The sight of Albus Dumbledore; standing strikingly tall and inspiring against the misty night behind him through the doors of the castle; moved Angelina, and therefore she knew she was saved.
Though she understood he was there for Professor Trelawney, who'd been put on the chopping block and then set up to roast under the blazing fire of Umbridge's triumphant gaze, she still felt her heart swell with happiness and relief. Dumbledore would make things right! He would help her get rid of Malfoy and then she could get Harry back. The arrival of the Centaur Firenze shocked and awed many—but not Angelina. She focused wholly on the headmaster, who with every small gesture, kind smile, and soft yet commanding utterance made the feeling of hope swell in her. The whole damned school seemed to have turned up for Trelawney's very humiliating dismissal, yet even though she was one of a huge crowd of students, Angelina's heart fluttered when the old wizard's eyes caught hers for a mere second—and she fancied she saw him give her the tiniest of winks. But then Firenze walked a path through the crowd, passing right by her, and when she looked again Dumbledore was ascending the marble staircase behind McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwik, who were all escorting a sniveling Trelawney back to her tower.
Angelina hadn't meant for things to happen like this. Sometimes, you put off doing your homework assignment because you just can't muster the effort; sometimes you avoid talking to people that you really aren't fond of; sometimes you tell yourself little white lies to justify something you've done…
Angelina told herself over and over again that she would tell Harry about the kiss for days and days. You'll tell him today, Angelina…now is a good time, Angie…you should mention it now, it won't be so bad…tomorrow—I'll do it tomorrow…
Oh could she say that she only meant well by delaying the moment when she would have to tell him the rest of the story? Of course she did; because Harry seemed happy. They had both done something; taken a step in a new direction. They weren't just school kids flirting anymore—their relationship was real. She had gotten him to trust her; gotten him to open him self up to accept her love for him. Angelina really had come to love him. Was that so hard for everyone to believe?
And could she say that in her own mind him not knowing what had happened seemed, when she was justifying her stalling to herself in her head, like it was all for the best? She thought…if she could just hold on until Dumbledore came back…if she could just get Malfoy out…then he would be gone and she and Harry could finally be together in peace.
Angelina had spent a lot of time reading the things that Draco wrote in her playbook when Harry returned it to her. Curiosity, she supposed, played a large part in that. But there was also something else. Though she would not admit this to herself—it was very deeply buried in all of her reasoning for having the tiniest shred of sympathy for the boy—she was secretly fascinated by his bizarre infatuation with her.
"I just know what I want and I can't take it anymore…" What did that mean—and why? Why did he want her so badly that he would set himself up for so much trouble? Angelina could only guess that perhaps it was a cry for help. Perhaps he saw her as his only way to make people see him—maybe causing trouble seemed like the only option he had left before he was completely sucked into his father's life. Angelina imagined, with some amount of sympathy, that it must be very terrifying to face the fact that soon…soon you could end up face to face with You-Know-Who as his servant. And if you messed up…
She knew she was doing the right thing by going to Dumbledore because the headmaster understood things that other teachers didn't. Mercy, for one thing, was something Angelina doubted McGonagall would show the boy if ever she found out that Draco had tried to force himself on one of her students. Mercy…and a sense of safety that truly no other teacher possessed quite the way Dumbledore did. McGonagall was indeed loyal and trustworthy and powerful and all of that—but somehow Angelina knew that Dumbledore was the one person who could help her with her unique problem.
And after what happened in the dungeons…Angelina knew she must act fast, or something worse could happen. Though she couldn't think what. She had never seen Harry so angry. Apart from being absolutely terrified of him, she felt so very panicked that he had turned from her. He wouldn't even look at her when it was over and had scarcely said two words to her since.
She, Ginny, and Hermione had discussed it one evening, all three girls expressing their concerns for him.
"It was scary…" Hermione whispered, staring into the fire. She shook her head slowly, her eyes narrowing as she thought back to the incident. "I've never seen Harry act like that. He was so out of control!" She shuddered.
Angelina felt the sting of tears in her eyes and nostrils. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the surge of emotion wash over her before lowering her head to her hands. "He could've really killed Malfoy…" she muttered. "And it would've been all my fault…"
"Angelina, you shouldn't blame yourself," came Ginny's gentle voice from her position sitting next to Angelina on the couch. "You were only trying to protect Harry; there's nothing wrong with that."
"Yes, but…" Angelina lifted her head again, her face damp with tears. "…I should've told him. I just should have gone straight to him and told him the truth." She felt herself becoming upset again and her lip quivered. Hermione and Ginny looked on, empathetic expressions darkening their features as the firelight danced across their skin. "After all he's been through…and how long it took him to trust me…really let me in…I ruined it! I hurt him, how could I be so stupid!"
She gave in to her sorrow and leaned over to weep on Ginny's shoulder. The younger girl who, to be perfectly honest, Angelina sometimes caught herself feeling jealous of comforted her as she cried. Hermione was sitting on the hearthrug, and she watched Angelina for a moment before she almost whispered, "You really do love Harry, don't you?"
Angelina turned to look at her, her glistening eyes widening with surprise. "I told you I did."
"I'm sorry, it's just that…" Hermione shrugged slowly. "I did wonder…but now I can see that you really do. I meant no offense. Harry's my best friend. I worry for him, that's all."
"We all do…" Ginny added quietly, her arm still around Angelina's shoulders. "I hadn't really been seeing what you guys were talking about before…but that thing in the dungeons…that was so horrible…"
Angelina nodded, sitting up straight, but allowing Ginny to keep her in a loose embrace. She gazed into the fire for a moment, thinking back, and then despite herself she snorted. "Good punch, though, Ginny."
Slowly, the other girls smiled and agreed that it was a good punch.
Just then the portrait hole creaked open and Ron emerged, followed by Fred and George, with Harry taking up the rear.
Angelina's breath caught in her chest mid-chuckle, and she quickly wiped her face.
Ron and the twins were laughing about something. Angelina's heart began to pound against her chest painfully when she looked on Harry following the other boys. He had his head down and a thoughtful smile was on his face, but he appeared to only be half-listening to the twins as they rambled on about their latest invention.
"What's that called again?" he asked before he noticed that the girls were sitting there. Fred was answering 'Lucky Knuts', but Harry had paused, his green eyes traveling across each face until they landed on Angelina's. She stared, wide-eyed and a little afraid, as he looked at her for a lingering moment. His face was full of some emotion that seemed very potent and Angelina prayed that it wasn't anger. She tried to convey her guilt and regret and love for him all at once in her own face, but he merely dropped his eyes and continued walking past the three boys who'd stopped to say hello to the girls. "I'm going up to bed," he muttered.
Ron stared after him, looking very solemn. "You don't wanna play chess or anything?" he asked his friend. Harry shook his head, his back to them all, and began his ascent to the boys' dorms. They all watched him go, a silence befalling them, until he had disappeared from their view. Angelina stood up abruptly, determined to follow him and make him talk to her, but Ron stopped her. "Let him be for a bit, okay?" he said to her, gently pulling her back to face him.
She turned her gaze on Ron and jerked her hand away, wanting very much to be furious with him. "I need to talk to him."
"He doesn't wanna talk right now, Angelina," Ron's blue eyes narrowed as he returned her resentment. "You should respect that."
"Oh it's easy for you to say, you snitch!" she hissed. "Did you get back into his good graces again by telling him what a two-faced slut I am?"
"Wha-? No! Get a grip on yerself!" He shook his head in disgust. "I'm not your enemy here!"
The others looked on warily, and Fred and George began shooing lounging Gryffindors hastily from the room.
"Go back to your knitting, you nosey sods. Get out of it, go on…" George ushered a couple of first years up the stairs while Fred pushed some third years through the portrait hole. The four of them groaning that it was past curfew and they'd be roasted by Filch for being out in the halls, but the portrait was shut in there pitiful little faces and Fred turned around again to listen in on the row.
Angelina felt her frustration bubbling forth, and she jabbed a shaking finger at him, her chest heaving jerkily with restrained emotion. "If you hadn't cornered me in the common room—if you had just let me tell him myself-!"
"That's bollocks and you know it! You weren't gonna tell'im a bloody thing, Angelina!" Ron snarled. "Don't you try and blame me for what you did. He's your bloody boyfriend—he had a right to know!"
"Ron!" Hermione rushed forth and took hold of his arm. He rounded on her, his face red with anger, and she shushed him soothingly, running her hands along his arms to calm him down. "Please…stop yelling. Can't you see she's really upset?"
Angelina stood stiffly, watching the two of them…Ron leaned forward and closed his eyes as he rested his forehead on Hermione's. She whispered to him…Angelina let out a growl of frustration and seconds later Fred was holding her, telling her it would be all right.
When everyone had calmed down, Angelina stopped her crying and silently told herself that there would be no more.
Once she and Ron had finished exchanging apologies, she adopted the attitude that had gotten her through those first terrible Quidditch practices-gotten her through Harry and the twins being banned from the team-gotten her through every hard situation in her young life…
Angelina sat on the couch between Ginny and Fred and listened to them all talking about Harry. She said very little. She was thinking…putting her plan together in her head. She would see the headmaster when he returned. Until then, she could handle Harry's angry silence. She could handle it. As for Malfoy…Angelina could handle him, too. She would not allow him to so much as talk to her again. He could not, and would not back her into a corner for a third time. It was time now to act her age—time to make her choices. She loved Harry Potter. There was really nothing else to know…just that. It could sustain her until things were right again.
"I have heard of people having small bursts of wandless emotional magic," Hermione was saying. "I've even done things, when I was very little, that let me know I was different…but I've never seen anything like what Harry did in the dungeons."
"Me neither," Ron agreed. "Dad says wizards go to school precisely because that kind of magic has to be filtered, and we learn how to do it here."
"It's a bit like the dormant part of the brain, isn't it?" Hermione continued. At their inquiring looks, she went on patiently: "I read in a Muggle magazine once that humans only use about thirty percent of our brains-"
"Blimey, is that all?" Fred's mouth dropped open.
"Well, I imagine wizards use a little over forty percent, very powerful ones near fifty…sometimes sixty." Hermione corrected.
"I'll bet that's Dumbledore," said Ron.
"Or You-Know-Who…" added Ginny.
They were all silent for a minute, each probably thinking dark thoughts concerning Voldemort. Hermione adjusted herself in Ron's lap and went on. "Anyway, the article said that for a human to use more than forty percent of his brain would be highly abnormal, and that to use all of it would probably cause severe problems, like constant seizures and stuff like that."
"Okay…" said George. "That sounds like Muggle science rubbish to me. What's this got to do with Harry?"
Hermione sat thoughtfully for a second or two before answering him. "I was just thinking that maybe we wizards measure our magical activity—our power—the same way. I'll bet that most wizards only use a certain amount of magical power. Putting us all at about the same level, respectively. Sure, we all differ in the way we learn and how well we put our magic to use, but…well only a few of us get to be really powerful. I mean, think about it—how many wizards can you name that are as powerful as Dumbledore?"
They all sat thinking, but no one answered her. Then Ron shook his head. "Hang on, Hermione, I'm not so sure we're all at the same level. I mean, you're loads better at just about everything than anybody here."
"Ahem…" Fred cleared his throat pointedly.
"Okay, so maybe they've got one on you in the 'talent for inventing things that make trouble' department, then…" Ron added, gesturing half-heartedly at the twins.
"Well, I don't mean to say we all operate on the same level, Ron. But I do truly believe that you have just as much power in you as I have—you just use yours differently, that's all. Or you haven't completely tapped into it yet. It's the same for all wizards, I think. Just like with the brain—we all have the same capacity, but rather few of us have the ability to utilize as much as wizards like Dumbledore."
"But you think Harry has?" Angelina spoke finally, staring at Hermione.
"Yes…" the bushy-haired girl gazed back. "Harry is special." Angelina listened to Hermione's theory, as they all did. She asserted that she believed Harry had tapped into a source of power he held in himself that remained dormant until recently. She did not rightly know when or how this power awoke in him, but it was unstable—the proof was in his many outbursts and his nearly strangling Malfoy to death. "If you think about magical power in the same context as human brain activity, then you can deduce that Harry was probably using a much higher percentage than us."
"I did think it was pretty wicked that he can already do wandless magic for only a fifth year…" Fred muttered to himself.
"It wasn't just that," Ginny told him. "What he did to Malfoy was so unlike him, wasn't it? Never mind that he was angry over what that jerk's been doing to Angelina…Harry was totally out of it. He wouldn't respond to us at all."
"Yeah," said Ron. "Hermione even tried to Stun him, but…" his eyes went wide; he was remembering. They were all remembering as though out of nowhere—"That's right! Hermione, you tried to Stun him! And it didn't work!" Ron exclaimed in awe.
"Hang on, are you joking?" asked George, sitting forward in the armchair he'd settled himself in.
Hermione shook her head slowly. "The jinx bounced right off him. I'm not sure if he had a shield around himself or not…but I don't suppose it matters—the fact is that he did it without his wand, and it took Ginny punching him in the face to get him to stop."
"Well done, Ginny…" said Fred, though a little less enthusiastically than he normally would have. He still held onto Angelina, who wanted to ask a question, but was holding back. For she knew the answer already…but…she wanted to hear them say it.
"Do you think…do you think it's his anger that fuels this 'power'?"
Hermione gazed at her and nodded. "Yes. And I think it'll get worse—the more he ignores his Occlumency, the more agitated he becomes…Angelina I don't think he's aware of it, and that means he won't be able to control it."
"So we should try not to upset him anymore…" Ginny offered.
Angelina felt herself blinking back tears, but she did not let them come. "Right. I should leave him alone, then."
"Why do you say that about his Occlumency, Hermione?" Ron changed the subject quickly.
"I-I don't know how they're connected-I just feel that they are…"
Angelina so admired how Hermione handled the fact that just about everyone in their group looked to her for guidance, information, and sometimes hope.
And so the days passed.
Angelina prepared herself for Dumbledore's arrival. She studied her Quidditch plays over and over in anticipation of the next match. They had practice only twice, but every single member of the team worked double-hard. Angelina couldn't decide if it were simply that none of them wanted to lose the Cup to Slytherin, or if it were the unspoken intensity that both Angelina and especially Ron were bringing onto the pitch now, but they were all improving.
When she wasn't perfecting her plays, she was studying for her upcoming N.E.W.T. exams. It was an advantage for her that everyone was so consumed with school work. Exams loomed ahead, and as the days progressed more and more work was heaped upon the fifth and seventh years. Harry had taken to outright avoiding her—she would only see him for longer than a few seconds during meals when he had no choice but to be in the same room with her. But then…he would not look at her and when she looked at him all she saw on his face was emptiness. But she knew there was something there. He was making a marvelous effort not to ever show her how he was feeling during those days, but she knew in her heart that she had broken his—even though all she had done was allow his enemy to corner her again. And kiss you, don't forget—and then you didn't even tell him about it… she harshly reminded herself often.
She tried to be strong.
The D.A. meetings seemed to have stopped, and though Hermione and the others chalked it up to everyone being swamped with homework, Angelina knew that it was because Harry didn't want to face her. She missed him—they crossed paths almost every day but they were so apart that it was driving her crazy. She had even dreamed about him, waking up and reaching to snuggle up in his arms but always finding that he wasn't there. It made her feel so awful, wanting to tiptoe to the boys' side of the Tower, but not being able to. How she wanted him…but he remained out of her reach. Still…she waited.
She saw Draco in the halls, passing her by. She saw him walking into the Great Hall during meals…saw him in the courtyard with his friends. She didn't understand why he kept quiet about what Harry had done to him, but always his eyes found hers and always he looked as if he were just as confused and upset as she was. She couldn't comprehend him. The boy had split right down the middle; somewhere between the time he found out she and Harry fancied each other and the night he Obliviated her…he had changed. She didn't know why and she didn't care. All she wanted was for him to go away.
The last twenty or some pages of her playbook had been bewitched so they appeared blank, but when she got it back the spell wore off.
She only showed Harry a fraction of the things she found there—he told her outright that he didn't care to read it all. It always angered him. That was truly a testament to how patient he'd been with her and how much her wishes mattered to him—if reading some of that stuff hadn't driven him to go and pummel Malfoy at once, then she could only assume it was because he was restraining himself for her sake. Some of the things written on those pages…it was very good that Draco bewitched the pages so that none of his fellow Slytherins could read them. They explained the intensity present in the Slytherin boy's eyes when he asked her: "You read what I wrote? Then you know what I mean…"
He treated her notebook, or at least the few pages he could save from Montague's shrewd interpretation of her plays for himself, as a makeshift diary. The entries were not dated and they were written at random in little paragraphs or simple sentences. Sometimes there were only a couple of words written there, but Angelina had come to understand what everything said. Perhaps she'd numbed herself to it, passing it off as some bully fifth year's pubescent ramblings…but that isn't what they were at all.
-So this is mine now. I have it, and there is nothing any of them can do—especially Potter.
-And I like her. Don't understand why…is it because of Potter? Maybe…it's bloody maddening!
-He is a cocky little arsehole, isn't he, that Potter? Strutting round with her on his arm like he's the fucking king of the school. I should knock his head off his shoulders and hand it to her on a velvet pillow…ha. That would be a sight, but would she thank me for it? No…no she's just as full of herself as he is…
-Keep thinking about it. Thinking of you—thinking, thinking, always thinking of you Angelina, you blood-traitor, associating with those Muggle-loving oafs the Weasels and hanging round with that Mudblood…
-BOLLOCKS!
-Pansy. UGH PANSY. Close my eyes…Pansy is gone. You are there. I like you better…if you liked me that would be…
-She's far from Angelic, isn't she? She struggled, and she said "Go to hell!" Or at least she tried to, but my hand was covering that pretty mouth of hers…I keep thinking about that. Wonder what Potter would say to that? Ha ha! Wonder what that idiot would say if he knew I had his precious Angelina under me thrashing around…wonder…
-Where am I? Is this Hogwarts or is this some weird fucking parallel universe? What the hell is going on? Why did I do that? WHY, WHY, WHY? I want—I need—I can't have her, I can't have her and it's driving me insane. My father would strangle me if he knew I fancied her. There is nothing about her I should like…not her soft, warm dark skin…like chocolate…like deep rich chocolate…not her long, beautiful hair, her eyes…those burning eyes, Angelina I love your eyes…and your body. Powerful girl…she hit me like she hated me and she probably does but it drove me wild. I'll burn with her, with those eyes of hers…
-Angelina. Angelina. Angelina. That fucking bitch. That goddamned—what the HELL does she see in POTTER?
-…and she said she was starting to remember things? Oh no. Oh no. She can't. What the bloody hell was the point of Obliviating her if—damn that Potter! I WANT TO KILL HIM. AND I WILL. I WILL—A DUEL? A DEUL, EH? AND MY FATHER TREATING ME LIKE SOME HALF-WIT CHILD! ARGGHHH! I WILL KILL HARRY POTTER FOR GOOD AND ALL THESE FOOLS THAT WORSHIP HIM WILL KNOW HE'S NOTHING MORE THAN SHITE UNDER MY BOOT!...and then Angelina would know…that I can beat him. I'm faster, stronger…ha ha, better-looking…
-If she does remember…does that mean she thinks I'm-? Sick? What arsehole would do what I did? What did I do? I don't understand it. Neither does she, I'm betting. She mustn't remember. But if she does…? Why won't she turn me in—she could do it right now, couldn't she? Maybe she doesn't think I'm sick, maybe she really likes me too and she's just waiting for that idiot Potter to get himself expelled—YOU BLOODY DUNDERHEAD, MALFOY, GET A GRIP, SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU!
Those were just some of the things he had written down. Harry had not read most of them.
She stayed away. And she waited. School progressed, and rumors started spreading that Umbridge was going to fire someone, though no one knew who. Many thought; and Angelina knew Ron, Harry, and Hermione feared; that it would be Hagrid.
She saw Harry briefly before he had gone down to his Occlumency lesson the night of Sybil Trelawney's sacking.
It was near the end of dinner, and Angelina was coming down late with Katie and Alicia from the library. They'd been cramming for a test and were just going to grab some dessert before turning in, when she spotted his solitary figure walking out of the Great Hall. He had his head down; this was becoming a frequent posture for him—it was as though he and Ron had swapped places; his hands were in his pockets. Angelina stopped talking with Katie about their Muggle Studies and watched him. She had promised herself that she wouldn't bother him, but seeing him just then caused a swell of longing to grow within her…her friends turned to see what she was looking at and fell into expectant silence…
"Harry." He looked up and saw her stepping down from the marble staircase. He stopped walking. His face was blank, as usual these days, but his eyes shone vividly. He didn't say anything at all, and Angelina was afraid he was going to simply continue walking.
"How's it going, Harry?" Katie asked with forced casualness. Angelina groaned inwardly with embarrassment. "Studying all right?"
"Yeah…it's fine," was his terse reply. He was turning…she wanted so badly to say something, anything…his eyes flickered at her quickly and then Alicia was talking to him.
"Where're you off to, then?"
"Er…Remedial Potions. With Snape."
"Oh…"
His cheeks turned scarlet and he ran a hand through his hair. Angelina also noticed that his sleeves were rolled up. Good grief, he was so attractive just as himself. Just as he stood there, staring at her and her silly girlfriends, his hair all over his head, his bag slung carelessly over his shoulder, those shining green eyes… Merlin she missed him. Wanted him. Needed him to speak to her…yell at her…acknowledge her…
Angelina opened her mouth. He seemed to sense she was going to say something to him, and cut her off before she got a chance.
"I'd better go. Don't wanna be late."
"See you around, Harry," Alicia called as he turned away from them and continued towards the corridor leading to the dungeons. He didn't answer. Angelina watched him go, feeling very sad, and Alicia nudged her hard in her side. "You should have said something, Angelina."
"I don't think he wanted me to…"
"He'll come around." Katie offered, though Angelina caught the look she gave Alicia.
"Yeah. Sure." She walked on ahead of them into the Great Hall.
Angelina took a very deep…very slow…breath.
She held the playbook in her trembling hands as she stood in front of the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Headmaster Dumbledore's office. She had been standing there for nearly ten minutes, trying to muster the courage to go in…
They were to have a D.A. meeting tonight. Angelina decided to skip dinner to come up here, and she knew the headmaster would be in his office because she had noticed he'd been missing the evening meals for several days. At first she was afraid that he'd gone away again, but upon asking McGonagall where he was, she was informed that he was still at Hogwarts, though he had things to attend to that sometimes took up more time than some would like. Angelina got the feeling McGonagall was referring to herself—perhaps she wanted to discuss her 'probation' from Umbridge with him and he had no time to? This didn't matter—Angelina had to see him now or she would lose her nerve.
The night before, Fred sat up with her because she couldn't sleep. He snuck down to the kitchens and got them some milk and biscuits from the house elves. They sat cross-legged on the hearth rug, eating the freshly-baked chocolate chip things and drinking ice cold milk. They didn't say much at first, but soon Angelina felt herself becoming very panicky and nervous. Fred, who knew her so well, could see it on her face.
"What're you so worried about, Angelface?" he asked her gently. "Dumbledore isn't going to bite you."
"It's not that, really…" she told him, putting down her glass of milk. "I'm not afraid of him."
"Then what is it?"
Angelina hesitated. She and Fred had lost some of their closeness since she started going out with Harry. This was to be expected, of course, but things had gotten so complicated that she doubted he would understand what she was feeling at that particular moment, even if he did know her better than anyone.
"I'm scared—I'm scared that this won't work. You know? I mean, not that Dumbledore won't be able to help me, but that even if he does, Harry won't…" she trailed off, finding it too painful to say aloud.
"Sweetheart, that kid is bonkers for you, you know that right?" Fred said to her seriously. She almost burst into tears then, but held it at bay, shaking her head hard instead.
"I did some dumb things, Fred…"
He snorted. "You think dueling on the bloody Quidditch pitch was smart?" She gave him a watery smile. "Come here, love."
She obeyed him, crawling over to his waiting arms. He held her close, squeezing her tight before allowing her to relax against him. She closed her eyes. They hadn't hugged like this in a long time. It reminded her of how they used to be; so close. She and George were very good friends too, but Fred had always shared a spark with Angelina he did not share with anyone else, and she didn't either, for that matter. He spoke to her, and she listened to his breathing as the low, deep rumble of his voice sounded in the ear she had pressed against his chest. He simply told her that no matter what Harry decided, she still needed to do the right thing about Malfoy. The thing was action, not hesitation or sympathy.
"He didn't ask you if you wanted your memory erased, did he? No—he bloody wiped it and then after Harry told him not to mess with you again, what did he do? Sodding wanker…"
"Things shouldn't have been this way," Angelina said, really feeling the absurdity of the whole damned thing. "Never, not at all. I should've stopped things clean. Simple."
"You will, Angie. You're doing the right thing, going to Dumbledore."
She was doing the right thing.
"Fizzing Whizbee…" she almost whispered, but the gargoyle seemed to have heard her loud and clear. It sprang to life and moved aside for her. Angelina watched it, her heartbeat steadily growing, spreading slowly up to her throat. She swallowed thickly and stepped onto the spiral stairs. They began to carry her up, up, up to Dumbledore's office.
The large door with the brass knocker shaped like the head of a griffin greeted her when she stepped off of the spiral stairs. She stared at it for a beat, took another breath, and reached up to take hold of it. She knocked with it once, sharply, and waited. Time seemed to stretch on painfully until the moment she heard the soft voice of Dumbledore call, "Come in, please."
Here goes…Angelina thought to herself as she pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the office. She had not been in this office since first year, and it looked exactly the same as she remembered it. Many silver gadgets sat on tables all around her, tinkling and whirring. Fawkes the phoenix was perched near her, looking vibrant and otherworldly. The portraits lining the walls of former Headmasters and various other school officials looked down on her unabashedly as she walked in, some merely blinking at her curiously, others outright staring.
"Ah, Miss Johnson." Dumbledore's kind, yet slightly surprised greeting startled her and she tore her eyes away from the portrait of a particularly severe-looking wizard; the plaque under his image named him Phineas Nigellus.
"Oh—hello sir."
Dumbledore smiled warmly at her. He was sitting at his desk, clad in beautifully woven robes of soft blue and gold, his hat the same color with little gold flecks of stitched starlight shimmering at her. His twinkling blue eyes observed her thoughtfully over his spectacles. She stood perfectly still. She did not feel eighteen at all in his presence, but rather younger and unsure. He seemed to understand that he had this effect on students. "Shouldn't you be enjoying your dinner?" he asked benignly.
"Um…yes, well I needed to see you, sir."
"Students are supposed to make appointments to see the Headmaster, young miss," said Phineas Nigellus sharply from his portrait above her. He sighed with exaggerated boredom. "Though Dumbledore, you seem to have let that rule slide this year, haven't you?"
Dumbledore ignored him, and he raised his eyebrows at Angelina before gesturing that she sit down. She did, clutching the playbook to her chest. "And what can I do for you this evening?"
"I—I need your help, sir…" she was distracted by the portrait's comment. Phineas was looking at her with thorny disdain—he did not seem to like girls much. She swallowed, determined to get through it. Dumbledore sat waiting. "It's about another student. Um…I think you know who he is…Draco Malfoy?"
Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair and regarded Angelina seriously, his kind smile melting to an expression of the utmost attentiveness. "Yes…what about Draco Malfoy, Miss Johnson?"
She felt the weight of his gaze on her and almost lost her resolve, but gathered herself. Fred was right—Dumbledore would not bite her.
"There is something…there is something you should know about him—something important, sir."
"All right."
"A few months ago, Draco tried to-sir, he tried to…force me to…um…" she was feeling flustered. The gadgets in the office ticked and whirred. Dumbledore leaned forward slightly more.
"He tried to force you to what, Angelina?" Something in his voice…something so perceptive, so deliberate…it was as though he already knew what she was going to say—that he was prepared to hear it, and all she needed to do was utter it to him—it made her forget her nerves and her panic. She sat up straight and continued.
"He attacked me, sir."
Phineas Nigellus made a small noise that sounded like a snort of surprise, and the others began to buzz amongst each other from the shock of her confession, but Dumbledore held up a hand for silence without taking his eyes from hers. There was a long pause in which neither headmaster nor student said anything, then Dumbledore sighed slowly.
"Please…tell me everything…if you can."
Feeling a cool wave of relief wash over her, Angelina cleared her throat and loosened her clutching hands from the playbook. She set it on his desk. "He was after this that night, I think." Dumbledore picked up the book and studied it. "It's my playbook, sir. I'm Quidditch Captain," she explained unnecessarily, "and our teams were getting ready for a match-"
"There is more in this book than just plays?" his eyes remained on the book, though he hadn't opened it.
"Er—yes sir." Angelina wondered how he knew that without looking inside.
He lifted his eyes to her face and smiled faintly at her. "I can see a Concealment Charm has been cast on it."
"Oh. Well, yes, he bewitched it so the pages he wrote on looked blank, but the spell wore off shortly after I got it back."
"So he stole it from you, and you stole it back?" asked Phineas somewhat skeptically. She turned to look up at him. "Why did you not notify a teacher? Especially if he did…what you say he did…on the same night, girl?"
"Phineas…" Dumbledore's voice, though very soft, held a note of warning that caused Phineas Nigellus to abruptly abandon his disdainful gaze on Angelina and roll his eyes away to the far wall. Though he put on that he was annoyed with Dumbledore's reprimand, Angelina could tell that he would not dare interrupt again. When she turned back to Dumbledore he inclined his head, his eyes closing briefly, solemnly. "Please continue, Angelina."
Another deep breath and she plunged ahead. "I think I walked back alone from Quidditch practice that night. I mean, I know I did, because I like to think about things on the walk up to the castle. Um, a-and he must've followed me…"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you mean to say that you do not remember what happened?"
More whispers from the portraits. Angelina could feel that awful Nigellus fellow's eyes on her. "Yes, sir. He Obliviated me."
"A student?" someone exclaimed. "That is unbelievable!"
"He did!" Angelina responded, turning in her seat to glare at them all. They were still talking amongst themselves, some of them staring down at her with either expressions of disbelief or shock. "Only…" she turned back to the headmaster. "…only he must not have done it properly because things have been coming back to me. Little things here and there…I've had dreams…"
Again, Dumbledore sighed slowly. "Yes…yes I know what you mean. Draco is too young and inexperienced to cast such a powerful spell on someone without backlash of some sort…naturally you would experience those side effects."
"You believe me, sir?" Angelina almost pleaded. She seemed to be operating on a completely different level than normal. She was used to giving orders, used to being strong and resolute—but tonight in Dumbledore's office she was little more than a child in need of help.
The old wizard's kind smile returned and he nodded, his slender fingers resting lightly on her playbook that lay on his desk.
"I never doubted you, Miss Johnson. I can see what you've been through in your eyes…I can hear it in your voice." His smile faded, and those blue eyes of his flickered at her intensely. "I suspect there is a great deal more to this story than you are telling me…"
Angelina felt the emotion she'd been holding at bay for days threaten to rise…she swallowed and nodded, her eyes burning to let forth the tears she was fighting off. "Yes sir…there is…"
"May I?" he held up the playbook. She nodded again. The headmaster opened the book and frowned as he flipped through a half-dozen of its pages. Then he skipped a big chunk, coming to the first page of Draco's little diary. He paused, the shade of blue in his eyes deepening considerably as they narrowed, and she knew he was reading what the troubled teen had written. The professors in their portraits shifted restlessly and craned hopelessly to catch a glimpse of the pages as he read, and after a long while he closed the book and set it back down on the desk. "There is indeed evidence in this book that supports her story, Phineas," he let his eyes travel to the Nigellus portrait for a brief second before standing up from his desk. He walked over to the wall near Angelina's chair and raised his head to regard the portrait of a pointy-nosed, black-haired woman wearing dark green robes. "Mona?"
"Yes, Dumbledore?" answered the woman with mock-annoyance, her eyes reluctantly leaving Angelina to look down upon the headmaster. "You'll send me away from such a thrilling interview on some tedious errand, will you?"
"Only for a moment, my dear Professor Stormcrow, only for a moment."
Dumbledore bowed his head respectfully, and Angelina could see a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. She looked on, wondering what was about to happen. Was he sending her for Draco? Would she have to face him while she was trying to get him expelled? Well…if that was the case…she was ready.
Mona Stormcrow clicked her tongue, but returned his smile. "Well, where shall it be, then?"
"If you'll please, go and rouse your friend Ignatius—tell him to find Professor Snape."
"And what is your message for the Professor?"
"The Professor has borrowed something from me. I need it back for a while. He'll know what you mean."
"Very good."
"Thank you…"
Angelina and Dumbledore watched Professor Stormcrow leave her portrait, her green robes fluttering slightly with her haste to finish the task and return before anything juicy happened.
"What's going on, Professor Dumbledore?" asked the pensive seventh year from her seat. Dumbledore turned to her and brought his hands together in a gesture of contemplation. He rocked on his feet slightly, gazing at her enigmatically. She swallowed.
"Angelina…I wonder if I might ask you to bear with me for a moment?"
"Yes sir…"
He inclined his head again in thanks and brought his hands to rest behind his back, still rocking very slightly. "The news you've brought me tonight of your fellow student's behavior is…rather disturbing, to say the least."
"I'm sorry, sir-" she began, somehow feeling guilty for troubling him when he already had so much on his plate, but he hushed her, his brow creasing deeply.
"No, no, my dear…there is nothing whatsoever for you to feel sorry about!" And she watched him put a hand to his heart, his eyes full of lament. "It is I who should be apologizing. I have been…absent…these months. I cannot deny that in my stead Professor Umbridge has made for a rather…harsh…disciplinarian. And to think that you could not come to me, or that I was unaware of this most unfortunate situation whether because I was distracted by matters I thought were very important or because I was away trying to defend my right to remain an authority here—well…" he chuckled sadly, shaking his head at himself. "What could be more important than the physical and emotional well being of my students? And, for that matter, what good is arguing for my authority when I am not here to use it?"
Angelina was beginning to feel better, more confident now than ever that she had made the right choice in coming here to talk with him. She watched him lower his gaze to the floor, and he stared at it for a beat, seemingly lost in thought. When he looked up at her again, his expression was very serious, though his eyes glinted as they often did behind those spectacles.
"I would like, if I may, to hear your account of what happened—as much as you can remember at all. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes…I think so." He nodded that he was listening. Angelina thought back—she probed her herself for any of the images or fragments of the lost memory that she could…and she caught something in the dark corners of her mind. She sat up straighter in her chair—"He…he pushed me against a tree…" her eyes lost focus, she was thinking hard. "And I know I struggled—there was dirt in my hair, my robes were torn…"
The professors in their portraits were absolutely silent. Angelina told Dumbledore of her only being able to call up one fleeting image of Draco aiming his wand at her, and surrounding that was total blankness. She told him about her wrists. "But, I still couldn't understand what happened, really, until…" she trailed off.
Dumbledore came to stand at the front of his desk at her side, looking into her eyes intently. "Until what?"
"Until H-Harry told me…what Draco said to him." She swallowed. Harry was coming into the story now. She had not mentioned him before this moment, and now she could see why her instinct had told her not to. Dumbledore's eyes widened.
"How did Harry react to Draco, Angelina?" the headmaster's voice was grave, urgent. Angelina hesitated. She really wanted to be honest. It wasn't her place to withhold information from Dumbledore when she was asking him for his help, but something tugged at her not to divulge everything…she felt it was something of a betrayal to Harry to do so. Was it? Harry trusted Dumbledore above anyone…he told her so. The professors watching her leaned forward in their frames…listening to every word.
"He was angry," she said quietly.
The headmaster's eyes probed hers…he seemed to be searching for the truth in them. "Naturally, he would be…" he spoke, still studying her. "What I meant to ask, however…did Harry act on his anger in retaliation against Draco?"
The professors seemed to be holding their breath. Even Phineas Nigellus abandoned his caustic attitude and watched the conversation with genuine curiosity.
"He-confronted him, yes." Her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest. She fancied that all of the watching eyes around her could see it, and were counting the seconds until it finally did. She waited for Dumbledore's response. Would he become angry at Harry? Would he demand that she tell him if Harry and Draco were the ones dueling on the pitch that night? Would she walk out of this office having not only gotten Malfoy expelled, but Harry as well? But, then he already knew, didn't he? He had just read the playbook—was he testing her to see if she would lie to him? She opted not to say anything else.
"I see…" was his only reply. He walked back around to his own chair and sat down. She didn't dare feel relieved. The headmaster opened his mouth to speak, but just then Mona Stormcrow appeared in her frame again, looking slightly out of breath and eager.
"I passed on your message, Headmaster!" she informed in a relieved huff. "Ignatius will deliver Professor Snape as quick as you please!"
"Thank you, Mona." Dumbledore did not smile playfully at her this time. Angelina heard her whisper loudly to the neighboring portrait of a fat, bald wizard 'what did I miss?' but her attention remained fixed on the headmaster. He did not, however, speak again until there was a soft knock on the office door several minutes later. The gadgets in the office made their noises, and Fawkes trilled from his perch, but Dumbledore simply waited, and when the knock came he called: "Come in, Severus."
Angelina turned, feeling her heart go to work on her again, and saw the door open slowly. Severus Snape stepped inside, his black robes enveloping him in shadow. He was carrying a large, stone basin. He stopped just inside and his dark eyes landed on Angelina. She stared at him, not feeling particularly comforted by his presence. She understood Harry's resentment of this man—his gaze on her was less than warm. When Dumbledore stood from his desk, Snape pulled his eyes from hers and inclined his head respectfully.
"You asked for this, Headmaster?" he uttered silkily, his low, deep voice giving Angelina a chill. He lifted the basin slightly in his hands.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I shall require the use of the pensieve for a short while tonight. You may take it back when I'm finished."
Snape moved forward and placed the basin…the pensieve...carefully on the desk.
He stepped back and folded his arms; his white cuffs the only break in the wall of black that clothed his body. His slick hair shadowed his face as he frowned at Angelina. "Is everything all right, Johnson?"
The question took her by surprise, and she actually turned her eyes to Dumbledore as if asking permission to answer him. Dumbledore, however, seemed busy inspecting the pensieve thing, his head bowed. She paused, then shook her head. "Not really, no."
It could have been a smirk that appeared on the dark wizard's face, but his next words seemed genuinely concerned. "No? Then something is the matter…" her earlier question about his expression was answered—"you're not having relationship problems with Potter, are you?"
"Severus," Dumbledore stood upright, having finished the inspection of his basin. "I will ask you not to let anyone disturb Miss Johnson and myself for a little while, least of all Professor Umbridge."
"Of course." Snape's smug attitude vanished and he bowed away, turning to stride from the room with nary a second glance at Angelina. It suited her just fine. She was glad Dumbledore had dismissed him before she had a chance to call him a greasy monster. She closed her eyes briefly and when she looked again Dumbledore was staring at her.
"Now, Angelina…I must ask you yet another favor."
"Yes sir."
"Do you know what this is?" he indicated the pensieve. She shook her head, glancing at it curiously. "No, I didn't assume you did. This is a Pensieve. It is, simply put, a vessel for storing and viewing memories."
Angelina's mouth came open slightly and she let out a soft gasp. "You can watch people's memories on that thing?"
"Yes." Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Also it is used to store memories temporarily. I use it to take a clearer look at things I've already seen and done whenever I feel I should pay attention to details I might've missed by simply relying on this old thing…" he tapped his temple with his slender finger, smiling faintly.
"And…are you going to use it for me?"
Again, a solemn nod. "Yes, with your permission of course."
"But the memory is gone, sir. Draco—he erased it. I can only get small bits and they never get clearer than vague images."
Dumbledore walked over to her side again, shaking his head. "Yes it is unfortunate that young Malfoy used Obliviation on you. But you see…he did not, as you think, erase your memory."
She gaped at him. The professors murmured their agreement, wisely. "But I can't remember…"
Dumbledore's blue eyes shone. "I would have concluded this myself, but for the one thing you told me that gave me the idea to use the Pensieve—dreams, Miss Johnson. Dreams are tools, they are vehicles with which our subconscious transport many, many things. Yes, they are mostly vague, abstract portraits of random things that seemingly make no sense…but in some cases—in your case—they tell us things. Important things."
"What things?"
"That the information has been buried. Very deeply buried. But it is still there, nonetheless, and we shall find it."
Angelina thought for a moment, his words echoing in her mind. She remembered what she had read in those books Hermione gave her, about the mind's resistance of the spell if it were cast incorrectly. "How will we find it?" she asked after a moment.
Dumbledore looked up at all of the portraits surrounding them. "I would like for you all," he addressed them, "to please consider the next few minutes completely confidential, not to be discussed with any of the other portraits, tapestries, or artwork in the castle. What is about to happen should not leave this room. May I have your word on that?"
They all buzzed, looking scandalized but intrigued, and then somebody shouted "Here, here!"
"You have our word, Headmaster Dumbledore, at your service!"
Phineas Nigellus simply gazed on the scene cryptically.
Dumbledore, once satisfied that they had all agreed to his terms, looked back down at Angelina. "Now, Miss Johnson…I want you to try and think back to that night. Though I know it is difficult for you—please try to remember what you were doing before your recollection becomes unreachable…" Angelina closed her eyes and pictured…yes she had been leaving the pitch. Carrying her bag. Thinking of Harry? She opened her eyes again. Dumbledore smiled, whispered "Ready?" and before she could blink he reached up and clapped his hands together sharply.
The last thing she saw before darkness took her was the crystal blue of his eyes…
When her vision cleared again, Angelina was sitting up straight in the chair, staring strait ahead. Dumbledore was sitting across from her, his expression very grave. The office was again completely silent.
"What happened?" she whispered.
The headmaster sat still for an incredibly long second, and then moved suddenly, leaning forward to shift the pensieve so that it sat between them on the desk. "I'm sorry, I had to put you asleep for a moment. Your dreams, as I suspected, held all the information…."
He held up his wand. Dangling from the tip was a thin, wispy strand of substance that glittered faintly. Angelina frowned at it.
"Is that…?"
Dumbledore deposited the silvery stuff into the basin, where it swirled eerily—almost in slow motion.
"Yes. Please stand, Miss Johnson." Angelina did as she was told. Dumbledore walked around to her side of the desk and gathered up the corners of his robes in his wand hand, touching her gently on the elbow with his other. He looked into her eyes. "We are about to view the memory that you lost. I am sorry—it isn't that I don't believe what you've told me, but I'm afraid I have to see this for myself. It will help me determine the correct course of action…"
"But…what about expulsion?"
Dumbledore's eyes left hers for a tiny second—he glanced down at the basin, and then his brow creased slightly as he looked at her. His next words seemed very carefully phrased. "There are many paths we might take, all of which lead to Draco's being held accountable for what he did. But, first…do you wish to come with me, and view this memory? Or would you prefer not to?"
Angelina made the first resolute gesture of the night and nodded firmly. "I want to see it."
The old wizard returned her gesture. "Very well. Now don't be afraid. Simply lean forward, like so…"
He gently guided her forward by the elbow, and they leaned over the basin with the shimmering contents—her memory—swirling around, waiting for them. She felt that she would simply be putting her head in a big bowl full of smoke, but just as her face broke the surface she began to fall.
Angelina stifled a scream as she fell…fell…fell…and then gently touched down on cool, damp grass.
Seconds later Dumbledore came to stand next to her. They were outside on the grounds. The night air was cool and silent. Angelina looked around her, and with a heavy feeling in her chest, realized what she was in the middle of. She saw that they were standing right in front of the tree that she'd described to Dumbledore.
"Are you all right?" his voice startled her and she jumped slightly, turning to him. "We can go back if you wish," he nodded his head over her shoulder, indicating something behind her. She turned to see a faint figure walking towards them in the distance. "You'll be upon us soon, but we still have time to abandon this-"
"No…I need to see this…" Angelina's eyes were glued to the figure approaching them, draped in shadow. That was her. It was completely surreal—she was watching herself advance on them…coming closer. Her own face came into view. Her eyes were unfocused—she was deep in thought. Angelina watched herself move still closer, and then her eye caught sight of something else moving around in the darkness behind the other Angelina. She tore her gaze from her past self and squinted…
"That's-!" She jabbed a finger at the figure, and Dumbledore nodded solemnly.
"Yes, that is Draco."
Seconds later, sure enough, Draco Malfoy's blond head emerged from the darkness. The other Angelina kept walking, completely (frustratingly) unaware that he was behind her. Angelina watched as the boy stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled along silently for a beat, a stupid smirk on his face. She chanced a side-long glance at Dumbledore, who was surveying the scene with a shrewd, no-nonsense expression, before quickly turning back to see what was happening.
"Out for an evening stroll, Johnson?"
Angelina watched herself gasp and whip around to face the boy, who chuckled at her as she dropped her bag to the ground. When the past Angelina noticed that it was only him, she glared at him. "What the hell do you want?"
Angelina's eyes were wide with emotion and Dumbledore's eyes were narrowed grimly while they watched as Draco taunted her. She shuddered every time he sneered, every time she saw the flash of anger in his eyes. And then the scene changed suddenly—for Draco seized Angelina when she was attempting to leave him and slammed her against that tree. The Angelina watching with Dumbledore jumped as she watched her past self hit her head against the bark with a hollow thunk. The headmaster laid a hand on her to stay her, but his eyes remained fixed on the two figures in front of them.
Dumbledore left her side and walked up to the pair of them—where her past self was struggling mightily against Draco as he pinned her to the tree. She couldn't see Draco's face, but Dumbledore was now standing very close to them, and he leaned in to look at the Slytherin boy…Angelina had never seen the headmaster look so angry.
She watched herself kick Draco in the shin and try to make a run for it. It seemed she was going to run right through Dumbledore, but Draco reached up and grabbed her, yanking her to the ground with terrible strength. Angelina took a few hesitant steps forward, her chest heaving, her eyes watering. Draco pinned her to the ground—Dumbledore watched, still looking upset—and when she slapped him he snarled some awful profanity at her and slapped her right back. This time it was the headmaster, and not his young student, who jumped, only very slightly. They watched as the other Angelina clawed at Draco's hair and shrieked and thrashed around. They could both see his face now, and there was a highly unusual gleam in his pale blue eyes…a slightly curious smile on his thin lips…
"Give us a kiss, first…" he uttered, and Angelina's heart jumped into her throat. "Just one kiss…"
This was the moment that the boy almost gave into a horrible desire, and if she had not been able to get herself from under him, Merlin only knew what he would have done. Dumbledore seemed to recognize this, and his face showed how awfully disappointed and upset he was by Draco's behavior.
Now the other Angelina was fumbling in her bag for her wand. Dumbledore stepped back and watched Draco find his wand first. He disarmed her (she cursed herself silently—Harry had been teaching D.A. classes by then, why was she so slow?), and they stood breathing at each other.
"You…you tried to…"
"O-Obliviate!"
Dumbledore sighed. Angelina was watching Draco's panicked face as he modified her memory, but the headmaster turned to look at her.
"Miss Johnson…Angelina?" He laid a hand gently on her arm as he smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling kindly over his half-moon spectacles. "I have seen enough."
There was a thrum of hushed, yet urgent and excited whispering that greeted them when their feet touched the floor of Dumbledore's office again. It immediately ceased, however, when the two of them appeared.
Angelina stared at the pensieve. She had known, for quite some time, that if ever she were to recover the full memory of what happened it would upset her. Well that was common sense. But she was a great deal more than upset now. She was furious. She was shaking with anger.
It wasn't just that Draco Malfoy pushed her around, pinned her down, slapped her, and tried to force himself physically on her. It was his attitude in doing so, and in continuing to pursue her as if that behavior was normal. As if she would somehow find that unusual gleam in his eyes attractive…
How she had allowed herself to fall headfirst into his little game of cat and mouse (or more like mouse and cat, only the cat was being a big idiot) was beyond her. She did not blame Harry for not speaking to her. She deserved whatever hard feelings she got from him.
"You cannot imagine," began Dumbledore quietly, "how immensely sorrowful I am that this was done to you, my dear girl." His eyes narrowed and became darker again—she could tell his anger was back. "Or how very, very disappointed I am in Draco Malfoy."
Angelina licked her lips and gave him a faint nod, still seething over what she'd just seen.
"Punishment, Headmaster?" one of the portraits—Angelina looked up to see that it was Phineas Nigellus again—spoke gravely.
Dumbledore was studying Angelina and did not respond right away to the question. They were still standing at the desk, facing the pensieve. The cool shimmer of Angelina's memory danced across their faces. She looked over at him again and he placed a hand on her arm. The second he touched her she burst into tears. A scattering of sympathetic murmuring befell the portraits. Fawkes trilled softly. Even the Sorting Hat grunted forlornly and leaned over a bit on its shelf to survey the wizard and young student. Angelina found herself being held by Dumbledore as she cried.
He patted her up gently, and she closed her eyes against the elegant blue of his robes and the silvery gray of his long beard. When she thought she'd gotten all of her pinned up emotion out of her, she took in a deep breath and he slowly released her. Dumbledore made sure she was steady on her feet before turning and walking around to his side of the desk again. Angelina remained standing as he took his seat.
Swallowing, the seventh year girl asked: "Will you expel him?"
She asked this question, though she knew the obvious answer. Of course—of course that would be done. Headmaster Dumbledore, after what they'd just seen and everything she'd told him, would no doubt turn Draco out of Hogwarts. There really wasn't need for her to have asked the question, but she needed to actually hear him say it. He did not.
Instead, Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her rather regretfully and shook his head. "No."
Gasps all around. Angelina gaped at him. "What? How can you not—but you've seen-!"
Dumbledore allowed her to sputter angrily; allowed the other professors, who were becoming quite involved in this little drama, to mutter their various feelings on the matter, then held his hand up for silence. Angelina clenched her lips together, breathing hard, her fists balled at her sides. She did not wish to yell at the headmaster—but she was very curious, one could say, as to why he had answered her question incorrectly.
"Angelina, I can see that you are upset," Dumbledore observed, but then leaned forward in his desk, presumably to really impress his next words on her, "but not nearly as upset as I am, I can assure you."
"Then why won't you expel him?" she had to catch herself. Her heart was beating furiously.
"Because, for one thing, I believe you waited so long to come to me for a reason. I believe that you see something the matter, in Draco's case, that deserves my attention. To dismiss him now would be also to ignore that something…and it would be a very foolish mistake on my part."
Angelina tilted her head at him. He seemed to have read into the very depths of her mind. He seemed to have been watching, listening to her work these things out. And this was part of why she was so angry—sympathy for the devil was out of the question! But it was there. Like it or not it was there and Dumbledore was right. Angelina had been waiting, she knew now, for someone to help her sort these feelings out. She had felt that Draco needed help more than he needed harsh punishment. She also suspected that the headmaster knew exactly why—and that now he was going to tell her.
"Please, sit down." She did as she was told. The old wizard began slowly, and very simply: "It has always been, since it's establishment centuries ago…" his eyes glinted in the lamp light, "…that this school not only serves as a place for young wizards to learn, but also as a safe haven—a home away from home. Its walls not only offer education, but protection. Its teachers are guardians, and I am…the overseer of each and every student who passes through these halls."
Angelina listened; sure she knew where this was going; captivated by Dumbledore's soft, warm voice.
"I look after Draco Malfoy the same as I have looked after you, or Hermione Granger, or those clever Weasley twins…and Harry…" He leaned forward in his seat again, continuing: "So, I know it upsets you that I have chosen not to expel him, but please believe me my dear when I say that his fate outside these walls is far more terrible than the prospect—for you— of allowing him to remain inside them."
"What is so terrible? What's waiting for him out there?" Angelina swallowed with dread. It was dawning on her—his strange, dark behavior. The way he changed so drastically during the progressing months. The boy was in trouble. "His father is a Death Eater, isn't he sir? And Draco…"
"Draco is in line, it would seem, to become one." Dumbledore finished for her, nodding and closing his eyes briefly. He then told her many more things…confided in her, perhaps, as his equal. His only note on that confidence in her was that he believed her to be "ready" for the information. He believed that she was a key part in all of the things they talked about, and when they had finished talking, she was running late for the D.A. meeting. He only asked her not to repeat what they'd discussed unless she considered the consequences very carefully. "Only stay close to him, Angelina." Dumbledore requested of her. "Harry needs you. I am still trying to prevent what's happening, or at least stifle it as best I can…I cannot press enough how important it is for him to master Occlumency. He simply is not ready for this—not yet."
"Sir…?" Angelina almost whispered when she had reached the threshold of the office. "What if Umbridge finds out?"
Dumbledore's trademark shimmering blue eyes widened as he looked at her, and he shook his head very slowly. "She must not."
She did not need for him to elaborate. For any knowledge whatsoever that the Ministry gained of what was happening would not only devastate Dumbledore's efforts to protect Harry, but it would also draw Voldemort in to the boy swift as a tide under a full moon.
Angelina left Dumbledore more informed and more determined than ever she'd been during this whole ordeal. When she passed the stone gargoyle, she heard voices drawing near her. She recognized Umbridge's high-pitched simper immediately. Accompanying it was the voice of Professor Snape, what sounded like a very put upon McGonagall, and a voice that sounded familiar yet she couldn't quite place it.
Acting on instinct, Angelina immediately ducked behind an enormous curtain covering the huge double windows nearby. Making sure that her feet weren't sticking out, the seventh year girl stood as still as she could, and seconds later the people whose voices she heard had rounded the corner at the far end of the hall and were now headed her way—towards Dumbledore's office.
"The headmaster has left strict instructions with me that he is not to be disturbed, Professor Umbridge." That was Snape. He sounded very forbidding.
"Oh, did he now?" someone scoffed. She knew she had heard that voice before, but she could not remember where. The voice was haughty and older-sounding, the voice of a man. It had a bit of an incredulous whine to it that Angelina did not like. "Well you shall just have to go and tell him that the Minister of Magic is here—it is a matter of the utmost urgency."
Angelina's vague recollection of the man's voice clicked into place. He was Minister Fudge.
"Minister, what is this about, exactly?" McGonagall was speaking now.
"Oh, you'll see Minerva," Fudge almost chuckled—he sounded very pleased with whatever it was that was going on. "Suffice it to say that Dumbledore and I have unfinished business. Tonight, we shall put an end once and for all to that Potter boy's lies-"
"Professor!" Angelina nearly jumped from the sound of another, new voice. It sounded urgent—excited. It was Draco Malfoy.
"Yes, what is it, Malfoy?" Umbridge purred.
"We've found it, Ma'am. We found the room they're hiding in."
"Oh, excellent!" Umbridge squealed with delight. Angelina thought her heart would jump out of her chest. Her ears burned. Oh no, she thought, panicked. There was no other 'room' Malfoy could be talking about—no other 'they' he could mean. The D.A. had been discovered, she was sure of it. "Minister, if you'd like to go on ahead to Dumbledore, and leave the untidy business of rounding these rule-breakers up to me, I'll be with you in a moment."
"Of course, Delores, of course." Angelina could hear the smug smile on Fudge's face. "Snape, lead the way."
There was a pause (Angelina imagined that Snape and McGonagall were exchanging glances, or that Snape was glaring at Fudge for giving him an order so dismissively), and then the sound of moving feet across the floor. Snape uttered the password and she heard a creaky grinding sound. Seconds later there were soft "clack, clack" sounds on the spiral stairs and then silence.
She waited as long as she dared to make sure the hall was deserted again, and that Umbridge and Malfoy had left. When she heard nothing but silence, the panicked girl threw the heavy curtain away from herself. They were coming to ambush Dumbledore and expel Harry—expel them all. She couldn't let that happen.
Angelina broke into a run. She had to get to Room of Requirement before Umbridge did.