AN: Written for the If You Dare Challenge, prompt #375.

The day they let her out of Azkaban, the sun was shining. The sky was a brighter blue than she could've imagined and the ocean was calm and there was warm sand underneath her feet instead of cold granite. Penelope was absorbed in feeling. The feeling of the gentlest breeze shifting her thinning hair- hair that had been golden once upon a time. There wasn't gold in Azkaban.

At some point, Percy had shown up and Penelope was shocked. He was crying and holding her and kissing her and she was shocked. Shocked how warm he was, shocked how safe she felt, shocked how bright his hair was. Like fire on a cold winter day.

Actually, she didn't remember fire being that bright either. She didn't remember anything being that bright. Everything in Azkaban was grey and muted and dingy and squished together, casting a filter onto her memories.

Everything was crystal clear now though. Crystal clear and full of colors she hadn't known existed last week. Sky blue and Weasley red and sunshine yellow.

As Percy took her home and talked about war and pain and loss, Penelope held his hand and only half listened. She listened to birds chirping outside and marveled at how warm she was and wondered how she had ever been sad in this world. Happiness was not-Azkaban and Penelope was happy.

At the same time, she knew that her happiness had lost something. That she'd lost something. She wasn't Princess Penny with the loud laugh and bright hazel eyes who could twirl like she weighed nothing. She was Penelope, faded and muted, who laughed quietly and walked as if she was afraid she'd break.

But she was happy. She was happy, and, at that moment, she was sure that she'd be happy for the rest of her life. Happiness was not-Azkaban.