Dumbledore was gone.
When Angelina saw the headmaster pass on an 'important something' to Professor Snape, she was filled with alarm. She wanted to call out to Dumbledore before it was too late; plead with him to speak to her before he disappeared and did not come back. Surely he wasn't asking Snape of all people to watch over Draco in his stead? Should she tell McGonagall? Should she tell her now, even though Dumbledore expressly forbade her to speak of what they'd discussed to anyone?
Fudge jumped to his feet, coughing for the dust, and Dawlish followed him. Kingsley got up too and helped Umbridge from the floor.
"Where is he?" shouted the minister, his eyes wide with alarm.
"He can't have Apparated—no one can inside school grounds."
"Well find him! Go, go!" Kingsley and Dawlish sprang into action, running out through the office door in a tornado of black Auror's robes. Fudge angrily brushed off the front of his waistcoat, and without looking up at her he uttered to Umbridge, "Delores, I'm afraid we've had a disaster here."
"Minister?" Umbridge's eyes did not seem so fiery with maliciousness now, and her ever-present smile was nowhere to be found. She was gazing at the minister apprehensively, her chubby hands clasped together under her bosom. "Are you-?"
"Your behavior…"he finally finished dusting off his waistcoat and looked up at her, shaking his head slightly. "If Dumbledore hadn't finally confessed to plotting against me this whole operation would've been a farce!"
"I rather thought it accomplished that goal without her deplorable behavior…" Minerva McGonagall spoke under her breath, her hands still resting protectively on Angelina and Marietta's shoulders.
Fudge rounded on her, cocking his head from side to side scornfully. "Minerva, you are in no position to mock me or my staff. Your man Dumbledore has really done it this time—when we find him, he's finished!"
"Oh I am sure of one thing, Minister," McGonagall continued boldly. "…he most definitely is not finished…"
Umbridge spoke up then, regaining some of her authoritative posture despite Fudge's rebuke. "Perhaps you might remember that you are on probation, Professor McGonagall."
The two women stared at each other. Angelina could see that Umbridge was trying to save face in front of the minister, and McGonagall did not seem to care if she were fired on the spot. But then the older of the two women relented, smiling sourly and nodding her head. "Perhaps you're right, Delores. The last thing Hogwarts needs at the moment is the loss of another teacher."
"You'd better get those two to bed," Fudge said after a pause, gesturing with his bowler hat at Harry and Angelina. He narrowed his eyes at Marietta. "…and that one to the hospital wing."
"Fine. Come with me now, you three…" McGonagall was turning them around, leading them to the door.
Angelina looked over her shoulder to see that Fudge was now addressing Snape. "If I am right in thinking that you support the Ministry, Snape, then I can expect you to let us know if you hear anything about Dumbledore's whereabouts?"
"If I could inform you…" Snape replied. Angelina noticed Harry ball his fists again. "But I doubt the headmaster would choose to reveal such information to me. I am, after all, only a teacher here."
"Right. Well…" Fudge cleared his throat. "…if you'll kindly leave me with Madame Umbridge alone for a moment. There's something we need to discuss, Delores."
Angelina heard the tone in the man's voice and saw Umbridge clench her breath. Then the awful woman's beady eyes landed on Harry before Snape strode towards them, blocking her view. They left the office and descended the spiral stair, McGonagall leading the way with Marietta in tow. Angelina followed and Harry was in step behind her. When they had passed the stone gargoyle and were a ways down the hall around a corner, McGonagall abruptly stopped walking and cursed loudly.
"Unbelievable!" she shouted, her nostrils flaring. "The nerve of that-that…devil of a woman!"
Marietta jumped a little and took two steps back, her robes still pulled up to her eyes.
"Professor-?" Angelina spoke up, thinking that maybe now…but McGonagall rounded on Harry.
"Potter." Harry stepped up along side Angelina when McGonagall said his name sharply. He hadn't spoken at all since Dumbledore vanished and Angelina was worried that at any second his turbulent anger would surface again.
"Yes ma'am?"
McGonagall strode up to him, leaving Marietta hovering near the edge of the corner they'd turned. "Tell me now—was there any truth at all to what you said about Umbridge sending those Dementors after you?"
"Yes," said Harry forcefully. "I heard her say it herself. She was talking to Draco Malfoy's dad that night he came to the castle. He helped her."
"You were eavesdropping, then." They all turned to see Snape rounding the corner.
"Who cares if he was eavesdropping or not?' Angelina piped up. "He heard her admit to it. And did you see the way she reacted when he told them? She went crazy—she wouldn't have done that if she were innocent!"
"Be that as it may," Snape responded frostily, his dark eyes burning into Angelina's, "Potter still has no proof of it."
"I believe him, Severus." McGonagall spoke, her stern tone causing Snape to look up from Angelina at her. She nodded at him slowly, her eyes conveying her wish for him to be with her on this. Then she turned again to Harry. "But he has a point, Harry. We cannot simply go on hearsay."
"But-!" Harry started angrily, and she hushed him with a sharply raised hand.
"No buts. Professor Snape is right, we need proof." Harry was on the point of protesting again but just then Draco Malfoy rounded the corner, stopping short when he saw Marietta and Snape. He looked from their faces over to where Angelina, Harry, and McGonagall stood. Angelina instinctively inched closer to Harry, prepared to try and settle him in case he went after the other boy. "Yes, what is it, Malfoy?" McGonagall spoke to him first, impatiently.
"I was looking for Professor Umbridge," the boy answered without a trace of humility. "We're having trouble rounding up the others—a lot of them have outnumbered my friends on the eighth floor…"
McGonagall snorted. "There's no longer any need to 'round anyone up' tonight, Malfoy. Do you think you could manage to take Miss Edgecombe to the hospital wing without losing your way?"
Malfoy blinked at her as if she'd spoken a foreign language and then turned to look at Snape again. "Sir?"
"You heard her, Malfoy, get lost…" Harry snarled.
"Be quiet, Potter!" Snape snapped before waving Malfoy off. "Take her, Draco. And then I suggest you get yourself back to the dungeons as well."
"Yes sir…" Draco's face folded in anger as he glared at Angelina and Harry. He hesitated, casting a side-long look at Marietta before gesturing for her to follow him and turning to disappear again around the corner. The girl hesitated but with a reaffirming nod from McGonagall, she left them in his path.
"Severus, perhaps you wouldn't mind going to send the others back to their dormitories?"
"And I suppose you expect me to ignore that you are exchanging conspiracy theories with two students who, right up until our headmaster sacrificed himself to save their sorry hides, were illegally participating in a dueling club?"
McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him. They flickered over to Harry and Angelina before she spoke.
"I expect you, Severus, to remember where your loyalty lies. Are you honestly saying that you support that awful woman? That you wish for her to become headmistress of this school?"
Harry and Angelina stood aside, watching them.
"I am loyal to Dumbledore, of course."
"Could've fooled me…" Harry muttered under his breath, drawing a sharp look from Snape.
"What was that, Potter?"
"I said—" Harry spoke louder, his eyes blazing rebelliously. "—you—could've—fooled-!"
"Harry, do not speak to Professor Snape that way." McGonagall interrupted him harshly.
"Oh, no, Minerva, by all means let him finish. Let him tell me his simple-minded view of my supposed treachery!" spat Snape angrily. Harry looked as though he wanted nothing more than to shout back, but he only glared. "Oh, nothing to say now, eh? Of course not. That's your way, isn't it Potter? You'll throw your wild accusations around first and prove them later, correct? You see Minerva; this is exactly why you should not take this boy's careless ravings to heart."
"I'm supposed to sit on my hands, then? Allow Umbridge to continue-!"
"Dumbledore is not a fool; he doesn't need your help with Umbridge. He needs you to do as he asks, and as of now he only asks that you remain here as you have, nothing more."
"And what has he asked of you, Severus?" McGonagall's voice was tight with resentment.
Snape raised an eyebrow and stared at her for a beat, but did not answer. He instead turned to glare at Harry. "Our lessons again tomorrow night, Potter." He was gone a second later, his black robes trailing him.
McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her temples. Angelina really wanted to say something to her about Draco, but after all she'd just witnessed, it was a little hard to think of a way to broach the subject. The Professor opened her eyes again and sighed. "You two, listen to me—there are things going on here that I wouldn't expect you to know anything about," she paused, smiling slightly despite her urgent demeanor, "…or maybe you know more than I give you credit for. But the fact is that losing Dumbledore has been a serious blow. Without him…the future for Hogwarts is very grim indeed. Do you understand?"
They both nodded.
"Umbridge is a brown-nosing, opportunistic tyrant and she is out to rid this school of anyone who opposes her. I have never supported her being here, and neither has Dumbledore, everyone knows that. She's gotten rid of him; she's trying to get rid of you—and to do that without interruption I'm certain she'll come after me."
Angelina was beginning to feel a cold, thin line of dread creep up her spine as the professor spoke. She was speaking to them both not as her students but as her allies.
"What do you want us to do, Professor?" asked Harry. "I told the truth in there, but Fudge didn't believe me. You saw."
"I don't think Minister Fudge is entirely in her corner anymore after that outburst of hers. He'll support her—he has to, they've gone too far for him to shun her now, but if we could only get proof of her corruption…"
"You mean like getting her to confess?" Angelina spoke up finally.
McGonagall considered her for a moment before nodding. "Something like that, yes…" She crossed her arms and turned her attention back to Harry. "Listen, it's way past curfew and you two have class in the morning. You should go and find your friends and get yourselves to bed."
"But what about Umbridge?"
"You let me know if she tries anything with you, Harry. Anything at all. I don't know how long I'll be able to protect you, but I promise you as long as I am here I'll defend you, understand?"
"Yes—Professor?"
"Yes?"
"What if…what if she finds a way to get you out, too?"
"I'm afraid then it'll be up to you to make yourself heard, Potter. I'm telling you this because even though I've done as he's asked, I've never truly supported Albus' concern that you needed to be protected from knowing the truth."
"The truth?"
Angelina knew McGonagall was surely aware that anything she said would be witnessed, but for some reason got the distinct impression that what she said was meant for them both, and not just Harry. "You thought I didn't notice what you did in that office, Potter?"
The hall they were standing in was completely silent and the torches shuddered as if a breeze had disturbed them for a split second. Angelina saw Harry's eyes change—as though he were very close to something he hadn't been able to reach in a long time. Information. Answers. Who were they to overlook Professor McGonagall all that time? Angelina was beginning to believe that had she gone to this woman in the first place, things would've turned out much differently.
"When Albus and I made the decision to leave you with those Muggles, it wasn't without a significant amount of concern. It has always been clear to us both that you'd been touched by a power so…great…" She shook her head as if at a loss for words. After a pause in which Angelina and Harry both grew tense with anticipation, she continued. "That mark you carry with you—it is the mark of a terrible curse, made by You-Know-Who."
"I know that."
"Yes, you do…but what you didn't know—what we are all beginning to see—is that it did much more than leave a scar, Potter."
Angelina looked to see Harry's chest rising and falling rapidly. "…did what?"
"I don't know exactly," McGonagall shook her head sadly. "Neither of us did. But as you grow older, like Albus correctly predicted, the signs of You-Know-Who's mark on you grow more and more unmistakable—you are far stronger than you realize."
"I'm cursed?"
McGonagall closed the space between them and put her hands on both their shoulders. "Listen to me—I know two things for certain: first…I think it's wise that you do as Dumbledore says and practice your Occlumency, if only to break this…dangerous…connection to him." She looked at them both in turn before continuing, "And second…the best people to rely on are each other. You'll need your friends, Potter. You'll love them and they'll love you—that is important. That's why I have no problems speaking about these things in front of you, Angelina."
She gave their shoulders a squeeze.
"You are not cursed, Potter. What you are is on your own."
He looked up at her sharply.
"But didn't you just say that…?"
"What I mean is that Dumbledore is gone, and if that woman somehow gets rid of me, too...you are not a fool, Harry. And neither are you, Angelina. You are capable. You have proven that by taking an initiative and starting that club."
Harry and Angelina exchanged glances. "We broke the rules…" Angelina muttered.
"I got Dumbledore tossed out…."
"Yes, it's unfortunate for us all that it had to happen like that, but Albus would rather see himself away from this place than see you put in harm's way, can you understand? He felt proud that you were teaching yourselves—he felt reassured by your devotion to our cause, and your ability to persuade others to join the Light."
"So…" Harry shook his head several times as if to clear it. When he finished his sentence, his tone of voice was filled with sudden understanding. "So Dumbledore knew all along about the D.A. then?"
McGonagall smiled. "Of course he did."
After reminding them again to come to her should Umbridge try anything else, McGonagall urged them to bed.
Harry was silent and thoughtful on the way back over to their part of the castle. Angelina walked along side him, her mind also teeming with thoughts on the events of the night. She didn't feel any better about anything since going to Dumbledore. On the contrary, now things were even worse than they'd been before. She had been too late for everything. Too late turning Malfoy in, so now Dumbledore was gone and Umbridge's hold on the school would be undisputed. With Malfoy in her corner again, it would be hell to try and get him out now. Too late getting to the Room of Requirement, so now the D.A. was history. She'd run into Dobby on her way and the little elf had obligingly helped her find a hidden shortcut up to the seventh floor. But even though they ran like the dickens all the way up there it did no good.
When she and Harry reached the common room, they were startled out of their silence and thoughtfulness by a wide-awake Gryffindor Tower.
It seemed that the commotion of the D.A. members' return had roused the rest of the students. The lights were bright and the noise was deafening. A chorus of voices met them when they stepped through the portrait hole. Angelina recoiled slightly as every head turned towards them and then a collective "Harry!" erupted zealously from the mass of sloppy hair and wrinkled pajamas. Harry stared at them all as the crowd seemed to surge and swell before it produced Ron and Hermione, who squeezed through impatiently to the front.
"What happened?" they both shouted in unison. They looked flushed and disheveled.
Angelina opened her mouth but Harry answered first. "They tried to arrest Dumbledore—he's gone," was his grim reply.
"What?" Hermione gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. The crowd seemed to settle down a bit, and more D.A. members began to pop out—Ginny, Neville, Dean, and the twins fought their way to the front to face Harry and Angelina. "So Umbridge did catch you?" Hermione said through her fingers.
"Yeah…" Harry sighed. "She and Malfoy took us to Dumbledore's office. She had the Minster of Magic waiting."
"Blimey…" someone (it sounded like Seamus) whispered from behind Fred.
"What did they do? What did Umbridge say? Why did they try to arrest Dumbledore?"
Harry's eyes swept over the crowd…they were all waiting, their commotion settling and their eyes wide with anticipation, for him to tell the story. He sighed again heavily and cleared his throat. "Fudge tried to arrest him for treason. Because he confessed…" he trailed off, his throat closing with regret at the thought of it, before giving in again to their expectant looks, "…h-he confessed to trying to raise an army here in the school."
A collective gasp, followed by cries of anger or shock. Ron's mouth fell open. "You're joking."
Angelina shook her head. "Dumbledore took the blame for us, and Fudge couldn't wait to arrest him. He didn't even care about Harry anymore after that happened. He ordered the Aurors-"
"There were Aurors?" someone gasped excitedly.
"Yes, there were Aurors…" said Harry dismissively.
Angelina continued, "He ordered them to arrest Dumbledore, but Dumbledore resisted and there was all this fighting-"
"They fought? How many were there? Did Dumbledore take them all on by himself?"
An outbreak of speculative murmuring started in the crowd, and Angelina was drowned out.
"There must've been dozens of them!"
"No, no, you git—maybe like three, but not dozens."
"The Minster of Magic travels with at least six Aurors for protection, my dad told me!"
"Professor Dumbledore took on six Aurors all by himself? But he's so….so…old!"
"He's the most powerful wizard in the world, apart from You-Know-Who, inne? He could take them, no problem."
Angelina stopped talking, seeing that they no longer needed for her or Harry to fill them in—they seemed determined to do that themselves. It was just as well. She didn't think she could've told them everything anyway, as it would reveal some things best kept secret except to those directly involved. The crowd parted, still buzzing, and the D.A. members huddled together under cover of all the talking. "Tell us what really happened," Hermione whispered, and the others murmured the same.
"It was that goddamned Marietta Edgecombe!" Harry started at once, his voice a vicious hiss. "Somehow or other Malfoy shacked up with'er and she ran her mouth to him about us. Umbridge brought her in as an informant."
"That little-!" Ron growled, but Hermione shot him a look.
"You're the one who wanted to kick her out, Ron."
"Yeah, but you all agreed with me!" Ron's cheeks flushed with anger. "We took a vote on it, remember?"
"That doesn't matter now," Harry said over them. "She doesn't remember a thing anymore because that Shacklebolt bloke Obliviated her and altered her memory. She doesn't remember any of the meetings."
"Oh my goodness…" Hermione shook her head slowly, her eyes wide with the scandal of it all. "Did he have to do that?" Her gaze flickered toward Angelina empathetically. This was not lost on Harry, but he continued.
"Yeah, he kinda did. Well—at least I guess he thought he should do something. But Marietta wasn't talking much because she was scared she'd get more ugly pimples. Good jinxing, by the way, Hermione."
Harry spared her a grin and she muttered 'thanks'.
He told them everything else-from Umbridge's outburst at his accusation to McGonagall's promise to help him find a way to prove it. He also told Ron, Hermione, and Ginny about what he had done to the office. Hermione grilled him for every detail. He answered her questions first in whispers as the other students around them continued to talk amongst themselves—throwing wild theories around about the many different ways Dumbledore could've defeated the six or seven Aurors. After a couple of hours, though, the sleepy Gryffindors began to trickle away in small groups back to bed, still murmuring. Harry looked up shortly after to find that the only people remaining were the D.A. members Neville, Ginny, Dean, Seamus, the twins, Angelina, Ron, and Hermione.
Fred was telling Harry and Angelina what happened to them all when the two of them were caught by Umbridge.
"That Montague git chased us up to the eighth floor, but we got the drop on him and shoved him into the Vanishing Cabinet up there." Fred chuckled and exchanged a high five with his brother. "You should've seen the look on his ugly face! Priceless, it was."
"When he comes out of there, you guys are going to be in big trouble!" Hermione scolded them.
"Nah…" George replied nonchalantly. "He won't turn up for weeks, probably. And then who knows where he'll come out?"
"Besides," added Fred, "We don't really care much about that anymore…"
"About what?" Ron asked.
"Getting in trouble," answered George.
"Especially now that Dumbledore's gone…" finished his brother.
There was a moment of quiet and then Hermione sighed. "Well we narrowly escaped, the four of us, didn't we Ginny?" Ginny nodded, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the hearthrug. "Cho actually hexed Pansy Parkinson from behind one of the stalls in the toilets, and well then we had to make a run for it because she was furious after that…"
"We ended up on the eighth floor with them," Ginny nodded in the twins' direction. "But we didn't know you guys stuffed somebody in a cabinet."
"What happened to you guys, Ron?" Harry asked. "I saw you and Neville making a run for it."
"Oh we tried to get to the library, but had to turn 'round because that Goyle fellow was comin' up after us." Neville answered.
Ron went on to explain that what really happened was just a game of hide-and-seek. All of them knew they were goners (at least the ones still out in the open who'd been deterred from finding safety), but they ran from Umbridge's squad of henchmen simply on the need to try every possible escape before finally giving in. They were dashing about in all directions, seemingly trapped on the seventh floor. Henchmen were trying in vain to catch them—hexes and jinxes were thrown at random. People hid behind the tapestry, the huge vases and the curtains. People tried to get back into the Room, but in the end the fight moved upward.
"Somehow or other we all ended up on the eighth floor…" Ron muttered, shrugging. "Me and this lot—we got chased up there, it just seemed like the place to go for some reason. We couldn't go down because they had that blocked. We heard the girls' voices up there so we ran for it."
"Then Parkinson and that Hacking kid came up after Crabbe and Goyle." Dean told Harry. "But there were more of us than them, so we kinda formed a circle around them." Both he and Seamus laughed. "It was wicked cool…"
"We would've really given them a good fight, too, but that tosser Snape came up and screamed at us all." George finished the story.
"He said if we didn't get back to our common rooms by the count of three he'd turn us all into spotted slugs or horny toads or some such things."
"Wish I could've been there…" Harry muttered. "I'd have shoved Malfoy in that Vanishing Cabinet…"
Declaring themselves exhausted, the boys all decided it was time to turn in. Angelina stood up with Hermione and Ginny, but she didn't move towards the stairs. Hermione leaned closer to Harry, who was sitting on the couch, staring off into space, and said quietly, "I really think we should talk about what happened some more, Harry. I have some more questions-"
"Can they wait until tomorrow?" Harry asked her wearily. "I'm kind of tired…"
"Oh. Of course. Sure…" Hermione stood upright again and made to follow Ginny, who was already moving up the stairs, but turned back uncertainly to raise a finger at him. "We'll talk first thing tomorrow?"
"First thing."
"You'll try and get some sleep, yeah?"
"Yes."
"And-"
"I know, practice my Occlumency, right?"
"Eh…right. Okay." There was an awkward pause, in which Hermione seemed to notice that Angelina was hovering, before a look of understanding landed on her features. "I'll leave you alone, then. G'night."
Harry was getting a headache.
Hermione left him, and almost immediately he lowered his head to his hands and closed his eyes. He squeezed them shut; hoping the darkness and the silence could still his aching brain. During the whole ordeal, he'd gone through stages of upset—from panic and despair to outrage—and now it was catching up with him as he sat by himself on the plush crimson sofa. He breathed in and out, feeling the aching swell painfully before receding again as he covered his eyes and forehead with both hands. Harry concentrated on his breathing…in and out…in and out…and a second later he felt cool fingers in his hair.
He looked up to see that Angelina was there, standing over him in the dark.
"Oh…" he whispered, letting his hands slip from his face as she ran her fingernails soothingly along his scalp. "I'm sorry, I forgot you were there." He sighed and she moved her hand in an exquisite way that made his whole head tingle.
"I'm here…"
He had closed his eyes again but now he opened them and looked up at her. Her expression brought him back to reality.
"Will you sit?"
Angelina took her hand away and sat down next to him on the couch. He leaned back against the cushions, staring straight ahead. The clock on the wall ticked slowly against the silence. She knew he was tired. She felt exhausted as well, though not nearly as on edge now that things had settled down a bit. She realized then that this was perhaps the longest amount of time that they'd been alone together in weeks. Angelina had an overwhelming desire to let all of the things she'd wished to tell him during the time they'd been apart spill out of her mouth. But truthfully she had no idea where to begin it. She settled on saying very clearly how she felt at that exact moment.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
"For not getting there in time," she answered softly. "I tried, I just—oh I feel like it's all my fault."
"Don't blame yourself, all right? They would've gotten to us eventually. If not tonight, then…" He felt himself unable to finish—the thought of it, of them…it was enough to make him angry again and he did not desire another headache. Harry fell quiet again and Angelina didn't attempt to speak more. They were sitting close to each other; their hands almost touched. The silence between them was not empty—in it Harry and Angelina were encumbered by all the things they wished to tell, but their mouths wouldn't part for relief. Harry stared hard at the empty fireplace whilst Angelina's eyes wondered to look out the window, where the blue-hued, starlit sky cast a pale stream of light into the dark common room.
How could he confess that he still really loved her? That he loved her more every day even, but every time he looked at her, every time he saw Malfoy…every time the other boy's name was even mentioned…he wanted to break something? Smash it to bits. And how could she tell him that she was wrong? It was as clear as day now to her that McGonagall's words made so much sense. Yes Harry had friends, and Harry had Dumbledore in the past to protect him and caution him, and Angelina tried to do that too, but that would not do. That wasn't her role in his life. He loved her because she wasn't any of those people, didn't he? And all she had to do was be there for him. She didn't like to think this—didn't like turning away from everything that Dumbledore had guided her towards, especially since he trusted her with such important information, but…she didn't think now, as she sat next to him, that keeping things from Harry was protecting him at all. It was crippling him.
She felt something brush against her fingers and she looked down to see that his hand was closing around hers. Angelina's gaze rose to meet his. Harry opened his mouth, his green eyes burning like embers in the dark, and closed it again. She saw his chest stiffen.
"What is it?"
"…do you…want to stay with me tonight?" he asked in a barely audible whisper.
Angelina felt her heart skip a beat as she looked into his eyes…the emotion she found there was so raw and genuine that it rendered her speechless and she could only nod slowly. Did this mean he had forgiven her finally? He looked so in need of her just then. She could not and would not deny him. Angelina wanted so much to be with him, this boy…oh this boy…of course her answer was yes.
Harry's hand gripped hers tightly for a brief moment, and he saw the reflection of the thin light coming in through the window in her brown eyes. That familiar, heavy rush of longing seized him and he let go of her to stand up from the couch.
"Wait there a minute."
Angelina watched him move out of the light and disappear quickly up the stairs. She sank herself into the comfortable softness of the couch pillows, folding her arms to hug herself tightly. She was vaguely aware of the swimming desire gathering in certain places that, when coupled with the anxiety and sense of despair that tonight's events had produced, made for an odd mix of feelings. As she waited she also realized that sooner or later they would need to talk. But when he returned and looked at her again this notion faded away.
He was carrying his Invisibility Cloak. "Come here."
Angelina frowned and stood up, thinking that they were going somewhere. Harry watched her coming, and when she was close enough to him he reached up suddenly and draped the cloak over their heads. It billowed down on them softly until they were covered with it. The hem stopped just at Angelina's ankles. "What are we-?"
Harry leaned in and kissed her before she could finish. His lips pressing on hers felt so good; it took her breath away. He parted her lips with his vigorously and seconds later his warm tongue was inside. He closed his arms tightly—possessively—around her as he guided her towards the couch. Just like the cloak shrouded them and hid them in the darkness, Angelina's desire and longing shrouded all her unrest from this dreadful night. They moved carefully back to the couch and he adjusted the cloak around them again as he lay down on top of her, already erect. Harry kissed her on the lips tenderly, almost lost in the task. Angelina cherished the weight of him—how she'd missed it.
The common room appeared empty but for the faint, haunting sounds of heavy breathing and moans of haste as the two of them labored against rapidly increasing desire. They undid buttons and pulled down zippers, shrugged off tops and kicked off bottoms doggedly. They kissed and bit down into each other's skin and stared into each other's eyes—both not thinking of much except the other and the desire that kept growing…Harry groaned in frustration as he fumbled with her bra. Once he got the clasp undone he yanked it off, causing her to pant wantonly and bite her lip as he stored it with the rest of their clothing.
Soon they were both naked; their clothes pushed down into the cracks between the cushions they lay on. The soft, silky fabric of the cloak made the hairs on Angelina's skin stand on end as they moved around underneath it.
Harry's body undulated against hers and Angelina reacted by opening her legs so he could settle himself between them. He swallowed, inhaling shakily—for he'd been thinking of being with her like this again almost every day without even realizing it. He was aching for her; his hesitation did not last long, such was the intensity of his need. With a gentle push he entered her; his flesh sinking down into the moist nectar of her sex as his breath escaped his nostrils in a slow, hot stream. Harry crushed his lips against hers and slid his tongue between them, grunting hungrily before he began to move, his belly sliding against hers with the gathering momentum.
Her rhythmic panting made steamy, rising circles in the fabric of the cloak. Unlike their first time, Harry did not seem to need guidance now and Angelina lost her head in the weight of his body, the steady thrust of himself inside her, the sounds he made against her neck…
Harry reached down and hooked his forearm under her leg, bringing her closer to him so that their skin became hot and damp with sweat as he steadily pushed in and out. Angelina arched her back, squeezing her eyes shut, no doubt becoming consumed by the intense sensation of pleasure that soared through her with each deep, throbbing stroke. Harry kept moving, faster and faster, everything in his head gone. She began to quiver inside, her senses filling up steadily.
Angelina's teeth closed round the soft flesh of his shoulder; her head swam as he made love to her with his face buried in her neck and his breath steaming her hair. She let out a long, shuddering whimper when Harry pulled out and then came down again hard—it sent her into a blinding fit of pleasure that shook her head to toe. Once her orgasm hit her; the walls of her womanhood contracting around his member as she became saturated with that warm, silken nectar; Harry felt himself drawing dangerously near his own explosive climax as he pumped now with renewed abandon. His hard, desperate strokes against her already over-stimulated clit racked her with heaving cries that drove him further and deeper and harder until he thought he would explode. A very visceral, burning, aching emotion struck him all over and mingled with the pain and pleasure seizing his body so all Harry could do was give in and let it wash over him.
She was trembling all over when it passed. Harry breathed as if he'd just run miles but she savored the forceful, throaty sounds vibrating against her collarbone and the prickly steam escaping his nostrils on her skin. Slowly the muscles in his back relaxed and he went limp in her arms, still taking deep, guttural breaths. Angelina's open mouth inflated and deflated the delicate fabric of the cloak as she gathered herself again.
After a long while in which both of them closed their eyes and drifted off into stillness that wasn't quite sleep but not quite wakefulness, Harry moved, turning his face away from her neck. Her damp hair peeled itself from his skin as he shifted, his head taking up extra slack in the cloak so that it inched its way up their ankles a little further.
"It's hot under this thing…" he muttered against her lips. She nodded lethargically. Harry's glasses were missing, but he could still just make out her features in the dark. She looked completely relaxed. He smiled against her mouth and kissed her a few times, feeling a poke of victory for the state of her.
He removed himself from her and they lay side by side under the cloak. Their feet and a few other parts were sticking out—Harry felt the cooler air from the common room in the tips of his hair and on his exposed shoulder. He didn't care. He stared sleepily at the ceiling through the translucent fabric and for a few happy moments he didn't worry about anything.
After a while Angelina turned on her side and rested her head on his shoulder. The cloak was disturbed again and now even more body parts were sticking out oddly. Anyone who came upon them would be quite confused and alarmed.
She watched him for a long time. His eyes had closed and his face was relaxed—he looked like any normal sleeping boy, but for the jagged rise of flesh peeking out from the mess of black hair clinging damply to his forehead. For that scar was a mark of something way beyond the ordinary, even by wizards' standards. All that time Angelina thought she was unconsciously treating him with kid gloves because he was two years her junior. Now she understood it wasn't just because of his age, but much more because of who he is—because of the things she'd heard, the tales they told about what had happened to Harry year after year. Did she honestly think that by hiding what was happening…that by trying to cushion all that awful stuff behind denial…she could somehow keep him out of harm's way? Keep him with her; keep his days ordinary and safe? No…no that was never going to be the case, and now she could finally see.
"Harry?"
Harry heard her whisper his name and he opened his eyes, turning his head to face her. It must have been late; the clock on the wall ticked very quietly, the night sounds outside the windows were running together in a chorus. "Hmm?"
Angelina sighed, studying his eyes. "I wanted to ask you something. You don't have to answer if you don't want."
"Ask me," he said seriously, his voice still sanded with the effects of their love-making.
"…what happens to you? When that magic—that power—comes over you?"
Harry stared at her, her question surprising him somewhat. He hadn't expected her to ask that of him for some reason. Rather he thought she might ask him if what they just did meant he wasn't angry anymore. Harry shook his head, a little lost for proper words to describe the feeling…after all he didn't understand it much more than she did. "I don't feel like myself. Like I'm another version of me…I guess…"
"What do you see? What do you hear? Is it…You-Know-Who? Can you hear him?"
"No," he concentrated on the memory of the sensation. Faintly…as he a lay there…he could hear the electric hum in his ears. "There's no sound but one."
"What is it?"
Angelina watched Harry shrug slowly, his eyes narrowed to the ceiling they could see through the Invisibility Cloak. "I don't know what it is. It's like static…not a voice. It's just a feeling."
"What does it feel like?" She pictured his wide, unseeing eyes in the dungeons. The eerie glow of magic surrounding them all as they tried time and again to stop him. "Does it hurt? Like your scar?"
Again, Harry shook his head. "No. I just feel angry. Very, very angry. I can't help it. It's all over me, running all through me."
"And are you sure it's your own anger?"
"Yes. No—I don't know. I feels like mine."
Angelina paused, still watching him. Then Harry tried to fight it, but one after the other recent events became prominent again in his mind, and he could not help reliving them—Dumbledore's warning: don't let it control you, Umbridge's wild eyes accusing him of practicing the Dark Arts, Snape's intolerance, and Malfoy…
Malfoy and Angelina.
"It is mine…" he muttered.
Becoming suddenly claustrophobic, Harry reached up and pulled himself from under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak. Angelina gasped and curled up underneath to keep herself hidden, but Harry needed air very badly—he climbed over the back of the couch stark naked and breathed in deeply.
"Harry?"
Harry's heartbeat had sped up and he took a moment to gather himself before turning and reaching down to pull the cloak from her face. A beautiful head seemed to grow out of the crimson velvet. Angelina stared up at him with alarm. He hesitated, but decided that he couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Now I need to ask you something."
Angelina's expression changed and she sat up, still clutching the cloak to her naked body. "Before you start—I think maybe you should put some clothes on…" she said calmly, almost as if she knew already what he would say.
Harry suddenly remembered that he was naked and hastily covered himself with a pillow until Angelina had fetched his boxer shorts from their hiding place under one of the cushions. He slipped into them and sat down next to her on the couch, running his hands through his hair several times, his cheeks burning.
"Okay…ask it." She hugged herself with his cloak, her body completely invisible below the shoulders.
"And you'll tell me the truth this time?" Angelina nodded; her eyes were wide and her pupils shining just the way they did on that rainy Valentine's Day afternoon in his dorm room. Harry stared at her, unable to stop the anger he'd only mentioned to her seconds before from beginning to develop deep inside him. "What did Malfoy say while you guys were waiting outside Dumbledore's office?"
She blinked at him impassively, but he knew she had heard and perfectly understood the question. It had been in the back of his mind the whole time he was standing there listening to Fudge try to get him to confess—the whole time Umbridge questioned him, Harry was thinking they're out there alone, out there with no one watching them and Angelina with no wand…
When she came in looking agitated he knew for certain. For all the chaos that ensued, Harry never lost that thought. And now that they were sitting here alone, he simply wanted to know the truth.
"He bragged about Marietta..." Her answer was matter-of- fact, but he could tell there was more. After a pause in which he did not breathe, though he was scarcely aware of it, she continued: "…and he kissed me again." Harry's expression grew dark and he grimaced. Angelina felt a faint fluttering against her face. It was warm and it disturbed a few strands of the limp hair that fell against her cheek. She knew what it was…
"You let him kiss you again?" He sounded like he was in physical pain, but behind that there lay something she was beginning to recognize in him more and more often lately…anger. Angelina could feel it vibrating off him like an invisible electric current growing stronger with each wave.
She had known that when they got into this it would be hard—especially because she was afraid of his reaction. But she also knew, from the moment McGonagall told them she didn't always agree with Dumbledore where Harry was concerned, that she should tell him everything she and the headmaster discussed that night. She owed it to him. This part, though, would have to come first. Fear was something she couldn't deal with anymore—not when it concerned Harry. She refused to be afraid of him. He was only just discovering this…whatever it was…but if she knew anything about him at all from their time together, she knew that he would never hurt her. They would fight, but she would be damned if she let things end up like they did before. She would not hurt him again either. The old stubborn Angelina kicked in just then.
Angelina sat up straight and shook her head before explaining: "It wasn't that simple Harry. He had my wand, and he got the upper hand before I could get it back-"
Harry stood up abruptly and swept past her, walking briskly around the couch with his fists clenching in and out and his jaw line hard-set with irritation. She had expected this reaction. He shook his head at her. "Angelina—what…? What am I supposed to do now?"
"You're angry."
"Yes!" he snapped; his voice sounded so helpless—this was the first time that night where he seemed to act his age. He looked frustrated but confused. Angelina felt terrible. The warm flutter was a breeze now, blowing her hair away from her face before drawing back. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, remember himself. "Do you want me to lose control? Are you trying to get me to…?"
"No. I want to be honest with you. I haven't been…I hid a lot of my feelings from you. And I hated it."
"You're not making any sense," said Harry desperately, "if you hated it so much—if you just couldn't stand hiding the truth from me, then why did you do it?"
"I don't know…" she answered honestly. "I thought I was protecting you."
"Are you fucking kidding me, Angelina?" Harry was pacing; those stunning emerald orbs of his turning her way every now and again; blazing with anger. "Jesus I'm not some child! I'm your little brother; I'm your fucking boyfriend. You don't need to protect me—I wanted to protect you!"
Damn it, Angelina, you idiot…of course he was right. Angelina stood up, still wrapped in the cloak—an odd sight of a girl with no physical body between her shoulders and her feet. She walked around the couch towards him. "What do you want me to do? What can I say? I'm an idiot, all right? I made a mistake—and you know how stubborn I am!"
A grunt of annoyance from him, and he rolled his eyes. "You and Hermione all day long…"
"What's Hermione got to do with this?"
"I mean it's all the same thing. Malfoy, Occlumency, my temper—it's all just people trying to control me, people trying to tell me that what I feel, and the things I want to do are no good." Subtle…very subtle, the changes. And perhaps Angelina hadn't noticed them before because she was either upset or so caught up in everything that was going on that she didn't recognize right away…but she could see now in the dark, in the quiet…
Harry's eyes did not look his own. They looked older; burning…the warm breeze fluttered and drew back, fluttered and drew back. His voice lowered, grew deep and was sanded with…something. He was talking like himself, but Angelina saw him differently. "There is something happening to me—something…something amazing! What I can do…how long has it been like this and I didn't know it?"
"Harry-"
"How long?" he stopped pacing and faced her. "And I didn't know it or couldn't feel it because everyone wanted to protect me from myself."
"You can't control it."
"If I learn more about it—if I try hard enough I know I can-!"
"And what about your Occlumency?"
Harry shook his head. "I-I don't know…I can't do it. I never could. Not with Snape…"
"Well what if someone else taught you?"
"Like who?"
"Anyone…"
"Who else is there? Professor Dumbledore is gone! He left me—he left me and I didn't ask him to do that! I would be much happier with Sirius than stuck here with him gone and no one but Snape to-!" Harry reached up suddenly and rubbed his scar, his face folding in the dim light with pain. Angelina rushed towards him, alarmed. "No—I'm fine." He pulled away slightly from her touch; she had reached up to press her hand to his forehead.
"You're getting upset."
"No, I'm okay. It's just…something is happening I think. He's feeling...anxious." He took a couple of steps away from her as she lowered her hand again. They stood facing each other near the two sets of stairs that twisted upward in separate directions.
The pain in his scar stung badly for a few seconds but began to recede. He felt the foreign itch of anxiety leaving him and he knew that Voldemort's connection was easing off. It had only lasted a second, but it was just as ominous as that glimpse of crazed happiness he felt after his first Occlumency lesson.
He was on the point of speaking again when they heard a noise from above them. Harry grabbed Angelina and together they toppled over the back of the couch, scrambling to cover themselves with the cloak. They froze in a tangle when they heard the unmistakable sound of sleepy footsteps on the stairs.
"What are you doing up?" Hermione's groggy voice. Harry could see the top of her bushy head peeking at him over the back of the couch. And, across from it, there was Ron's copper top.
"Thought I heard voices down here…"
"Me too…" There was a skeptical pause. Angelina held her breath, praying to god they wouldn't be caught naked on this couch by Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Harry saw Hermione step down…it seemed she was looking right at him. Another one of those looks of dawning came across her face and she backed up, retracing her steps.
"Um…I don't see anyone, so…"
"Hey…did you see something move?" Ron was squinting at them now. Harry held his breath. "Is that..?"
Also, Ron's face relaxed in understanding and he let out a low whistle. Hermione giggled. Harry rolled his eyes; a Charlie horse was developing in his calf. His two friends scuttled back up the stairs and out of sight. As quickly as it had come, the anger that had emerged before the disruption began to ease off. He let his legs relax and she untangled herself from him, starting to get up but he didn't move to allow her to.
"Just tell me one thing…" he whispered hoarsely, his face so close to hers that their skin touched in tiny places.
"What do you want to know?" she seemed earnestly devoted to telling him the truth and nothing but. He felt her hands gripping his back; his arms were braced against the sinking cushion.
"Did you like him back? At any time—did you, do you?"
"No." She said this without hesitation and he believed her. She leaned into him, hugged him tight. Harry closed his eyes and tried to let this reconcile the turmoil…but more questions appeared where that one had been. He lay there with her for a long time again. They fell asleep, but it was restless. Soon they both agreed they should go up to bed. There was no telling how late it was—neither of them bothered to look at the clock.
As Angelina slipped on her clothes, she found a way to verbalize what she wanted when she couldn't before.
"Harry…?"
He looked exhausted. Worried. And still a little angry. "What?"
She leaned into him, her face close to his, and whispered earnestly, "I love you."
"You do?" his voice cracked, she actually felt the muscles in his chest constrict under her hand that rested there. She knew he was trying hard not to become emotional. She remembered that night in his bed, with the moonlight illuminating his tears…
"Yes…" she whispered. Oh she was young, and he was even younger. There were many people who would say that they were merely teenagers flirting with their idea of what love is—some would say what they had was merely an example of teenage lust and teenage emotions running wild. There was life and death at stake—there was real danger. Those who'd long ago lost their grasp of innocence or genuine affection would only see the urgent coming together of a lonely boy and girl; everything was changing so rapidly that it was hard to tell where things would end up from one moment to the next. Of course these kids would cling to each other with chaos looming ahead of them at any turn…but Angelina always knew whenever she said this—the moment she said it—that she meant it. It was real; as real as anything.
"But, what about all this? What about what I did—what's happening to me? Aren't you afraid of m-?"
"Shh…I'm not afraid of you Harry." There was so much they needed to talk about; to do. But as she kissed him gently about the face, she saw him close his eyes and his shoulders relaxed and he looked so tired that she couldn't bear getting into all of that now. Enough was enough for tonight. If she knew there was a chance they could be together again, she could be patient. She could wait until tomorrow. "You should sleep now…" she let her hands fall from him and stood up reluctantly. He stood as well.
As she was walking around to leave him, resolved to spend the rest of the night alone with her thoughts and her hope and her disquiet, she felt him behind her and then his arms were closing round her waist. "Stay with me."
She almost breathed a sigh of relief.
"Okay…"
So Harry picked up his cloak, knowing full well this conversation wasn't over; knowing, as she did, that there was much more ahead of them—that there were things approaching with the dawn that they'd have to deal with, but together. He allowed her to lead him up to his dorm. Four snoring boys greeted them in the dark room, but the two of them walked through silently. They dragged their bodies into Harry's bed, Hedwig's glowing eyes following them vigilantly every step of the way.