A/N: So……I bet you're noticing that this is not an update of "Powers of Persuasion." I would normally offer an excuse, but I'm sure you're all very tired of those, so I'll just get on with it. This is an epilogue to "Another Witch in the Family," and it's been in my mind for a while. I didn't originally picture it like this, but this is what came out, so I hope that you enjoy it anyway. So…because portkey doesn't want to upload italic properly, I've separated flashbacks by ***, but some of the text in between might come out in italics because I'm too lazy to fix it!
Chapter 5~ Epilogue
"The ceremony starts in five minutes, Miss Moore, you're cutting it very fine!" shouts the Fat Lady as I go pelting down the corridor. I wave a hand behind me to indicate that I heard and put an extra spurt of energy into running, feeling my detested bushy hair flapping behind me in wavelike succession.
I absolutely hate being late. It has been said that this is a family trait, and I am quite disinclined to argue. I reckon that with all of the horrible features I inherited-knobby elbows, freckly complexion, a lovely towering temper when in stride-a preoccupation with punctuality isn't all that bad. So with these thoughts, I speed my way along corridors and down staircases, clutching the copy of the speech that I spent nearly a month honing to perfection.
If someone had told me years ago that when I was seventeen years old, I'd not only be graduating from the most prestigious magical school in all of Europe but I'd be doing so with top honors and the legendary Head Girl status, I would have suggested some medical attention. Since that fateful Wednesday when my acceptance letter from Hogwarts arrived via owl post, the castle has become my third home-the first of course being the house I live in with my parents, and the second the one belonging to my two favorite wizards.
Over the years I've become pretty familiar with the castle and most of its features. I suppose it's hard to be cooped up in one place for months and not get to know it intimately, but I've personally never felt trapped within these four walls. I've had some of my best memories here: fantastic feasts, grand balls, serious discussions with people who've been dead for hundreds of years…just to name a few. I doubt that I would trade it for anything.
But my time here hasn't always been sugary sweet, and nostalgic reminiscing doesn't always bring a smile to my face. Even my Sorting was bittersweet. I can feel my steps slowing down as I sink into the memory, despite internal reminders that the seconds are ticking by and I'm barely out of sight of the Gryffindor portrait.
***
I'm huddled with the rest of the first years near the head table in the Great Hall, a magnificent room filled with all of the older students of Hogwarts and the professors who will be teaching us for seven years. I am terrified, but the boy next to me is shivering too, so I know I'm not alone.
The only sound is coming from the whispers of the students sitting at their House table. I can see the little colorful crests sewn onto their robes as they lean toward one another and whisper behind their hands. Their eyes are on us and I know they're sizing us up. I hear one girl, her blue patch just distinguishable beneath her dark, straight hair, tell her friend that we're the biggest class of first years since the end of the war. I am strangely buoyed up by the pressure of their expectation; rising above others' standards has always been a challenge I relish. I just hope I don't disappoint them.
I glance up as movement from above catches my eye and I remember something Harry said while we were exploring Diagon Alley last summer. He told me that the ceiling to the Great Hall was charmed to reflect the sky outside, but at the time I wasn't sure what he meant. Now I can make out constellations I've only seen sketches of in books and I cant't help the smile that spreads across my face. I'm not afraid anymore, even though a whisper from the pair of girls next to me indicates that they think there is going to be some kind of test.
I want to tell them otherwise but before I can open my mouth, silence descends as a hooded figure places a stool on the raised step in front of the head table. He steps back and then lays an ancient-looking pointed hat that has a slit along the brim, removing his own hood afterwards. The whispers start up again, this time among the first years, for they have spotted what I had noticed moments before: the robed wizard in front of us is none other than Harry Potter, my cousin Hermione's best friend and the savior of the wizarding world. I've no doubt that many of the people whispering about him now grew up hearing his name uttered with some reverent tone, but I feel fortunate to have missed all that. The man I see in front of us is just Harry.
The girls next to me stifle a swooning giggle and I can feel a slight blush rise in my face. I know what they're thinking because I've thought the same thing when I first met him, but realizing that Harry is already spoken for is something they will have to find out on their own.
Harry's green eyes rake across the first years until they reach mine and he gives me a little encouraging smile that breaks through his professional exterior. I smile back and I can feel the curious glances directed at me from the some of the other first years.
The next moment, Harry is speaking and I remember how Hermione told me the students were designated into Houses. So that is what the hat is for. What I don't seem to have recalled from her story is that the hat splits along the brim and begins to sing a song about not only the history of the Hogwarts founders but the individual qualities admired in the students of each House. I know that Hermione, Harry, and their friend Ron who I met once when I had dinner at my cousin's flat were in Gryffindor, but I suppose I would be okay with the other Houses as well.
Harry begins to read names from the list in alphabetical order and I can feel the nervousness return. Each time a name is called, the student climbs up to sit on the stool and places the hat on their head and, a few moments later, their new House is called. A House is supposed to be like your family when you're at school, and I look behind me at the sea of faces, wondering if somewhere out there is my best friend.
"Kensington, Acantha!" calls Harry, and one of the giggly girls next to me strides boldly forward. Her friend stands on tip toes to see over the rest of the first years as Acantha delicately places the Sorting hat on her blond head. A few moments later she lets out a squeal as the hat names Gryffindor and Harry offers a congratulatory grin. Her friend Cassia joins her a few minutes later and I cross my fingers, hoping that the hat will find brave qualities in me as well.
"Moore, Kate!" says Harry, ignoring the listed name on the parchment and using the nickname I suggested when we first met instead. I can feel my hands shaking as I make my way through the crowd so I clasp them tightly together. Pulling myself up on the stool, I look over at Harry who holds the hat above my head with an understanding smile on his face. I briefly wondered how many students have perched anxiously on this stool, wishing for a certain House or maybe knowing nothing about it.
I nod to Harry that I'm reading and he lowers the hat on my head. For a moment, silence, and then-
"Ahhhh!" says a raspy voice, which I soon realize is coming from inside the hat. "Steely determination, that I haven't seen in a long time, a thirst to prove yourself…clever, too, yes I see, perhaps Ravenclaw-but what is this?"
My eyes fly open; I was squeezing them shut. I plead to the hat silently for it to put me where Hermione was, for surely if I am as like her as I heard Ron and Harry say, then I should be in the same House?
"Gryffindor, eh?" the hat says. "Not Ravenclaw? There you can enrich your mind, you could be the brightest of your age…It's all here. But, no? You want Gryffindor? Very well, GRYFFINDOR!"
The hat shouts the last word and I feel myself sighing in relief as I slid off the stool to polite scattered applause. Harry discreetly pats my shoulder when I hand him the hat and go to join my new scholastic family.
Not too long later, the rest of the students are sorted and the headmistress welcomes us to another (or in my case inaugural) year at Hogwarts. Then enormous amounts of food fill the dishes and platters in front of us. I glance up to Harry at the head table, where he sits next to Headmistress McGonagall, and see that he is amused by my dazed reaction to the appearance of the start of term feast. I turn back and dig in until I am too full to think of anything other than sleep. Luckily at this point some of the older students begin to round the first years up from each House, leading us to the dormitories and giving a condense tour along the way.
I am clumsily following the prefect, slightly lethargic due to my full stomach, when I feel an arm hook through mine. Attached to the newly-bought Hogwarts uniform is the head of Acantha Kensington. A moment later, Cassia McGregor slips her hand through my other arm. Their heads bend close to mine as though what they are about to say is of the utmost importance.
"So, how do you know Harry Potter?" asks Acantha asks sweetly, and I am immediately reminded of my mother when she's trying to be persuasive. This does nothing to put me at ease, as I am completely aware that these girls will probably be controlling the entire class by luncheon tomorrow.
"What makes you think I know him?" I say automatically.
Cassia gives a ringing chortle and my head whips to her direction. "Don't mind Acantha here, she forgets her manners sometimes. I'm Cassia." She speaks with great emphasis; I know her mind is wholly focused on what she's saying and that Acantha must be the calculative one. I offer my name out of politeness, but purposely don't give them leave to use my nickname. " Forgive me," Cassia continues, " but you must know Harry Potter, we saw him smile straight at you for Merlin's sake!"
I glance back at Acantha and I see that they are both wearing identical expectant expressions. I am at a loss as to how to get out of this; I am absolutely rubbish at lying on the spot. "I-er, he's best friends with my cousin." Deep down I know this is none of Acantha or Cassia's business, though I secretly am beginning to find myself wanting to impress them with my connections.
Acantha has raised one of her eyebrows dubiously as if to defy my claim. "And who is your cousin?" she presses.
"Hermione Granger," I say, forgetting for a second that she is almost as famous as Harry is.
Acantha's eyes light up as though Christmas has come early and she eagerly looks to Cassia. "Why, how very fortunate that we happened to discover you! You must have met him loads of times!" My stomach drops and I finally realize that I might be making a mistake in continuing this conversation. Without waiting for an answer, Acantha goes on, "So what is he really like?"
I wrack my brain for a response that doesn't give too much away. Fortunately, by this time we've reached the Gryffindor common room and the prefect tells us the password, but I find that in my conversation I hadn't been paying attention on how to get here. We enter the common room and I want nothing more than to go to bed, but when I enter the first year girls dormitory, I find that I will be sharing it with Acantha and Cassia, who, at the moment, couldn't be happier. My desire from moments before to impress them is now gone and I don't want to reveal any of what I know of Harry or Hermione.
"Well?" asks Cassia in a sweet tone I reckon she has copied from Acantha.
I shrug. "He's just…Harry," I answer unhelpfully.
Acantha scowls now that she has figured out that I am deliberately withholding what she considers to be valuable information. "That's all?" she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
I shrug again, practically hearing my social status being flushed down the toilet. "You may as well get over your little crush on him. He has a girlfriend," I tell them. Maybe if they know that he's not available anyway, they'll stop pestering me about him. They're eleven anyway, maybe twelve, what are they thinking?
"Well thank you for the kind advice," says Acantha sarcastically. Her tone switches back to sweet faster than I can blink. "You know, if you stick with Cassia and I, we can run the school. We could be the second Golden Trio!" She and Cassia share a laugh, delighted at their little joke. Acantha turns back to me. "With your connections in the professors and ours in the students-"
"My sister is the Ravenclaw prefect," interrupts Cassia, and for a moment I recognize her flowing dark hair as the same I saw on the whispering Ravenclaw student earlier.
Acantha glares at Cassia's interruption in annoyance. "Anyway, what do you think?"
I stare at the pair of them for several moments, knowing that my next move could very well be social suicide. I don't want to make enemies of the girls that I will be sharing a dormitory with for the next seven years, but I also don't want friends who only value my acquaintances with other people. Perhaps I shall give them the benefit of the doubt.
"All right, I'll join you," I say bravely. The girls began to squeal and jump up and down on either side of me so that I have to shout the next bit. "On one condition."
Acantha stops hopping. "And what is that?" she demands.
"You tell me my name." I cross my arms over my chest as the girls stare at each other dumbly. "Thought so," I say before I turn and jump onto my bed. I shut the curtains behind me on both the remaining light and my first failed attempt at friendship.
***
"And it wouldn't be the last," I mumble to myself as I continue to the graduation ceremony.
A whir whizzes past me and I turn to see who it was. "Hi, Kate! I forgot my hat!" he explains his shoes click loudly on the stone floor. I wave and turn back the way I was going, speeding up my pace to a brisk walk. My watch says that the ceremony is going to start in ten minutes, and as Head Girl, it's my responsibility to give the welcome speech. I will be the very first person to speak and I'm a bit nervous. Stringing words together in person is not one of my strong suits. I round the corner and begin my descent to the ground floor via many of the school's magical staircases. I pointedly skip a step and remember the very first time that I was trapped on this very staircase. It was the last day of classes before the Christmas holidays my first year, and I was late to meet Harry in the entrance hall. I was to travel with him to London and stay at Hermione's until my mum could come pick me up, so Harry was yet again to act as my chaperone. But I didn't mind, at that point he was the only friend I had at Hogwarts.
***
My trunk was jammed with more things to bring home for the month than I had managed to bring to Hogwarts in September. To be fair it was mostly gifts that I had made in class or books that I borrowed for the holiday. Hermione suggested in one of her frequent letters that I should take up knitting, so my trunk was filled with my pitiful attempts at scarves and hats as well.
After breakfast, Harry came down from the head table and we settled on a meeting time-which I'm late for. Luckily it was at the end the meal and most people were already gone or up in their dormitories packing, so not many were around to witness our conversation. The only people I was really worried about were Acantha and Cassia, who, true to their word, made my very existence at Hogwarts unbearable.
Hermione knows this, because I confided in her in a letter that no one really talks to me, and she told me that when she got to Hogwarts, pretty much the exact thing happened. I was surprised because I always thought that she and Harry and Ron were best friends right from the beginning, but apparently not. She told me that to get a friendship like the one she had with "her boys," something totally unexpected had to happen. She said friendships like that don't come about in the normal way, whatever that means.
I forcefully drag my trunk down the stairs, trying to keep it under control. It's difficult because it's so bulky and heavy and I find that I'm having a hard time navigating the many twists and turns of the castle. For a fleeting second, I wish that I could bewitch the suits of armor to help me, or that someone would come along and see that I'm having troub-
Suddenly my foot sinks into what I realize too late is the trick step in one of the many magical staircases. The momentum from my trunk pushes me off balance and I find myself keeling over. I reach out to brace for a hard landing when a pair of arms comes out of nowhere and not only stops the progress of the trunk but steadies me as well.
I look up to thank my rescuer and find that he is one of the first year boys in my House, one of the few that acknowledges my presence when we have to work in groups. "Thanks, I didn't know this was one of the stairs to watch out for," I say gratefully. I'm about to say more when I stupidly realize that I don't know his name. I try to cover up my blunder by dusting myself off.
"It happens," he replies, shrugging. "It's Kate, right?"
I smile and furrow my brow, surprised that he not only knew the name that very few people call me, but that he remembered it. "Yeah, sorry, what's your name?" I ask, feeling more and more like an idiot. At this rate he'll be gone in about five seconds.
"I'm Phillip, Phillip Henson," he says with the biggest grin I've ever seen.
I can't help but smile back. "Kate Moore," I say, shaking his hand.
He gestures down to my trunk. "You heading home for the holidays?" he asks conversationally.
I am still trying to believe that someone is talking to me but I manage out a sentence or two. Sort of. "Well, at first I'm going to my cousin's house in London, and then my mum is going to pick me up," I say in a rush, giving him more information than he probably cares to know. "How about you?" I ask out of politeness and because I'm genuinely curious what most people do for the holiday break.
He shrugs again in a noncommittal way but I can see from the downturned corners of his mouth that when he says, "Nah, I thought it'd be fun to have Christmas away from home for once," that he doesn't really mean it. My theory seems to be confirmed when he adds, "Plus, my parents have gone on holiday again, so I'm stuck here."
"Oh," I say, wanting to apologize but not sure I have the right to. I fumble with my things to give my hands something to do. I know the clock is ticking and that Harry is probably annoyed that I'm so late, but I can't seem to make my lips or feet move.
Finally, Phillip offers to help me take my trunk down and I accept. The pair of us drag the thing down several more flights of stairs toward the ground floor, chatting along the way. He tells me about his time here so far and we talk about our favorite classes.
"Mine by far is Defense, though I suppose we're not really supposed to call it a class, are we?" he says, his wide grin back in its rightful place. He has this habit of tossing his head to keep his dark brown hair out of his face which for some reason I find endearing.
I laugh and nod my head at his wise choice. "Yeah, I guess not, after the thing with Voldemort wanting the position and everything. But still, we have an excellent teacher for it." I turn to smile at him, but he's gone pale and is staring at me in shock. "What's the matter?" I ask, afraid that I've once again committed some wizarding faux pas.
His mouth opens and closes soundlessly before he finally utters, "You-said His name. You said V-V-Voldemort!" He sounds slightly awed and not a little bit surprised. Only then do I remember Harry telling me that not a lot of people say the name, even now.
"Sorry," I say, immediately going red and wishing that we learned invisibility spells already.
"No, no, I think it's cool. It's just, not a lot of people say it, even now," he is quick to add. I smile as his words almost exactly match Harry's and silence invades again. I want to say something funny, something that will have him remember to talk to me again when we get back from the holidays. I bet Acantha could come up with something.
I'm about to settle on another question when he beats me to it. "So, who are you traveling with? I thought all of the school carriages had left a few hours ago."
I bite my lip and the thought that maybe the reason why he even started talking to me is because he knows that I know Harry and wants me to introduce him enters my mind and I feel a tight knot form in my stomach. What if he doesn't really care about me and just wants to get an autograph or something? What if he's just like Acantha and Cassia? "Just a friend," I answer. He seems unperturbed by the vagueness of my answer; maybe he really was just trying to make conversation. "So what will you do over the holiday?" I ask, trying to make up for my doubt of his intentions.
He fixes another grin on his face, but it looks slightly forced and I find myself wishing that I hadn't asked. "I thought I'd read or something, explore the castle more. I heard there's a way into the kitchens if you find a certain painting."
"Oh yeah," I say, recalling another of Harry's stories, "It's a painting of a bowl of fruit-you've got to tickle the pear and it turns into a doorknob."
Phillip looks at me again in awe. "Blimey, Kate, how did you know all that?"
I shrug, thinking that maybe I should evaluate everything that I say before I let it out of my mouth. "My friend," I say again. "I haven't ever been to the kitchens though."
"Well, maybe I'll follow up on your friend's lead over the holidays and we'll go when you get back?" he offers with raised eyebrows as though fully expecting me to refuse.
We're just starting to descend down the last marble staircase to the entrance hall where I can see Harry waiting and I feel the first massive grin in months hit me. I finally realize what Hermione was saying and I can't wait to tell her-Phillip Henson is my friend. "I'd love to," I say instead.
***
I smile to myself as I begin to descend the very same marble staircase. That Christmas had been one of the best, for not only did Hermione come have dinner with the whole family, but she brought Harry too. And of course, that was the Christmas that Harry had proposed, so Hermione came accompanied by her fiancé and a beautiful engagement ring.
After dinner she took me aside to show it to me-it was a large, rainbow opal set on a silver band. She told me what Harry said when he gave it to her-something about the Greeks believing that those gems held fire, just like Hermione, or something like that. I was pretty distracted by what she did next. She handed me a small, velvet box and said that without me, she and Harry would be doomed to stupidity. When I opened it, my mouth went dry, for she was giving me the heirloom clauddagh that she wore for years. "And now it's your turn," she said. When I returned to Hogwarts, I had a friend waiting for me, and by the next year I made the vow never to let him spend a Christmas alone at Hogwarts again.
I glance down at the ring where it sits on my left hand and my eye fixes on my watch, which now reads five minutes until the ceremony. Fortunately I only have a few yards to cover before I reach the large open doors of the Great Hall. My heart is hammering in my throat as the realization that I will be giving a speech to hundreds of people sets in. Granted, it's not supposed to be Shakespeare, but I will be the first voice they hear at the ceremony. For a moment I feel all of sixteen again.
Sixteen. Merlin, what an age that was. Sixteen was the complete onset of teenagehood, not to mention I had a bloke for a best friend and almost no girls my age to talk to. Life itself was confusing. Suddenly a lot more effort went into taming my bushy hair and I even found myself conversing civilly with my dormmates when clothes needed to be borrowed. Everything was upside down, but thank Merlin I had Hermione to write to and someone who had once been a boy to badger with boy-related questions. I think Harry was more than a little taken aback the first time I brought a subject outside the world of academia. Harry was used to me visiting him in his office when he was between classes, mostly just to chat and occasionally to learn more advanced defense spells, so he wasn't surprised when I turned up one day toward the end of my fifth year in a panic over what he probably thought was just some inane charm or hex.
***
"Harry! You've got to help me!" I cry, breathing heavily after running all the way from where I was studying in the library.
He calmly sets down the stack of parchment that he was grading on his desk and leans back in his chair, indicating with his hand that I should take a seat. "All right, what seems to be the problem, Miss Moore?" he asks very professionally, leaning forward onto his desk with his hands tightly clasped. He gets like this every now and then when I burst into his office in a panic. This is usually after I have decided that I'm unfit to study magic or that I don't deserve to live or something, and he has to remind me that I'm attempting spells that most full-fledged adult wizards can't handle.
Right now I just want to shake him by the shoulders because I'm not here for instruction but advice. "Really, Harry, this is serious."
He relaxes back into his chair and I see the years peel away as he shrugs off his professorship and becomes just my friend. "Really, Kate, what's the problem?"
"Er-well, you see," I begin, before I realize that I don't know what to say. The certainty that coming here would be a solution that I had about twenty minutes ago while Phillip and I were in the library seems to have dissolved on the journey. Why did this seem like a good idea? Harry will just laugh at my predicament, the one I'm not even sure is really a predicament. Oh well, he's waiting for a reply, so I might as well, just to lay it out there. I really need Hermione for this sort of thing.
"Er, the thing is-oh bollocks. Harry, I need to ask you a question," I finally splutter.
He nods wordlessly though I see that he's beginning to notice that this isn't like my usual tutoring sessions.
"Okay, so…how do you know if a boy likes you?" The words aren't even out of my mouth before I a completely mortified. As much as I want to take it back, I still want to know the answer.
Harry, however, has chosen to play up his daftness. "What do you mean?" he asks, the picture of utter confusion.
I blow a stream of air through my nose, feeling myself becoming impatient. I can't waste time elaborating, I need to know the answer! Some of my edginess comes out in my speech as I explain further. "You know, how can you tell? He doesn't just walk up to you and say it, so he has to let you know in some way, right?"
Harry scratches his chin in thought and I wonder for a second if he's also wishing Hermione were here to handle this sudden display of my girliness. Finally he formulates a reply. "Well, how is this boy acting?"
I pause to consider this fair question. "Well, he's nice to me, I suppose, but then, he's always nice to me-except when we argue about stupid stuff. But even then, even when I'm upset with him all I ever want to do is apologize because I can stand being angry at him, but I can't stand him being angry at me. Does that make sense?"
Harry nods. "Surprisingly, it does. That seems to clarify how you feel about him, am I right?"
I shrug. We haven't really made any progress. "Well, I figured out that part a while ago," I say, holding up my left hand. Harry squints to focus on what I'm indicating and notices the infamous clauddagh ring now on my left hand.
"I see," he says simply. He doesn't look uncomfortable anymore, which means I can relax too. "Well, guys don't often carry a sign so don't expect some grand, sweeping gesture if he does fancy you. More often than not, he's just scared to death that you might not feel the same, so if he's important to you, this bloke, then say something to him. I'll tell you, having once been sixteen, I can rightly say that the easiest thing for a girl to do would have been to ask me flat-out if I fancied her. If I did, I could answer truthfully and leave no room for doubt."
Has he gone mad? "Are you saying that I just walk up to him, stomp all over years of friendship, and just say, 'All right, Phillip? By the way I fancy you'? No. Bloody. Way."
Harry looks at me in amusement and I can't think of anything even approaching funny at this point. I trace back over my words, and clap a hand over my mouth. "Well, that saves me the trouble of asking you who the lucky bloke is," laughs Harry as I aim a glare in his direction. "But, yeah, that would be the simplest thing. Look, someone's got to do it, and there has to be a reason you were sorted into Gryffindor right? This is something to tell your grandchildren, or at the very least, Hermione. I'm sure she'll be dying to know what happens," he adds with a smirk.
"Ugh, that excuse again? How many times have I been persuaded to do something because of that bloody Gryffindor bravery?" I ask the room at large. "We Gryffindors have a very raw deal."
"I knew that you would be here to ask this someday. Oh, my little Kate's all grown up," Harry says, conjuring a tissue and pretending to wipe his eyes.
My smile flickers and then fades as the full ramifications of a confession set in. "And what if he says he doesn't feel the same, or worse, if he laughs in my face? I doubt he'd do that, but still. Harry, I think it's more than just a passing fancy. I think I love him, but all I hear in my head is my mother's voice telling me that I'm sixteen and I don't know what I want. I don't think I could bear to lose him. Is our friendship something that I should dare to risk?" I'm voicing my greatest fears, but they're to someone who's been through the exact same situation. If anyone can help me, it's Harry.
Harry's face wears the most serious expression I've seen on him in a long time. He leans forward on his desk again and speaks slowly and deliberately. "Kate, this is really your decision. I can guide you, but I can't tell you what to do. You must choose for yourself."
That's all? Why can't someone just tell me what to do?
Harry looks on what probably is a very pitiful expression in sympathy and adds bracingly, "Look, the two of you have grown up together. That doesn't get thrown out overnight if he doesn't return your feelings. And that's a big if. Kate, I've seen you together, and that boy is over the moon about you, even if he doesn't realize it yet. Someone's got to knock some sense into him and it might as well be you."
I laugh and am a little embarrassed to find tears in my eyes.
"So, is that all, Miss Moore? I hate to be rude, but I have parchments to ink up," says Harry briskly, all pretend business again.
I roll my eyes, but thank him for his advice, though I don't know if I will heed it. He sing-songs just as I am about to close the door, "Let me know how it goes!" and I have to wonder how old her really is, because sometimes he acts just like my little brother.
***
When I arrive at the Great Hall, I pause at the threshold for a moment, collecting my thoughts and absently smoothing the creases in my dressrobes. I feel as though my limbs are made of lead and it will require all of my energy to get to where I need to be to give my speech.
"Kate!" comes a breathy but stifled shout from the staircase. I turn to see my best friend Phillip hurrying towards me, hat now in hand. He rushes up to me and takes in my most likely pale and ill appearance and asks unnecessarily, "Nervous?"
I nod wordlessly, wondering if I left my voice behind too.
"Don't be," he says easily. "You'll be the best Head Girl welcome speaker person in the room."
I laugh begrudgingly and give him a playful swat on the shoulder. "I'll be the only 'Head Girl welcome speaker person' in the room," I point out.
He shrugs in his usual way. "Then you're destined to be the best. Now go knock 'em dead, or rather, don't because I want them to alive to hear my closing speech. You look nice, by the way."
"Thanks, Mr. Head Boy closing speaker person," I say with a faint blush, feeling slightly more human than a few minutes ago. With an encouraging pat on the shoulder, Phillip dashes off to his seat in the front row, and I watch him go for a second before stepping into the Great Hall myself.
I scan the rows of attending guests as I walk down the center aisle toward the podium, trying to spot among the array of wizarding and Muggle garb my cousin's signature bushy brown hair. I see her and my parents and brother when I am just level with them and I aim a wave in their direction but tap my watch to show I can't talk just now. I make my way up the rest of the aisle and climb up the raised platform where the podium and rows of teachers are. Instantly I spot Harry's untidy black hair since it sticks out in all directions underneath his hat. He shoots me the same cheesy thumbs up expression as on my first day of Defense Against the Dark Arts and I return it with a smirk.
When I reach the podium, it's just in time to receive the nod from Headmistress McGonagall to begin. I look back to the rows of friends and family and I find my cousin. Her left hand rests on her round belly and I can see the ring of fire on her third finger flashing brilliantly in the rays from the windows. She's not looking up at me, though I have a pretty good idea where her gaze leads.
My eyes drift back up toward the front row and they meet Phillip's sparkling cobalt ones. He gives me his ever-present wide grin, which I return before glancing down at the opening lines of my speech. On my left hand shines the silver surface of my clauddagh ring, with the tip of the heart facing down. I smile once to myself, take a breath, and begin.
A/N: This is the part where I shamelessly beg for reviews.