"It's your school, too, your world. Do you like what's happening at Hogwarts? Do you like what's happening in society? Do you think I should have to be on some list of people yours consider to be inferior?"
Angelina's questions were difficult to hear, and even more difficult to answer. For Montague, the world was working out exactly as it ought—to a point.
Miss you, he thought, staring at her picture.
The insipid witches his parents had been parading before him since he'd left Hogwarts had all been incredibly boring. Not having anything useful to do with his time—because of course he shouldn't have to work—had also become difficult. And he was worried about Angelina, about how they'd left things after he'd seen her before her match.
If the Dark Lord wins . . . .
Montague didn't believe his parents were evil, just lazy. The unpleasantness didn't affect them, so they didn't notice it. No one discussed politics in his house.
But politics isn't what we're talking about here. It's people. It's her.
No matter what Montague did, he couldn't forget Angelina, and he didn't like his life without her. Giving up the privileges of wealth to have her—he hadn't been certain he could do that. Now he wasn't so sure. Even seeing her for so brief a moment had made him feel more alive than he had in months.
But now it's more than wealth that I'd be giving up, he thought, Angelina's words resurfacing in his mind.
She was going back to Hogwarts to fight. It was important to her. It wasn't about politics but life, and she'd asked him to share that with her. She'd asked, but she hadn't waited for an answer.
Angelina's priorities have always been in order, and I was the first person she contacted. She wants to share this fight with me. She believes in me—why?
His parents had expectations of him, but they didn't take any real pride in him, Montague knew that. He also knew that he'd never done anything to make them proud—or ashamed—he'd merely followed their wishes because it had been easier.
I'm tired of easy, of just existing. I want to live. I want her.
Montague paused. It wasn't really given anything up, was it? Nothing important. No, life wasn't easy, not if it was to be worth anything.
Yes, he thought, tucking his picture of Angelina away in his robes. I will fight with you. I'll fight for you, for us.
Montague kissed his parents goodbye; it surprised them. When they asked what had brought on his "sentimental display," he shrugged, saying, "I'm going out again and might . . . be late."
"Is it love?" his mother asked, glancing knowingly at his father.
Montague smiled. "Yes." And it's past time I showed her.