All she managed to think was It was only a quill before her mind seemed to go blank, yet her hands went up to his face of their own accord. She leaned in and kissed him back quite soundly herself for a moment before slowing the movement of her lips against his and beginning to pull away.
She was plagued with the undeniable desire to flee. She had done so once before, hadn't she? From a cloakroom in her own house.
The notion was ridiculous, but Penelope felt immediately guilty for the kiss, though she hadn't seen or spoken to Charlie in weeks. It was a reflex, as two months was hardly enough time to break habits forged over two years, and she certainly hadn't made a habit of kissing anybody but him.
The comparisons, too, were a reflex, and bombarded her in that moment. She had kissed a wizard like him before, a wizard who liked to talk much more than her, who regarded the world with bright-eyed fevor and perhaps felt determined to prove himself to it, and it had crushed her heart into a million tiny pieces.
But as… reserved as Penelope might be, as often as she chose solitude over company, she intuitively knew there had been something brewing between the two of them, unbelievable as it might have been to her. She did not understand how it was possible to go from intensely disliking someone to meeting for lunch every week or two over night, but it had happened. And since it had, a part of her knew that this was inevitable.
She didn't run.
"I'm glad you liked me—it." Promptly, Penelope turned beet red, now regretting her resolve to stay put. "I can't seem to stop shaking," she whispered, unable to take her gaze away from his.
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