Would You Be Mine?

4. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Harry watched Rosalie's retreating figure, smiling to himself until his gaze landed on her shoulder and then she was gone from his view.

His smile faded as he remembered what was there and he knew exactly where it had come from.

The question was why?

It normally never bothered with them until it was time.

And it was not Rosalie's time.

Not that he wanted it to be her time anymore.

He reached into the bath and pulled on the chain, releasing the plug, watching as the water began to drain, staring as though the answer to his question would appear.

"Finished playing nursemaid have we?" a voice suddenly echoed in the bathroom.

Harry did not reply, instead he shot his sister a glare out of the corner of his eye as she walked into the bathroom and sat herself onto the chair where Rosalie had sat earlier.

"I fail to see why she is up here in the main area of the house," Penelope scoffed, "why she isn't down in the oubliette like all the others before her..."

"Because she isn't!" Harry cut her off, not wanting to hear another word about it.

"My my, aren't we touchy little brother?" she said, clicking her tongue as she finished her sentence.

Harry ignored her jibe and continued to tidy the bathroom, picking up the wet towels and placing them into a basket.

Penelope watched him, his jaw tense, his mouth set in a thin line, balling the sponge in his hand and squeezing the water out.

Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinised him.

"Harry?" she finally spoke.

He sighed, brushing the tops of his thighs with his hands to dry them of the water.

"I think she could be the one," he said, slowly turning to face her.

Penelope held his gaze for a moment.

She then threw her head back and laughed, her voice tinkling around the bathroom.

"Like all the others Harry, just like all the others..." she said.

She stood from the chair and began to pace around the bathroom, standing opposite him, the bathtub between them.

"Humour me Harry dear," she mocked him, "why is this girl 'the one'...do tell..." she asked in a bored tone, inspecting her nails as she waited for her brother's explanation.

"I felt it...I felt the connection," he began, "I can't explain it, I just know."

Penelope laughed again.

"Oh Harry," she said, "dear, sweet Harry. Even if she was, do you really think she could?" Penelope paused to let him take in what she'd just said.

"But Penelope..." Harry began.

"I mean look at her Harry! Really?" she interrupted, "she's weak and timid, afraid of her own shadow..."

"But what if..." Harry replied.

"But nothing Harry," Penelope's exasperation began to show, tired of hearing the same words of wishful thinking from her brother, not that she would dare blame him, "you know what she would have to do in order to free us...to free you..."

"You are free to walk away Penelope," Harry reminded her, "you know you do not have to stay...and I would not blame you if..."

"Brother I will never leave you, I made that promise long ago," she looked at him sadly, "you would be all alone."