The darkness was penetrated by a single rectangle of light peeking out at him from behind the door.
And the door was beckoning him.
The mystery of the thing that lay behind it called out to him so that he ached to reach it. He moved toward it with the speed of thought, and the light pulsed for him as his heartbeat pulsed in his chest—how he wanted and needed what was behind this door.
Harry reached out a hand—reached out as he had done so many times, week after week for month after month. He prepared himself for the disappointment of this door's refusal to open for him. But he was surprised to find that the door opened easily this time, and it swung away from his touch silently.
Harry felt his whole body react with triumph and excitement. He moved on…
Angelina's eyes struggled open when she realized through the thick fog of sleep that Harry was tossing and turning next to her.
She turned to look at him—he was moving his legs up and down, like he was walking even as he lay there, and there was a strained expression disturbing his features. He made a small noise before reaching his hand out to her, groping for her. She took his hand.
"Harry, wake up," she whispered softly.
"Wha…? Shit!" He jerked away from her touch and cursed, flopping his head back on his pillow in exasperation. Angelina lay still as Harry closed his eyes and let the disappointment seep out of him slowly. He opened his eyes again to stare above him, but he didn't see the canopy. He saw the dusty glass orb with the light shining at him that he'd only just been about to close his fingers around before Angelina woke him up. Of course, she had no way of knowing this—he wasn't angry with her. He was just tired…he knew that tomorrow night he would have to go through the same thing all over again. He'd been right there…
"What is it?"
Harry shook his head slightly. "I almost had it."
"…what?"
"I don't know what it was..." Harry paused, allowing something disturbing occur to him. "But Voldemort wants it."
There was a chill in the air. It was still early morning. The sunlight approaching the windows was pale and did not carry much warmth. Harry's nose was cold. Angelina rubbed her feet together in effort to warm them. They were silent but awake. The other boys, having become accustomed to Angelina's presence among them since she'd been dating their roommate, slept on.
"Why am I seeing these things…?" Harry slid down until the comforter covered half his face and pulled Angelina closer to him, welcoming her body heat. They hadn't been asleep for very long, and he was still drained from the night before.
Angelina held his head against her chest, also feeling very tired.
She sat thinking for a long pause, but then resolved that now was as good a time as any. They might as well have been alone, what with his roommates sleeping like rocks and at least an hour before anyone would be getting up to face the day. She stroked his hair as his head rose and fell with the slow rhythm of her breathing.
"Dumbledore said that dreams are vehicles. He said they tell us important things, whether we know what they are or not…"
There was a long silence, and at first she thought Harry had fallen asleep again. But he spoke after a moment, and as he did his warm breath tickled her stomach through her nightshirt. "I was in a room full of shelves…"
"Shelves?"
"Hmm…there must've been a hundred of them or more."
"With books?"
"No. Other things…I've never seen things like these before…and it was so quiet in there. The whole place was covered with dust."
"Is it a real place?"
Suddenly, Harry's arms drew tighter around her waist. He nodded against her stomach. "Department of Myst…" he muttered and his voice was drowned out by a yawn that caused her abdomen to shrink away from the warm breath.
Angelina paused, making sure Harry hadn't fallen asleep again, before taking a breath and whispering, "Harry? I wanted to tell you something."
He lifted his head from her stomach, his eyes catching the light from the window. He looked about ready to hear more bad news. "Tell me what?" Angelina opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word the door burst open and Hermione came rushing in, her bushy brown hair all over her head and her brow knitted with anger. "Hermione?" he groaned, but she ignored his irritation.
"She's gone and done it!" she shouted, causing all four of Harry's sleeping roommates to jerk awake. With groggy eyes they all peered at her curiously. Dean asked in a croak what time it was as Hermione continued, "Umbridge has named herself Headmistress!"
"What?" Ron, Seamus, and Neville sat straight up in their beds.
Hermione held up a fresh, crisp piece of parchment with Umbridge's familiar writing scrawled across its face. "I found this downstairs on the bulletin board." Shaking with righteous anger, Hermione read the decree stating that effective that morning, Delores Umbridge had replaced Albus Dumbledore as Headmistress of Hogwarts.
"No surprises there," Dean muttered, sitting up in bed with his eyes closed.
Harry sighed and nodded his agreement. "I'm surprised she didn't put them up last night…"
"Ooooh I'd like to ring her fat neck!" Hermione snarled, balling up the parchment and throwing it in the trash. Ron patted his comforter for her to take a seat. Angrily, she sank herself down onto his bedside and crossed her arms. "Dumbledore's not even gone for twenty four hours and she's already got her pompous, puffed-up arse sitting at his desk, I'll bet!"
Everyone seemed surprised that Hermione was speaking that way, but all of them knew that today was going to the beginning of the longest few months in their school careers. Not only did they have O.W.L. exams to worry about, and the last Quidditch match of the season coming up, but now they would have to spend the rest of their school days before summer squirming under the boot heel of Delores Umbridge.
—BY ORDER OF—
The Headmistress of Hogwarts
Effective this morning, The High Inquisitor shall replace Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and will hereby be addressed as HIGH MISTRESS OF SHITE!
Furthermore, effective today, an approved group of KISS ARSE students shall be appointed to the new Inquisitors Squad by the HIGH MISTRESS OF OOZY TROLL BOGIES!
The Inquisitors Squad (PUFF PATROL) will be identified by their badges.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.
Signed,
Delores Umbridge, Headmistress OF MINSITRY SCUM!
"Honestly, Ron, it's not funny…" Hermione attempted to say this with a straight face. She couldn't quite muster a stern expression, but Harry could see that she at least wanted to express disapproval without cracking a smile. She failed, of course.
They were sitting under their tree, watching the sun go down just before dinner. The lake shimmered with the reflection of the lavender skyline, and the three of them sat chuckling about the graffiti that someone (the twins, no doubt) scribbled on Umbridge's decrees all over the school.
"Come on, Hermione, even you have to admit-" Ron said between bouts of laughter that reddened his face so that his freckles were almost invisible, "-watching Filch scramble around on his old joints to find whoever did it before they could mess up another one was hilarious!"
Hermione's face twisted uncomfortably before she finally let out a chuckle. "Ha ha, well fine. It was funny, okay?"
"Thank you for finally admitting it," Ron said as they all stood and brushed themselves off before starting back up to the castle in sync. He frowned a moment later. "I just don't get how they did it so fast. And without getting caught!"
"I heard somebody say they bewitched the decrees to write on themselves…but no way they had time…"
"They had help," Harry said.
"From who?" both Hermione and Ron turned to look at him suspiciously.
"I lent them my cloak."
"Oh Harry!" Hermione chastised before Ron jumped in.
"Did you go round with them?"
"Of course not!" Harry said with a grin.
They entered the Great Hall minutes later only to be headed off by Angelina. "Ron," she said before any of them could greet her, "Eat and run—I want to practice while the pitch is free."
Ron attempted to roll his eyes in protest, but Angelina fixed him with a look.
"All right, all right, fine. Lemme grab a drumstick; I'll be out there in a minute, then."
"Good, great. See you."
Harry watched as she left them, feeling a mix of apprehension and disappointment. Ron griped all the way over to the table, where he did indeed grab a single turkey drumstick, clamp it in his mouth, and wave 'see ya later' to everyone. Ginny and Dean were already gone. As Harry and Hermione sat down she turned to face him with a concerned expression. "How are the two of you?"
Harry shrugged and reached for a platter. "We're good."
"Well that's good…right?"
Harry remembered the talk he and Angelina had that morning during break in the library. Before Hermione had burst into the room furious about the decree, Angelina had been about to tell him something. He let it go when everyone got up and didn't say anything during breakfast, but when their free period came he couldn't wait any longer. He found her in the library pretending to study.
"What did you want to tell me?" he asked before sitting across from her near a window.
Angelina closed her textbook and peered over at him, looking as if she had been waiting for him to come and find her. She sighed. "I'm not sure you'll want to hear it."
Harry set his jaw, his eyes flickering up and down at her expectantly. "Well, what is it?"
She sighed. "I think—I-I mean I hope that this doesn't turn out to be the case, but…I don't think Malfoy will ever get it through his head to leave me alone."
"This again?" said Harry sharply. "I don't want to talk about him. If this is all you had to tell me, forget it."
"Harry-"
He stood up again, his chair scraping back against the floor loudly. Madame Pince appeared behind him and hissed sternly, "Five points from Gryffindor!"
"Fine." Harry muttered, suddenly very angry. "I was just leaving."
Pince sniffed indignantly at him and swept away. Harry threw his bag over his shoulder and took a step, but Angelina had taken hold of his arm before he got far. "Hey, sit down, will you?"
"Angelina…"
"Please. That isn't all I was going to say."
Sighing, Harry sat down again, quietly. "I'm sorry I got mad," he sighed. "But I thought we went over this last night."
Angelina nodded her understanding. "I know. But it's just I have to tell you something and…I have to tell you all of it. That means you'll have to listen to some stuff you don't want to hear…for a bit."
Harry looked at her—he could see she was just trying to be honest with him. After all that happened, he understood what she was trying to do. He didn't like it, but he would listen. "Okay…"
"I want to help you. I want to help you figure out this…whatever this is that's happening to you. But we can't if you're still hung up about Malfoy."
"He's hung up on you, more like…"
"I know. But there's nothing for us to do about it. We can't stop him."
"Who says I can't?" Harry uttered incredulously.
"Well, you did almost kill him, Harry. If that didn't teach him his lesson…"
Harry sat fuming. He hadn't seen the little shit at all that morning, not even at breakfast. Not that he cared to. He was likely to start another duel, no matter where or when, and so he considered it a good thing they hadn't crossed paths yet.
"So what are you saying? Why can't I stop him from bothering you?"
"He's ill."
Harry scoffed loudly. Angelina looked around for Pince, but the old librarian was busy harassing a group of seventh years. "What's wrong with him? He's screwed up in the head? I could've told you that."
"He's being given potions."
"Potions for what?"
"It's his father. You were right; he does want Draco to be a Death Eater."
"Potions for what?"
"To make him stronger. Dumbledore thinks-"
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Dumbledore thinks? I forgot—you went and told him about this last night, didn't you?" Angelina nodded, and Harry felt almost triumphant for a second before he realized that Dumbledore was gone. "Well I guess I don't need to ask how it went…" he shifted in his seat and watched her watching him before asking: "You told him…everything?" She nodded again. "And he told you Malfoy's dad is giving him potions?"
"That's what he thinks is happening, yes. The potions—they're dangerous if made too powerful or taken too much. They make people crazy. Dumbledore thinks Draco's father was probably willing to take that risk for some reason."
"What has Malfoy being crazy got to do with you?"
"Harry…" Angelina didn't really want to say it aloud. "He read what Draco wrote in the playbook. Dumbledore says he's obviously confused about why he's acting the way he is…he can't help it."
"He can't help it?" Harry repeated in amazement. He started to raise his voice, but remembered where they were and leaned forward to whisper to her over the study table. "Angelina he tried to rape you! Didn't Dumbledore understand that? Who bloody cares if he's being given a thousand potions a day and if they make him as loopy as Luna Lovegood—he tried to hurt you."
"There is more to it than that, Harry. Dumbledore didn't tell me everything, but I'm not stupid. I can tell…there is something holding him back. And maybe he would have expelled Draco but there is something going on behind the scenes that affects him…personally."
"Wait-wait…so he wasn't going to expel that bastard? Oh, I don't believe this!" He had been operating on the assumption that Dumbledore's decision to get rid of that sniveling ferret had been thwarted by the discovery of the D.A. but now she had just shot that out of the water. If his frustration with Dumbledore had gone away for the old wizard's sacrifice, it was quickly returning now. He thought what McGonagall told him in the hall was truer now than ever—Harry was really on his own.
Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned away from her to look out the window. He saw, in the distance, a flock of birds scattering from the net of trees that made up the Forbidden Forest, screeching faintly as they flew. There was movement in the treetops; they shook and swayed as if stirred by a strong wind or an invisible hand. Harry thought it an odd sight, but his anger over what Angelina was telling him put the thought away.
"So you and Dumbledore put your heads together to try and save poor Malfoy, then." He turned to face her again.
"Actually I don't care what happens to Malfoy. I care about you. And so does Professor Dumbledore."
At dinner later that night, Hermione chewed her food thoughtfully. Harry scooped up some gravy and poured it over his mashed potatoes, letting her figure out which of the barrage of questions she no doubt had to ask him first. Hermione swallowed her food. "You didn't leave it at that, did you?"
Harry shook his head. "No…"
Angelina explained that Dumbledore had asked her not to repeat what they discussed, but she said…almost as though having a revelation…that she felt he expected more from her than just her silence. "I know he wanted me to help you—and he must've realized that I just can't do that without telling you everything I know."
"Everything he told you…"
Harry held his breath, the prospect of learning something new about this strange power of his very exciting.
"Right."
They huddled together, their heads hovering over the table as they lowered their voices so that only the two of them could hear what they were saying. Angelina relayed some of the things Dumbledore had told her, including his theory on Harry's anger. Dumbledore believed that at this point in time, anger was what fueled Harry's new ability. This was not good. Especially since lately Harry's anger had become quite potent—he was not only experiencing frustration as result of his many problems with Malfoy and Umbridge among other people, but also he was being fed explosive emotions from Voldemort at an unpredictable rate.
"Let me guess," Harry whispered to Angelina, "this is where Occlumency comes in?"
"Yeah." She smiled apologetically. "Dumbledore thinks that once you can block out You-Know-Who, you'll be able to better control your emotions—specifically your temper—and then you can learn to control your power."
Harry sighed, softening for the first time in the conversation. He reached across the table and fiddled with her fingers thoughtfully.
"I know I have to do better at this Occlumency stuff…I get it. It's just…bloody Snape."
"Harry, I saw Snape's face when you destroyed Dumbledore's office last night—he's scared! He doesn't know any more than we do about what's happening to you! Don't let him give you a hard time."
"Oh yeah, that'll be easy…" he said, remembering the terrible argument…and the desk.
"Yes, it could be." Angelina smiled encouragingly. "You just go in there knowing that no matter what he says, you are there for a reason. You are important to Dumbledore, you're important to the Order!"
Harry looked up from her fingers sharply. "Dumbledore said that?"
"Dumbledore said that?" Hermione asked through a mouth full of food. Harry grinned and nodded.
In the library, Angelina had done the same.
"Well, why did he tell you all this? Why couldn't he tell me?"
"I know he had his reasons, Harry…"
"Everyone says that. What else did he tell you? Does this keep happening to me only because I get upset?"
"He didn't really explain that. He just said that as long as you and You-Know…V-Voldemort are connected, you'll never be able to control what happens when this power comes over you. He also said that it's very dangerous…if Voldem-mort ever found out you can do these things…"
"That's why Occlumency is so important, Harry." Hermione told him as they were finishing their dessert. The two of them got up at the end of supper and fell into step at the back of the dense queue to leave the Great Hall. Harry received many woeful looks from various D.A. members no doubt mourning the loss of their weekly meetings.
He unconsciously looked around for any sign of Malfoy, but received none. The top of that slick blond head was nowhere to be found. In Transfiguration that afternoon, they'd all watched as Filch delivered a note to Professor McGonagall, who read over it with a blank expression before starting the class. Malfoy didn't show up, and Harry suspected that note was about him.
"Speaking of Occlumency," he sighed once they'd reached the Grand Entrance Hall. "I'd better go—I don't want to be late for my torture session with Snape."
"Don't think of it that way, Harry. Remember what Angelina said."
"Right. See ya later, 'Mione."
They parted ways—Hermione off to study while she waited for Ron to return from Quidditch practice, and Harry down to the dungeons to face Snape.
"Before we begin, Potter," Snape stood in his usual place behind the now very stationary desk with his arms folded. "I've been instructed to apologize to you for our argument at the end of the last lesson."
"Instructed?" Harry couldn't help himself. Snape's eyes flashed, but he nodded.
"Yes. It is my duty to guide you in mastering Occlumency, nothing more, and allowing the argument we had grow to the point it did was out of the question. It won't happen again." This last sounded more like a threat than an amends. Harry didn't say anything—he was quite skeptical of this so-called 'apology', but frankly he didn't give a damn if Snape was sorry or not. He just wanted to get through this time without incident. If that meant listening to some fake 'I'm sorry' then so be it. "That having been said," Snape continued, less laboriously this time now that the hard part was over, "I expect you to put more effort into our lessons from now on, understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"That means you will no longer stand there using the time that I am talking to figure out what you're going to say next, Potter."
"I know sir." Snape raised an incredulous eyebrow and Harry realized he had just done what he was told not to. "I mean…sorry."
"That also means no more excuses. You will do as I say the way I say it, is that clear? You are to occlude your mind every evening before you fall asleep, no exceptions."
"Yes sir…"
Snape paused, almost surprised that he was receiving no argument from Harry. Once he was satisfied that the rules were clear, he picked up his wand. "Now…we are going to try a different approach."
"A different one?"
"Yes, Potter," said Snape impatiently. "Does repeating everything I say increase your chances of actually learning it?"
Harry shrugged. "Maybe…"
Snape rolled his eyes. "To learn and master Occlumency, you must do it in steps; on different levels." He paused, his eyes flickering at Harry as he observed the boy to make sure he was paying attention, before continuing, "The first step is to learn to block out your intruder by closing your mind to him. The next…and this may take a while since you still have not managed to pull that one off consistently…is to learn to manipulate the shields you used to protect your mind, and so on and so forth. Now I want you to do what you were doing at our last lesson."
"You mean…?" Harry was at first thinking that Snape wanted him to levitate the desk. But then he remembered his mediation. "Oh that. All right."
"Ready your wand." Harry did as he was told and fished his wand out of his pocket. He stood at the ready, planting his feet firmly to the office floor, letting out a deep breath. "Do you remember what you did? Think back…think back to when you overtook me."
"I-I used this form of meditation I learned."
"Learned from where?"
"In a book…"
"You don't say? What book, Potter?"
"A book about dueling…" Harry felt his nostrils flaring and his cheeks burning with reluctance, but he fancied that if Snape was going to turn him in for dueling, then there was nothing he could really do about it. He didn't mind the idea of not being at school now that Umbridge was running the show—he would just go stay with Sirius.
"I suspected as much…" Snape regarded him with an appraising look for a moment. "And where is it, then? Knowing your arrogance, it's sure to be in your spine…"
"My heart, actually." Harry corrected, referring to his center.
Snape raised his wand again. "So. As with the exercise you learned, you will need a release of power. You will use that release to block my attack, but you will try not use a spell that will destroy my office, Potter." Harry nodded that he understood. "Ready? One—two—three—Legilimens!"
Right before Snape cast the spell, Harry remembered what Angelina and Hermione said. He needed to try harder at this. He needed to focus. Never mind that Snape was a menace, and never mind that the phony truce between them was sure to buckle before the end of this lesson—he needed to figure out a way to control it, whatever 'it' was.
Though he realized quickly that he wouldn't be mastering anything just yet. Before he could muster the concentration, he felt the effects of the spell, and found himself standing in front of the open door with the shimmering silver light beaming out at him. Harry began to run, and though he heard no footfalls, he propelled himself through the door and...
….he was suddenly in the room with those rows upon rows of shelves…running…running…until he found the shelf he was looking for—he didn't really know it was the one until he felt himself turning…he reached the end of the row…almost there! Harry stopped at the end and looked up to see the dusty glass orb resting above the plaque with his name on it…all he had to do was grab it…
"Potter!" The vision swept away and he was once again standing in Snape's office. Harry was sweating, but still on his feet. Snape looked angry finally, his dark eyes blazing. "You have not been practicing!"
"No," admitted Harry, actually relieved to have normal, spiteful Snape back. "I haven't."
"How many times must I remind you how absolutely imperative it is for you to close your mind to these dreams?"
"I know how important it is—that doesn't mean it's come easy!" He couldn't help himself—he had promised Angelina and Hermione (and himself) that he would try his best, but the extreme curiosity he felt each and every time he made it further in that dream tugged at him mercilessly. "Every time I have that dream lately," he started to earnestly explain this to Snape, hoping that the Master Occlumens could at least understand where he was coming from, "I keep getting closer and closer, but I always wake up right before I find out what it all means."
Snape stood silent for a moment, gathering his patience. "Listen to me, Potter—try to cram every word I am saying into that obtuse little brain of yours…" He paused, as if to allow Harry time to prepare for what he would say next. "What lies in the room you see in your dreams is not important."
"How can you be so su-?" Harry started, but Snape silenced him by coming around the desk and standing inches from him, lowering his face so that they were at eye level.
"In fact, the longer you linger on this desire to solve the 'great mystery', the closer you bring yourself to the Dark Lord's grasp. He will find you, Potter—and he will lure you to him like a spider does its prey. Trust what I say when I tell you nothing in the Department of Mysteries is worth your inevitable death should you continue down this path…"
Harry felt his gut reaction to protest spur in him yet again, but he stopped himself. Icky as it was, Snape was probably right. Dumbledore was probably right. And Angelina believed in him. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay…sorry."
Snape again looked surprised, but the expression faded swiftly and was replaced by a curled lip and a curt nod. "Now…" he walked around behind his desk and resumed the familiar position. "Again."
They tried again—and then again. Harry tried harder each time to block the spell, but each time he found himself in that dusty hall lined with shelves. Snape yelled at him to concentrate, but not with impatience or malice like before. Instead he raised his voice with earnest urgency and concern: "Concentrate, Potter—use what you know! You can block my advances, but you must empty yourself of emotion and try…now again!"
They went on and on—Harry had no idea what time it was, but then something happened. Snape raised his wand the way he had a dozen times before and uttered the incantation of the spell. Determined, Harry pushed himself to empty his mind of emotions, and so held himself still. He breathed in and out. That place of complete solitude found him very quickly this time—if he weren't concentrating so hard he would have been surprised at the ease with which the world dropped away…
Harry heard nothing. Felt nothing. He might as well have been asleep; only there were no dreams…
And then he felt a flood of power sweep through him head to toe—it was a feeling so great that it overwhelmed his concentration, but it passed quickly. Harry heard a faint voice calling to him.
"Potter…"
He began to come down. When his vision came back to him, he was immediately blinded by a brilliant light, and he had to raise his free hand to shield his eyes. Snape was barely visible across from him. He was not being obstructed by his own desk this time, however, but the large spectral form of Harry's stag—his Patronus. It was stamping its hooves and its huge horns were swaying to and fro with its head.
Through his awe, Harry suddenly realized something and looked down to see that his wand hand was resting at his side, his wand pointed at one of the legs of Snape's desk. He looked back up at Snape sharply.
"Interesting…" uttered the Potions Master as the brilliant animal began to fade away and the light passed over his dark features.
"What happened?" breathed Harry, looking back down at his wand stupidly.
"You successfully occluded your mind, Potter—and you conjured a Patronus without the use of your wand." Snape fell silent again and they stood there staring at each other, both trying in his own way to understand what was happening to Harry Potter. Harry had so many question, and they were all crashing together loudly in his mind, but he couldn't single out just one to ask first. Snape raised his wand again slowly and Harry readied himself, doing his best to quiet his thoughts. "Let's go again."
Before they could continue, however, there was a short knock on the door and Draco Malfoy stepped in. "Professor-oh…I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt."
Upon hearing his voice, Harry turned to face the boy he hadn't seen since the night before. At the very sight of him, Harry felt his anger rising so swiftly that he had to grip his wand tightly in effort not to do something rash. Draco stared at Harry before Snape cleared his throat pointedly.
"That's fine, Draco. Potter is just here for a bit of Remedial Potions…what is it?"
Harry felt his cheeks go crimson and looked away from Draco first. The small defeat was nothing compared to what could happen if he were allowed a few minutes alone with the creep, he promised himself silently.
"Er—it's Montague, sir. He's turned up stuck in a toilet in the boy's lavatory on the third floor."
"He what?" Snape snapped, sweeping around the desk and heading for the door. "How in Merlin's name did he end up there?"
"I'm not sure, sir. He's all confused…"
"Damn it…we'll resume the lesson tomorrow night, Potter…"
Harry watched as Snape led the way out of the office, and bit his cheek hard to keep himself from beating the shit out of Malfoy—who backed up staring at Harry with a smirk in his eyes.
He was left alone, and after a moment of staring after them with images of torturing Malfoy swimming around in his mind, Harry realized that it probably wasn't a good idea to be having those thoughts and sighed. He needed to "empty himself of emotions" before bed tonight if he wanted to avoid having that dream again…
Harry slid his wand into his pocket and prepared to leave. As he was nearing the door, however, he caught a glimpse of something. A light…it seemed so familiar to him, this image of silvery light dancing off the door frame…beckoning to him…
He turned around and saw the source of the light across the room, behind Snape's desk.
Dumbledore's pensieve…
Harry found himself standing at a fork in the road—down one path, there was Snape and Snape's new approach to teaching Harry Occlumency. Harry had no idea what spurred the mentor in Snape to arise, but if he went down the other path he could kiss their truce goodbye. The other path was Harry's extreme curiosity—what did Snape have to hide? What memories (what information?) were swirling around so alluringly in that basin?
Almost without realizing it, Harry found himself choosing the latter path. His feet carried him away from the door, across the room, and ever closer to the stone basin with the shimmering light.
A practice drill—with the breezy night sky surrounding her and the smell of leather from her Quidditch gear reaching her nose every so often—was just what Angelina needed.
A lot of things had changed, but one thing that remained a constant in the seventh year's life was how much she loved Quidditch. It was an escape; something she was indisputably good at; something she could always count on when she needed it.
She loved the sound of her whistle echoing across the pitch.
She loved the rush of air as her teammates zoomed this way and that on their brooms all around her.
She loved the grunts of frustration or determination she heard.
She loved the sweat, the dirt, the sheer thrill of the game.
And when they were done; when that hour or two of practice was over, Angelina touched down and dismounted her broom feeling a whole lot better. Relaxed, she gathered her team around her for a huddle before she sent them off to the changing rooms.
"Good drill, guys," she reassured them, looking from one sweaty face to the next around the circle. "Really—I think we're ready. We're gonna take the Cup back to Gryffindor Tower Saturday." Everyone grinned at her, even Ron, and she went on. "Now, you guys all know there's been a lot of stuff going on…Professor Dumbledore is gone."
"Yeah and that bitch Umbridge is running the school now…" Katie Bell groaned under her breath.
"And a lot of us have been so stressed out this year that none of us have really been able to enjoy the game. Especially me; I've been…kind of preoccupied…and I'm sorry, guys."
"You're a great captain, Angelina." Ginny offered earnestly.
"Yeah, we'd be rubbish without you," Ron added. "And by 'we' I mean me."
Chuckles all around—Dean gave Ron an affectionate punch on the arm. Angelina observed her group of misfits; noticeably Harry and the twins were missing, but they looked like a real team finally and that was the best she could've asked for. "We're gonna play this one for Dumbledore…"
"Dumbledore!" shouted the team. "Dumbles…" muttered Ron.
On the way back up to the castle after changing, everyone grouped together in pairs as they walked the path, talking of Dumbledore's flight and Umbridge's failed attempts to gain entry to the Head's office.
"I heard she had a nice little tantrum this morning," Dean was saying to Ginny. "Filch had to calm her down before she started throwing spells at the gargoyle—what a twit."
"I'll bet she just loved the idea of sitting her fat arse down at old Dumbledore's desk and using his things…" Ron shook his head sadly. "It's just as well nobody can get in there—Dumbledore should always be the headmaster of this school. When I have children of me own, I want him here to see after them."
"Even if he weren't still a fugitive by then, Ron, he'd be pretty old." Angelina laughed. "He might want to retire."
"Dumbles? Retire? Nah."
"Will this school still be standing when we have children?" Ginny stopped walking and peered up at the castle face thoughtfully. Everyone else stopped too, turning to regard her in shock before the possibility of no Hogwarts hit them. "I heard Mum saying that if the war starts…You-Know-Who will want Hogwarts destroyed. He hates the fact that purebloods and Muggle-borns study here together…"
"Blimey, Ginny, way to bring the mood down…" Dean whispered, glancing up at the castle too.
Angelina and Ron exchanged looks, and then Angelina turned to face Ginny. "Ginny, if the war starts, we'll be here to help fight for Hogwarts. If it goes down, we'll go down with it."
"Okay—this is not what I want to be hearing days before a match guys!" Alicia Spinnet shook her ponytail to and fro in effort to clear her mind of all depressing thoughts and moved past her fellow former D.A. members to enter the castle.
The other team members followed her, leaving just Angelina, Dean, Ron, and Ginny behind.
"I guess we shouldn't bring down team morale with talk of Voldemort and wars…" Angelina muttered. Ron looked at her with surprise. Understanding his awe, she shrugged. "I spent some time making myself repeat it over and over again. Surprisingly, if you picture a centaur with a top hat and cane doing a tap dance when you say it, it loses its menace after a while."
Ron rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What about Umbridge in a tutu doing cartwheels?"
"Now that's just plain disgusting!" Dean shook off the nasty image just as screams and loud noises erupted from the open doors of the Grand Entrance Hall. Startled, the four teammates hurried inside and as the doors closed behind them they saw groups and groups of students (with some teachers peppered in) hurrying up the marble stairs to investigate the origin of the noises.
"What in the world-?" McGonagall attempted to push her way up through a cluster of third years just as a huge purple Catherine wheel went"zeeeeee!" over her head. She ducked and gawked after it just as a loud BOOM! erupted.
Angelina and the others exchanged knowing looks with each other. "They've done it…" Ron muttered. "I don't believe they've actually gone and set of fireworks in the school!"
"Fred and George did this?' Angelina asked, though she knew the answer was yes, as she watched a giant dragon composed entirely of blue sparks float past them headed for the Great Hall.
POP! BANG! ZIIIINNNNNG!
Dragons and Catherine wheels and sparklers and rockets were suddenly everywhere. The words 'scum', 'bogey', 'poop' and several others of a more mature nature began to circle the air above their heads. Snape was furious—he came stomping up from the dungeons with his wand drawn and his eyes blazing with anger. He grabbed a frightened first-year who was running to join the group on the stairs and shook him off his feet.
"Where are those coming from?' he demanded. The boy whimpered something unintelligible and Snape growled before letting him go.
"Up here, Severus!" McGonagall caught his attention.
Peeves the poltergeist was dancing around with a red Catherine wheel, giggling madly. "Umbridge is Ministry Scum, look at that one!" he pointed to a cluster of sparks spelling out the word 'scum'. Another squeal of evil ecstasy erupted from him as he caught sight of one of the other, more mature word clusters, and he cackled: "Hahahaha! Umbridge's got a fuzzy cun-!"
"Quiet, Peeves!" Snape snarled as he plowed through students to get to McGonagall. "All of you get back to your common rooms this instant!"
"It's coming from up there," McGonagall gestured up the stairs. "Listen…"
Angelina and the others approached the stairs cautiously; Ginny ducking a flashing gold firework that was spinning crazily. They listened. Seconds later, through the noise of the fireworks, they could hear Umbridge screaming her head off.
"DON'T STUN THEM, FILCH! THE'LL MUTATE IF YOU-!"
"Watch out, Headmistress! That one's gonna-!"
BANG! POP-POP!
"AHH!"
"Oh I wish I could see it!" Ron hissed. "We're missing it, we're missing it!"
"Missing what?" Snape rounded on them and Ron clamped his mouth shut and shook his head quickly. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
"N-No sir…"
"I don't believe you, Weasley," came the Potions Master's gritted reply.
"We were at Quidditch practice, sir." Angelina spoke up. "We didn't do this."
"Then who did?"
"WHERE ARE THEY? WHERE ARE THOSE LITTLE BEASTS?" Umbridge came scurrying down the stairs above them, her face black with soot from an exploding firework.
"Oh let me whip them, Headmistress!" Filch limped down behind her. "Just give me a day or two alone with them in the dungeons! They'll be sorry!"
The entrance hall was now filling with students and teachers; the fireworks zoomed in and out of view—whistled and twirled and popped and sparkled. Green ones and purple ones and blue ones and gold ones! Umbridge waved her arms madly as she swatted her way through a blue 'NIPPLES' and pushed past Angelina towards the landing.
"You come out, you—you-you heathens!" she screamed to the throng of onlookers at large. "Crabbe, Goyle, haven't you got them yet?"
Crabbe and Goyle pushed their way through the crowd, shoving their "Inquisitors Squad" badges in peoples' faces as they did, until they reached the clearing. Goyle had Fred in a headlock. "Here's one of them, Headmistress!" he exclaimed through his heavy breathing. Fred twisted viscously from the hold and stumbled into the middle of the clearing.
Angelina's mouth dropped open and her heart began to beat furiously—they were caught! They'd be expelled! She felt so terrible, and she looked to Ron and Ginny to see identical looks of horror on their freckled faces.
Fred, however, was grinning from ear to ear.
Umbridge was furious. "You think this is funny, do you?"
"We think it's bloody hilarious," answered Fred. "Isn't that right, George?"
"Right, brother!"
George appeared suddenly from behind a cluster of students, also grinning and not looking worried about the consequences of their actions at all. Angelina gasped and grabbed hold of Ron, feeling suddenly queasy. What in the world were they doing?
"Well…" Umbridge was visibly shaking with rage, and her voice dropped dangerously low, so that the onlookers surrounding them could barely hear her. "You'll soon learn what happens to students who show such disregard for my authority, oh yes…"
Fred chuckled. "Oh, I don't think so."
"Yeah," George chimed in. "I don't think we'll be sticking around for that."
"You what?" sputtered the headmistress.
"I think it's time to test our talents elsewhere—see if our genius holds up in the real world, right Fred?"
"Right George."
The twins drew their wands.
Even before they summoned their brooms from Umbridge's office, Angelina's heart sank into her shoes and she felt like the whole world had tipped over. The twins were talking…saying…something, and Umbridge was sputtering madly, but Angelina didn't hear a word of it. She was watching through a tunnel, her eardrums being assaulted by the sound of her thumping heart, as the brooms came zooming down to them and they jumped on in unison. One of them shouted something to Peeves, and then with a glance at her the two boys were gone.
Ron turned to look at her, his expression more incredulous than surprised. "How in bloody hell did those two gits manage to open a shop in Diagon Alley…?"
Angelina didn't answer—she was still in shock.
Harry paced the length of his dorm room anxiously, unable to rid himself of what he had just seen.
"Dumbledore has instructed me to teach the child Occlumency in order to protect him, but I have in fact been making sure that just the opposite happens..."
Harry's fists were white from the pressure as he balled them up at his sides. He could feel the rage boiling in him, rising up, up, and up from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair follicles. What could he do? What should he do? His instinct was to find Snape now while the terrible anger was building and use this power everyone was so fucking afraid of to stamp him out for good.
But Harry knew even if he could manage to inflict brutal harm on Snape that it would serve him no good. Everyone believed he was on the Order's side—and even those who knew nothing about the Order would only see a student harming a teacher. No—they'd see Harry Potter harming a teacher. Umbridge would snatch him up like a greedy flytrap and serve him cooking to the Ministry. It would be off to Azkaban for him, and he knew it.
And then there was the other little tidbit he learned: Snape was protecting Malfoy. He was making sure no one else besides Dumbledore found out about what happened to Angelina because he didn't want the little tosser to be expelled!
"Did you really expect Draco to come out with greasy black hair and a crooked nose?"
Of course! That was why Snape always looked the other way when Malfoy was being a prat; why he gave Draco points for no reason, why he always defended him in every situation.
Harry paced back and forth, oblivious to the distant cries of excitement or fright and the sounds of fireworks exploding that floated up to him from the halls beyond the common room. Hedwig flapped her wings twice anxiously, eyeing him as he moved about. She snapped her beak at him as the feathers on her back began to stand up.
It was obvious to him now, wasn't it? Ron was right. Snape really had been softening him up for Voldemort. And now that Harry was showing signs of power, Snape was trying to find out how it worked so he could tell Voldemort everything! Harry knew better than to fall for that stupid 'apology'! But he had gone along with it, and Snape had probably been taking notes the whole time for his master.
"Goddamn it!" he shouted, scowling and kicking his trunk hard. Hedwig hooted loudly and flapped her wings again, moving away from him across the headboard. "Piss off, Hedwig…" he glared at her, suddenly angry at everyone and everything.
He was furious with Dumbledore—how could he be so blind? He was angry with Angelina for holding him back and Hermione for drumming stupid Snape and Occlumency into his brain over and over again. He was upset with himself for trusting that any of them knew what the hell they were talking about.
Harry stared at his trunk.
He couldn't think what to do…and then it came to him suddenly. Sirius.
The little wooden stag Sirius had carved for him for Christmas had fallen from the bedside table and onto the trunk when Harry kicked it.
He would tell Sirius and Sirius would believe him—if Sirius could convince Lupin and the others that what Harry saw was the truth, Snape would be called out and captured.
Harry got to his knees and opened the trunk, setting the stag on the bed and digging through the mountain of clothes, parchment, shoes, and random things until he reached the bottom, where the parcel Sirius had given him at Grimmauld Place lay unopened. Harry took it out and sat back on his haunches, looking around to make sure the door was closed before ripping open the brown wax paper. The parcel was a small mirror, and Harry frowned at it before turning it over in his hands. On the back, Sirius had scrawled a message:
Harry,
Use this if you ever need me. Just look into it and say the name of who you want to speak to.
-Sirius
Licking his lips, Harry turned the mirror back over and stared into it. He saw his own frowning, bespectacled face staring back at him. Harry said sharply, "Sirius Black," and waited. The mirror surface washed black. Harry's face disappeared and was replaced by what looked to be a dusty ceiling. Harry tilted it in his hands, but the image did not change. Confused, he sat there for a moment before realizing that maybe he should say something. "Sirius? Hey—Sirius!"
He heard the faint sounds of footsteps and then Sirius' lined face appeared upside down. "Harry?" The boy's godfather broke into a smile and the image tipped around until his grinning face was right-side-up again. "Harry! What a surprise-!" Sirius's frown came back abruptly when he saw the look on Harry's face and he asked sharply, "What happened? Is it Snape? Did he do something?"
"Yeah it's Snape," Harry answered, truly glad to be talking to Sirius at all, even if it was to tell him what a dirty traitor Snape turned out to be.
"What's that tetchy blackguard done now?" Sirius demanded darkly.
"Sirius, he's a Death Eater!" The words flew out of Harry's mouth hotly, his temples throbbing with animosity. He expected an immediate answer from his godfather—he expected action; anger just like his. Instead Sirius blinked several times and tilted his head, frowning. "Well didn't you hear me?"
"Harry—Snape has always been a Death Eater. He's spying for the Ord-"
"No, I mean he's a real one!"
"Harry, don't shout." Sirius was being too quiet, too calm about this. Harry fought to control his temper. He did not wish to be angry with Sirius, but the older wizard was making it difficult. "Just calm down and tell me what happened, all right?"
Taking a deep breath, pushing his anxiety down as far as it would go, Harry tried again. "I saw—I saw a memory in Dumbledore's pensieve of Snape and the other Death Eaters."
Finally, Sirius looked interested and suspicious. "Go on…"
"Lucius Malfoy was there, and so was your cousin, that Bellatrix lady. And so was that Rookwood guy…"
"They were having a meeting?"
"Yeah—and Snape came with a letter from Dumbledore about Malfoy's son, Draco."
"Draco…"
"This really stupid kid in my year who's been messing with Angelina," replied Harry tersely.
"What did the letter say?"
"It was about how his dad's been poisoning him, but that's not what matters."
Sirius moved suddenly, and Harry's eyes blurred a little as he watched the image vibrate with Sirius's movement. He seemed to be backing up through whatever room he was in and sitting down. Harry could just barely see the details of the room through the tiny spaces around Sirius' head. He was in the bedroom that Ron and Harry shared when they were there over break. Harry could see the edge of Phineas Nigellus' frame over his godfather's shoulder.
"Lucius Malfoy has been poisoning his own son? With what?"
Harry took an irritated breath. "Sirius—focus. This isn't about Malfoy; I'm trying to tell you Snape told them about me and Voldemort being connected!"
"He what?" Sirius ignored Harry's rebuke and his eyes narrowed. "He told them that? Why?"
Harry retold everything he had seen, including what Snape had said about purposefully doing the opposite of teaching Harry to protect his mind from Voldemort's invasion. "And Bellatrix said he already knew about Dumbledore, because he'd seen it through me!"
"Harry, are you absolutely certain this is what you saw?"
"Yes!"
Sirius was quiet for a long time. He frowned deeply and rubbed his chin, apparently turning the information over in his head. Harry sat impatiently, watching Sirius think all the while screaming in his head that something had to be done, now. Suddenly, Harry could hear the familiar sound of Mrs. Black screaming her head off, and Sirius was taken out of his thoughts. "Look, Remus is here-"
"Are you going to tell him about Snape?" Harry asked abruptly, breathing hard from the effort to contain himself. He was suddenly excited—Sirius would tell Lupin and then it was only a matter of time before Snape would be called out. Finally people would know that Harry had been right all along. Finally Dumbledore would see his mistake in trusting that sneaky bastard.
"Yes…but Harry, I don't want you to do anything, all right?"
"Why the bloody hell not-?"
"No, I don't want you telling this to another living soul, do you understand?"
"But what if someone asks why he stopped giving me lessons?"
"He stopped giving you lessons? What for?" Harry felt himself becoming agitated again; Sirius was still focusing on the wrong things. Mrs. Black stopped her screaming and then Lupin's voice could be heard, calling Sirius' name. "In here, Remus!"
Harry heard nearing footsteps and then Lupin's voice again, much closer. "Sirius, what are you doing?"
"Talking to Harry…"
"What? How? You know you're not supposed to-"
"I know, I know…" It was Sirius' turn to become irritated. His frown grew deeper and Harry glimpsed Lupin sitting next to him on the bed. "I gave this to him for emergencies—Snape has stopped giving him lessons, can you believe that?"
"He stopped?" Lupin snapped, taking the mirror from Sirius' hands. "He cannot simply stop giving Harry-!"
"Guys!" Harry groaned. "I don't care about the stupid lessons! Professor Lupin, Snape is a Death Eater—he's a traitor!"
"Harry, however you feel about Professor Snape, you must try to get along with him," Lupin said patiently before Sirius interjected.
"No, Harry is right, Remus. He saw a memory in Dumbledore's pensieve that proves it."
"Yeah, and then he threw me out." Harry added.
Both Sirius and Lupin shoved their faces into the tiny surface of the mirror. "He caught you?" Sirius demanded.
"Yeah…" Harry's heartbeat sped up—he hadn't meant to reveal that part. "I-I was kind of…I wasn't supposed to be looking, but I just had to find out about…and he caught me but I don't think he knows-"
Harry sat for another three or four minutes listening to Sirius and Lupin chastise him about sticking his nose in things that were none of his business. Lupin went on about how dangerous it was for him to do such a thing, how if Snape really were a Death Eater he could've simply killed Harry or Obliviated him. In fact, they seemed to latch onto this theory as a means to dispute his claims. Harry protested stubbornly, but Lupin insisted that he listen to 'reason'.
"Think about it, Harry—it's more probable that he was only furious at you for eavesdropping. Though, I don't care how mad he was; he had no right to stop giving you lessons. I'll have to try and contact Dumbledore…"
"While you're at it, can you tell him that Snape is selling him out?" said Harry hotly.
"Harry…" Sirius looked as if he believed his godson, but Lupin spoke up again firmly.
"I promise you, we will investigate this. I will speak with Snape myself."
"Don't do that, he'll know it was me who told you everything and then maybe he really will try to Obliviate me!" Harry said automatically before he realized that maybe he wanted Snape to know it was him. He wanted the traitor to know who blew his lies out of the water when he was finally confronted…
"No, no, I'll speak with him about your lessons. I know it's been hard, Harry, but those lessons are very important."
Harry did not feel reassured—in fact, he felt worse than he had before he thought of the mirror. If Snape continued to give him lessons, he would more than likely continue softening him up for Voldemort. This was the opposite of what Harry had in mind. "Listen, can you look into what I saw first, at least?" he asked them both beseechingly.
Lupin and Sirius exchanged glances, but nodded. "Of course. I'll check it out. In the mean time, do not contact Sirius again—I'll contact you. And practice your Occlumency, Harry."
"Fine…fine…" Sirius muttered instead of Harry. He looked as disgruntled as Harry felt at the mention of not being contacted through the mirror again. "Deprive me of my only link to the outside-"
"Sirius, we will not discuss this again right now…"
Harry felt he ought to defend his godfather, but just then someone knocked on his door and Ginny's faint voice called, "Harry? Are you in there?"
"I gotta go, Ginny's here."
"I'll be in touch, Harry," Remus nodded grimly. "And remember, don't do anything until I can get to the bottom of this…"
"Sure." Harry watched the image of their faces fade (Sirius looking upset), and put the mirror carefully back into his trunk under a pile of his underwear. He closed the trunk and got to his feet when Ginny knocked again. "Yeahr I'm here, come in Ginny."
Unable to help himself from imagining the argument that was surely going on now between Lupin and Sirius, Harry ran a hand through his hair and sat down cross-legged on his bed as Ginny came in, looking excited and upset at the same time.
"You've been up here this whole time?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
Harry shrugged. "Yeah…why?"
"Well, didn't you hear all the noise?" Ginny came further in and sat herself down next to him. He could see the skin on her cheeks was flushed, as if she had run all the way up here.
He frowned at her. "What noise?"
"Umbridge screaming, fireworks going off…Fred and George leaving the school forever…that sort of thing?"
"I was kind of preoccupied…" Harry started dimly before pausing and squinting at her in disbelief. "I'm sorry, what was that last bit? Fred and George doing what?"
Angelina paced alone in her dorm; having walked up to the Tower numbly after Fred and George took off.
She just couldn't believe it.
Why hadn't they told her they were leaving?
After practically spending every day for six and a half school terms together, they at least owed her the courtesy of letting her know they would be going away, right? Right? "Damn right!" she muttered to herself angrily. Angelina hadn't spoken to anyone—Ron and Hermione kept trying to guess exactly when the twins decided to do this, but she could only walk along blankly. She just couldn't believe she would never again have to put up with Fred making faces at her while they were trying to study; never again laugh fit to burst at some funny thing George whispered in her ear during Dumbledore's speeches; never again settle herself between the two boys at the Gryffindor table or pass them in the halls, or watch them hustle their fellow students into buying some knew invention of theirs.
After all the stuff that had happened—this notion depressed Angelina more than anything else could have.
…she still had Harry. And she loved him, but he was no Fred and George. Angelina fancied she might like to sleep in his bed tonight—she didn't think she would be able to contain herself once the shock fully wore off. She would want to talk about how she was feeling (abandoned, left out, scorned even?), and she knew Harry would listen to her. He was very good at that when he wanted to be.
Settling herself down on the side of her bed, she reached over and retrieved the whistle Fred had given her when she found out she would become Quidditch captain from the night stand. She turned it over in her hands, feeling an overwhelming desire to cry. Stupid gits…they'd better not show their faces around here again, because if they do I'm gonna-!
"Oi, Angelina!"
There was a sharp knock on her window, and Angelina's head jerked up to see Fred's freckled face hovering outside. He grinned and gestured for her to come to him. Angelina felt all traces of anger towards him vanish and she jumped up from the bed, whistle in hand, to hurry over and open the window. "Fred!"
"Shhh!" he shushed her as she unlatched the lock and threw open the windows eagerly. "We came back to-!" He couldn't get the rest out; for she'd wrapped his neck in her arms tightly and squeezed.
"Oh you came back!"
"Yeah…yeah…" Fred coughed, wavering a bit on his broom as she tried to pull him in closer to hug him more. "Okay, that's…I can't breathe Angie…"
"Sorry…" Reluctantly she released him, positively flushed with happiness to see them again. Fred was hovering in front of George, who was keeping a lookout but grinning just like his brother. "Are you gonna come in?"
"Yeah, sure, for a bit." Angelina helped them both climb through her window and they both propped their brooms against her bed before allowing her to hug them simultaneously. They exchanged semi-amused looks and patted her back before she released them. She stood smiling for a second, and then punched Fred hard in the arm. "Ow! Bollocks, woman, what'd ya do that for?"
"How dare you try to leave without saying goodbye, you big arse!" Angelina hissed at him as he rubbed his arm gingerly. She felt her eyes and nose burn with tears.
"We're here, aren't we?" George spoke up, dodging her blows until she landed one in his chest. "And we—ow, ow, that hurt Angie-!" She didn't stop hitting them, slapping their faces and smacking their heads and punching their arms until they both grabbed hold of her fists. "Would you give that a rest?"
She glowered at them, but nodded begrudgingly that she would stop. Once they were convinced, they let her go.
"That's better…Merlin I feel sorry for Potter…" Angelina made to stamp on Fred's foot, but he jumped out of the way, laughing. "Sorry, it needed to be said!"
"It's not funny!" Angelina shook her head at them both and folded her arms. "You have no idea how I felt when I saw you two take off."
"Happy for us, I hope…" George said, smiling whimsically.
Angelina sighed. "Well…sure of course I'm happy for you. Your own shop, that's great. But…" she trailed off, her heart swelling with nostalgia. "I'm really going to miss you."
"We'll miss you, too, Angelface." Fred reached out and took her in his long arms. He held her tight, kissing her on the forehead. "But we couldn't stay here, you know that. Things were finally put into perspective for us."
"You can come and see us any old time you want, you know," George added, rubbing her shoulder. Angelina felt a warm tear slide down her cheek. She nodded against Fred's jumper. "We're in Diagon Alley, and the best part is there's a pub above our shop!"
"Oh dear god, Merlin help us..." Angelina rolled her eyes and laughed half-heartedly. "I guess you're right—you guys are too brilliant to suffer through the mess Umbridge has made of this school." She stood up straight and wiped her face, sighing shakily "I just wish I could go with you."
"Nah," they said in unison. George reached over to pick up his broom, and her heart gave a lurch—they were leaving her again, this time for good. "You've got friends here…"
Fred picked up his broom, too. Angelina's eyes welled up. "You've got Harry…" he said as the two of them backed up again towards her open windows.
"You've got Quidditch…" George gestured to the whistle she still had clutched in her hand.
A gust of cool wind blew in, and their hair flew around for a split second, making them look as boyish and whimsical as ever she'd seen them. She was struck with the memory of her first encounter with them. They plopped themselves down in front of her, moments after being sorted, their red hair in their eyes, grinning like the little troublemakers they were.
Hi, I'm Fred, one said. And I'm George, said the other one. Last name's Weasley but we ain't nothing like our brother, they told her in unison as Dumbledore was getting up to speak. What's your name, then? She told them. Angelina? Angelface, Fred asked George. Naw, Angie, George told Fred. Which one do you like better? Oh that's Dumbledore, he's wicked cool…old, though…
"You're gonna ace your N.E.W.T. and become some super Auror or something," Fred was saying to her now as George threw a leg over the windowsill. "And we'll have a drink in that pub this summer."
"Okay…" Angelina took hold of Fred's hand before he could climb over. He turned to look at her. They stared at each other for a moment, and she whispered: "I love you, you lanky sod…"
"Love you too, Angelina." They embraced a final time and then he was off behind his brother. "Tell Harry he'd better come by the shop!" And they were gone—flying off into the distance for the second time that night.