Part Nine:
Quirrell had not spoken to Angelica since she told him about her dream, which continued to become more vivid each night. The first week of O.W.Ls examinations passed slowly and was quite horrific. Monday was Charms, which wasn't so bad in the practical section, but Angelica messed up the answers on the written exam. Tuesday's Transfiguration practical exam was miserable as she kept saying the wrong incantation for the object at hand. On Wednesday she had the Herbology exam on which she thought she barely got a passing mark, though she wouldn't know for sure until July. After Thursday's Defense Against the Dark Arts exam (that did go well), which, like all the other O.W.Ls exams was proctored by someone other than the professor, Quirrell walked right passed Angelica in the hallway while she was on her way back to the Gryffindor dormitories. Once again Quirrell looked very weak and distraught; he seemed to not be cognoscente of anyone around him, which had become quite the normal behavior for him during the last two weeks especially. But as Angelica stared at his face during the seconds in which they crossed paths, she noticed a small glob of a shiny silver liquid at the right corner of his mouth. Perhaps it was a remnant of a potion he took to help remedy what was making him sick? But the sight of it and the glazed look in his eyes made her feel exceedingly worried and uncomfortable.
Thursday night Angelica lay restless in her bed. The rest of her roommates were fast asleep, and rightfully so as it was getting very late. Suddenly, something struck her and she felt compelled to leave Gryffindor tower. She hadn't a clue where she needed to go, she only knew what this feeling her gut was telling her - Quirrell was in danger, and she was the only one who could save him. But knew that if she were to attempt leaving her dormitory Fiona (a very light sleeper) would surely hear her rustling through her trunk to get her robe, and put an end to her vague plan of action. Fiona already thought that Angelica was acting strangely that week, and being a concerned friend simply would not stand for Angelica wondering outside of Gryffindor tower after hours.
Given this heightened state of anxiety Angelica was certain she would never fall asleep, but several long minutes later her eyes shut, with warm tears trickling down her cheeks, she was brought back into the same nightmare that had haunted her all year.
She stood near a pillar at the back of a large, nearly empty room with an odd mirror in the center of it. That first year Harry Potter was in front of her and he seemed to be bound by something. And there was Quirrell, unraveling - his turban. She wanted to run to him, but she couldn't move she felt numb. It had been him. He had been the man unraveling in her dreams, in her nightmares.
This couldn't really be happening, could it? There was a hideous face on the back of Quirrell's newly bald head. It started talking to Harry about very strange things; Quirrell drinking blood from a unicorn for him, needing to creating his own body, some kind of stone, murdering Harry's parents – it couldn't be You-Know-Who, could it? He had fallen almost eleven years ago. Harry had brought about his demise when he was just a baby. It simply could not be him.
Quirrell flew towards Harry and started to strangle him, but then he doubled over in pain, and Angelica noticed blisters forming all over his hands. But he continued, trying to kill Harry, or at least remove the shinning red stone from his hand. But everywhere Harry touched him he burned, his skin blistered red and raw, until both Quirrell and Harry both fell to the hard grey floor, neither moving at all.
Angelica ran to Quirrell and flung herself on top of his body, hoping that maybe she could somehow magically heal him. She lay with her head on his heart, trying with all her might to hear even a faint beat, but there was nothing. She was beyond tears.
Her eyes shot open – that could not have been just a dream, it had been tangible and every detail was as clear as if she had been in that strange room with Quirrell, Harry Potter, and whoever that was on the back of Quirrell's head. She stared at the ceiling, hoping that watching the shadows pass would keep her thoughts calm instead of lingering on what had just passed. Though she stared at the ceiling like a zombie, her hands kept remembering the hot peeling blisters on Quirrell's hands, which led to the memory of the way the fabric of his robes felt smooth against her cheek, and the way he…How could he be dead, just like that? She felt ice shooting through her veins and curled up on a ball to try to combat nausea.
She wasn't sure how much time passed between her waking, the shards of sunlight jabbing across the ceiling like daggers, and the sounds of movement and voices of her roommates. It felt simultaneously like minutes and years, and she dreaded having to go to the Great Hall where she knew she would not find Quirrell sitting in his chair at the professor and staff table next to Professor Snape. At the same time she knew that if she didn't go down to breakfast she would have to explain to at least Fiona why she never wanted to leave her bed again.
After waiting for her roommates to leave, unwillingly Angelica opened the red velvet curtains that surrounded her bed, put her feet on the floor, put on the first skirt and blouse she pulled from her wardrobe, and without even brushing her hair, made her way down to the common room, out the portrait hole and started walking towards the Great Hall, from which she heard sounds of triumphant cheering and laughter. The sounds of her giddy schoolmates initiated tears streaming from her eyes until she could taste their salty flavor in her mouth. She decided to keep on walking, where to, she didn't know and didn't particularly care as long as there weren't other people there.
It was then that she heard footsteps running up behind her. A quick hope that it might be Quirrell crashed when she found it was only Fiona. Angelica did not want to talk to anyone about what had happened the previous night because talking about it would only make things more real. She hoped her friends would go away.
"I saw you pass by the Great Hall," Fiona started, out of breath from running after her.
Angelica solemnly nodded, but continued to walk silently with her back turned to Fiona.
Fiona followed. "What's wrong with you? I mean, are you really ill, Angie?"
"Don't call me that," Angelica said coldly after realizing that it only made her think of how Quirrell had called her that when he talked to her alone.
"What?" Fiona wondered.
Angelica paused. "I'm not sick. Just suffering from exhaustion."
"Oh. Okay," Fiona muttered. "Well, Dumbledore made an announcement at breakfast that might make you feel better."
Angelica perked up slightly at this thought and turned around to listen to her friend.
"Well, apparently He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still alive, and he snuck into Hogwarts last night!"
That was all Angelica needed to hear to know that it hadn't been a dream, or a nightmare "It was real…I was right…" Angelica absentmindedly mumbled as she leaned up against the nearest wall for support, covering her mouth and trying her best to hide her tear stained face behind her hair.
"What? Well, anyway then Harry Potter defeated him again, just like when he was a baby! But man, he's just a little first year. I think that's why everyone's so happy around here. It really gives us reason to celebrate, you know?"
"Celebrate?" Angelica said quietly in disbelief. Hadn't Dumbledore told them that Quirrell had been killed? That he had been possessed by You-Know-Who and tortured all year? The idea of ecstatic happiness and parties at a time like this made her feel even sicker.
"Angi—I mean Angelica, you look kind of, grey, maybe you should go lay down? I could go get you some tea, or toast if you want, breakfast is still going on."
Angelica shook her head, biting her tongue so she didn't start sobbing. "I just need some more rest." She turned around and started walking briskly to the staircase and began the trek up seven flights to Gryffindor Tower.