Angela Cross and the End All Spell

Angela Cross and the End-All Spell

--a Harry Potter Universe fanfiction--

Chapter Twelve

**Finals**

Unfortunately for Filch, he was indeed the one that was cleaning up the resulting destruction for the next few days. Considering the extent of the damage the cleaning went by relatively quick though, as the new roof to the tower had to be delivered and installed by a separate crew; Filch's mood was unsurprisingly foul as he was forced to scrub away the blackened damage to the stairs and pick up the smaller bits of debris that were strewn about in the snow around the school grounds (word was that some pieces were found as far away as the neighboring town of Hogsmeade, but fortunately Mister Filch only had to concern himself with the parts that were on Hogwarts property). Some of the paintings higher up in the tower took nasty fire damage, but anyone in the pictures had successfully retreated to nearby paintings for safety.

The Slytherin girls, Angela found, were not expelled; the only two that had really paid attention to the fight were Angela and the old spinster in the painting, and in the end it was just their word against the others. True, they didn't say much of anything following the whole thing as they were in shock for quite some time (Millicent Bulstrode, the large girl, said nothing at all as she was relegated to the care of the school nurse Madam Pomfrey for the remainder of the term for severe mental trauma), but they at least had the sense of self-preservation to stick by their original story that Angela had just fallen down the stairs. As much as the evidence may have proven to the contrary, Angela found that a lot of wizard justice was based on word of mouth more than anything else.

Angela, on the other hand, finally found herself in the presence of the man she had been wanting to speak to ever since she had first met him nearly half-a-year back.

"Well," Professor Dumbledore said, taking a seat in Professor McGonagall's office along with the head of Gryffindor house sitting next to him, watching the girl intently. "My apologies young lady. I suppose I've been so engrossed in... other issues here and abroad that we've never had much of an opportunity to sit down and chat."

As Angela took a seat in front of the table at Professor Dumbledore's request, she found listening to the man speak a fascinating experience indeed; despite the fact that she had somehow blasted the entire roof off of the stairwell tower, Professor Dumbledore was conversing as casually with her as though she had just been invited in for afternoon tea. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, watched Angela intently and fastidiously; after the resulting display of destruction, she probably wondered if Angela was going to demolish the wall to her office for an encore. It was plainly obvious, though, that she trusted Dumbledore's assessment of the situation more than her own and left herself to his better judgment.

The bearded man pulled a small glass bottle with a cork stopper plugged into it from his robes. Swishing about in it was a murky, gray fluid that looked like water mixed with dark chalk. Dumbledore handed the bottle to Angela as she sat. "A little concoction from Madam Pomfrey," he said. "She assures us your injuries from this evening's unfortunate events are only superficial, though this bottle of Bruise Begone will be necessary unless you wish to feel particularly sore for the next week or two." Angela looked at the bottle with a little trepidation, then at Professor Dumbledore; hopefully she wasn't supposed to actually drink this stuff? The Professor nodded to her, seemingly knowing what was on her mind; it was probably an initial reaction that everyone had to having to drink something that looked - and after she uncorked it, smelled - as foul as it was. Taking a deep breath, Angela decided to get the experience over with as promptly as possible and downed the small bottle's contents in one swig.

It tasted as bad as it smelled. Angela did her best to repress her desire to wretch in front of the faculty. "Alas, your shirt and cloak sleeves are not so fortunate as to come away from the experience as intact as you yourself have. We shall have to do something about that before you leave.

"Now, I hope your experience at Hogwarts has so far been an educational one?" he asked quietly, adjusting his half-moon spectacles as he sat down in the chair opposite the young girl. Though it was mostly covered up by his long, white beard, he unmistakably wore an understanding smile on his face.

Angela nodded; good or bad, she couldn't deny she had learned quite a bit since she had first set foot into this new world of spells and sorcery. She found that she liked the fact he had asked this question as opposed to asking if she was actually enjoying herself; it seemed that while he wanted to make his students as comfortable as possible, their education was more of a priority to him than keeping them placated and smiling - this wasn't designed to be a vacation after all.

"Good, good," he said. "I haven't heard anything from Professor Quirrell regarding your additional research into the Book of Black as of late, and assumed by the silence from both of you that studies on the matter were proceeding smoothly. Hm?" His last questioning sound indicated he was hoping Angela would fill him in if this was not the case.

She promptly told him that this indeed was not the case.

As she got him up to date on all that had happened - of Professor Quirrell's lack of deeper investigation and of his reaction when she confronted him, of the fact she had told the Grey Lady her predicament but had never heard from her again following, of her situation that same evening and the symbols that crossed her vision and the power she felt as the magic words came from her mouth and resulted in the utter annihilation of the tower crown - Professor Dumbledore frowned, not angrily but pensively. This troubled him greatly, it seemed.

"Quirenius has done nothing?" he asked, just to be sure.

"No," Angela said with a shrug. "He just freaked out, then completely forgot I even spoke to him and went off like nothing happened."

"Hmm, peculiar," the man said, scratching his beard. "Professor Quirrell should have been one of the few immune to the Forget Me True charm."

"The what?"

"The Forget Me True charm," Professor McGonagall repeated for the headmaster. "It is a spell designed to prevent anyone except a select few from ever remembering the exact specifics of your special nature. Should someone other than those specified by the spell's original incantation learn that you gained your Twink status from the Book of Black, they would promptly forget it. Given what we have witnessed you capable of tonight I would assume you understand just why such a precaution was taken."

Again, Angela nodded.

"Still," she continued, "it is curious that Professor Quirrell didn't remember. He was one of the few entrusted with the knowledge so that he could help you learn about and control the Book's power. An event like tonight's shouldn't have even happened had you learned what you were supposed to."

"Just what did happen tonight?" Angela asked.

"We were hoping you might tell us, young lady," said Professor Dumbledore curiously. "It is not every day someone blows up part of the school. Maybe once a month, but that quota was already fulfilled by a young Hufflepuff student who was trying to do her Potions assignment in the Great Hall a couple of weeks ago."

Angela had already explained generally what had transpired between herself and the Slytherin girls, but this time she placed more emphasis on what she had seen an experienced when the symbols crossed her eyes and the power surged from her mind and through her hand. All the while, Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore listened attentively.

"I see, I see," said the wizard, pressing his fingers into temples as he thought about what he had just heard intently. "It looks as though the memory blocks are finally wearing off."

"Memory blocks?" Angela asked, raising an eyebrow.

"When you first gained the power of the Book of Black," he explained, "years ago in your childhood, you were not ready for those spells. Some may argue that neither you nor anyone else will ever truly be ready for them, but that is neither here nor there. As a precaution, and to hide the disturbing memories as well as any memories of yours or anyone else's that might have exposed our world to the Muggle community, the Ministry of Magic blocked the events involving Price Delgado from your mind. With your power as great as it could potentially be, we fully expected that one day, one way or another, those blocks would crumble and the spells would gradually surface along with your memories of that day. Being put into a threatening situation such as the one you experienced today helped break down some of those barriers in your memory."

Angela frowned. Someone had messed with her memories? She suddenly felt very violated.

"Now, it seems," he continued, "it will only be a matter of time before the rest come bubbling to the surface."

The young girl, her brow still knotted in a frown, took in a few breaths to calm herself down. She could see their point of view and understand just why it was done, but that didn't stop the fact that they had done it. Angela felt herself getting more and more upset at the thought that her mind had been tampered with.

Professor Dumbledore got up from his chair and walked up to Angela, kneeling beside her and putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. His touch was gentle, and as she looked up at his face and the crinkle that formed along the sides of his eyes when he smiled she indeed felt comforted. This was not a man, she believed, that was going to let something bad happen to her if he could help it, that she was sure of.

"I am sorry, my dear," he said quietly, "I know you must feel very hurt by this knowledge. I cannot do anything more, I am afraid, than apologize and tell you that it was necessary, for your sake as well as everyone else's." Angela sighed, pursed her lips, and nodded once more.

"If you say so," she said. Dumbledore nodded in return.

"What about the Gray Lady?" Angela asked. "She said she would talk to you about all this."

"She was not specified in the spell, I'm afraid," he said. "A few choice members of various governments know, as do myself, Professor McGonagall, and - until lately it would seem - Professor Quirrell."

"But I spoke to her for half an hour about it, she remembered it the whole time. Professor Quirrell forgot it only after a few seconds."

"The Gray Lady is a ghost, Miss Cross," interjected Professor McGonagall. "Certain spells take longer to affect those who do not physically possess a mind to remember with."

Dumbledore nodded his agreement. "Mm. Odds are the Gray Lady tried to seek me out. In the process though she forgot just what she was seeking me out for and continued on her merry way, same as Professor Quirrell."

"Professor Dumbledore," said McGonagall, "perhaps there was an error in the spell? Maybe we should recast it so that Quirrell will be able to remember it this time?"

There was a moment of silence as the old man thought. After a deep breath and a scratch of his beard, he answered her. "No. No, I don't think so, not just yet. I cast the spell myself and I was fairly certain I had it right the first time." He stood and looked at the two. "Let's let things play out as they are for now; there is a reason for this turn of events, of this I am certain."

"In the meantime," he said, turning to face Angela directly, "it would seem what happened this night will not be something we can so easily sweep beneath the carpet, as it were; I would be surprised if the entire school hasn't yet caught wind of just what happened. While the Forget Me True spell's enchantment ensures the Book of Black's involvement in all of this is not going to be public knowledge, at least not yet, the fact that your power came from somewhere will put you under a lot of scrutiny by the student body. They may very well put two and two together and learn that you are in fact a Twink."

Angela just shrugged at this. She never really cared about keeping that specific aspect about herself secret to begin with. As long as she could do magic like everyone else at the school, what did she care?

"It's ok," the young girl said. "I don't mind."

The Professors looked at one another, then back at Angela. Again, Professor Dumbledore smiled and nodded to her understandingly.

"Very well," he said, clapping his hands together. "Now then, with Professor Quirrell indisposed in this situation, as it were, we shall need a new mentor for you. I am afraid that I will not be able to perform this task personally, as there are certain situations going on at this very moment that I must otherwise commit myself to completely. As such, Professor McGonagall will take on the role in our stead. Will that be acceptable to you, Minerva?"

Angela and Professor McGonagall looked at one another for a moment. Angela personally liked the instructor, as she was no-nonsense and sharp as they came, and these were factors the young girl wanted when it came to her education.

"Certainly, Professor," McGonagall said without any hesitation in her voice. "We shall do our very best."

Dumbledore smiled and the twinkle in his eyes gleamed for a split second. "Of that I have no doubt.

"Now," he added on, his voice taking on a serious tone again, "there is one last order of business to attend to here..."

Angela tried to word her letter just right the next morning. She didn't know just what to say to her mother, as she was sure this would be a disappointment to her and probably result in a letter back full of questions she really couldn't answer at the moment, but she had no choice and wanted to at least let her know the two would not be seeing each other for Christmas that year.

Partway through the first sentence Angela set down the pen on the breakfast table and rubbed her temples, trying to come up with some decent wording. Sheri was bound to be disappointed, not just because she wouldn't get to see Angela but because she now wouldn't have any way of backing up her stories to her other family members that Angela was indeed going to magic school in England. And to be honest Angela was really hoping to strut her stuff in front of them, too, if anything just so her mother would be vindicated in the eyes of everyone else.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately? Aside from proving her mother right, Angela would have rather moved down into the storage halls with Grazzle Stumpfoot than deal with her crazy family for another holiday), Professor Dumbledore had made it very clear that from now on Angela was not allowed to leave the school grounds under any circumstances whatsoever.

The initial announcement of this the previous night had totally floored the young girl. She had absolutely nothing against the school, but this seemed like an awfully harsh rule to just drop on her like that. Was she being punished for blowing up the roof, she had asked, and the Professor told her it was nothing of the sort; after his explanation, however, she wished that had been the reason behind it.

"When you cast that first spell," he told her, "you drew into powers that have been untapped in eons. I am afraid, Angela, that you may have drawn attention to yourself that we had originally hoped to avoid." He had shaken his head, a little upset, and then continued. "Had your mentor been diligent, we might have been able to learn how to study the Dark Magic hidden within your mind and train you in its ways without anyone or anything noticing. But now, with that eruption of power you unintentionally released tonight, I fear this beacon may have drawn the eye of some very unsavory powers your way. Powers, I believe, that do not see you as the rightful heir to the Book of Black."

Angela had asked if he meant people like Price Delgado, but Dumbledore shook his head. "Far worse than Delgado, I am afraid," he said sadly.

Far worse than Delgado... From what the Gray Lady had told her that one day, Angela couldn't imagine off the top of her head just what could possibly be more awful than someone as infamous him. Dumbledore had continued by explaining to Angela that so long as she remained at Hogwarts she would be safe, that nothing could touch her or take her, but if she ever left the school property, even for an instant, she would have no protection and could very well be in terrible danger.

And so, until further notice, she was staying at the school year-round.

It wasn't the worst place one could be quarantined, she had to admit. But now that she knew she wasn't allowed to leave she suddenly felt a little confined; it was an annoying sensation that she wished would just go away.

As Angela sat, hunched over her parchment with her pen sitting on the finished oak of the Gryffindor table, she gave the table a quick glance. Nothing had changed since she had returned to the Gryffindor common room the night before: everyone was staring at her as though she had a flashing sign blinking on her forehead saying "I set fire to the stairwell tower."

Everyone. From every table.

At least the faculty were making an effort to curb their curiosity in the vain attempt to set an example for the other students, but as Professor Dumbledore acknowledged it wasn't every day someone blew up part of the school. It was even more rare that someone did it casting a spell without the use of a wand.

"You have got to show us how you did it. C'mon then, don't be a spoilsport!"

Fred and George had been begging her since the previous evening the moment she had returned to the common room to teach them the spell she used. Angela could remember the words she had uttered, but didn't want to say them in case she would accidentally melt everyone within range of her hands into a puddle of wizard-goo. She wasn't even sure if she could use the spell again if she tried, and even if she could use it and use it safely, after being told that she had probably drawn the attention of some horribly dangerous forces out there she didn't want to risk anything further until she and Professor McGonagall had done their homework on the matter.

The last thing she wanted on her conscience was giving the Weasley twins the capability of burning down the school with their bare hands. She was fairly certain they wouldn't do something so extreme, but in only half a year she had heard stories that all the same enforced the belief that teaching them Book of Black spells was a very, very bad idea. So Angela just ignored their imploring and continued to try and write her letter.

At least sitting over the parchment was helping distract her from all the eyes on her person. The one person she was really hoping to talk to though was Kathy, but her friend was nowhere to be seen that morning. Angela wondered if she had even heard of the previous night's events.

"Restricted section, right?"

"What?"

Fred had climbed over the table and plopped down next to Angela, a pleading grin on his face as he swung his arm over her shoulder.

"C'mon, you can tell us."

"We're your pals!"

Angela just looked at Fred and George with her eyebrow raised and a curious look on her face.

"No. I didn't go through the library's restricted section."

"Hmm... You had a firework stuffed down your shirtsleeve?"

"No."

"An invisible dragon living in the stairwell?"

"Nope."

"Hmm. Mass hypnosis?"

"Uh-uh."

"Oh! Oh! You were using one of those Muggle throw-flamers under your cloak!"

"... No."

And so on it continued throughout the entire breakfast period. Most of her fellow Gryffindors were staying quiet, waiting to see if the Weasleys would get her to reveal just what she had done, but Angela just kept her mouth shut on the details, tacking off no after no and focusing on her non-productive letter-writing. With almost no time left in her morning schedule and with barely anything written, Angela in the end just slapped together a quick note telling Sheri she would have to stay for the holidays and would write more details later. She left the many young gazes and the Weasleys to speculate the most outlandish possibilities imaginable - and none of them correct - as she hurried up to the owlery and sent Percy off with the note before sprinting off to Double Potions.

When she descended down the stone steps, her 'Lightning in a Bottle' in hand and ready for grading, and finally entered the Potions room, she was once again greeted by dead silence; the gaze of every student present (which Angela noticed did not include Millicent Bulstrode, who was still spending the remainder of the term in the hospital wing) met her arrival. As she walked down the leftmost isle, past the desks and towards her favorite seat in the front of the class, however, she noted the stark differences in glances she was getting: whereas most of the Gryffindors were looking at her in awe and excited curiosity, the Slytherins present watched her in both fear and anger. Angela caught a glimpse of James in the middle of the room, but his sunglasses and the class' poor lighting made reading his expression difficult; at least he wasn't frowning as far as she could see.

Sitting on the left-side of the cold, stony classroom, huddled in their group over one of the long wooden tables was a large group of Slytherin girls. Despite her own curiosity about the student reactions, Angela felt a small sense of personal satisfaction when five of the girls - the gang from the previous evening - quickly looked away and desperately tried to pretend they were doing something else as she made eye contact; she didn't expect they'd be making any attempts to mess with her again any time soon.

As Angela crossed the room, silence began to change into mumbling, then quiet chit-chat, then grew into out-and-out conversation. By the time the young girl finally took her seat, the room was loud and abuzz with speculation as to what happened, questions as to how she did it and why, compliments that she sure showed those Slytherin tossers who was boss, complaints that her irresponsible actions destroyed some very old pieces of artwork, even an accusation that she wasn't really human. Angela just put all her usual Potions equipment out on the table in front of herself and kept quiet - all the attention and curiosity was beginning to get really annoying.

Thank goodness for Professor Snape. The door to the class swung open and hit the wall behind it with a thunderous boom, and everyone in the room immediately shut up. The head of Slytherin house just stood there for a moment, silhouetted in the better light from the hall behind him, his eyes slowly scanning over every student in the room. When he was convinced that the noise had stopped, he headed to his podium at the front of the room slowly, taking his time as he did so.

"If you wish to gossip like a clutch of old witches regarding the events of last night then you are free to do so once you leave this classroom," he said quietly yet in a voice that carried across the room with amazing clarity, "but for the next two hours while you are in my presence, I trust you will keep your minds on your studies. As futile a request as that might be for some of you," he tacked on, shooting a scathing glance to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley on the other side of the room. As much as Angela appreciated Snape keeping the conversation for the time being away from her, she wasn't particularly pleased that he had used it as yet another attempt to take a potshot at Harry; it left her feeling angry and embarrassed for the rest of the lecture, which was doubly-annoying considering next week was the Potions term-final and the whole lesson was a comprehensive review of everything they had covered over the last months.

After-class didn't do anything to help her mood.

"Miss Cross, a moment of your time please," Professor Snape said as the students spilled out of the classroom once the lecture was complete. Angela, hoping she wasn't going to get chastised for all the chit-chat before class, looked around as the students left, watching her in return. The looks of curiosity were especially strong on the faces of Slytherin students, who were undoubtedly wondering what their teacher wanted with a member of Gryffindor house.

Snape spoke to her quietly, but as always his voice carried no matter what level of volume he used. Angela wasn't sure if he was aware of this or not, though she suspected what with his experience in addressing a classroom full of rambunctious teenagers he most likely was. "Professor Dumbledore filled me in on the details of what transpired between you and the other students last night in the stairwell," he said in a tone that made the young girl feel an oncoming feeling of dread. The way he paused at certain words made the whole process rather unsettling, and the fact that he was writing something on a parchment upon his desk and wasn't even looking up at her as he spoke made it even more so. "You say they attacked you, they say you fell. You have not given me reason in the time you have spent here so far to believe you are anything less than truthful. However, without evidence to the contrary I am inclined to believe the members of my house." Angela's heart sunk.

"Regardless. Be it self-defense or not," he continued, "be it due to your special circumstances or what-have-you..." He finally looked directly at her. "Should I find you have used any magic of a dangerous or otherwise unpleasant sort on a member of Slytherin house again, I will make it my personal mission in this world to see that you will never even glance at a picture of Hogwarts - much less set foot in this school - again. Do I make myself clear?"

Angela just nodded. She wanted to get out of the room immediately.

Professor Snape just looked her over for a moment, as though he was assessing whether or not she truly meant it, and then dismissed her with a nod.

As she left the room, an unpleasant pang in her gut but extremely glad that it was the weekend, she was greeted by a friendly face. Kathy was there, waving at her through the hoards of passing students.

"Angee!"

Angela smiled; it wasn't a great big smile, but it was one with a certain sense of relief. She felt somewhat exhausted from all that had happened over the last twenty-four hours and the fact there was finally a friend to talk to and vent about the whole thing present gave the young Gryffindor a feeling of reprieve from all the craziness.

"I'm so sorry I missed you for breakfast," Kathy said, crossing the hallway over to Angela as she exited the stairs from the lower depths where Potions was held. "I just wanted to make sure I got on the list when I heard."

"List? Heard what?"

"I'm going to stay with you here for Christmas!"

Angela just paused a second. "What did you hear?" she asked.

"Well, I overheard Professor Flitwick talking to Professor Dumbledore this morning while we were all headed to breakfast. I don't remember what the specifics were or anything, but I did hear that you had to stay here over the holidays because you blew up part of the school. I didn't want you to be lonely, soooo..." Kathy paused, wanting Angela to fill in the blank.

"... You're not going home for the Christmas break?" Angela asked.

Kathy nodded enthusiastically. "I tracked down Professor McGonagall in her office during breakfast and had her put me on that list of students staying on through the New Year. I went back to the Great Hall to tell you but I guess you were already gone to class or something."

"I had to go send a note to my mom about it. Listen, is it okay that you stay here because of me? I don't want you to miss seeing your parents or anything."

Kathy just rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. "Eh, I'll take the floo to see them for a couple of hours on Christmas Day, but I'll stay here with you for the rest of the time. It'll be fun!"

"We'll run the school!" Angela said, feeling a little more like joking now that she knew she wouldn't have to spend Christmas with the supply zombie or something for company.

The students at Hogwarts, Angela found, were a fickle bunch indeed. All day Friday she had been the talk of the school: there wasn't a hallway should could walk down or a location on the property she could relax in that didn't have someone making some comment, good or bad, about what she had done. Saturday was a different story, however, as the new topic of conversation was the upcoming release of some popular book from a toothy wizard named Gilderoy Lockhart called Year with the Yeti, just in time for the gift-giving season. That was coupled with the fact that with the upcoming exams no one simply had time to blather on about someone who laid waste to the stairwell tower.

It was a stark change from all the other days she had been at Hogwarts, for the corridors that normally had students flowing through them like a river of black robes and pointy hats were now practically empty save for those few who walked to and fro with their noses buried in a book or the odd student who used the halls as a resting place while they sat and did assignments or researched in books. The library itself was gridlocked with students packed like sardines in chairs and tables; Madam Pince was practically manic, and Angela decided to avoid the library as much as possible.

The mountains of snow that had been forming over the last week outside made using the outdoors as a study area completely impossible, and finding an uncongested location to study in was a task indeed considering how space inside the school was a premium; a stone building in freezing conditions left few rooms warm enough to actually concentrate in while cramming for finals. Some students asked Angela if she would set fire to some of the other parts of the school just to heat the building up, but Angela politely declined with a smirk.

It was on Sunday that Angela and Kathy found themselves sitting at a table in one of the old study halls that had been blessed with a fireplace, comparing their Transfiguration notes. The study halls in Hogwarts were functional but not very ornate or comfortable, not blessed with soft furniture like the common rooms or as beautiful to look at as the Great Hall; lots of tables, lots of study materials, lots of hard, rickety chairs, but all very plain and hard on the back and rump; the windows also could have used some sealant as the rare cold breeze seeped in and stunned whoever happened to be passing by at the time.

Unfortunately, winter term finals involved very little application work - at least for first-years - and the girls were busy going over all the rules for proper Transfiguration magic usage for Professor McGonagall's upcoming written exam. Angela had always done well on tests in the past and was fairly certain she'd be doing fine on the upcoming week, but all the same with these being her first major tests in the field of magic she wanted to make sure she was on the ball. As the two poured over the notes they had taken during their lessons, Jason walked up to them, his pointy black hat on his head and yellow and black Hufflepuff scarf wrapped comically around his face so that only his eyes and the bridge of his nose showed.

"K'aplagh!" he said with a high-arced wave of his hand, his voice slightly muffled under the scarf.

There was a pause.

Angela raised her eyebrows. "Gesundheit?"

Kathy smiled and waved politely at the Hufflepuff, though she was engrossed in her notes and didn't allow herself to get too distracted, burying her nose back into her notebook. The other four students sitting at the round table just gave the young boy a fleeting glance before going back to their own studying.

"So, um, how's it going?"

Angela smiled and shrugged. "Studying, same as everyone else." She wondered just how much studying Jason was doing; for someone in a house reputed for its work ethic, she didn't often see him working on much except whatever crazy spell modifications he felt like playing with at the time. "How about you?"

Jason pointed behind himself towards the open door leading into the hall beyond. James was standing there, throwing them a nonchalant wave. She made a mental note that unlike Jason he never seemed to wear a hat; considering how immaculately he maintained his hairdo, odds were he didn't want to mess it up with one.

The Hufflepuff boy pulled his scarf down a little so that his face could finally be seen fully. "We were passing by and saw you two in here, just wanted to say hello, see how you're doing after that whole thing the other day... That sort of thing." Jason frowned as he brought up the incident from Thursday night. "Are you doing ok?"

"Oh yeah, no sweat," Angela said with a dismissive wave and a reassuring smile.

"You sure? I mean, I don't know if it's just a rumor or what but it sounded like you got beat up on pretty heavy." He frowned some more and looked like he was getting a little upset; his demeanor had altered from its usual silliness. It was a little disconcerting to see him look serious for a change.

"Bah! They won't be messing with me again," Angela said, flexing her arms in a display of mock-bravado, if anything in an attempt to convince Jason she was alright so he would go back to his usual lighter disposition. He didn't look entirely convinced and kept looking pensive. "I'm fine, so no worrying, okay?" she said.

Wages made a limited attempt to smile. He didn't look like he was going to lighten up while his mind was still on the subject of her being in a fight.

"Aaanyway," Angela said, wanting to change the subject before Jason got any more preoccupied with something she considered her own problem, "what's with your anti-social friend? Why doesn't he come in and say hi with you?"

"I wasn't sure that he should, so I told him to stay put for a sec. I was kind-of worried he might draw more attention to you from the Slytherins and didn't want to take a chance any more trouble your way."

Angela sighed. It was the subject that wouldn't die.

"It's okay, I'm not worried about it." She bent over the table a little more so she could make better eye contact with James and waved him in. Obviously glad not to be stuck in the cold hallway any longer, James came in quickly and joined the group.

Unlike Jason, James didn't say word-one about anything involving Thursday, nothing about either the fight, the destruction, or even blowing off their conversation during Flying class. Meanwhile, it was nice that unlike the other students, Jason was more concerned with her being hurt in a fight than obliterating the stairwell tower, but it was still a subject she didn't feel like delving on anymore. Jason apologized again (since James hadn't said anything) and she quickly assured him (again) it wasn't a problem and promptly switched topics to the upcoming finals.

The twosome grabbed a pair of chairs from a nearby table at Angela's behest (they were creeping her out, hovering around her while standing and worrying) and took a seat by her and Kathy, telling about their own efforts for prepping for the tests. James apparently knew all the material backwards and forwards, though he still seemed rather intense about the upcoming exams and had been studying profusely every chance he got; his study schedule sounded downright competitive. Jason nodded and gave the girls a don't mess with him when he's studying look.

Meanwhile, Jason assured everyone he knew what to do for the tests as well, though his study habits were confirmed as being utterly atrocious. "I'll get to it, I'll get to it," he'd say, along with "I'm sure I'll do fine on them." James just smiled weakly and gave the girls a look that conveyed he wasn't as convinced of Jason's competency as Jason was.

A space opened up at the table as the group chatted, leaving enough room for Jason to scoot his chair up and for James to take the open seat, so the foursome decided to spend their afternoon studying together. As studying materials were placed upon the dull wood of the table it was interesting to compare just what the four of them had prepared for the upcoming week: Angela never was much of a note-taker, usually absorbing the information as the teachers originally presented it, but as she was new to the world of magic she kept fairly comprehensive notes this time around just to be safe; Kathy's notes were reasonably good, though she seemed to need them more than Angela did so it made sense that she had more written down; Jason's notes were surprisingly extensive (when the heck did he take so many in class?), though unsurprisingly they were covered in doodles, sketches, and cartoons, mostly of spaceships and people in Star Trek uniforms blowing up dragons - why he made so many notes and then essentially refused to use them Angela had no idea; James' study materials, on the other hand, were disturbingly detailed, organized, outlined, long, and bordered on obsessive - no wonder he spent so much time studying them, she thought, it would probably be faster just to memorize the books themselves.

And so the day went by, the four of them hanging out, going over their lessons and chatting about this and that. As they day passed on, Angela could see many of the students in the study hall stealing occasional glimpses of them; Jason was being a little noisy, but the rest of the group wasn't drawing any unwarranted attention, she thought. Perhaps they were seeing if Angela intended to blow anything else up before the school week started.

Written exams at Hogwarts turned out to be a lot like written exams in any other school... Except that Angela had never had Muggle teachers that expected as much from their students as these wizards and witches. Professor McGonagall's term exam was mind-rendingly challenging, and all the other class exams were nothing to shake a stick at, either; the only one that Angela was sure she had aced was Astronomy. Professor Sprout's written exam was comparatively easy to all the other tests, though this was probably because Sprout made it quite clear to her students that she didn't think much of tests that didn't require a hands-on component; she assured them that the end-of-the-year test in her class would be much, much more demanding.

When Thursday afternoon rolled around, Angela stepped out into the low snow that blanketed the grass surrounding the castle in a flat, white sheet and looked around at the high, cloudy sky; there was no blue that day, just an overcast that extended forever between both horizons. The atmosphere between the clouds and the ground was clear as could be, and the air seemed almost still, as though it had been trapped in a white bubble and had nowhere to go.

She had finished Professor Flitwick's final a few hours earlier and still had her Potions final to prepare for; she was sure Professor Snape's test would be in league with the difficulty of McGonagall's, if not more so, and with so much left to do she really didn't want to waste time having to stick around in Flying class. Madam Hooch's exam was the only one of the term that had a hands-on test and no written exam, and none of the students could leave until everyone had completed their first basic flight component.

Most of the students were arriving at the same time, as it was awfully cold outside and only hardcore students like Hermione came early to freeze their toes off in the snow. Madam Hooch was there, waiting for the others to show up; her black uniform looked insulated enough to keep her quite comfortable in the cold air, and she looked particularly pleased with the flying conditions for the day, an enthusiastic smile on her face as she looked around at the students and the practice field.

Angela, arms stuffed in her cloak and feeling especially thankful for her thick gray leg socks, made her way over to the group of students gathering by a single broom Hooch had placed on a cleared patch of grass. A collective gasp and a quick shuffling of bodies took place as most of the girls from Slytherin swiftly maneuvered themselves to the other side of the group and away from the young Gryffindor; it sounded like a sudden stampede of spooked cattle in response to her arrival.

Time to start the final lesson of the season arrived and Madame Hooch strode in front of the group, separated from them by the broom that sat before her person. She mumbled to herself as she looked over the group of students, then frowned. "Where's Bulstrode?"

"Um..." A young Slytherin girl rose her arm nervously and when Madam Hooch looked to her for answers, all the girl did was carefully - and a little fearfully - point at Angela.

"Mm? OH! Oh, that's right, I remember now." And that was that, Hooch apparently didn't give the matter a second thought, going straight into the lesson.

"Very well, this is the final exam for this term's flying lesson. Next term we will focus on advanced studies of flight, and if you pass you will be permitted to bring your own broom to Hogwarts next year. However, in order to advance that far you will need to pass this test. If you fail, you will have to retake Flying Lessons all over again with the first-years when you are second-year students. I have not had a student fail this exam in ten years, and he was an utter dunderhead, so I expect that unless you are on the Quidditch team I will not be forced to see you again in your second year at Hogwarts." She gave all the students present a scathing gaze, essentially letting them know she would not be pleased if anyone didn't pass this test; half the students present, including, noticeably, Neville, made a deep gulp in worry. "I will now call each of you by name. When you are called, you will come up, summon the broom to your hand, and mount the broom; I will grade you on proper mounting and form. You will then lift up and perform all the basic maneuvers we have learned this term as I call them out to you. Again, I will grade you on skill, adherence to rules of flight, and overall control. When you are done, you will land properly in this exact spot and return to the group. This is not a timed exam so don't rush it, though it is a cold day so try not to keep your fellow students waiting to freeze while you figure out what you're doing."

Most of the students began to mutter worriedly amongst themselves; Angela looked at the others, trying to gauge just how confident they were about the upcoming test. Draco Malfoy looked positively energized, looking forward to demonstrating his advanced skills, whereas Neville unsurprisingly looked like he was about to suffer a coronary. Funny enough, Hermione did too, though most likely because she was worried this was the one exam she couldn't be completely ready herself for by reading books; from what Angela had seen, she appeared to be a competent enough flier, though certainly not the best in the class. Angela found herself feeling somewhat detached as she looked around; she supposed it was from the fact that Madam Hooch wasn't going to be expecting anything from her exam-wise.

"Lavender Brown!" called the coach, and Lavender walked over to the broom, a thoroughly nervous look on her face; it was tough having a name that started with B, as the young girl was often the first called for everything and never got to get a little reprieve by seeing what others did before her. At Hooch's bequest, she called Up! to the broom and then mounted it, standing in place as the instructor walked around and marked some notes off on a tablet she held in her hand. Other students watched carefully, making mental notes as to what Hooch looked for.

"Now, up you go," the instructor said, and Lavender rose into the air, her legs wrapped carefully around the old broomstick. When she was twenty-feet into the air, Madam Hooch began instructing her to fly forwards, backwards, strafe side-to-side quickly, rise and drop a number of times, spin in place, and even hang from her broom upside down with her arms and legs; it all began to remind Angela of a what a Muggle driving test was supposed to entail. To Lavender's surprise, Hooch then told her to fly freestyle for one full minute in any manner she wished, incorporating each of those same moves in the flight; she could make it as mundane or as energized as she liked, though the more creative she could be on the fly the better - despite the groans at this comment, Angela didn't think Madam Hooch intended for it to be a pun.

Still perched on her broom, Lavender thought for a moment about what exactly to do, and then nodding that she was ready to the coach, who had a large silver stopwatch handy, she kicked forward. Lavender was not a bad flier at all it seemed, flying carefully in an upward spiral as though she were circling up a mountain, then when she reached the drop with her broomstick pointed up into the air she dropped backwards through the center of her invisible mountain slowly and came to a stop a few feet off the ground; as Brown flew, Hooch called out every fifteen seconds to let her know how much time had passed. Lavender then moved forward again at about five-miles-an-hour, sweeping side-to-side and up-and-down as she went in a wide and wave-like motion. Fifteen seconds to go. Lastly, on her final sweep she arced her broomstick all the way over and hung there, upside down as she still moved gradually forward.

"Time! Nicely done, Miss Brown, you may land now."

A look of utter relief on her face, Lavender brought the broomstick in to a nice and clean landing and rejoined the group. The Gryffindors applauded and cheered; another benefit of always being first, Angela noted, was that she often got a lot of praise for her efforts as no one else thus far had had a chance to out-shine her, nor had the audience gotten bored of the proceedings yet.

"Next. Vincent Crabbe."

Slytherins cheered him on, trying to outdo the ruckus their Gryffindor counterparts had made just before. The large boy trudged up to the broom and summoned it to his hand, then got on the broom as Madam Hooch judged him on his stance. She then sent him into the air and had him do the same basic maneuvers as Lavender made earlier. Unlike her, though, his movements were sharp and clumsy; he seemed to still be determined to force his broom to do what he wanted instead of letting it move some on its own. Madam Hooch's face showed no acknowledgement of the difference in ability between them as she then instructed him to perform his freestyle portion.

Vincent did the bare-bones minimum and that was it; the only part he seemed to put any heart behind was moving forward, which he did quite haphazardly, having to stop himself just before running into a nearby tree. With twenty seconds to go, he just sat there on his broom and didn't budge an inch, and where she had been emotionless before Hooch was now visibly annoyed that the young boy hadn't put more effort into it, shaking her head and making a number of scribbles on her tablet. Angela doubted Crabbe particularly cared if he got high grades, so long as he just passed the class.

The large boy landed his broom and lumbered over to his classmates, who despite his lackluster performance still cheered him on.

"Next. Angela Cross!"

Angela's eyes popped open and she felt her stomach immediately knot as though she had an ulcer. She was expected to take the test?? There were some immediate mutterings from the students again, both houses, as Angela looked at Madam Hooch quizzically; everyone present knew she couldn't do anything with a broom, and like her they had expected Hooch would just skip her name and go to the next student.

"Well? Come on, we don't have all day," said the hawkish instructor.

Feeling impending doom fall upon her shoulders, Angela slowly stepped out of the group and up to the worn wooden practice-broom, looking at Hooch as she walked; she hadn't taught her for a long time, perhaps she had forgotten that Angela couldn't use a broom? Angela quickly hoped the coach would at least remember her promise to pass Angela from earlier in the year, regardless of performance. When she finally arrived at the broom, everything was quiet. Her fellow Gryffindors had, unsurprisingly, not cheered her on as Crabbe and Brown had received on their turns up, and when she scanned the group she was equally unsurprised to note that the Slytherin girls that had avoided her earlier were feeling gutsy enough to throw amused glances her way; they knew the embarrassing display that was about to follow was as close a payback as they were going to get for the week before, and they were determined to milk it for all it was worth.

"Lift the broom and mount it," Madam Hooch said. As the coach didn't specifically tell Angela to summon it to her hand, perhaps she did indeed remember Angela's inability to fly. Angela picked the broom up with her hands, which already resulted in some sniggering from the Slytherins, and as she straddled it she tried to remember the exact pose she had been taught from her first lessons; she hadn't gotten on a broom in such a long time that she wasn't sure she was doing it to Hooch's specifications, but she was fairly certain she was mirroring Lavender's posture accurately. The teacher walked around her and made marks on her tablet.

"Now, I know you've had some difficulties in getting airborne, Miss Cross," she said, trying to avoid saying that outright that Angela had a better chance of flying in a paper airplane than on that broomstick, "so just try to simulate a kickoff as I showed you in the past and then you can return the broom to the ground."

"Everyone remember to take notes," muttered Pansy Parkinson, just loud enough that Angela could hear her. The girls giggled again and Angela forced herself to ignore them.

The other students were being graded on flight skills and Angela was being graded on a simulated kickoff: it felt utterly ridiculous that she had to do this just to pass the class. Well, she thought to herself, at least Neville won't feel so nervous about his own broomstick abilities after he sees me in inaction.

Taking in a deep breath and gripping the wooden shaft, Angela slapped her right foot to the ground. What followed was a heady sensation and a whooshing noise, the sensation of sudden weight pressing down on her shoulders for a moment and pressure thrusting against her entire body from below, and all accompanied with the growing collective gasps from below.

But Angela didn't think about any of that. She was too busy trying to catch her breath and trying not to yelp wildly.

She was airborne.

The young girl's heart was beating rapidly, excitedly, thumping so hard in her chest she wondered if it would explode. On her face she could feel her smile was so big that her face felt taut and her cheeks began to hurt.

After half-a-year of sitting miserably against a stone wall and trying to avoid looking up into the sky where her classmates were zipping about euphorically, she was finally airborne on a broom. She wanted the sensation to never end.

"Miss Cross!"

Angela yanked herself out of her rapture and looked down to where Madam Hooch had called her. She was surprised to see she was about forty-feet off the ground and still rising steadily. Visions of Neville's first flight began to dance in her head, and Angela didn't want to cap off the term with a repeat performance of her own. Quickly she ran over the entire season's lesson that she had been privy to in her head and tried to remember how to bring herself back down.

Taking in a deep breath and trying to calm herself, Angela slightly dipped the nose of the broom downward, just enough so that she'd descend and not actually move forward. The broom ceased its ascent and smoothly moved downward until she had it balanced at around twenty-feet. Below her was the wide-eyed gawking of both the Slytherin and Gryffindor classes, as well as an expression of shock that she hadn't expected on Madam Hooch's face. Before letting too much time pass or letting her joy get the better of her, Angela swiftly tried to remember everything she could about flying. How was she going to move side-to-side, or backwards, or move forward fast instead of at a snail's pace? What was she going to be able to do for her freestyle portion?

"M-Miss Cross, descend at once and dismount your broom!" commanded Madam Hooch, almost livid with anger. Angela certainly hadn't been expecting that.

Carefully, Angela returned to the ground and put the broom on the snowy grass, keeping her eyes on the teacher to see if she could figure out what she was so upset about. Then a thought crossed Angela's head: Madam Hooch didn't think Angela had been faking all this time just to get out of class, did she?

"All of you wait here for a moment, I need to have a chat with this young lady." She immediately strode off out of earshot of the other students, and confused Angela quickly followed. None of the students, not even the Slytherins, said anything here; they probably were hoping to be able to overhear Hooch and find out just what the deal was with the girl's suddenly-evident flying abilities.

Hooch walked Angela over to the other side of the field, aware that others wanted to eaves-drop and making sure the two were out of hearing range, and when they had finally walked long enough the coach swung around - totally startling the girl - and looked Angela square in the eye with a disturbingly penetrating gaze.

"How long have you been able to fly, Miss Cross?" she said with quiet, carefully controlled growl.

"I never could before now!" Angela said, waving her arms and trying to placate the teacher desperately. "This is the first time, I swear."

"I'm serious, missy. If you just faked this condition to skip out on lessons..."

"I totally promise," Angela said in an attempt to mollify Madam Hooch, "I never could do it before now. There's no way I would have skipped this class if I could have helped it, I've been wanting to fly more than anything!"

Hooch looked at her carefully, squinting her yellow eyes and turning her head just slightly as she judged the veracity of Angela's proclamation. Angela stood there, somewhat worried that Hooch would fail her on the spot just as soon as she first gained the gift of flight. Well, if she failed at least she might be able to take the lessons again from scratch with the next year's first-years and get a complete education on it, though truthfully it was small consolation: she wanted to fly now!

Hooch pursed her lips and took in a deep breath. "Miss Cross, you swear to me that this is the very first time you've ever left the ground on a broomstick? You aren't trying to slide one by me?"

"Promise!" Angela said earnestly, hoping this situation was turning in her favor and that Madam Hooch had decided to believe her.

There was another pause. Angela looked around at the practice field, wondering just when she'd get a chance to use it, and caught a glimpse of the students across the ways who had given up trying to hear anything and were now chatting amongst themselves. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were standing at the head of their two groups, arguing on about something or other as usual; couldn't those two keep cool heads just once without a teacher having to babysit them?

"Very well, Miss Cross, I'll take your word for it."

Angela's heart jumped.

"However..."

Angela caught her breath. That didn't sound like a good However.

"... now that you are apparently able to use a broomstick, I'm afraid you must pass the entire test, just like everyone else."

Angela was rather surprised at this. "But I'm serious, I've never been able to use a broom before. I've never had a chance to practice any of the moves everyone else has been going over all term."

"I understand, really I do-"

"Maybe you can give me a little while to practice and give me a make-up test after the Christmas break or something?"

"Miss Cross, I truly sympathize with your situation," the teacher said with an air of finality, "but regardless of whether or not you've been able to actually use the broom, you've been present for all the verbal lectures I've delivered. You have been watching the others all term long. I don't expect you to be able to catch a golden snitch or anything spectacular, but you should be able to make your way through the bare basics."

Angela just looked at her, hoping she might change her mind, but Hooch was steadfast in her decision.

"I'll keep your inexperience in mind while I grade you, but you need to take the final along with all the others."

Angela sighed and nodded. She'd just have to do her best. Quickly her mind started rifling through all the lessons she had seen and all the moves Lavender pulled off, even what Crabbe had done: he may have been an utter blockhead, but even he had passed, and that meant she could too.

The two returned across the white ground to the gaggle of students which were now enraptured by Harry and Ron tossing insults back and forth between Draco and his pals. As soon as they noticed Hooch they immediately shut up, a dirty glance shooting between them. The other students diverted their attention from the boys and looked at Angela and the teacher, wondering what fate was going to befall the young Gryffindor. Was she going to be failed? Was she going to pass automatically? Was she going to be expelled for faking flying-inability to the coach? Angela doubted any of them really cared what the fate would be as long as the results were entertaining.

"All right, Miss Cross, back on the broom." Some of the Slytherins awww'ed as they realized Angela wasn't going to be immediately failed. To Angela's surprise, quite a few of the Gryffindors began to cheer at her; some of the students were visibly glad she wasn't in any obvious trouble, after all.

Angela stood by the broom and was about to pick it up by hand, when she stopped. She smiled to herself and placed her hand over the prone stick, opening her palm taking in a deep breath.

"Up!"

Whack! The broom shot right up off the ground and slapped itself into her hand, and Angela immediately curled her fingers around the shaft, a big toothy grin on her face as she did. There were immediate mutterings from the students as they began to realize that Angela was going to take the test along with them.

"She hasn't taken any classes though..."

"... doesn't know what she's doing..."

"Remember Neville's first day on the broom?"

"This is going to be a disaster."

"... playing favorites with Gryffindor again..."

"Hush, all of you!"

The students quickly clammed up as Hooch grimaced at them. The instructor then looked back to Angela, who had straddled the broomstick and got into position.

Madam Hooch ordered Angela to lift up into the air twenty-feet, and Angela carefully kicked off the ground as she had done before. Again the euphoria surrounded her as the broom ascended upwards, Angela feeling her feet letting go of the snowy white earth. The teacher then directed her through the basic moves of flight she had made Brown and Crabbe pull off.

It was as natural as walking. She had never used a broom before, and she found herself pulling off every single strafe, lift, drop, twist, and stop with utter perfection. There was growing cheering from below as Gryffindor students stopped being awed and rooted on their classmate. Despite the apparent ease of it all, Angela found her fingers hurting and eyes drying out: she hadn't even realized she was holding the broom as tight as she was and hadn't been blinking the whole time.

Again, she took in a deep breath and loosened her grip on the shaft carefully. She didn't fall or lose control or even wobble slightly; this was even easier than she had originally thought. Angela used the opportunity to look around her and truly appreciate where she was now: above the ground the wind was just slightly stronger, though it was still just a tiny breeze as the endless horizons of gray and white stretched out everywhere. Below her, slightly smaller, were the students watching her go, and Madam Hooch, who despite maintaining an air of utter professionalism as she made notes on her tablet couldn't help but give her a small smile of encouragement.

"You now have one minute to perform your freestyle portion of the exam, Miss Cross," she said. "Just do what you feel comfortable with, don't take any unnecessary risks."

At this moment, Angela didn't think there was a thing she could do on that broom that would have been risky - it felt like it was a part of her and had been forever. Angela grinned and in a bolt of speed shocked not only the students and instructor, but herself as well.

"I, uh, didn't think those old heaps could go that fast," Ron Weasley stammered out.

Angela was a black blur, her robes fluttering behind her wildly as she zipped around the perimeter of the practice grounds at blinding speed. She felt like she was moving as fast as a sports car and had never felt so elated or free in her life. After a couple of laps around, Angela stopped herself abruptly, bent the nose of her broom down for just a second, then pulled upward and shot into the sky like a rocket. She spun and spun into the sky, wondering just how high she could go, but she quickly remembered this was a test and Madam Hooch would actually have to see her to grade her. So Angela slowed and let her broom hang upside down for a moment before arcing back down and shooting towards the ground like a bullet. Students backed away quickly as they feared being hit by Angela-debris should she smash into the ground at that speed, but with only a few feet left the young Gryffindor twisted her broomstick to the side and came to a mock-skid, stopping herself only an inch from the snow. To close off her exam, Angela backed her broomstick in midair and straightened it, resisting the urge to making a little beep-beep noise like a backing truck, and came completely straight as she brought herself to her feet.

There was total shocked silence and wide eyes from everyone, including Madam Hooch. With the flight over, Angela suddenly noticed she was breathing heavy, her breaths coming out in small evaporating puffs; she was so happy that moment she could have cried.

The silence continued, and Angela looked to Madam Hooch before the instructor finally caught herself and blinked embarrassedly, looking at her tablet and making some quick marks.

"Yes, er, now dismount the, um, broom, Miss Cross..." she finally got out.

As Angela placed the broom carefully in the snow and stood upon her feet again, she suddenly felt very wobbly. The adrenaline of the whole incident was pumping through her and Angela immediately wanted to hop back on the broom and see how long it would take her to circle the globe. She was broken out of her thoughts as her ears were pummeled with thrilled, awed cheers; her fellow Gryffindors were amazed and were more than happy to let her know it. Meanwhile, the Slytherins... Angela shot an evil, satisfied glance at the girls, who carried a weird mixture of utter shock, pent up fury, and total terror in their eyes.

It was a good day. A very good day, indeed.