Head Boy and Quidditch Captain
Disclaimer: Of course it's all mine, and I've acquired a dukedom in France as well. (Gets a reality check.) Wait, I lied, actually nothing except the plot is mine, and some of those ideas have been created thanks to reviewers, and, lastly, no, I don't have a dukedom in France.
Author's Note: This chapter is considerably lighter than the last chapter, although Sarah's suicide will be discussed. I hope this will supply some sort of closure with regard to her choice to end her life, at least as much closure can be provided in such a case. Anyway, it has more of the lighter aspects of the earlier chapters. (What can I say, I'm actually a cheerful person.) Thanks to my school for having a holiday fest, so I could spend most of the day writing this, when I wasn't helping elementary inner city kids get pizza/chicken nuggets/ sandwich.
Reviews: Let me know what you think, and I'll reply nicely. Hey, if you tell me what you don't like, you might just see an improvement.
"Bill! Charlie!" Molly Weasley's shout echoed up the stairs of the Burrow until it reached the bedroom of her two eldest sons, who both grumbled, and rolled over, covering their heads with their blankets to drown out her voice. "Come downstairs at once! I want to talk to the pair of you!"
When she received no reply from her oldest children, Mrs. Weasley hollered their names a second time, and Bill concluded that it would be impossible to sleep with his mum's screaming interrupting his attempts to return to dreamland every couple of seconds. Capitulating, he called, "Coming, Mum!"
Then he crossed over to his brother, who was pretending to snore powerfully, and shook the stocky frame roughly. "Let's get a move on, Charlie. I know perfectly well that you're awake, idiot."
"Go away," responded Charlie with drowsy irritation," if Mum comes upstairs to fetch us, she won't know I'm awake." He glared at his sibling menacingly. "As long as you don't decide to follow Percy's excellent example and blow my cover, prat."
"I'm not a tattle-tale, and I never was," riposted Bill, "unlike you. Now come on, for the sooner we go down and see what on earth she wants of us, the quicker we'll be able to go back to sleep."
"You'd better be right, or I'll put you in an eternal sleep," mumbled Charlie, propelling himself out of his bed, and the two teenaged boys thundered down the steps into the kitchen, from whence their mother called.
The instant they arrived in the kitchen, they were both swept up into a rib-crushing hug by Mrs. Weasley. "Oh, Billy and Charlie, I'm just so proud of you both!"
"Huh?" panted Charlie, nearly asphyxiated by his parent's tight embrace. The strangled quality of his comment alerted Mrs. Weasley to the fact that she was murdering the pair of them, and she released them, crimson-faced and beaming with maternal pride.
"Oh, Charlie dear, you've been made a prefect, just like Bill was in his fifth-year!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, kissing Charlie, whose cheeks were the hue of autumn apples, all over his face, despite his muffled protests. "And you've been made Quidditch Captain, too! That's two magnificent achievements." She patted Charlie's cheek fondly before turning excitedly upon her eldest offspring, and blurting out, "Also, since you've made a prefect, Charlie dear, you could be made Head Boy, just like Bill has."
It was Bill's chance to be smothered by his mother's kisses. "I'm just so very proud of you two—you're both such amazing sons. I've sent Errol with a letter to your father at work, and he's going to be simply thrilled, dears. As a reward for all the hard work the pair of you have put in, the next time I go to Diagon Alley, I'm going to purchase that new Cleansweep you've been talking about all summer, Charlie, and, as for you, Bill, I'm buying you an owl to have all to yourself this time, no matter what you say on the contrary. After all, in just one year, you'll be out of Hogwarts and in the business world, and then you'll have need of a decent owl to transport messages for you."
Bill could not contest such an assessment, because, after all, if he started a career in a faraway country, he would probably have even more need of an owl than he would if he remained in England. However, he did hope that this sentence would not be the opening to a lecture on how he really must figure out what he wanted to do after graduating from Hogwarts. Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley lost this opportunity, because the sound of Ron's wailing could be heard from above. Clearly, Fred and George were terrorizing their little brother yet again.
"Blast it! Well, not all my children can be lovely," sighed Mrs. Weasley as she departed the kitchen and ran up the stairs, yelling at the dreadful duo to stop taunting Ron this instant.
As the noise of their mother lecturing Fred and George flooded downstairs into the kitchen, Bill and Charlie shrugged at each other, as if to express that it was just an ordinary day in the Weasley household. Then Bill meandered over to the cabinet, and pulled out a box of breakfast cereal and a bowl. As he poured himself a bowl of cereal, he remarked to Charlie, "There's hardly a point in trying to sleep with her ranting on at the terrible twins."
"I reckon you're right." Charlie nodded as he helped himself to some cereal, as well. "I'm still in shock, though. I mean, I expected that I would be made Quidditch Captain now that Hooper has gone and everything..."
"I did, too," Bill smiled at his brother as they sat down at the table across from each other and began to eat breakfast together. "After all, you're the best player the team has got, and probably the best player in the school."
"You said it, not me," laughed Charlie, although he clearly agreed with his sibling's evaluation. "Anyway, my being made Quidditch Captain was not surprising, but I'm amazed that anyone would make me a prefect. I've never been the greatest student, and I do talk out of turn in lessons."
"Ask McGonagall and Dumbledore," Bill told him. "I think they choose. I was shocked, too, when I was made a prefect."
"And now that you're Head Boy?" Charlie's tone was mildly mocking.
"I was most pleasantly surprised. Just think, now I'll get to be the one who lectures you on the honor and responsibility that has been vested in you by the prestigious educational facility of Hogwarts on the train ride to school," teased Bill.
"Can I refuse to become prefect?" moaned the other in feigned despair.
"No, one would be a very irresponsible person to shirk from your duties, and you would be most disloyal to your school if you did so."
"You've got to incorporate some of these lines into your speech."
"So you cannot listen to them then, either?"
"I can't help it if you're boring and uninspiring," Charlie smirked.
"Oh, boring and uninspiring, am I? Well, you'll be happy to know that the Head Girl, whoever she is, and I control the patrol schedules, and I'll be more than willing to dump all the lame hours on you," retorted Bill.
"I'll have my team knock you out with broomsticks in the corridor," Charlie riposted.
"I'll give you all lines," parried his comrade, and they both dissolved into laughter, accidentally sending milk soaring out of their noses onto the table.
When they returned to school, Bill, for some reason, found himself scheduling his patrol hour for five in the morning on Saturday, although, as Head Boy, he could have dumped that time upon some unlucky Slytherin prefect. Instead, he took the responsibility for himself, and let some of his juniors have better hours. He couldn't understand why he felt compelled to do so, but he did, and he acted upon this stirring.
It was on their first Saturday back from the summer holidays that Bill absentmindedly walked through Nearly Headless Nick as he patrolled the corridors at five-thirty in the morning, a time at which no student was likely to be out of bed, roaming the halls, simply because they were all serenely asleep in their various dormitories. Fortunately, Nick did not seem offended by Bill's walking through him, and all he said was, "Morning, Weasley. I hear you've been made Head Boy, is that so?"
"Why, yes, it is," replied Bill, a little wrong-footed still from the icy sensation that had washed over every atom in his body when he had wandered carelessly through Nick, and he indicated the badge on his chest that illustrated his rank. "Sorry I walked through you like that. Clearly, I was not patrolling very well at all, for I didn't see you."
"Think nothing of it, think nothing of it," Nick reassured him dolefully, "for it happens to me rather frequently, you know. Anyway, congratulations on your new status. It's nice to finally have a Gryffindor Head Boy again."
"Thanks."
"So who's the lucky girl that's been made Head Girl?" asked Nick, ignoring his expression of gratitude entirely.
"A Hufflepuff girl named Tammy O'Hara."
"Yes, that's right," Nick mused, "I recollect the Fat Friar bragging about her now...really very indecent of him, because, after all, I'm not bragging about you being made Head Boy."
"That's polite of you," responded Bill, praying that he kept the skepticism out of his tone, since he, quite frankly, suspected that Nearly Headless Nick had boasted about the fact that the Head Boy was a Gryffindor to his fellow Hogwarts ghosts, but, of course, it would be rude to establish as much aloud. "After all, it's not mannerly to brag, and, anyway, everyone knows that Tammy, while she's bright, hard-working, and mature, was not the first choice for Head Girl."
"She wasn't?" Nick demanded, anxious to hear the latest mortal gossip, especially if it would help him rebut the boastings of the Fat Friar.
"Yes," Bill sighed heavily, "everyone, even Tammy, recognizes that Sarah Jones would have been made Head Girl, if she—if she, hadn't done what she did to herself." Even all these months later, he still discovered that a lump came to his throat when he talked about Sarah, and he found that it was a challenge to consider her. In a hurry, he continued briskly, trying to distract himself from Sarah's suicide, "Then, I heard, they tried to nominate Jillian Fletcher, Sarah's best mate, but she refused to be made Head Girl, because of Sarah's death, just the way she turned down the badge offered to her after Sarah's passing."
"I see," murmured Nick, who now seemed uncomfortable, suggesting that even dead people did not like to discuss teenage suicides, "well, it was nice talking to you, and good-bye."
"Hold on a minute." Bill acted on a sudden impulse that he had not realized he had inside him, and Nick, looking wary, faced him once more. "Speaking of Sarah, I've just been wondering what happens when you die."
"You go on," Nick informed him hesitantly.
"Go on where exactly?" pressed Bill.
"I don't know," Nick mumbled, "I didn't choose to go on there, but Sarah obviously decided to do so, because she doesn't seem to have come back as a ghost."
"But, even if you were to commit suicide, your soul would go on to― to the same place as it would if you hadn't, right?" Bill inquired breathlessly, because for some reason unknown to himself, he required closure as far as Sarah was concerned. Now that she no longer inhabited this world, he wanted to know that his former rival dwelt securely elsewhere.
"I don't know," admitted Nearly Headless Nick, "I'm afraid that I daren't say, as I just don't know the answer. From what the Bloody Baron says, he was given the same choice I was: to return to earth and function as an imprint of a departed soul, or to continue on."
"But are there different places you can go on to? Can you go on to paradise or eternal suffering?" Bill demanded desperately.
"I'm afraid I can't be of any further assistance," insisted Nick firmly, and he glided off, leaving a scowling and bewildered adolescent struggling with adult concepts of life and death, in his wake.
For a while, Bill just stood as stiff as a poker, staring off into space as he contemplated his exchange with Nick. Since he had been quite convinced that he was utterly alone when he felt a hand grasp his shoulders, he was surprised. Jumping in alarm, he swiveled on his heel to face the headmaster of Hogwarts. "Oh, it's you, Professor. I wasn't expecting anyone else to be up at this hour, to put it bluntly."
"That would explain your rather exceptional leap, Mr. Weasley," observed Dumbledore seriously, although his azure eyes sparkled merrily. "May I ask what you are doing out of bed at this unnaturally early hour?"
"Patrolling the corridors, sir." Bill's shoulders rose and fell lackadaisically.
"So you decided not to shove the more unpleasant patrol hours off upon some underling, how noble of you."
"Well, I am a Gryffindor, after all." Bill hesitated for moment, then noted, "I suppose it would be terribly impertinent of me to ask what you're doing out of bed at this hour of the morning, Professor."
"It might be, which is why I shall save you the risk of offending me by informing you that I happen to be engaged in a quest to fetch myself a mug of hot chocolate from the kitchens."
Surmising that this was not the true intent behind Dumbledore's roaming the castle at this time, Bill remained silent, but did not dare to accuse the man directly of fibbing. After a brief pause the ancient wizard spoke again. "You are confident that I'm not being completely truthful with you, aren't you, Mr. Weasley?"
Before Bill could counter such an assertion, Dumbledore went on without missing a beat, "Of course, if I am guilty of such an offense, you're not a fit judge, as you haven't been entirely open with me. There is another reason why you are patrolling the corridors now, isn't there?"
"Maybe my other motive is more personal, sir." Remembering that Dumbledore was as much of a master of Legilimency as he was of any other branch of magic, Bill averted his eyes.
"That's not an answer."
There was silence in the hallway for a few minutes, and then the lad confessed awkwardly, "Sarah used to have the patrol detail at this hour."
"Yes." Dumbledore sounded aggrieved. "Yes, she did."
"Professor, may I ask you something?" He was acting on a sudden impulse, but it was possible that Dumbledore, who seemed to the teenager to be all-knowing, would be able to explain what Nick had not.
"Obviously you have just done so, which means that I would be hard pressed indeed to stop you, but you may ask anything you like, although I'm afraid that the asking does not ensure that your will receive a satisfactory answer."
"When― when a person dies, they go on, correct?"
"From what the ghost have been generous enough to tell me, yes." Dumbledore's head bobbed in gentle affirmation, causing his lengthy silver beard to scratch the stone floor for a second or two.
"Do all people go on to the same place, sir?" continued Bill with more passion, his manner faltering no more. "I mean, if You-Know-Who were to die, and he went on, would he go to the same place as― as you, for instance, or Uncles Fabian or Gideon?"
"I think there's justice in the afterlife, yes, Bill, if that's what you're asking," Dumbledore answered gravely.
"So where will Sarah go?" Bill found he was watching the headmaster with narrowed, tense eyes.
"As I said, I believe the one who determines our fate in the afterlife is fair, and, if that is the case, I am confident that whoever judges Sarah's soul will not condemn her for one mistake, nevertheless, the one that suggests that she is most in need of love from others, because she seemed to lack self-love. Similarly, I suspect that whoever determines the destiny of our souls will not deny her the stab at happiness that she was unable to attain here. Does that help?"
Absorbing this revelation, Bill nodded thoughtfully. After a moment, he whispered, "I still don't understand why she did it."
"I have concluded that she took her own life, because she was under a certain amount of pressure," Dumbledore clarified tenderly. "School in one's teenage years can be a place infinitely worse than hell…"
"You're a teacher!" Bill's mouth was agape.
"That's why I'm considerably more qualified in making that assessment than most would be. Anyway, school is even more miserable for those who have no identity―"
"Could you perhaps speak in English, sir?" Bill interrupted, his forehead knitted in befuddlement. "I might, just might, be able to understand you then."
As studied the boy before him seriously, Dumbledore's fingers steepled. "She defined herself by her grades alone, like everyone else did, at least in her opinion. As long as her grades were nothing short of excellent, she was as content as a perfectionist can be, bit the instant they started to slip, she was a stupid failure―"
"What? Nobody ever thought that!" Bill established vehemently. "We all thought that she was an arrogant know-it-all, actually."
"Exactly, she felt as though her one achievement was slipping right through her hands, meaning, in her heart, where such things count the most, she was a failure. After awhile, she just gave up, tired of attempting not to be a failure."
"She was a coward, you mean?" glowered Bill.
"Perhaps, but one should never be hasty in reaching conclusions, or be too harsh in our judgments of others, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore educated him sagely. "Courage, I'm sorry to inform you, is not something everyone is blessed with, for some of us are more brave than others, just as some are more quick-witted, or better at Quidditch." When Bill opened his mouth to debate this point, by contending that Quidditch and scholastic ability was different than personality, the professor held up a hand to quell his speech. "It is also possible that she was very courageous, as she may have realized that she was but lent to this world, as are we all, and decided to take her destiny into her own hands by killing herself, thereby leaving this world on her own terms."
"I think in Sarah's case it is more likely the former, as opposed to the latter," observed Bill dryly.
"You may very well be correct," Dumbledore agreed, bowing, "but you'll never know for sure, at least not in this lifetime, where such things seem to matter the most, so you should learn to accept the fact that Sarah's dead, and, hopefully, is resting eternally in peace, without passing judgment upon her. After all, it's not your place."
"Yes, Professor." Bill nodded obediently, biting his lower lip pensively.
As he walked away, Dumbledore pivoted abruptly. "Keep in mind, William, that part of the reason why we condemn suicides is rooted in our own innate fear of death. Fear sparks anger, remember that. When you no longer fear death, Sarah's actions will not plague you so. Death, after all, is really nothing to be frightened of, as it is merely the next great adventure, and is not nearly so horrifying as many of the living make it out to be. At any rate, it is inevitable, so one might as well make peace with it."
"Thank-you, Professor. Enjoy your cocoa." By the last line, he hoped to catch the older man off-guard, and gain the satisfaction of having proof of the headmaster's lie.
However, his ploy did not work, for Dumbledore was not wrong-footed, and only responded placidly, "Have an eventful patrol. I'm sure you'll see people much better in the halls, now, which, surprisingly enough, is the point of patrolling the corridors."
As Bill watched the elderly magician depart, he determined that this afternoon he would assign a Slytherin prefect to patrol the hallways at five in the morning on Saturday, because, peculiarly, he no longer felt drawn to the corridors for the five o'clock patrol.