She hadn't had the courage to enjoy supper with her mother that evening. No, not when all Cassandra could speak of was Mr. Desmond and all his brilliant qualities. Mr. Desmond could crawl into a ditch for all Penny cared of him. Brilliant qualities, ha. Dying beneath a collapsed column that was brilliant, valiant, as courageous as they came. All Mr. Desmond had ever accomplished was a few potion competition wins. He would never compare to the likes of Duncan Fawcett.

As such, Penny had squirreled herself away in the workshop as soon as she'd arrived home from work. Varnish from the broom's shaft stained the sleeves of her dress — her skirt having only been saved by the suggested apron — and her braid might as well have been undone for all the hair it held back. Loose tendrils of golden hair were constantly being tucked back behind her ears, leaving a streak of black grease on her cheek.

Had Penny thought to be expecting guests, she might've put more of an effort into cleaning herself up. Sure, Nemo had seen her in the past with a face covered in soot, but that wasn't her usual state. Still, there was little to be done as the last of his footsteps fell on the steps. "Hey!" Penny called out from her usual set up in the far back corner. "Sorry, sorry! I wasn't expecting you tonight." Had they made plans? Merlin, she was bloody forgetful sometimes. Wiping her hands on her apron, Penny set aside the muggle lamp and stepped around the table to meet him. "Uneventful day at work, I hope?"