RIGHT SO, I--never read book seven, but I know spoilers? IDK THIS IS WHAT POPPED INTO MY HEAD.
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Graduation is a strange thing: they're adults already in everything but this one little ceremony. They stand in a rough approximation of a line, bloodied and their numbers thinned; all through the speeches (which sound so petty and simple, now) and the polite applause of gathered parents. Professor after remaining professor spoke--some longer than others--and in the end, there is only one man left.
He's not very tall, or striking--he's on the short side really, with fantastically bushy eyebrows. He doesn't speak at first, walking down the line, looking each student in the face. When he gets to Harry, he stops.
His eyes are green as Harry's--greener, perhaps, though muted and older than even Dumbledore's had been. His mouth purses into a little knot, almost thoughtful; after a moment, he offers his hand.
"Thank you," he says. His voice, like the rest of him, is nothing remarkable--it's a voice that could fade into silence in a busy room, and something in it reverberates down to Harry's soul, striking a chord that twists his stomach.
For a moment he stares. Then he reaches out, grasping the hand in turn, and squeezes. He looks into eyes that are green as the hills that unfold outwards around Hogwarts, and he says, "You're welcome."
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Graduation is a strange thing: they're adults already in everything but this one little ceremony. They stand in a rough approximation of a line, bloodied and their numbers thinned; all through the speeches (which sound so petty and simple, now) and the polite applause of gathered parents. Professor after remaining professor spoke--some longer than others--and in the end, there is only one man left.
He's not very tall, or striking--he's on the short side really, with fantastically bushy eyebrows. He doesn't speak at first, walking down the line, looking each student in the face. When he gets to Harry, he stops.
His eyes are green as Harry's--greener, perhaps, though muted and older than even Dumbledore's had been. His mouth purses into a little knot, almost thoughtful; after a moment, he offers his hand.
"Thank you," he says. His voice, like the rest of him, is nothing remarkable--it's a voice that could fade into silence in a busy room, and something in it reverberates down to Harry's soul, striking a chord that twists his stomach.
For a moment he stares. Then he reaches out, grasping the hand in turn, and squeezes. He looks into eyes that are green as the hills that unfold outwards around Hogwarts, and he says, "You're welcome."