Past Regrets, Future Fears [Penny]
Posted: Fri Feb 28, 2025 6:25 pm
Julian sat at his desk, sifting through the steady flow of paperwork that had become second nature over the year: student records, budget approvals, lesson plan adjustments, and the endless administrative demands that came with running Hogwarts. His quill moved efficiently over the parchment, signing off requests with practised ease, until his eyes landed on a letter that made his breath catch. It was a request from the substitute Care of Magical Creatures professor, seeking approval for a guest lecture. Nothing unusual on its own—professors often invited experts in their fields to speak to students—but it was the name listed beneath the formal proposal that sent a shock through him. Penelope Simpson.
Julian’s grip on the parchment tightened slightly as he read the name again, as though he might have misread it the first time. But no, it was there, as clear as the ink on the page. Penny. His daughter. It had been six years since Julian last saw her. He had sent letters with no expectation of response, and made sure she knew where to find him if she ever wanted to reach out. But she never did. Over time, Julian stopped writing, fearing that it would push her away further. He had deserved her silence, but that didn’t stop the ache of regret that had gnawed at him ever since.
And yet, now, here she was. Not by her own request, but by invitation—an invitation now resting in his hands, awaiting his approval. For a long moment, Julian simply stared at the parchment, a familiar ache settling in his chest. Over the years, he had kept an awareness of Penny from afar, never intruding, but quietly proud as she carved out a life of her own. Her name had appeared in the Daily Prophet from time to time, often tied to her work as a renowned dragonologist and her passionate advocacy for their protection. And now, unexpectedly, her name had found its way to his desk, presenting an opportunity he had never dared hope for.
Julian knew Penny was aware he was Headteacher; he had told her in his first letter all those years ago. He wondered, though, if she would accept the invitation now, knowing he would be here. Would she want to see him, or would this merely be another professional engagement for her, a part of her life that didn't include him? Julian exhaled slowly, pushing the ache back down. It didn’t matter. Penny had always made her own choices, and he had no right to expect anything from her. If she accepted, it would be on her terms, and he would not interfere; he wouldn’t seek her out, wouldn’t press her into a conversation she wasn’t ready for.
Julian signed his approval at the bottom of the parchment and placed it with the rest of the completed requests. He reached for the next task, determined to keep going, but his mind refused to cooperate. No matter how he tried to focus, his thoughts kept circling back to the invitation. Leaning back in his chair, he let his gaze drift over the papers in front of him, though he barely registered them. Penny. The invitation. The possibility of her being here. He should have pressed on, should have forced himself to work through the distraction as he always did. But for once, he couldn't. The tension in his chest tightened, making it impossible to concentrate. After a long, silent exhale, he finally pushed the papers aside, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get anything more done today.
________________________________________
The day had passed in a blur of routine and restraint, his every thought shadowed by the fact that his daughter was here, somewhere on the grounds, yet as distant as ever. It was common practice for Julian to sit in on guest lectures—a matter of courtesy, of professional interest—but today, he had stayed away, not because he didn’t want to see her, but because giving her space was the only thing he could offer her. He remained in his office, a silent invitation to Penny.; if she wanted to find him, she knew where he was. But the hours wore on, and still, she didn’t come.
Penny’s lecture had ended hours ago. She was likely gone, but the ache in Julian’s chest lingered. He had kept his composure all day, burying every emotion that had surfaced the moment he saw her name on that letter. Sitting alone now, in the quiet of his office, the silence felt oppressive. The walls seemed to close in, and the need to escape pressed on him. He couldn’t keep it together any longer. Without thinking, he left his office, his feet carrying him outside.
The cold night air hit him like a shock, but it was a welcome sensation. The grounds were empty, there was no one to witness his unraveling; only in solitude could the Headteacher drop his mask. Sinking onto a bench, Julian rested his elbows on his knees and let his head fall into his hands and for the first time all day, he allowed himself a moment to feel the weight of it all. The guilt, the loneliness, the years of estrangement. Six years of silence, of wishing for something he couldn’t have, of wanting to reach out but knowing he wasn’t welcome.
Penny had been here. And she had left. And Julian had let her.
Julian’s grip on the parchment tightened slightly as he read the name again, as though he might have misread it the first time. But no, it was there, as clear as the ink on the page. Penny. His daughter. It had been six years since Julian last saw her. He had sent letters with no expectation of response, and made sure she knew where to find him if she ever wanted to reach out. But she never did. Over time, Julian stopped writing, fearing that it would push her away further. He had deserved her silence, but that didn’t stop the ache of regret that had gnawed at him ever since.
And yet, now, here she was. Not by her own request, but by invitation—an invitation now resting in his hands, awaiting his approval. For a long moment, Julian simply stared at the parchment, a familiar ache settling in his chest. Over the years, he had kept an awareness of Penny from afar, never intruding, but quietly proud as she carved out a life of her own. Her name had appeared in the Daily Prophet from time to time, often tied to her work as a renowned dragonologist and her passionate advocacy for their protection. And now, unexpectedly, her name had found its way to his desk, presenting an opportunity he had never dared hope for.
Julian knew Penny was aware he was Headteacher; he had told her in his first letter all those years ago. He wondered, though, if she would accept the invitation now, knowing he would be here. Would she want to see him, or would this merely be another professional engagement for her, a part of her life that didn't include him? Julian exhaled slowly, pushing the ache back down. It didn’t matter. Penny had always made her own choices, and he had no right to expect anything from her. If she accepted, it would be on her terms, and he would not interfere; he wouldn’t seek her out, wouldn’t press her into a conversation she wasn’t ready for.
Julian signed his approval at the bottom of the parchment and placed it with the rest of the completed requests. He reached for the next task, determined to keep going, but his mind refused to cooperate. No matter how he tried to focus, his thoughts kept circling back to the invitation. Leaning back in his chair, he let his gaze drift over the papers in front of him, though he barely registered them. Penny. The invitation. The possibility of her being here. He should have pressed on, should have forced himself to work through the distraction as he always did. But for once, he couldn't. The tension in his chest tightened, making it impossible to concentrate. After a long, silent exhale, he finally pushed the papers aside, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get anything more done today.
________________________________________
The day had passed in a blur of routine and restraint, his every thought shadowed by the fact that his daughter was here, somewhere on the grounds, yet as distant as ever. It was common practice for Julian to sit in on guest lectures—a matter of courtesy, of professional interest—but today, he had stayed away, not because he didn’t want to see her, but because giving her space was the only thing he could offer her. He remained in his office, a silent invitation to Penny.; if she wanted to find him, she knew where he was. But the hours wore on, and still, she didn’t come.
Penny’s lecture had ended hours ago. She was likely gone, but the ache in Julian’s chest lingered. He had kept his composure all day, burying every emotion that had surfaced the moment he saw her name on that letter. Sitting alone now, in the quiet of his office, the silence felt oppressive. The walls seemed to close in, and the need to escape pressed on him. He couldn’t keep it together any longer. Without thinking, he left his office, his feet carrying him outside.
The cold night air hit him like a shock, but it was a welcome sensation. The grounds were empty, there was no one to witness his unraveling; only in solitude could the Headteacher drop his mask. Sinking onto a bench, Julian rested his elbows on his knees and let his head fall into his hands and for the first time all day, he allowed himself a moment to feel the weight of it all. The guilt, the loneliness, the years of estrangement. Six years of silence, of wishing for something he couldn’t have, of wanting to reach out but knowing he wasn’t welcome.
Penny had been here. And she had left. And Julian had let her.