Door 11
Angelina watched smiling as Samuel told Emily how it was to fly. He hadn't stop talking about it in the past days. And his sister was a good listener. And now, she also was a good talker. It warmed Angelina's heart to see her finally talking and she really wanted to strangle that leader of the orphanage for being the cause of Emily's silence.
She was brought out of her thoughts when Emily crawled onto her lap and looked expectantly up at her.
"There are no biscuits." Emily said. Angelina didn't really understand what she wanted to say with this, so Emily explained.
"It's Christmas soon, and there are no biscuits. We need Christmas biscuits. Mummy always made them."
Angelina smiled slowly and nodded.
"You're right. We need Christmas biscuits."
"Forget it!"
"Why not?"
"I won't let you turn the kitchen into a battlefield! You want biscuits? Tell the houseelves, that's what they're here for!"
"But that's not the same! Christmas biscuits have to be made by yourself! Has your mother never baked anything?"
Montague raised his eyebrows at her and Angelina sighed.
"You're impossible, you know that?"
"Johnson, that's part of my charm." He grinned at her and turned around, the discussion was over for him.
"Fine, then we'll make them at my parents'."
"Have fun."
"Montague…"
"No, no way! You won't drag me into this, too! I went shopping with you, but I won't bake with you!"
"So, we will wait for the owl to come again?"
Montague turned back around to face her and glared down at her, trying to intimidate her - not that it was working.
"I'm not saying you have to actually bake with us. But you have to come with us. And you know very well that He will tell you the same thing should you continue to argue so much!"
Angelina could see how Montague's jaw tensed and she knew she had won.
"We need to go shopping for the ingredients tomorrow. So try to be nice."
When she finally left the room Montague let himself fall back onto a chair. He could already imagine the horrors that would await him. Seeing as Angelina was rather tall for a girl at least one of her parents must be tall as well. Probably her father. He probably looked like a woodcutter. Montague could already see the man before him. And next to him a small, plumb woman, both of them dressed in rather old fashioned clothes – Angelina had to have inherited that lack of style from someone.
He would probably be forced to spend the day in a small cottage somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Hell, her parents could be Muggles for all he knew! 'This day will be my death.' He thought and imagined all kinds of worst-case-scenarios.