The Last Day
Disclaimer: I don't harbor under the delusion that Harry Potter belongs to me, when, in fact it belongs to a brilliant author whom you might have heard of who goes by the name J.K. Rowling. Anyway, if you believe Harry Potter is mine, it's your source-monitoring error, not mine.
Author's Note: This will be the last chapter I write about Bill's years at Hogwarts, sadly, but then we will move onto his experiences in Egypt, which, hopefully, will be exciting to the writer and her audience. Sorry if it's a little cheesy, but hopefully the next chapter will be better if this one is lame.(Sneak preview of next chappie: Bill tells parents about his career plan!)
Reviews: Are great, especially right now, because my dad just got laid off, so any positive comments really can brighten my day. (Do it in the spirit of Christmas.)
Bill Weasley could not accept that his seven years at Hogwarts were at an end. He could not possibly have whiled away the better part of seven years in this castle, for, in hindsight, it felt like he had only been at the place for about a week. Surely, it had only been a week ago that he had kissed his family farewell, and boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time, where he had chattered with Chris and Mike for the entirety of the journey, ensuring that they became the best of friends forever. There was no way that it could have been more than seven days in the past that he had plopped down on the stool, and the Sorting Hat had declared him a Gryffindor. Similarly, it must have been only six days ago that he had brought his lips to Jennifer's for the first time, and it had not been that long since his father had caught them kissing, or he had agonized over what courses he would take in his third year. And it could only have been days ago that he had showed Charlie around the school, and it certainly didn't seem like that long ago since he and his friends had visited Hogsmeade for the first time. After all, he could remember with astonishing clarity and tangibility his first sip of butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, the awe he had felt as he gazed, eyes peeled, at the millions of varieties of candy available at Honeydukes, and the terror he had felt when he fled from the Shrieking Shack…
Oh, he just couldn't accept that his years as a schoolboy were over. Yet they undeniably were, for he had attained the high-level N.E.W.T. scores necessary to pursue his dream of becoming a Gringotts Curse-Breaker. On the same token, his fellow Gryffindor seventh-years, Chris, Mike, Heather, Steph, and Jennifer, had all achieved the required number of N.E.W.T.'s to enter the fields they desired to. Still, the fact that they would be moving onto their bright futures in their respective chosen careers did not cheer Bill and his yearmates very much, because, as Bill was recognizing in a rather heart-wrenching fashion, in life there were stages that you went through that, oftentimes, you weren't even aware you were crossing through, until you were finished with the entire phase, and you could no longer revisit it, except in memory.
Somehow, although they all realized that they were old enough and ready to leave school and make a living on their own, without their parents hovering over their shoulders, they were not emotionally prepared to leave school and enter the work force, not just yet, anyhow. Oddly, after years of itching to become independent, Bill was reluctant to emerge from the protection and order the confines of Hogwarts provided. It was not fear of the future, exactly, that wished to bind him to the grounds of the castle forever, Bill mused, but rather a loyalty to the past, a loving devotion to the friendships he had wrought in his time at Hogwarts.
Apparently, Mike, Chris, Heather, Jennifer, and Steph felt the same way, which was why the six of them were huddled together right before the commencement of the end of term feast, staring each other with intense eyes that were supposed to absorb every last freckle on everyone's face, by a window in the now deserted common room, unable to speak pass the frogs in their throats, and discovering that they had no words to express the emotions that were choking them if they had been able to do so.
Finally, Heather broke the silence by shoving photo albums bound in dragon hide to each of her five companions, mumbling, "I've been slaving over them in secret since the start of our― our last year here. I made each of you guys one, and I created one for myself, too. Hope you like them, that's all I can say."
"Of course we like them, Heather! They're absolutely lovely!" Jennifer and Steph hugged their best mate tightly, as though afraid that she would disintegrate if they did not squeeze her tightly enough.
"You've outdone yourself again, Heather, my love," praised Bill, as he kissed her cheek. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again, you've a magnificent sense of style, and you don't need to travel to New York City to succeed in the wizarding apparel industry, for I reckon that if you set up shop in Diagon Alley, you'll have Madam Malkin out of business in no time."
"Thanks, but I know better than to believe you, because you're nothing more than a flatterer." Heather wrapped her arms about him for a moment, and he returned the gesture. "Besides, I've already told you, I have an aunt who lives in the suburbs of New York, and she says New York is a great place for fashion designers, and I want to go out and see the world, just as you do, Bill. Isn't that why you're going to Egypt?"
"Partly," Bill replied seriously as they pulled away from each other, tears shining in their eyes now, "but I shan't pretend I'm not intrigued by the treasure involved."
"I'm sure you'll be an excellent Curse-Breaker, Bill." A single tear trickled out of Heather's eye and down her cheek as she asserted as much.
"And you'll be the greatest fashion designer this world has ever known, and the best it will ever know." Flushing, Bill realized his voice was cracking, and he spun away from her to conceal the depth of his emotions, instead throwing his arms around Jennifer, and then Steph, who both clutched him as if they were determined to never let him go, although they did in the end. "You two will make the most wonderful Healers ever to grace the halls of St. Mungo's, I swear," he added to the two girls, who promised that he would have nothing but fair fortune as a Curse-Breaker.
"Best of luck, William Weasley," muttered Mike, holding out his hand as soon as Bill had finished exchanging these assurances with Jennifer and Stephanie. "Have fun exploring the tombs."
"Enjoy writing your hand off for the Daily Prophet, Micheal O'Connor." Accepting the proffered hand, Bill shook hands with his friend rather longer than custom required, although Mike did not seem to mind in the slightest.
When he was done shaking hands with Mike, Bill turned to Chris. "Have fun at the Ministry, even though I reckon you're crazy to want a career there."
"Well, I think that you're mental to want to fiddle around with terrible curses laid upon hidden tombs of pharaohs, and I suspect many more people would side with me than would take your part," retorted Chris. They were bantering now, trying to displace the tension coiled like springs inside them.
"Let's not argue on our last day together," cut in Jennifer briskly. "We must promise, everyone one of us, that we will remain friends forever, no matter what happens."
"I promise," six voices chirped in unison, as six pairs of hands piled up on each other for a minute before untangling themselves again.
"If we're to remain friends forever, we'll need to keep in touch," Steph reasoned, her tone crisp. "That means we must exchange addresses and any contact information we can." After stating as much, she hastened over to the nearest spindly table, dug around in the quill holder for a handful of seconds before she unearthed six rather bedraggled quill, snatched up a roll of parchment, and pranced back over to her peers. "I've got us each a quill and one roll of parchment for all of us. Everybody, break off a piece, and we'll pass them around and scribble all our contact information upon them."
Grinning, the six of them launched themselves at the parchment, and, after a brief scuffle, each emerged from the fray with a piece of parchment in hand. Then they all snatched a quill, and, after settling themselves upon the floor, copied down their contact information on the parchment in their hands. For a few seconds, the only sound in the common room except for the crackling fire was the sound of their quills scratching away, but then Heather muttered, "Heavens above, I'm overly sensitive today. Even the sounds of quills tracing over parchment is bringing tears to my eyes."
"May I ask why?" Chris sounded bewildered as they all passed their parchments to the right, in a hoop, in a circle that, like their friendship, would never end.
"It has no significance in itself, a scratching quill, but yet it has every significance." Heather shrugged. "It's just that so many stupid, little, everyday memories are attached to the sound of quills dancing across parchment. There were all the notes we took in class, everyone's quill moving as one unit—"
"There were all those notes we passed in class, our quills moving tentatively across the page, afraid the professor would discover our covert activities," added Jennifer, smiling melancholically.
"All those games of hangman." Beaming, Bill winked at Chris and Mike, who smirked.
"And there were exams, everyone's quill hurrying along as their brains exploded with the exertion of attempting to recollect just one more fact to incorporate into their response," Mike commented. "School wasn't all fun and games."
"Certainly it wasn't, sometimes the quill scratched, because you were writing lines in detention," agreed Chris. "Anyone who thinks that's a laugh can see Jennifer and Steph in the lunatic ward at St. Mungo's."
"Of course school wasn't always awesome." Waving her hand airily, Heather dismissed these contentions. "But now those days are over, and they're never, ever coming back. Don't you miss them at all? Think about it, nevermore will you copy down notes while giggling with a friend at a professor's quirky mannerisms. Nevermore will you play hangman or pass notes in a lesson, the fun of doing so created in part by the excitement of breaking a rule, and the inkling of apprehension when it entered your mind that you might get caught. Nevermore will you take an exam, or cram for one with a friend. Nevermore will you scribble out a line in detention, sacred to meet a friend's eye because you might both burst out laughing. A thousand more nevermores. Won't you miss it, Chris?"
"I guess, when you put it that way, I might." Chris shrugged. "But we're growing up, and we've a fine future ahead of us all. We've got the whole world to explore now, not just the grounds of Hogwarts, and sometimes Hogsmeade."
Steph nodded. "Chris and Heather are both right. We've all got brilliant careers before us, and we shouldn't regret moving onto them, although, as Heather says, we ought to understand that our childhood is mostly over, and that is sad, because, I do wonder where the heck the time went. Still, not everything will change..."
"We'll remain friends forever," completed Jennifer, "and the quill, Heather, has not yet ceased its scratching, for we shall continue to correspond with each other, and, even if we do sometimes get busy and neglect to write, we will always think of each other again, and then our quill will resume its scratching as we pen a letter."
"That is, if we don't die of starvation," teased Bill. "Come on, let's go down to the end of term feast. There's probably a bit of dessert left."
"Bet there is," Chris affirmed, "and we can call on seventh-year privilege to make certain we get the best pudding."
"I'm Head Boy," Bill reminded him as the six of them departed the common room for one of the last times in their lives, "and I can hardly allow you to bully underclassmen in front of me, Christopher Brown."
"I forgot you were Head Boy," smirked Chris as they headed down several corridors and a flight of stairs. "Well, that makes it all the easier, doesn't it? Now all you have to do is tell everyone that they've got to give you and your companions the best food, or you'll put them all in detention."
"Yeah, because I wouldn't be abusing my authority at all, if I did that," Bill snorted.
"Yeah, and like it's not the end of the year," laughed Mike. "When on earth would they serve that detention, Chris?"
"Don't ask me, Mike, for I'm not Head Boy. I'm not the one walking around in that horrible badge."
"You're just jealous." Bill stuck up his nose as they arrived in the Great Hall, and they wandered over to the Gryffindor table, where there was still plenty of pudding for them to stuff themselves with.
