Author's Notes: Happy Christmas! Here is a present for you...

Chapter Thirty-five:
The Beginning of the End

Our N.E.W.T.s took place over the course of the next two weeks, in the precise schedule our O.W.L.s had followed two years prior. Just as before, the majority of my peers were pleased at this, as though a great lapse of time between each examination would increase their chances of passing. Tom and I were the minority, anxious to be rid of the ordeal as quickly as possible. The days free of classes in that fortnight, we knew, were meant simply for the students to rest their minds, the seventh years most especially. Professor Slughorn himself had told this to Tom directly one day.

"We don't really expect students to study, m'boy!" the great man had laughed, clapping Tom upon the shoulder and leaning close as if he meant to whisper. "We just don't want their wee brains to implode! No, don't worry, Tom, the day you don't succeed at something is the day I'll turn myself into an armchair!"

Tom's lips had been the only part of him to display any hint of a smile. His eyes had reflected what his expression could not: annoyance. I had always known he disliked the Potions Master, and endured him only for the fact that he was an influential man. In truth, it had been through Slughorn in part that he had obtained a position at Borgin and Burke's that coming summer. The man was too easily manipulated, Tom had told me, and his mind was weak in spite of his intelligence.

I had often wondered why Slughorn's favoritism had never extended to be. Tom had asked many a time if I would like him to speak to the man about it, but I always dismissed the idea. I did not tell him that I wished to earn his praise, not request it; somehow, he seemed to understand this, for by June he had long since ceased his inquiries.

The morning of the first examination, my stomach felt as though it had knotted itself into a tight ball, as though someone had taken extra care to ensure that it would not become loose. As I had been aroused from my slumber in this state at such an early hour, I decided to stretch my legs. I hoped that the movement would loosen the tension in my middle, but it only served to agitate me. Realizing I could do little else, I traversed to the Great Hall to sit and stare at a plate I would not fill.

To my surprise—though I should not have expected anything less—Tom was seated at the Ravenclaw table in the vicinity of where I habitually dined. The moment I entered the room, he looked up, as though he had sensed my arrival. He smiled and gestured to a place on the bench beside him, and I happily complied with his unspoken suggestion.

"Good morning," he murmured, his lips first touching the back of my hand before he kissed me. "I trust your sleep fared nearly as well as mine."

I nodded, leaning into the crook of his arm. "Only if you did not sleep at all."

He stroked the hair from my forehead as he spoke. "Every time you have worried, and always it is for nothing. I am sure this time will be no different."

"I cannot seem to help it," I sighed. "Though this time I think my worries are justifiable. The N.E.W.T.s are to create a foundation upon which the rest of our lives will stand!"

"No, Danielle," he corrected softly. "I am the foundation for your future, as you are for mine. Marks on parchment can be changed or overlooked, but that cannot. Let that thought relax you."

An enchantment cast upon me could not have likely produced a similar effect just then, for his words did not indeed calm me nigh instantaneously. What did it matter if a small collection of ancient wizards thought my wandwork poor when Tom was mine?

"You are so good to me," I murmured, so quietly that he could not hear to reply. Or perhaps he simply wished not to argue, but not to disagree as well. In that small slice in the grand scheme of time, it did not matter that there were occasions in the past where my statement would have been horrendously false. There were some experiences I had with Tom that I wished nothing more to forget, but then they seemed insignificant and shadowed by moments such as these.

"Tom?" I inquired after several minutes had passed. He shifted slightly, and I knew that he was listening. "I know this must seem a peculiar topic to mention at the moment, but it has suddenly come into my mind…"

"Does it have anything to do with our wedding?"

I looked sheepish. "Yes. How did you know?"

"I have known you long enough to guess at your thoughts, Danielle. Although, I admit that I have thought of it as well. What is it specifically that you wish to discuss?"

"Well, it is just that… I have been wondering, where and on what date is it to happen? And who are we to invite? I do not even know when or how to plan it."

He regarded me for a long moment. "Would you like to begin now?" he asked at length, looking slightly weary. "That is one thing to fully distract you from N.E.W.T.s."

"Now?" I echoed, though more in pleasure than surprise. There had been a small part of me that had hoped for him to say that very thing. That was the closest I realized I would ever come to manipulation; by the resigned air in his expression, I concluded that my attempts had been transparent. Even if he could read my mind—which I often found myself wondering—I doubted he would have needed to do so just then.

"If that is what you would like," he replied, and I nodded. "Now, as for a date, I believe it is in both of our interests to have it as soon as possible. I see no point in waiting, as it feels that we have waited long enough already."

I nearly shivered with excitement. Why was it that he made me constantly feel like a young girl yet a woman all at once? And if we had never met, would I have ever been able to experience such a sensation?

"What about the Sunday following our graduation?" I suggested. "I have heard that it is lucky to be wed upon the seventh day of the week."

Tom considered this. "Yes, for seven is the most powerful magical number." He waved his hand and a scroll of parchment materialized upon the table before us. With another motion, our unused dishes and utensils were moved aside and an ebony quill stiffly balanced in preparation to write. As he tested the date aloud on his tongue, the quill sprung to life, penning precisely that which he had just spoken.

"And then there is the other important matter," I said. "We must find someone to marry us."

"The Ministry is responsible for that, are they not? We need only apply by owl and someone will be provided."

"Yet that is such a business-like way. Surely we could find—"

"Who did you have in mind?" he interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp.

"W-well, I," I stuttered, biting my lip. His abrupt change in tone startled me, for it was as though he already knew who it was that I wished to suggest. "I do not want to say now; I know that you will not approve. It was foolish of me to even consider…"

I could not long endure his scrutiny, and so within seconds I found myself telling him, regardless of the fact that I thought I should not. "P-perhaps… Professor Dumbledore…" I trailed off meekly, not feeling I could continue.

"You are right," he said solemnly. "That was foolish to suggest. But I wish to know your reasoning."

I required a moment or so to consider my response, for in truth the name had simply popped into my mind and seemed to fit.

As I thought, he continued. "I have always disliked Dumbledore, yet in the times to come, I believe that he is to become my greatest enemy. It will not do to have him know my greatest weakness… my greatest secret…"

This made me pause. "Secret?" I asked, furrowing my brow. We had not discussed this before, and I had believed that our wedding would be as simple as anyone's. Yet it seemed I was so wrong.

"Of course. With the support that I am receiving, I am also gaining a great opposition. Do you not think that if they knew, you would be more endangered than I? I will not see you used as a bargaining tool."

I wished that I could find this nonsensical so that I could disagree and protest. Yet I could not deny his logic, just as always. I was a coward, afraid of what might be done to me if our marriage was made public. At the time I did not realize that Tom could have easily protected me from harm, no matter the circumstance, but I did know that a secretive wedding would easily prevent so many of the risks I would be required to take.

"And I would still like to hear your reasoning," he added quietly when he sensed I would not reply.

I drew in a great breath and released it slowly ere I began. "Dumbledore is not my enemy, Tom; he is a powerful wizard, and though you do not agree with his ideals, he is someone that I would trust with my life. There are not many people that I am able to say this about. And if we want everything to be a secret, then is there no better man to keep it? I know that if I ask for his silence, he will give it to me, not utilize it as an advantage as you would. Consider it: Any Ministry official would turn to Dumbledore immediately, and so his awareness is inevitable. Besides," I added, "if he witnesses—nay, conducts—our marriage, will that not decrease his later prying?"

As the remaining students began to trickle into the Great Hall for breakfast, our fundamental plans were completed and already I had composed my letter to the Transfiguration teacher. Tom had told me not to send it until our graduation, and so I was obliged to wait.

-

"I have always wondered why it was that you entrusted me to marry you and Tom," Albus remarks, looking thoughtful.

"But I provided an explanation at the time," I remind him. "That one was also true: I did not wish for a stranger to be included in such a private affair."

"Then I must commend you regardless of which it is. It is not easy to win an argument against Tom."

I nod, appreciative. It had always been Tom who was more logical than I, and so when we bandied thoughts or wit, he was always victorious. This was the sole occasion that I have ever put an admirable point across.

-

Perhaps by coincidence, the first of our examination was a written one for Transfiguration, which occurred an hour after we had left the Great Hall. My mind reeled as we were handed both parchment and quills that would assure our work to be honest, though when I glanced at the first question, I felt my shoulders relax. The queries that followed asked things that I could answer so naturally it was as if I had always known them. Several seats away, I could discern Tom's irritated sigh, and I smiled to myself, clutching my quill firmly.

Tom was the first to finish, and I completed the final sentence in the required essay not long after. When I took my answers to the front of the room to hand to Professor Dumbledore, he looked at me as though I had promised to reveal something to him. I hastily lowered my eyes and bumped into a container filled with extra quills, nearly sending it to the floor. When I steadied it, I rushed to rejoin Tom at the doors where he was waiting.

At the time, these tests were conducted in their respective classrooms and the teachers were present to further supervise. We were also permitted to leave once we were through. I was grateful to leave the room, for nerves and tension were thickly laden in the air.

"Do you see?" he smirked once we were in the corridor. "It was not worth your worry."

"As of yet," I corrected. "In the practical portion it shall not be so simple for me."

Tom merely shook his head, and we walked on in comfortable silence.

That afternoon, the practical was indeed as difficult as I had thought, for I could not readily call to mind and speak certain spells when I was prompted to. I was mortified to find that even when I knew which enchantment to utilize, I stumbled over the pronunciation as though it was a new language to which I was not accustomed. After half the time had passed, I glanced at the examiner who had been assigned to me. She was a small yet sturdy woman in appearance whom I had briefly heard addressed as Madam Marchbanks.

"Relax, child," she kindly told me, meeting my gaze. "I was informed that you are a highly gifted witch, and I am here for you to demonstrate that to me."

"Yes, ma'am," I murmured, flushing. Though her words were meant to encourage me, I felt that I had already disappointed her. I pursed my lips.

"Why don't you try something of your choice?" she suggested.

I thought for a moment, and then smiled as best I could. Then I closed my eyes and envisioned the other chamber, just as it had been the last time we had left it; the threadbare curtains were billowing in and out gently, and I could nigh feel the wind which drifted through them upon my face. In my mind, two shapes began to appear…

Suddenly, there were a collection of astonished outbursts throughout the Great Hall, and my eyes shot open. Instantly, I realized the reasoning behind the surprise of my peers; it was as though the image had been taken directly from my thoughts and cast onto the room, or perhaps that everyone had been transported into it. Whatever it was, one thing was certain: I had revealed the appearance of the other chamber to the entirety of my year.

And yet it was different, for the furniture we thought had long since rotted away was present, and the floor was clean.

"What sort of magic is this?" Madam Marchbanks gasped, looking at me in a mixture of expressions. I could only shake my head, for in truth I did not know. The chamber had been the first thing that had come to mind, yet I had only meant to bring an object for from it as a prop, not the entirety of the room.

At that moment, the chamber door burst open and a man with a great beard and dark green robes strode into our midst. His face was nigh ape-like in appearance, and there was something about him that was familiar, yet I could not place it. He conjured a wooden trunk without the aid of his wand and began to draw various items into its depths. His face was set in an expression of stony anger that I had come to know so well.

In the seconds that followed, a dark haired witch also appeared, her face red and her breath short as if she had just run a great distance. Her deep blue robes hung closely to her slender frame.

"Salazar, you must not leave!" she cried, grasping his arm in an attempt to put an end to his feverish packing.

"You heard Gryffindor," he growled, and shook her off.

"And I care not! Immobulus!"

He parried the spell easily, and the light from it was then deflected. I saw it pass straight through the shoulder of a Hufflepuff girl, who shrieked with fear. When she was not rendered immobile as the spell was meant to cause her to do, I understood. Somehow, I had touched upon a memory stored within the castle and had transfigured it to be viewed as it would in a Pensieve. Or nearly so, at least, for if I squinted, I could discern faintly the outline of the Great Hall surrounding it.

Fearful that I had done something I was not supposed to do, I pictured the room as it had been in its former state. To my intense relief, the room once more projected my thoughts, and Rowena and Salazar vanished with their surroundings. The echoes of their argument could be heard for moments more until they faded away into silence.

"I believe," Madam Marchbanks said as she peered closely at me, "that that will suffice." She held her wand aloft and put her finger to the tip. The wood glowed in a hue of pale gold, then melted into a solid ribbon, which she pressed into my hand. "Consider this," she whispered to me. "You are free to leave."

My cheeks burned, though no one looked at me, and I hurried from the room to wait for Tom in slight bewilderment. When he emerged, I could not tell whether he was upset or pleased or directly in between.

"And I thought," he at last said with an air of nonchalance, "that transfiguring a man's voice into that of a Parseltongue was sufficiently impressive." He held out his hand and pulled me to my feet.

In comparison to that first day, the remainder of our N.E.W.T.s passed in absolute silence. Everything occurred as it should have, without mishap or excessive achievement. Throughout each practical, my examiners were determined to provoke me into revealing as spectacular a skill as they had thought my previous display to be, but their efforts were unsuccessful. I was not even certain that what I had done before was an enchantment of my own invention.

Just as Slughorn had said, Tom and I utilized the days in between our classes to rest, though we had not initially meant to do so. The first day, I was so inconceivably embarrassed that I nearly had not arrived in my dormitory, and would not have at all had Tom not led me directly to my bed. I was thankful that he had not lingered with me until I awoke, for by that time my housemates had returned to the Ravenclaw tower. After that, we took to dozing in the library—though I would never be positive that Tom truly slept as I did.

With these adopted habits and more, two weeks seemed to fly past, until they were nothing more than a shadow behind us.

-

The afternoon of our graduation from Hogwarts, it felt as though even the sun had emerged to celebrate above us. It mattered not that the air was sickeningly thick with heat, only that it was also laden with excitement. In small clusters, students made their way to the Quidditch Pitch, which was where an official ceremony was to be conducted for the occasion.

As Tom and I proceeded to join them, our interlaced hands swung like an unbalanced pendulum between us. I felt strange, clothed in my full school garb; we had never been required to sport the entirety of it since our first year, when we had not known what was expected of us. All that was missing was our dragon hide gloves, though some donned them in a foolish attempt at humor.

I felt out of place, standing at the center of the stadium, for it had been some time since we had last been there—much less attended a Quidditch game. All around us was a sea of people, each face blending in with the next until parents could not be distinguished from children and young adults. Briefly immobilizing was the fact that my parents would not be present; it was a time they had once been anticipating since I had been in the years of my childhood.

"Just think," my father had laughed as my mother straightened the collar of my robe, "in no time at all, you will be grown, and then where will we be, Danielle?"

Where indeed but beneath the ground?

I shook my head, simultaneous with Tom as he tugged gently at my hand. "Do not drift away too far," he commented. I nodded, the movement slow. It was not the time to call painful memories to mind.

By that time, the stands were brimming with as many occupants as they could hold, and still more littered the grass below. The entirety of the school seemed to have made an appearance, though even with the extra additions, it felt as though there were far too many beings in one place—this place. Perhaps the Quidditch games always merited so large a crowd, yet how would I have been able to compare this? Or perhaps I was simply bitter at the excessiveness because my achievements would be supported by no one.

The ceremony much differed from the ones we had happened to attend in the past, in that it was concise—but not rushed. The speeches which were made were brief, for Professor Dippet was neither verbose nor talented at forming a collection of powerful words. In April, Tom and I had been approached and asked to contribute something; I had declined, for I knew well that I had difficulty presenting merely to as small a class as Ancient Runes. It had been expected of Tom, at the very least, to utter several choice words, yet as always, he feigned humbleness, professing that he would not know what was to be said; and he did not wish to draw so much attention to himself.

This year, the festivities were instead modeled about the Sorting Hat ceremony. We were herded into a crowd, standing much taller than we had the first time, and in more ways than one. Then successively, our names were called and we were entreated to sit upon a larger three-legged stool whilst the Sorting Hat was once more placed upon our heads. This was all of which the ordeal was comprised.

We listened attentively at first, hoping that snatches of the battered hat's words would be spoken aloud; we were eager to pry into whatever private advice it gave, as though it would in some way be useful to the remainder of us. Soon, however, we found ourselves rapidly losing interest as the names being announced from a list was the only proof that something was formally occurring. Our audience, too, was restless.

"Parmellie, Danielle." I was startled into attentiveness when I heard my name being called, and I stumbled toward as though I had been pushed from behind. I could feel eyes upon me, but not many; I was still met with apathy. Feeling conspicuous, I hurried too the three-legged stool and sat upon it. Professor Dippet's plastered smile did not falter as he placed the Sorting Hat atop my head

"Hello, Danielle," the hat said into my mind. "It has been some time since last we spoke, has it not?"

Indeed. Yet you have reached me in other ways, I thought dryly.

"Ah, yes. Did you enjoy my song? I composed it specifically for you and your fiancé. You do realize that it is not too late to turn back?"

I tire of your warnings.

"Then heed them."

I must thank you for your concern, yet I cannot.

"Would you like for me to show you what the outcome of your choice will be? Perhaps then you will be swayed…"

A dark image began to fill the deepest corners of my mind, and a familiar yet unfamiliar scene grew stronger. A graveyard, and old woman…

"NO!" I cried, realizing belatedly that my statement had not merely been heard by the Sorting Hat, for I had unintentionally spoken.

"Very well." Its tone was regretful, even melancholy. "Simply be careful, if you will not heed my other words. I extend my congratulations on your completion of schooling."

I hastily pulled it from my head before it had the chance to further speak. Ever since I had first met Tom, I had been warned in such a multitude of forms that I no longer cared to listen to them. Always they were meant for my own benefit, yet they were so redundant… If I had not chosen to heed their advice in the beginning, then why should I do so now, when what I believed had long since become solidified in my mind? My steps became an angry march as I joined those students whose names had already been called. My thoughts had changed like milk becoming sour, and the day no longer seemed so bright.

Tom sat under the hat's scrutiny for longer than anyone else. I watched his expression change many times; often his face mirrored what I had felt minutes before, as though he, too, was immersed in an argument with it. However, his features were eventually placid, and he stood with a cool grace when he was through. There was a scattering of applause, and then the ceremony was resumed.

"Am I correct to assume," he said as he came to stand beside me, "that it informed you of things that were not of great worth?"

"Yes," I replied, casting a furtive glance behind me whence he had just come.

"Nothing more could be expected of a hat which belonged to Gryffindor," he mused with a sneer.

We fell into hushed conversation for a time, until the shadows began to lengthen and we were no longer required to remain outside. Then we returned to the castle, no longer as students, to prepare for the rest of our lives.