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A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darken'd ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits...

-- John Keats


In the black-wrought war of Britain's wizarding underworld, there came one beam of light, one armistice. Where the gruesome attacks paused. Where the weekly Azkaban escapes paused. Where time itself had seemed to pause, as though it were tipping its hat to the newly graduated class of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As was tradition, the students had gathered alone for their valedictorian's speech. Their faces bespoke weariness and of their seating on the lawn deep prejudice; nevertheless, the springtime wind mixed their scents in the air.

Then, with a pop, prim robes and a band of sunset atop his head, the valedictorian stood behind the podium

He cleared his throat. He began, "In the tradition of commencement speeches, I thought to remark on how close we've become, on how adult we're becoming, on how our whole lives stretch before us. I was going to remark on those things, but then I realized that, for us, those platitudes do not hold.

"We are not becoming adults, we have become adults. We have been adults since this war has pulled us into her folds, since both sides have seen in us persons old enough to kill and to torture, and so to be killed and to be tortured.

"And neither do our lives stretch before us, whole and healthy; rather, fractions are all we have left.

"And, most obviously, we have not become close. Instead, we have become the divided and malicious microcosm of this war. We have become so cold to one another, so distant, that in a few month's time we might end one another in blaze of green.

"So what is our graduation then? Is it merely the last time we abide in company and then part as enemy soldiers? Is it nothing but the end?

"Or is it everything? Once this speech is through, I will lead you into the Great Hall, into a party unattended , by all but us. We may do as we like. We may, for instance, free ourselves from role's restraint. We may, for instance, arm ourselves with memories of classless joy, of hateless dance, of nameless love and merriment - memories to keep us warm on winter nights and human in darker hours, memories to mend this world once this war is won and lost.

"We cannot band and fight come tomorrow morn. All that we can do is fill to tonight with forgetful and let it be forgotten for the remainder. And so I ask you Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors and Slytherins... what shall we make of tonight?"

Not a body moved, not a wind was felt, not a word was spoken aloud. Then their faces changed - for bewildered to understanding to revelatory to rapturously determined. From this changing sea, came a girl crowned in curls and swathed in white. She took his hand with challenge. He nodded and together they led an the exodus of student into the Great Hall.

Their remnant scent was all there was to remember their great moment, but with the steady springtime flow, it quickly was diluted.