DISCLAIMER: I own only the character Angelique and her family. I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series, characters, setting; nothing. All rights to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, etc.
I stared my alarm clock in the face at 11:01 in the morning on September first. If I had any tears left to cry that morning, they would have been shed. My pillow would have been soaked and my body would have been trembling. Instead, my tear ducts were empty - my body did not move an inch. I did not dare make even the tiniest whimper.
I missed the train that year. I missed the train that held promises of something better than the miserable, pathetic existence I live out in the Muggle world. I missed the Hogwarts Express. How on earth was I supposed to get to school now? Was I stuck? I couldn't be stuck. My lip quivered. I couldn't stay here for the entire school year. My gaze darted towards my door. Thank heavens, it was shut tightly.
"Oliver?" I called out hesitantly. No reply. "Oliver… c'mere Ollie," I let my voice raise the slightest bit. My owl's wings batted against the door to my wardrobe frantically. Oh, yeah. I put him in there last night so that Mitch wouldn't hurt him. I pushed myself up from the mattress beneath me with a groan and a sharp intake of air. I squeezed my eyes shut. Breathing just wasn't working for me.
Oliver squawked from the wardrobe as I gingerly got out of bed. Every inch of my body ached. Even worse - every inch of it felt defiled, disgusting. "Hush now, ickle Oliver," I tried to soothe the bird as I made my way over to him. I pulled the wardrobe door open. My legs gave out. I collapsed on the floor with my back against the wood. Well, this wasn't so bad, I suppose. Except… "Oh, rubbish!"
A small mass of gray feathers tore around my room, staying as close to the ceiling as possible. Oliver couldn't have learned his survival tactics from me, that's for sure. "Oliver!" I hissed his name this time. "My parchment and quill, please?" My owl dove towards my bed; he somehow managed to land on his feet. He made a noise that almost sounded like a harrumph. I glared and pointed towards the desk. I did not need attitude from my bird.
Oliver flew to the desk and perched on it, making more noises at me. I sighed. I was going to have to get up.
After several minutes of gritting my teeth against the horrible aching that reached parts of me I never knew could feel pain, I was finally leaning against the desk. I grabbed my quill and scribbled on the parchment as quickly as possible:
Professor Dumbledore,
Because of the situation with my step-father, I was unable to make it to King's Cross Station this morning. Is there anything you can do to get me out of here? You know how things are and I just can't stay here for the rest of term, or even until Christmas. I could really use your help.
-Angelique
I rummaged through the drawers in my desk until finally finding a bit of twine that was just big enough. I rolled that piece of parchment up and tied it to Oliver's leg. "Take this to Dumbledore," I instructed the bird sternly. Oliver could be a troublemaker (never say birds don't have personalities; I'd have to show you what he's like) so, for good measure, I added, "This is urgent."
I looked after Oliver as he took off out my window. If anyone could help me, it would be Dumbledore. I mean, I can't have been the first student to miss the train by accident. Hell, just a couple years ago Harry Potter and Ron Weasley missed it… and then ran the Weasley's car into the Whomping Willow. Maybe that wasn't such a great example.
Once Oliver had disappeared from my line of sight, I carefully shuffled back to my bed. I almost laid down, but then I realized that if Dumbledore was going to get me out of this mess, I was in desperate need of a shower. I found an old pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt from my hamper (maybe I'm a little backwards in keeping my clean clothes in my hamper, but I don't care) and forced my slow-moving joints to get me down the hall.
I must have spent a good hour and a half or longer cleaning up. At least another hour or two was spent putting on my make-up perfectly, and making myself smell really good and feel really soft. The steaming hot water really loosened everything up. Much of my pain had dissipated by the time I was finished with my shower. As I was drying my hair (I have to dry my hair last. I just have to), I heard knuckles strike the wood of the front door. I froze. All was silent. And then, knuckles rapping on the door again. My mother's muffled voice grumbling about something or other. The door creaks. A man's voice? Who the --
"Angelique!" My mother shrieked.
I poked my head out of the bathroom door and put on my honor-student-who-cleans-the-house-and-makes-mummy-breakfast-in-bed voice, "Just one minute, Mum!"
"Somebody's here for you," she shrieked again. She must still be hung over or high or something, because she never lets me see anyone or anything that comes to the house for me. If she knew Oliver was a courier in the wizarding world, she probably would have smothered him by now. So, I finished dressing and hurried for the stairs before she could change her mind. I left the towel wrapped around my head because, honestly, I wasn't even thinking about who the hell could be at the front door, waiting for me. I almost tripped down the stairs in my rush, though. And when I looked up, it was right into a pair of kind, blue eyes that were peering at me from behind half-moon glasses.
"D-Dumbledore?" I stammered. One hand immediately grasped the towel on my head, but instead of doing anything like, I dunno, taking it off, I just stood there like an idiot with my hand on my head. "I mean, uh, Professor Dumbledore. What are you doing here?"
I whipped my head around in search of my step-monster. A felt a hand on my shoulder that made me whirl back around towards the Headmaster. The Headmaster! Standing in my living room! I felt the heat in my face as a blush crept up. My living room looked horrible… Mum had left trash and cans and bottles and god-knows-what else all over the place. And her husband was no better. This was no condition in which to entertain the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! "I'm sorry about the mess," I mumbled and lowered my head.
"It's quite all right. You are in need of my assistance?" he asked me. I swear his eyes were twinkling. I don't know how though, with how dumpy this god-forsaken house is.
"Uh, yes… sir," I fumbled for my words. This was not at all what I was expecting. Maybe somebody else. On a broomstick. Or something. But not the freakin' Headmaster himself!
"Come with me," he offered gently, holding out his arm. I grabbed hold of it and he led me outside. As we walked, he was speaking softly. I couldn't tell if he was actually speaking to me or if he was just muttering to himself. This was all so unreal that I did not even bother trying to listen to what the old man was saying. Realizing the towel was still on my head, I snatched it off. Dumbledore pulled me into the alleyway beside some crappy apartment building down the street from my house.
"Professor Dumbledore, what are you doing?" I finally asked.
"We are going to Apparate. Hold on tightly, Angelique." I had so many questions, but my mouth did not want to work anymore. I held on to Dumbledore's arm as tightly as I could. The alley disappeared from sight. It felt like my body was being pushed on from every direction and every angle possible. The added pressure brought the aching back and the pain made me lightheaded. When everything suddenly stopped, and I saw that I was a few hundred yards or something like that away from Hogwarts, I was shocked I hadn't passed out.
My head was still light, though, and everything was spinning. Before I knew it, I was on all fours heaving out what little -- if there was anything at all -- was left in my stomach from my sometime-after-midnight snack (the supposed reason for my punishment).
Dumbledore just stood by and waited for my body to calm itself. When I finally stood, he rubbed my back in what I assumed was an attempt at comfort. I did not want anyone touching me, though. I felt gross again -- even worse than before, if that was possible. The Headmaster said something about my trunk of school stuff that I could not focus on long enough to process, and then he escorted me to the castle. It was just starting to get dark out.
I was the first student at Hogwarts on September first, and I would be the only student who was curled up in the middle of her four-poster bed in the dormitories beneath the Hufflepuff common room instead of at dinner.
