This story is an AU, set during the fifth book, The Order of the Phoenix. Now, while it is set during that general time frame, it does not strictly adhere to the details of those events, nor the order that they took place in the book. So you should know before you continue that I have made changes (many, many changes) to the real HP Universe in order to better suit my story.
This story is a Harry/Angelina romance.
Flames. Flames are not banned—but there is a request I'd like to make. If you really don't like the fic, please explain why. Constructive criticism will help me as a writer, not only by helping me to understand how my story could improve, but also by allowing me to see what other authors find particularly appealing/unappealing about my writing.
Please review. I didn't write this thing for me, I wrote it for you! Let me know what you think! That would be so great. Thanks!
I don't think I need to tell you that Harry Potter is not mine. But I just did, so…there.
Harry Potter Fan Fiction by Kendra
Chapter One: Second Kiss
The rain was coming down in sheets.
Harry was soaking wet and shivering slightly. He could hardly see through the fog on his glasses, but even if he could, it would still be near impossible to catch a glimpse of that little golden gnat of a ball, the Snitch, through the curtain of rain. The only clear sound above the pounding rain was of Angelina Johnson's whistle, which sent out a shrill blast every few minutes.
The sound hit his eardrums yet again, followed by Angelina's booming voice. Harry had no idea how she managed to keep it that loud over the noise of the rain so consistently without magic. The girl had quite a set of pipes on her.
"Ron! You're not paying attention!" She yelled as she sent the Quaffle through one of his rings yet again.
Ron did a sort of half-dip in an attempt to block it, but ended up losing control and swinging around in a circle. The ball shot right past him. Harry flew a little lower, his eyes falling on Ron's miserable shape hovering a few feet away from the three goals he was supposed to be defending. The youngest Weasley boy looked about ready to hurl himself head-first into the pitch. Harry wished he could say something to him, but then realized he didn't exactly know what would help.
"I am paying attention! You're hitting it too fast!" He heard Ron yell a bit too desperately. He winced at this, knowing full-well what Angelina was about to say. He also knew that her response was justified and he suspected Ron did too.
"Too fast?! You're joking, right?"
Harry turned to look at Angelina, who also looked miserable, but in the angriest sense of the word. She wasn't particularly angry at Ron, or any one person—she was frustrated that this practice drill was going so horribly, because it meant that they still had so much work to do before the Gryffindor/Slytherin match less than a week away. He felt for her. Oliver Wood's shoes were huge things to fill, and he empathized with the amount of pressure she must've been feeling then. He'd been watching her progress with the team she'd gathered this year, and though he knew she was doing the best she could with them all, he could tell that she was probably holding back. As much as it pained him to see Ron miss save after save, Harry knew that if Angelina just pushed a little more he would show her why she picked him to be Keeper in the first place. Harry had confidence in Ron, but as tough as Angelina was, he felt she needed to be tougher.
Harry blinked, thinking that he had finally caught sight of the Snitch and this horrendous practice drill would finally be over, but when he looked again he realized that it was an illuminated wand-tip, and someone making his or her way across the pitch.
"Oi! Down there!" Fred yelled, pointing the figure out to everyone. Harry flew even lower, to where he could make out who was coming. It was Hermione, and she was running as fast as she could across the slippery grass, her cloak half-heartedly slung across herself as protection from the rain. She was soaked and panting, and by the time they'd all noticed her, she was in the middle of the pitch, waving for them all to land.
"What's happened, Hermione?" Harry asked, landing just in front of her.
She shook her head fervently and said nothing until everyone had landed and were all crowded around her. Angelina was the last to land, dropping all of the balls she'd been gathering into the team equipment trunk and flinging her long, wet hair from her soaked face.
"What is it?' she asked, her brow furrowed with still-lingering frustration from the practice.
"I-I've just come from the Great Hall! Umbridge has posted another decree! This one's the w-worst!"
"What's it say?" Ron demanded.
Hermione shook her head again. "You have to see it for yourself. All of you."
Harry led the pack, Angelina on his heels, as they all made their way stomping across the soggy grass and back up to the castle. They bypassed the locker rooms and instead cut around the edges of the forest to the front entrance, where they would head straight for the Great Hall. Most of the students were already gathering there, the buzz of what was happening setting a low hum of voices all around them as they made their way through the crowd. Harry could make out a few angry voices yelling "Rubbish!" and "She can't do that! That's criminal!" These only served to propel him forward even more; his cheeks were flushed with anticipation as his eyes searched out the bulletin board. Angelina let out an exasperated groan next to him and he turned to look at her. She looked back, her eyes sharp with dread. "If it's about Quidditch, I'm going to kill that miserable old ha--!"
"Harry look!" Colin Creevey ran up to him at that moment, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward through the crowd. He pointed a tiny finger at the board, looking back and forward from it to Harry's face with pinched expectation. Harry's eyes traveled over the absurdly neat script, reading each pompous, self-assured word and with every passing second his anger grew.
Every school organization, club, and team had been disbanded and would not be reinstated until the "High Inquisitor" had given her expressed approval to do so. This applied to all of the Quidditch teams. Harry felt like ripping the parchment from the board and setting it ablaze with his wand. He could hear Angelina and the others' infuriated gasps behind him and new that they had all read the decree.
"She's bloody mad!" Ron screeched, his cheeks on fire from anger. His wet hair flopped to and fro as he shook his head heatedly, twisting his fists around his broom as if he were wringing someone's neck. "Mental! How can Dumbledore let her get away with this?"
"It's not like he really has any say, is it?" Hermione offered, still shivering slightly from being soaked. "The Ministry has their hands in everything now…"
"Harry, what are we gonna do? We can't let that dirty fat toad get away with this!" Ron turned to face him now, but Harry said nothing. He remained silent, incensed, staring straight ahead.
Everyone turned to Angelina. She had backed away from the board and was now sitting limply at the end of one of the long tables. The crowd had pretty much dispensed at Filch's grumpy urging. Harry saw the crotchety old caretaker smirk gleefully at him over his shoulder as he shooed them out. Now all that was left was the soaking-wet team, Hermione, and Colin.
Harry watched Angelina, feeling more sympathy for her than anyone else. It was her last year, and she'd finally been made team captain—only to have it snatched away from her by Umbridge. No one spoke. They all awaited Angelina's word on the matter. They were probably expecting her to reassure them that despite this little setback, everything would be fine. There was no way Umbridge would permanently disband Quidditch. None of the teachers, the heads of houses, or Dumbledore would stand for it. But looking at Angelina's face, Harry knew that she would not offer them hope, and when she finally spoke his suspicions were confirmed.
"She won't approve us…"
"What?" Hermione gasped. "But, that's absurd! Of course she will; she has to, Quidditch is too important to too many people!" she reasoned, repeating everything Harry had thought.
"I didn't say she'd get rid of Quidditch all together, but she won't approve our team." Angelina's eyes met Harry's, and he knew what she was thinking.
So did everyone else, apparently, because now all eyes were on him suddenly. This made him angrier still. So they thought it was his fault, did they? Did they think because he was the only one willing to stand up to Umbridge that they'd all been punished for it? Looking from face to face, Harry could not help feeling that yes, they did hold him partially responsible for what was happening.
"It's not my fault," he said quietly, trying not to lose his temper.
Hermione shook her head, though her eyes belied her denial. "Harry no one's saying that."
"But it's what you're all thinking," he replied evenly, his temper pushing at him. "You all think because I've been telling the truth about Voldemort, she's punishing you for it?"
"Get a grip, mate, no one's accused you." Fred said somewhat half-heartedly. He was staring at the floor, all traces of his usual, sarcastic self deflated. George stood next to his brother, also looking forlorn.
"You don't have to say anything!" Harry erupted finally. "I can see it in your faces!" He glared at them all. They'd gone from looking at him to purposefully not looking at him and this was enough to convince him even more that he was right. He let out an exasperated grunt and turned on his heel, not wishing to remain there a second longer.
Sweeping past a scared-looking Colin, Harry made his way out of the Great Hall, determined not to look back.
Harry kept his head bowed as he made his way up to Gryffindor Tower. His mind swam with bitter thoughts. There was a mixture of righteous anger and hurt that churned around inside him as he lumbered along through the halls, not looking up at anyone he passed. He'd endured these detentions with Umbridge only through the knowledge and self-assurance that his friends were behind him; that the truth about Voldemort and Cedric's death should be told and they all knew it. But now it seemed that the more Umbridge did to change things for the worse at Hogwarts the less confidence they all had in him. Everyone was telling him to calm down, think rationally. It seemed they had all stopped listening, and were now only concerned about how Harry's defiance was affecting them. He was sorry about that; sorry about what Umbridge was doing; but it made him burn with anger every time someone told him to keep his mouth shut about Voldemort. He hated being thought of as a liar. Blind…they were all blind. And now his friends were becoming seduced by comfort over the right thing.
As he walked throbbing in his hand became intense and quite painful after a while of being numb. It sometimes stopped hurting so much when he was distracted, like earlier on the Quidditch field when he was trying to find the Snitch in sheets of rain, but now it grew to such a point that he had to bite the inside of his cheek. The wet Quidditch robes he was wearing were heavy and scratchy and every time he scraped it against them, he winced at the pain. This of course only served to worsen his mood.
"Do they think I like having my detention carved into my skin?" he whispered to himself angrily. "Do they think I wanted this to happen?"
Harry wasn't really paying attention to where he was going and after a while of walking aimlessly through the empty halls, he realized that he had passed the fat lady's portrait ages ago. He cursed under his breath and turned around, grumpily heading back the way he came. Rounding a corner quickly, he was hardly prepared when his body collided with someone else's.
The wind was nearly knocked out of him as both bodies fell to the ground hard. Harry's Firebolt went sliding across the marble floor, and the person he'd run into let out a loud curse. Her voice was instantly familiar to him, and he sat up, straightening his glasses so he could see properly.
"What'd you do that for?" he demanded, a little too harshly, swatting a lock of damp hair out of his eyes.
"Oh shove off, Potter!" Angelina shot back just as crossly.
They glared at each other for a moment; both seemingly unwavering in their annoyance with one another. After that moment, however, Angelina burst into a fit of laughter that made Harry quirk an eyebrow at her. Her eyes watered up and he watched, bemused, as Angelina curled up on the ground, her torso trembling with the giggle fit he'd somehow induced.
"It's not funny. Hey—don't laugh! I'm still mad at you." He tried to hold onto his annoyance, but her face drained it right out of him and he gave a chuckle as she tried to speak.
"I-I c-can't help it! Your f-face!" She giggled with her beautiful face scrunched up in genuine silliness, not anger. "You're so mad, it's funny!" Harry did not rush her to stop, for he hadn't seen her like this in weeks. She'd been distant and on edge for a long time; not to mention he'd hardly seen her because he was dealing with his own problems and Umbridge. It was nice to see the softer side of her once again.
When she'd finally calmed down, she took a deep breath and sat up too. They regarded each other differently now, and Harry found himself letting go of his feelings of betrayal from his friends…at least where she was concerned in this moment.
"I'm sorry…" he said quietly, not knowing how else to start. "I know you really wanted to beat Slytherin."
Angelina shrugged glumly. "I'm a bit glad to be rid of the pressure, to be honest."
"No you're not."
She gave a sly little hint of a smile. "All right I'm not. I'm bloody disappointed and angry at the whole mess. But what can I do?"
"You can fight it. We all could."
"How? What's the risk of kicking up a fuss? Scars like that one for the whole team?" She was serious, and she let her gaze fall pointedly to his hand. Harry felt momentarily uncomfortable as she studied it, shaking her head slowly. "I can't believe she did that to you…" she whispered.
"It doesn't hurt," he lied. He did not want her to know that it was killing him right then, probably just to prove to her that he could handle whatever Umbridge dished out. The expression on her face indicated that she didn't need proof, but rather something else.
"I'll tell you what we could do Harry."
"Teach me and the others what you know. Show us how to fight, since you seem to think that's what we should be doing."
"I still don't know about that." He replied carefully, frowning.
"You sounded pretty convinced at the Hog's Head." Her eyes flickered up and down at him appraisingly. "Were you serious then? Or was your attitude downstairs in the Great Hall just you puffing out your chest?" She had gazed at him that way before, and the memory of it brought blood rushing to his cheeks along with the slight sting of her words. He hated it when she talked to him like that. She did that a lot. His hand throbbed...
Harry stood up and walked away from her to retrieve his broom, momentarily relieved of her intense gaze. He used the time with his back to her to let the pain in his hand show on his face, since she couldn't see. He heard her getting up, too, her wet shoes squeaking on the floor. "Just because Hermione decided for me, that doesn't mean I'm going to do it. Besides, you read that decree—forming the club now would get us expelled." Harry picked up his broom and turned to face her, only to find that she was merely inches away from him. He felt his cheeks grow hot again and he avoided her eyes, not sure if he were annoyed or embarrassed.
"Oh shut up," she retorted quietly. "Don't be afraid of what you're capable of. You said something needed to be done—so here's your chance to do it." Damn it, the way she spoke to him sometimes…
"Why do you talk to me like that?" he asked just as quietly.
Harry was aware of the fact that everything she was saying to him was true, but the way she spoke sounded like an order. She was in her seventh year, he in his fifth; she was older and seemingly more mature; but underneath her authoritative speech lay clear admiration in her voice that made him feel…well…funny. It was funny like falling from a very high place. It was a dip in his stomach; buzzing warmth in his chest.
Angelina shrugged and answered matter-of-factly, "I talk to everyone like that." He knew that this was both true and false. Somehow he felt that the admiration did not lie underneath for 'everyone'. He also knew that what happed once before was about to happen again, and he didn't really know what to do about it. The other time had been a fluke—he'd been sure of it. But now the intent was very clear in her eyes and in the way she stood so close to him. He managed to look at her.
"I'll think about it."
"Is that a promise?" Her brown eyes glinted faintly with something…he swallowed.
"Yes." A beat. "We should get back. Get dry…"
"Uh huh…" her eyelids slid down; she was looking at his lips.
Harry's nerves stood on edge.
"Try and figure out, um, what to do about the…"
Angelina leaned in as he spoke and kissed him. This wasn't as brief and spontaneous as the last time. It was not the peck on the mouth that he remembered from last year's funny little situation. No, Angelina's lips actually captured his and released—then captured and released—then again—and again; slowly…softly... His hair rose up with the static electricity of the sensation and his Firebolt almost slipped from his throbbing hand. His cheeks burned, his heart pounded in his chest, and by the time he thought to react to her kisses by attempting to capture her soft lips with his own, it was over.
She sighed and stepped back from him.
"I'm angry, Harry."
"Yeah, me too…" he responded automatically, feeling a little confused by what had just happened. She was moving on from it as if she went around kissing her Seekers all the time; no big deal. She grabbed his hand and he sucked in a breath at the sharp pain the sudden touch created.
"I mean, look at this! She's marred you!"
"We're going to fight back. Just you wait. She can't get away with what she's done."
With that she turned and began leading him back towards their dormitory, gently holding his hand all the way.