relationship became awkward when Penelope opened up about her family; why would they kick you out of your house at the age of eleven? Why haven't you spoken to the police? Do you still talk to them? A cult? Seriously? And many more ridiculous questions came along. Penelope only could tell them little without breaking the Statue of Secrecy. Besides, no one would believe she was involved with magic. No one would believe in magic without proof.
"Sounds interesting," she finally gave in, suppressing a smile.
Cynthia squealed and began to write down the address on a piece of paper. Edward offered a coy smile.
Head light with fantasies, Penelope headed to the loo before her next class only to find a broken mirror.
There was no turning back, she thought as she called the handyman to remove it. Her normal, boring life was coming to an end.
She didn't recall her way back home being so short. Penelope's day only got worse as the hours dragged on. Her students were restless; noisy and rude. She had to raise her voice more times than usual and the traffic was slowly torturous. And when she thought nothing else could go wrong on her day, that same black cat crossed the road as she entered her street.
Penelope wasn't one who easily cried. She suspected years of loneliness helped her to leave her ruddy sentimental self behind. Besides, there was nothing to cry about.
After a long hot shower and stirring the sauce for her pasta, Penelope turned on the telly to catch on the evening news.
"...owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight. There have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern."
Penelope froze in her little kitchen, still listening to Jim McGuffin report the downpour of shooting stars in Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee.
A loud 'pop' interrupted the train of thoughts forming in her mind.
Startled by a sudden knock at the door, Penelope turned off the stove, a white noise ringing in her ears. She counted to ten, easing her heartbeats. It had been a while since she thought of them. She had lost contact with them long ago. But cursed as she was, Penelope could still feel magic whenever it was performed. It was certainly impossible for them to find her but since magic was a mystery for her, she believed there must have been a way to track her down. To her place. To ruin her normal, boring life.
"Please, go away. Please. Please, go away," she whispered with tears in her eyes.
No. She mustn't cry. She wasn't a child. She wasn't fragile.
No. She wasn't weak. She wasn't a failure. She wasn't a coward.
Then, when no answer came from the owner of the house, the door emitted a faint click! and opened by itself.
Without hesitation, Penelope grabbed a knife and pointed at the intruder. She could see the outline of his body, his rigid movements in the shadows.
"DON'T —"
Before she could actually threaten the man, he drew out his wand and the knife flew out of her hands, stabbing her wall. Penelope felt ridiculous to still face the wizard without anything to defend herself with.
"WHO —?"
"Do not raise your voice," the man grunted. "He's asleep."
Stepping into the light, Penelope was face to face with an attractive young man. He was carrying a small boy, who was wrapped in a fluffy blanket, grasping a stuffed lion with chubby fingers. From his expression, Penny could gather he was in no state to hold himself up any longer, however, she didn't approach to help. She stared at him with fear. Fear of losing her life. Her precious normal, boring life.
"You're Penelope Pettigrew, are you not?"
Penelope straightened her back, the way her mother taught her. "I do not associate myself with that name any longer."
"And you haven't heard of Peter, have you?"
"What is this?" Penelope's nostrils flared. "Who do you think you are to barge into my home and ask such ridiculous questions?!"
The man smiled wryly. "I'm Sirius Black."
Penelope had heard of the Black family. Purists. Maniacs. Inbreeding. Dark Magic. She had heard whispers at the gatherings, how they seemed devoted to follow this popular wizard with traditional purist views. It was a long time ago. Just when she was about to start Hogwarts. But she remembered fairly well how her mother spat at her face, claiming she would do anything to keep their family reputation up, even if that included hiding her Squib daughter in the Muggle world.
"What do you want, Sirius Black?"
"I need a favour —" the man stepped forward. "This is Elliot. Elliot Potter. He —" when he tried to speak, his voice cracked. "He needs a safe place to stay for a few days."
Penelope glanced down at the child. Of course it was a Potter. That hair was unmistakable.
"Why?"
"Voldemort. James and Lily... they are gone. And his followers might be looking for him," he whispered maniacally. "I will come back, once things are over. I'll come back for him. Just a few days."
Penelope hesitated as Sirius offered the child. She shook her head.
"I am not involved in your —"
"PLEASE!"
Elliot mumbled sleepily against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering open and then closing. Sirius looked at the edge of collapsing so Penelope cradled the child in her arms. Elliot babbled between dreams, sighing content against Penelope's chest.
"I'll come back," Sirius promised. "And I will explain — please, stay safe. Do not leave the house, if Peter comes... Do not trust him."
Penelope was growing scared. Who was this man? Why was she even listening? Why hadn't she called the police yet? And what happened to Peter? She hadn't heard of her little brother in years. Besides, how was it possible he found her when...
"Euphemia sent you," she guessed. Mrs Potter had been her only connection before she stopped replying to her letters. "What happened to her? Where is she...?"
Sirius turned around. "I've to go."
"Wait!"
But not even before he reached the front door, he disappeared with a loud crack.
The sound alerted the child. His brown eyes began to tear up, his lower lip bobbled as he looked up at her. Penelope began to panic. Yes, she had worked as a babysitter for years to get enough money for books and food. Yes, she was good with children. Yes, she had dealt just fine with them in her life. But this... This child didn't know her.
"Hello, little one," she whispered. "My name is Penny. I'm a friend. Are you hungry?"
The child made himself smaller in her arms, less scared but no more curious of her.
"I want Mummy."
"Mummy is..." Penelope didn't know what to say. "Mummy went to the store. In the meantime, shall we get milk and biscuits?"
"No! I want Mummy and Dada and 'Awwy."
Penelope saw her years of preparation flying out of the window. She was paralyzed in fear and concern. She couldn't — how would she explain this to the police? How would social services react? No. She couldn't call them and take the child away if he was... The child was most likely one of them.
A combination of rage, sadness and fear overcame her. Penelope sank down to her knees and extended her hand and brushed his fringe out of his sticky forehead. Elliot kept crying and crying, and for the first time Penelope felt her world crumbling down. She hugged Elliot in her arms and nursed his shaky body until the crying ceased and he fell asleep again.
Silently, in the pitch black night, Penelope promised herself to protect this little boy from any possible evil until Sirius or his grandparents came looking for him.
Little did she know, Elliot Potter was bound to stay a secret, as little people mourned his death while many others celebrated the downfall of Lord Voldemort, holding up the glasses and saying; "long live to Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter!"