The day had come. Harry, Ron, and Hermoine were about to graduate from their seventh year of Hogwarts. The feast had just begun, and the three of them were sitting in the back of the Great Hall for a change, chatting excitedly about jobs they would consider for their future. "I probably will go into the Ministry of Magic like my dad," Ron said removing his pointed hat from his head and set it on the table. "Maybe I'll become the Minister of Magic, that is, once Cornelius Fudge retires." "Me. I'll become a teacher here," Hermoine said, "You know, the pay is high, not that it matters though. What about you Harry?" "I honestly don't know what I'll do yet. Maybe work here, I don't know. Professor Dumbledore came to me the other day, offering me a job as headmaster." "But Harry," cried Ron, "You're so young!" "I know," Harry said, "but he does look a little old, and." "Attention!" McGonagall's voice echoed over everyone. She sat back down, and Professor Dumbledore stood up from his brilliant golden chair. "Well," he said in a weak voice, "Another year gone, and our most famous student graduates today." Harry turned violently red as Ginny clapped for him. Soon, the whole of the Great Hall applauded, all but the seventh year at the Slytherin table, where Draco and his friends stayed silent. "But don't just clap for him," Dumbledore said, "clap for the whole seventh year and their futures ahead." Another round of applause followed, and the seventh years all threw up their black hats in the air, as Ron and Hermoine exchanged a brief kiss. Harry glanced over in their direction, and felt happiness for them.