"Ah, this is it! Finally! Thank you so much, Percy!"
Remus blinked in recognition, then his tired face lit up with genuine understanding and excitement as he eagerly began tearing open the sealed envelope with impatience.
Not only was Percy curious about the mysterious contents of the envelope, even Sirius, who had been chatting enthusiastically with Amelia just moments before, craned his neck around and asked with curiosity,
"What is that, Remus? What's got you so excited?"
"Oh, you know better than anyone how desperately short-staffed I am here, Sirius, you've heard me complain enough—"
Remus tore open the seal with force but struggled to pull out the thick stack of parchment, the papers were resisting as he continued speaking rapidly,
"We're not only short on skilled craftsmen for the production lines, we're equally lacking in high-end talent—research personnel skilled in advanced alchemy, business personnel skilled in communication and international negotiation, people who can represent us abroad.
But you know how it is, Sirius—most of Hogwarts' outstanding graduates, the truly exceptional ones, have been absorbed immediately by the Ministry of Magic with their job offers. It's extremely difficult to find enough qualified talent within Britain anymore. The Ministry scoops them up before we can even make contact."
Remus paused to wrestle with the stubborn envelope.
"I've already tried recruiting from other workshops and businesses with competitive high salaries, offering more than market rate. It's equally difficult—most of the really talented people are direct descendants cultivated by established wizarding families who won't leave their family businesses for gold galleons alone, no matter how many we offer."
He finally succeeded in extracting half the papers from bottom with a satisfied grunt.
"These are the ones I've personally selected from over a thousand résumés we received—I went through every single one myself. Excellent talents who, after proper training, can take on more important responsibilities and grow with the company.
For instance, developing new international markets, handling complex business affairs, dealing diplomatically with various countries' Ministries of Magic, and so on. I asked Bryan to review them and approve my selections."
Remus looked up at Amelia with an apologetic smile.
"Amelia, I'm afraid I'll need you to work late tonight sending formal offer letters to these young people, asking them to come for final interviews within three days. Oh, damn it, Bryan packed them too tightly in here—"
With a sudden rustling sound, the parchments from the envelope scattered everywhere as Remus shook them loose too enthusiastically.
Percy, who had been listening with interest to Remus's detailed rambling, stumbled back a surprised step at the flying parchments, instinctively reaching out and catching one that seemed to be deliberately 'flying' straight toward his face.
"Oh, how clumsy of me—"
Remus blinked his weary, reddened eyes and waved his wand in a gathering motion at the scattered parchments. Like homing birds responding to their master's call, the scattered résumés obediently returned to his waiting hands—all except the single one held in Percy's grasp.
"Thank you, Percy—"
Remus said casually, somewhat distractedly, reaching out to take the parchment Percy was holding before his eyes. But he couldn't pull it away—Percy's grip was tight.
"Percy? What's wrong?"
Remus asked in confusion, using a bit more force, pulling harder. But still he couldn't free it from Percy's grip.
The parchment completely blocked Percy's face from view, preventing Remus from seeing his expression. Concerned now, he tilted his head to see around the parchment's obstruction, trying to catch a glimpse.
What he saw made him freeze completely.
A face streaming with tears.
London, Holborn District. A modest residential area far from the glittering center.
Pushing open the tall window to let in the evening air, a breeze that had finally shed its oppressive daytime heat surged eagerly into the small room, stirring a few strands of chestnut curls draped over a collarbone.
Fortunately, this residential area, located far from the commercial center and its garish attractions, hadn't been polluted by the city's harsh neon lights and constant noise.
In the deep dead of night, approaching midnight, the rows of orderly Victorian buildings were equally dark and silent, allowing the faint, precious starlight a rare chance to break through layers of urban obstruction and fall into the girl's bright, thoughtful eyes.
A soft sigh harmonized with the breeze, becoming part of the night sounds, as her somewhat melancholy gaze fell upon a clay pot of blooming primrose swaying gently on the narrow windowsill.
Coming to London for work had met with tremendous resistance from her entire family, as everyone had hoped that she would stay in rural Gloucestershire to help manage the family farm. Moreover, they wanted her to date and eventually marry the foolish, thick-necked son of the farm owner next door who possessed an even bigger field and three prize-winning pigs.
Under normal circumstances, given her family's pressure and her own lack of options, she should have been the one to ultimately surrender and accept her fate. But a job posting published in the Daily Prophet had rescued her from her suffocating life.
A very respectable job within a prestigious new company, along with a salary and genuinely generous benefits package that even her stubborn family would hesitate over and had to admit was impressive, had given her another precious chance to step into London and pursue something more.
After lengthy, exhausting negotiations, she had finally obtained her family's consent to try her luck interviewing at this workshop. But the condition was harsh: if she wasn't hired, she would have to return to Gloucestershire immediately with no further complaints and spend her entire life on that desolate farm.
A full week had already passed since the interview ended, and the confidence given by the interviewer's satisfied smile and encouraging words when she left was growing increasingly thin. Now, every passing hour was an unbearable torment for her.
'Should I write a letter to Professor Lupin or not?'
The girl bit her lower lip lightly with anxiety, her gaze was falling on the unfolded letter paper and the ink-filled quill pen waiting on the small desk beside her window.
This thought hadn't just suddenly appeared in her mind tonight—for the past three days straight, she had been agonizing over whether to write Professor Lupin a letter.
The initial shock of discovering that her former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had become the head of a renowned, successful workshop had already dissipated during the time when she first saw the workshop's job posting in the Daily Prophet and hesitated for days over whether to even submit her résumé.
What she was hesitating about now was whether to actively "pull strings," to use her connection.
During the formal interview, the stern-faced interviewer had particularly emphasized when introducing the workshop's culture and values that they placed special importance on "fairness" and merit, and if she could work at the workshop, she would need to internalize and demonstrate this principle as well.
And the scheme she was currently wrestling with, tossing and turning over, clearly had nothing whatsoever to do with fairness.
After a long, heavy silence, staring out at the stars, the girl finally left the window with reluctant steps and sat down at her small desk with determination.
There was already a single line written on the unfolded paper in her neat handwriting. The girl stared at that line for a long time, reading it over and over, before finally making a decision. She crumpled the paper into a tight ball with both hands and tossed it decisively into the wastepaper basket at her feet. Then she took out a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer.
The moon quietly climbed its arc into the high sky and began falling toward the other horizon as the night progressed. In the small but cozy room, filled with modest furniture and personal touches, the breeze continued endlessly through the open window.
But unknowingly, the light in her window had become the last one burning among thousand dark homes in the neighborhood.
The text on the paper still hadn't progressed beyond that first line while the wastepaper basket at the girl's feet had already been filled to overflowing with discarded, crumpled paper balls.
Whoosh!
A violent, unexpected gust of wind struck without warning, and the light blue cotton curtains rustled loudly in the sudden blast. At the same time, the distinctive sound of fierce braking and hurried farewells reached her ears from the street below.
'Who could possibly be arriving at this late hour?'
The girl's drowsy eyes left the frustrating paper, looking toward the window with some confusion, only to discover with alarm that her pot of primrose had been blown over by that violent gust of wind and was now teetering precariously between two iron bars of the security window.
"Oh no—!"
The girl let out a short, frightened exclamation. She left her chair in a rush and hurried to the windowsill, managing to rescue the delicate pot of primrose with both hands just before it fell to the street below.
Before she could even sigh with relief at saving it, the rapidly departing purple taillights glimpsed in her peripheral vision made her face change.
"The Knight Bus?"
She quickly leaned out farther to look down at the street, craning her neck, but whoever had gotten off the departing Knight Bus had already entered the building. She couldn't see who it was.
'There's another wizard living here? In this Muggle building?'
The girl's eyebrows furrowed deeply with worry as she clutched the pot of primrose protectively against her chest.
Although she had always lived in the peaceful countryside, through regular letters from Hogwarts classmates and her reading of the Daily Prophet, she knew the British wizarding world was currently tense and dangerous.
Regarding Hogwarts and current events, she had heard about the frightening thing Professor Dumbledore was publicly stating to people. And this widespread fear was one of the most important reasons her anxious mother didn't want her to leave the safe countryside.
Thump, thump, thump—
Heavy footsteps in the stairwell.
The girl ran toward the coat rack in her slippers, somewhat frantically pulling her wand from the pocket of the wizarding robe hanging there. Then she slowly retreated to the window, waved her wand to extinguish the lamp with a whispered command, and watched the door warily.
The room immediately fell into oppressive silence. The girl could only hear her own heavy, panicked breathing and the urgent footsteps rapidly approaching in the hallway outside, getting closer, closer!
'They're coming for me—but how could that be?! Why?!'
The thought struck her. Everyone in this building was short-term renting Muggles with ordinary lives; she was the only wizard.
'They're coming for me—but that's impossible! No one knows I'm here!'
In that brief time of rising panic, the girl's forehead was already covered in sweat despite the cool breeze. She stared at the tightly closed door in terror, her mind was a complete fog of fear, unable to think clearly.
'What should I do? If I was attacked by Death Eaters or dark wizards, what should I do?! How could I defend myself?'
Professor Watson seemed to have taught some survival experience during his Physical Education class, but she had forgotten most of that knowledge in her panic, couldn't access it. If, if—
Bang, bang, bang!
The sudden knocking sounded like hammers striking directly on the girl's frantically beating heart, plunging her into absolute hell, drowning in fear.
But the voice that followed pulled her back from hell to earth in an instant.
"Is that you, Penelope? Are you in there? Are you asleep? I just saw the light was on!"
Crash!
The voice entering through the door made Penelope's entire body tremble. The flowerpot in her hands slipped free and fell to the floor with a crash.
"What's going on in there? Penelope! What was that sound!"
The breaking sound made Percy outside the door tense up with alarm, and he raised his voice to ask anxiously.
Penelope opened her mouth but found she could make absolutely no sound. Her throat had closed. Only two streams of tears flowed down her face.
Bang!
A harsh crash echoed through the building in the dead of night as Percy's shoulder hit the door, drawing a few angry curses from neighboring flats.
"I thought—"
Percy, who had burst through the door with force, looked nervously at the girl by the window. He saw the broken flowerpot at her feet, the scattered soil and crushed flowers, and the heartbreaking tears streaming down her beautiful face.
The cool breeze from outside lingered indoors, stirring the curtains, guarding that youthful tenderness between them.
For a moment they stood frozen, staring at each other across the small room.
Then suddenly, in a certain moment, the door swung closed behind Percy on its own. The two people in the room ran toward each other embracing tightly, kissing with reckless passion, tearing at each other's clothes.
And the shattered pot of primrose on the floor remained as dazzling as ever despite being broken, its yellow flowers still bright in the darkness, still beautiful, still full of promise.
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