Their boats glided serenely across the placid black waters. Beams of coloured light streamed from wandpoints into the night sky, answering the call of the stars. The water lapped against the wooden sides of the boats in peaceful regularity.
Everything was quiet and calm, the final, anticlimactic moment of the joyous event overtaken by a contented silence.
In many ways, it marked both the end and the beginning of a journey. Where their learning journey was ending, a new one was beginning. It was a journey into the unknown; and as the outline of the grand castle dwindled behind them, so too did the memories of the school begin to dwindle in the minds of the recent graduates as they turned their thoughts towards that unknown future.
For most of her classmates, the future was as opaque as the lake beneath them, and just as mysterious. But for Helena, it had all already been planned and plotted. The outline of her life had been drawn in by a hand not her own.
Well, she was not going to go through with it. She was not going to. And when she, Helena Potter, had decided not to do something, no one could make her.
Neville squeezed her hand. "You alright?"
"Yes," Helena whispered back. "I'm just thinking." She tilted her head back to follow the line of her own light streaming from her wand. Up, up, it went, to pierce the heavens. She found the electric blue pinprick of her light among the other pinpricks of blues, greens, reds, and yellows that her schoolmates were sending up.
There it was, slowly entering the constellation of Serpens Caput.
"Head of the Snake," she whispered. "Brightest star, Alpha Serpentis."
Suddenly she wished she was very far away, far among the coldness of the stars.
"What was the point," she went on bitterly to herself, her lips barely forming the words, "of Astronomy, of Transfiguration, of all of it?"
Neville squeezed her hand again. She shifted her gaze away from the skies and back to him. His face was glowing in the gold haze thrown off by his own wand-beam, and he was looking at her with deep affection.
It wasn't even that she didn't love him. She did love him, in a way. But love had nothing to do with it. Love never had anything to do with it. It had been planned since their births, and that it turned out that they loved each other was only a happy circumstance.
That was what Helena rebelled against most- the idea of following a plan not her own. The idea of conforming, of walking in the shadow of someone perceived to be greater than her.
Neville was not greater than her, and it wasn't right that she should let herself be led by him.
Perhaps it was this spark of proud rebellion, recognised in Helena by the ghost of the same name who haunted the tallest towers of her school, that led the melancholy shade to have confided to her, her own unhappy tale.
"Why should I have had to yoke my fate to his," had come the whisper, from Helena to Helena. "What had he done to deserve to possess my life in addition to possessing his? I knew if I could find a way out that I would get to have my life for my own. My own whole life ahead of me… So I thought…"
"Yes, think about it," Neville, giving her an encouraging smile, was saying. "We have our whole lives ahead of us to plan. We can do whatever we want now."
"I do, I can," sang her heart.
A slow chant started. Low and solemn at first, it began with the Gryffindors, those ever-loyal, before being caught up by the others and gaining in volume and melody, and gaiety.
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts…"
Helena joined in, her sweet voice adding to the mix.
"You've taught us things worth knowing,
You've done your best, we'll do the rest…"
She stopped and looked back at the familiar turrets and towers and windows glowing with incandescent light.
"Til in our graves we rot!" finished the rest of her schoolmates in a joyous roar.
Long banners of silver, gold, bronze, and onyx bat and fluttered rapidly in the high winds. As she watched, one of the bronze-coloured banners was ripped violently from its rod and flew a distance, only to be caught and entangled in the heavy silver-threaded cloth of another banner.
The hovering mist closed over the school and Helena saw no more of it.
"Thanks, Lumpy," said Luna on her right as she helped herself to servings of creamy gratin dauphinoise.
The elf, Lumpy, bowed low and stepped forward to offer the dish to Theo sitting on Luna's right.
"Miss Potter?" squeaked a voice behind Helena.
"Oh, yes." Helena turned to look at the platter of roasted asparagus drizzled in butter, rosemary, and garlic. She picked up the serving utensils and heaped the greens onto her plate. "Thanks, Dobby."
"You've been distracted lately, Helena," her father commented to the room at large. "I never saw her so self-preoccupied, even during her NEWT studies…"
There were polite murmurs of assent. Neville shot her a concerned look from across the table.
"Post-graduation blues," pronounced Lord Nott, scratching his chin sagely as he made the diagnosis. "I've seen it in my elder sons. One day they're happy as a clam, and the next they're lounging unproductively around the house, traipsing down to breakfast at eleven at the earliest, and pretending to be deaf when I suggest it's time they either choose to support our business or go out into politics. Not that any of that is expected of you of course, Helena."
"Because we expect other things of you," was left unsaid. "Because you're a pure-blood and an Omega."
"I've always found the younger generation to be…" put in Lord Malfoy, putting down his fork with a delicate clink, "…a little entitled…"
On her left, Draco leaned his head close to hers. The smell of young, un-presented Alpha, tart and cutting like unripe mangoes, wafted off him in waves. "Now you've done it," he hissed. "You've gone and get my father started. Thanks for that."
Helena flashed him a grin. "You don't agree with your father then?"
"Of course not," he replied loftily. "In fact, I do believe I'm not nearly entitled enough." He wiggled his brows.
Helena chortled into her napkin. Draco swayed a little closer to her. He licked his bottom lip. "If I were-"
"Draco!" The urgent voice of his intended rang out across from them.
Everybody at the long table looked at her. There were bright spots of colour high on her cheeks.
"Yes, Daphne?" said Draco.
"Lady Longbottom was just telling me that Neville and Helena have yet to decide between Asia or Africa for their honeymoon. What do you think of that? Where would you like us to visit for ours?"
"Anywhere you like," Draco answered pleasantly.
Helena picked at her food sullenly. The level of insecurity Daphne must have been feeling had to have been so great that she'd let all that stupidity out of her head just to get her intended's attention back on her. Un-bonded Omegas hated all forms of public scrutiny.
And now she'd gone and dragged Helena into the fire with her.
"I don't think," said Luna to her, "that either Asia or Africa will turn out to be your choice."
"No? Why not? What would you recommend?" Helena asked amiably, keeping the conversation flowing as she was taught. Normally Luna was on the nose with her observations but if she'd assumed Helena's ill-humour revolved around the location of a honeymoon, then she was grossly in error.
"Those are two very large continents, and I don't think it would be wise to dismiss both wholesale," said Lady Malfoy in alarm.
"Of course not," Neville placated. "We will make sure to consider our choices carefully."
The talk around them turned organically to weddings.
Helena tuned it out. Snatches of an animated debate taking place down the table between Theo, Luna, and Neville's father had reached her ear.
"… issue with adding fine Occamy at such a volatile stage…"
"… don't personally know anyone to have successfully attempted a brew past the fourth…"
They were discussing Felix Felicis, a potion Theo had attempted as part of his NEWTs practical. The first three stages of the recipe were identical to both Sub-ardor and Init-ardor, the Heat suppressing and Heat triggering potions. All three were equally difficult and time consuming to brew, and equally costly.
"…don't you think, dear?"
Helena blinked. A question had obviously been posed to her. "I- yes, I- Sorry, I didn't quite catch that, actually."
"Your gowns, my dear. Will you be wearing just three like Daphne or the traditional set of seven?"
"Seven is too old-fashioned but I don't think I could wear just one gown to my own wedding," mused Daphne, happy to be back in her comfort zone, and on a topic she enjoyed.
"I- er, well…," Helena looked around her for help. But Luna had left to go to the loo and Draco was deep in discussion with both his father and her own, the men on that end of the table having just splintered into a different topic.
Neville gave her a lopsided smile. "There's still a year to go, mum, I'm sure Helena hasn't even thought about it yet."
Helena sent him a grateful look.
"Nonsense," cut in Lady Malfoy. "Every pure-blooded witch has dreamt about her wedding day since she could dream."
All their plates magically wiped themselves clean, and bowls of sugar-dusted financiers and goblets of eton mess topped with delicate chocolate honeycombs appeared in front of each person.
Helena picked up the little spoon and smiled brightly. "I have been thinking about our wedding, of course," she said. And she had, too. That wasn't a lie.
Neville's smile brightened.
Everything tasted like ash.