Prankster Princess

I was in desperate, frame-racking sobs by the time we reached the gargoyle outside of Professor Dumbledore’s office. Dolores Jane Umbridge: super bitch. It still shocked me that she could accuse me of murdering the only person who cared what happened to me in that house. It hurt. It hurt worse than the Cruciatus Curse - I knew that only too well.

It took both a fuming Fred and George to help me to the moving staircase, and by now Professor McGonagall was silently seething.

I was crying so hard by the time the stairs reached the doors to the headmaster’s office that I was using George as support while he and Fred tried to comfort me in any way they could. It wasn’t working. My sobbing was so loud that before Professor McGonagall could even knock, the door swung open with a slightly confused looking Albus Dumbledore behind it. His eyes opened slightly in shock when he saw the spunky read-headed Vera Henderson crying her eyes out as if her life depended on it.

I really did feel like my life depended on it at that moment.

“Minerva, what has happened?” he asked softly as he stood aside for the four of us to enter. He conjured not just a comfortable chair for me, but almost a full-sized couch, big enough for me to collapse in the middle with Fred and George on either side. Still I leaned on George, and Fred rubbed my back and shoulders gently while they both whispered soothing words. Professor McGonagall couldn’t be heard by us over my sobs, but I knew she was telling Professor Dumbledore about the Umbridge incident. There’s no way that wasn’t what she was doing.

“I…didn’t do it,” I choked out, for Fred and George’s ears only. “I…wouldn’t. He…he’s my l-little brother…he’s s-such and adorable boy. I…I l-love being his s-sister. I…I couldn’t have d-done it. Even if I was as, as cold blooded as a D-Death Eater…I couldn’t…”

“Shhh,” George stroked my hair.

“We know, we know,” Fred said soothingly.

They were mothering me, but nothing could have felt better at that point in time. They were the first to care about me since Henry went missing. My Aunt hardly paid attention to me when I lived there, choosing to blame me for not protecting my brother. She even told me she thought I should be dead for letting him be taken.

The thought caused my tears to quicken, but I choked back the sobs, but even choked back they racked my body with great, shaking movements and jerking.

It hurt. The pain inside was so much I wanted to rip my heart out and feed it to a werewolf, or a flock of dragons, just so I could die and the pain would stop. It was almost unbearable. I threw my arms around George’s neck and sobbed unrestrainedly then, unable to stop myself any longer.

“I…I d-d-didn’t do it!” I choked loudly, loud enough for Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore to glance at me from their conversation.

I hated this.

I hated false accusations. I hated people telling me I was useless. I hated when Auntie Janine told me I should have died rather than let myself be shoved in a closed and let Henry be taken. I hated the nightmares that haunted me of the night he was taken from my care. I hated that someone could be so cruel as to accuse me of such a heinous crime in front of a whole class of students. I hated that I reacted so badly to it that I burst into tears.

I hated that I was so weak.

“H-how can I ever g-get him back…if I c-can’t even t-think about him?” I whispered between sobs, this time something only George heard, and he immediately guessed all of my intentions for after Hogwarts. He knew instantly that all I ever wanted to learn from Hogwarts was the skills to take my brother back by myself.

Maybe with that hope I also hoped to gain some of the love of my parents for the first time. Maybe I hoped I could be someone they were proud to call a daughter, someone who didn’t burst into tears when they realized just how utter a failure they really are.

Maybe.

I tried to choke the sobs back again, with a little more success.

“That’s it,” George whispered soothingly. “You’ve got me and Fred here, you’ll be fine.”

“He’s right, y’know,” Fred murmured from behind me. “We’re here for ya. We’ll always be here, right? It’s going to be fine.”

It took a good half hour before I was all dried up, feeling utterly revolted with myself and my runny nose and my most likely red, blotchy face and red, bloodshot eyes.

Dumbledore and McGonagall talked to me then, asking for all the details and then taking it back and asking the brothers to leave before they talked to me. I refused and said I needed them as moral support - true as true could be. So I told them all, like I’d told my parents. I told them of the Death Eaters, of the closet, of little Henry and all his adorable quirks and things he did that made me laugh and how I couldn’t have hurt him if he’d provoked me. He was too much to me.

“Thank you for sharing this with us, Miss Henderson,” Professor Dumbledore said, almost gravely. “I will see to it that Dolores understands she is not to say anything on the subject anymore. Mr. and Mr. Weasley, I trust you will tell me if she hints something even if Miss Henderson does not?”

“Yes.” Fred said firmly.

“Damn right I will,” George mumbled, clearly audible.

“Mr. Weasley!” Professor McGonagall scolded.

“You will? Good.” Dumbledore chose to ignore George’s choice of words. “I think you three should be dismissed from classes for today. Go rest, and as I seem to know you boys know where to find the kitchens, I daresay you should go grab some ice cream and other sweets.” he winked. “Comfort foods always seem to provide me a touch of comfort, even in the worst of times.”

“Will do, Professor,” the twins said in unison, each grasping one of my elbows and pulling me up. “Thanks.”

Dumbledore nodded as we left his office, and as soon as the doors closed behind us, he returned to his conversation with Professor McGonagall. Professor Flitwick had been notified that his room would have to accommodate both the seventh year N.E.W.T. Transfiguration students as well as the normal sixth year N.E.W.T. Charms class.

Meanwhile, Fred and George marched me up several flights of stairs, not even in the direction of the common room, and definitely not toward the kitchen.