Part Eight:
At the beginning of May, fifth year students were required to meet with the head of their house for career advice, and for Angelica that meant meeting with Professor McGonagall whom Angelica felt did not like her. This dislike Angelica traced back to the time when her negligence caused Oliver to get hit in the head with a bludger during their first Quidditch match in her third year. To make matters worse, Angelica had no clue what she wanted to do for a job. When she expressed her lack of career aspirations to Professor McGonagall, McGonagall gave her a thin lipped hard stare over the tops of her rectangular glasses, and then she looked back down and unrolled the parchment scroll that held Angelica's transcript on it.
"Well Miss Morrissey," Professor McGonagall started, "I see you've done well in Charms. And you did an exceptional job in Defense Against the Dark Arts during your third year, and this year as well, though, not the other three years you have been here…" She raised her eyebrow as if she suspected something. "Ah, but I see your best subject appears to be Divinations!" said McGonagall in a tone of mixed surprise, disappointment, and amusement.
Angelica sat in the chair across from McGonagall's desk, silent and uncomfortable, fidgeting her hands as Professor McGonagall thought through Angelica's career options.
"Perhaps a job in the Ministry? The Department of Mysteries could use someone with a background in charms, defense against the dark arts, and divinations." She looked at Angelica to see if she showed signs of interest at this idea.
"Okay," Angelica absently responded.
Professor McGonagall shook her head and handed Angelica a pamphlet on careers in the Ministry of Magic, and one particularly devoted to jobs in the Department of Mysteries (which had no pictures and very little information in terms of job descriptions). "Look these over, and if you decide to try to start a career in the Department of Mysteries then you need to keep up your marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Divinations. And try to improve your Transfigurations and Potions grades. Those would be the classes I would recommend for N.E.W.Ts level."
Angelica nodded, "Thank you," she added, and walked out the door of Professor McGonagall's office. She skimmed through the glossy booklets as she walked to the Great Hall for lunch. It was good to have an idea of jobs she could qualify for, though none of the options seemed very interesting to her. Angelica was the last of her friends to have their career advice session and at lunch she found out what jobs had been recommended to them.
Percy announced, "Professor McGonagall said my suburb grades and status as a Prefect will certainly make me a top candidate for Minister of Magic."
"I told Professor McGonagall I wanted to be in a rock band, you know, like the Weird Sisters, and she didn't try to change my mind, just said I shouldn't give up my studies," Jonathan quickly explained, changing the subject before immense laughter broke out at Percy's expense.
"She told me that I should work in medicine. At St. Mungo's, or something," Fiona said with a shrug.
"Medicine? I didn't know you were interested," Angelica commented.
"I'm not!"
"McGonagall encouraged me to go into Quidditch professionally. Which I was planning on anyway," Oliver said with a smile and a chuckle.
As Jonathan and Fiona congratulated Oliver on the encouragement he got, and began discussing what professional Quidditch team he should try to get a spot on, Angelica's eyes drifted towards the professor and staff table with the hope that Quirrell would be looking more like himself, or at the very least a little bit healthier. It seemed as though with every passing day his skin grew more transparent, the circles under his eyes more black, his stutter worse, and at times he didn't even appear to recognize her. Unfortunately the condition Angelica saw Quirrell in at lunch was a continuation of his degeneration. He wasn't even eating, just scraping and picking at his food with his knife and fork, occasionally taking a polite sip of pumpkin juice. It disturbed Angelica so much to see him in such a state and not to know what was causing him to be so ill. 'Apparently,' she thought, 'whatever protection I was able to provide through that potion wasn't enough.' But what did he need protection from?
Things in the following weeks just got worse. About a week before exams were to start, and after one particularly horrible Divinations class Fiona walked Angelica to see Madam Pomfrey, at the hospital wing. She diagnosed her with severe exhaustion and said she exhibited the usual array of pre-O.W.Ls. exam stress symptoms. Madam Pomfrey handed Angelica a slab of chocolate and shooed them out of her office.
"Angie, this is getting very serious, you have to talk to someone about these dreams! I don't want anything to happen to you."
Angelica agreed and munched her chocolate all the way to Quirrell's classroom. She knocked on the door.
"C-c-come in," he said in a lethargic, frightened voice When she walked in he looked like someone was killing him, slowly, just sucking the life out of him.
"Quirinus, if this is a bad time..."
"N-n-n-not at all. I-I enjoy your c-c-company."
"I've been having what Professor Trelawney says are prophetic dreams... Of my own death," she blurted out.
"W-what happens in t-t-them?" He asked, cautiously.
She explained about the dream with the empty room and the unraveling man whom she could not help.
Quirrell's eyes became as wide as a house elf's. "Oh?" he responded in a squeak. He held his mouth half open for quite some time before anymore words came out. "I-I-I've had t-the s-s-same dream. E-except I-" He stopped and with a look of sadness and longing he pulled her close to him and kissed her for what seemed like an eternity.
When they pulled apart, his face had gone slightly green.
"Q-quick, leave, through the back d-d-door!"
Angelica ran off.