Amelia’s eyes followed Peter’s fingers as he moved them to the pin on his tie. Amelia hadn’t known Peter was so sentimental; usually it was a trait she thought was frivolous, but it seemed appropriate at a time like this. Graduation was when you ought to look back on all that you had come from and be thankful for it.
The redheaded Ravenclaw girl also had much to be thankful for, she knew, despite the recent circumstances. Her parents were able to attend her graduation, and they were beaming with pride as they spoke with other well-to-do parents around the room. Her mother was truly in her element here, dressed to the hilt, and bragging about a daughter she and her husband had chiseled from rough boulder to stunning masterpiece. Or at least this was what Antoinette was probably telling people.
And it was at least partially true. Amelia wouldn’t have called herself any masterpiece; she was too hard on herself. She was always trying to achieve perfection, but she logically knew it was unattainable. Antoinette and Frederick had, though, given Amelia a foundation on which to build her success, and had always put a lot (perhaps too much) time and effort into making sure she always met their expectations. Her musical ability, her advanced knowledge of spells, and her freedom from financial strain had all contributed to the person she was today, and she knew she had a lot to thank them for. Amelia was just glad she could repay them somewhat by having turned out the way they wanted; it seemed at least something like a victory in the lifetime-long battle to please her parents.
Although Amelia had taken a few moments in her own thoughts, she was drawn back to the present by Peter fidgeting in his chair. She looked over to see him waving hastily, and Amelia’s eyes followed the direction of his gesture and found a middle-aged woman and a very small, very slight girl with the same auburn hair Peter had. They were both smiling in their direction, and Amelia flushed under the attention, giving a small, mechanical wave in response. Usually, Amelia didn’t know enough people in the room to be waved at so enthusiastically.
“They seem nice,” Amelia responded to Peter’s introduction of the women across the room, who were tittering to each other before Amelia looked away to focus back on Peter. Subconsciously, Amelia had scanned the room for her parents, knowing full well they wouldn’t be waving at her the way Peter’s family had been, and she found them just where she had seen them last, talking to a group of important ministry members. Her father seemed to be talking to a man she recognized as belonging to the Department of Mysteries, a Mr. Flessert. Antoinette’s smile could not have been bigger and more genuine if she tried; at seeing her mother’s genuine happiness, Amelia almost smiled herself.
But as Peter struggled to form the question he wanted to ask, any chance of a smile was wiped from Amelia’s mind. Peter had brought up the battle, and though he was doing so in a way that expressed concern for her safety, Amelia’s mind went immediately to the part of the battle her mind had lingered on these past weeks. And then Peter got to the point, and quickly. Simon.
The boy from the paper… Amelia’s subconscious echoed Peter’s words, That is what Simon has been reduced to. No longer living, relegated to the past tense. He is the boy from the paper because I couldn’t be the girl that saved him.
Amelia closed her eyes to block out the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her. Somehow, the blackness was better than the room full of people that didn’t include Simon. It was foolish to be thinking so much about him; they hadn’t even been particularly close, and if pressed, Amelia would have had to admit that she didn’t really like him all that much. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t let go of his death… or rather, her own failure to prevent his death.
Struggling to come up with an appropriate response to Peter’s question, Amelia was instantly thankful when the Minister of Magic began speaking. Amelia gave Peter a non-committal shrug in response, giving him a look that said they could talk about it later, though she hoped they wouldn’t. It wasn’t that she had something in particular against Peter; moreso that she didn’t want to talk about this with anyone.
The Minister gave his opening address, but Amelia was really only half listening. She knew what was coming up, and for the first time that night, she dedicated her attention to something other than the memory of Simon’s death. And that was because she knew that as soon as the choir stopped singing, the Minister would be calling her name.
The student speaker had been chosen months earlier, and Amelia had been more than surprised to get an owl announcing that the faculty and student body had chosen her for the position. Amelia couldn’t remember having voted, but perhaps it had been a brief process. She had been given the opportunity to decline, of course, but her mother would have fallen over dead if Amelia turned down such a great honor. Amelia hadn’t really wanted to handle the concept of telling her parents about it, though, and then being coached every single step of the way – from outlining, to writing, to rehearsing – so her parents found out about her speech at the same time as everyone else, as the Minister announced it.
Amelia could feel her parents’ eyes on her as she rose obligingly from her seat, holding onto the back of Peter’s chair for just a second as she steadied herself. She knew everyone in the room was looking at her as she crossed the space between her table and the podium – couldn’t they have seated her closer to the front? – and it took everything she had not to walk right out of the atrium. If Amelia hadn’t been practicing being numb for the past few weeks, panic might have gotten the better of her as she reached the stage, turning to face the crowds of faces all looking up at her expectantly.
The redhead hadn’t brought any papers with her; she probably would have wrinkled them beyond recognition from stage fright anyway. And besides, having an eidetic memory had its perks. She had written her original speech weeks ago, but in light of recent events, Amelia knew she couldn’t give the same speech. It would have seemed clichéd, even more so than it had originally, and Amelia wasn’t content with that. She hadn’t wanted to stand up in front of a large group of people that were all waiting for her to speak – Merlin knew speaking was not her strong point – but if she was going to do it, she was going to do it well.
Amelia took a deep breath to steady herself, looked pointedly away from her parents, and found herself catching Peter’s eye just for a moment before looking toward the back of the room and opening her mouth to speak. In what must have been a miracle, her voice was clear and calm as the words began to flow.
“When I was younger, my family had horses. They were bred for equestrian sports, the kind that involved a horse and rider jumping over large obstacles, such as fences and hedges. I never got to ride these horses – not a very ladylike sport, if you ask my mother – but I did get to attend the events at which the horses competed. I was always so impressed by the jockeys who were able to get their horses to jump over these incredibly high hurdles, time and time again.
“Each time a horse would come to one of the barriers, I would see the hesitation in its eyes. That horse did not want to go over the barrier, because it was convinced it knew its own limits. Animals are smarter than we give them credit for, and horses know that their feet belong much closer to the ground than five meters in the air. So I always wondered what happened in the moment between the hesitation and the jump, because without fail, the horses always made the leap of faith over the hurdle and onto the next one.
“After many of these events, I finally worked up the courage to ask one of the jockeys how he managed it. If any of you know me – and I presume at least some of you do – you know how much of a feat it was for me to approach a total stranger and ask him the question that had been piquing my curiosity for over a year. So after the tournament was over, I squared my shoulders and approached the winner, a man now decorated with several medals and still standing next to his horse, one of those my parents owned.
“When I asked him my question of how he convinced the horse to overcome its instinctual fear, the man looked at me as though he had never been asked that question before, and upon reflection, he probably hadn’t been. He gave it almost a full minute of thought before he replied.
“He told me that the way he got the horse to jump over the hurdles was by throwing his heart over the obstacle and hoping that his body and the horse would follow. Now, even as a preteen, I thought this sounded ridiculous. Logically, no one could throw a vital organ out of their body and expect to live, much less the one organ that is responsible for the circulatory system, which is… but I digress,” Amelia said, for the first time losing track of her speech and getting away from her script. She cleared her throat and blushed before continuing.
“At the time, I couldn’t understand his answer because I didn’t see the logic in it. But now, standing here in front of all of you, I think I have finally managed to understand. As most of you probably deduced the first time around, the jockey wasn’t speaking literally. He was talking about wanting something with enough vigor that you are willing to throw your entire being into it. You are willing to put it all on the line for the chance to have what you want, and if you want it bad enough, your body will follow suit.
“Now, not all of us are convincing horses to jump over hurdles. Actually, almost none of us are. But in observing this graduating class, I have seen many, many people throwing their hearts over a hurdle in the hopes that their body will be convinced to follow. Whether that was exercised on the quidditch pitch, in the classroom, or in relationships, we all took chances. We put ourselves on the line to have what we wanted.
“Not all of us threw our hearts ourselves, however. Some, like me, had to be convinced that there were things worth wishing for, things that couldn’t be achieved by taking everything one step at a time. Someone else had to throw our hearts for us, or give us that last push. Leaps of faith have never been my strong suit, but I have watched so many of you succeed because you were willing to throw your heart, and take that leap.
“It is perhaps because so many among us were willing to leap that there are so many heavy hearts tonight,” Amelia said, pausing here to steady her breathing and swallow back any emotions that might threaten to rise to the surface. “Our classmates, children, friends, and family were so dedicated to a school and a cause they believed in that they were willing to throw their hearts in the hopes that it would be enough to make a difference. But not everyone who put themselves on the line made it through the battle of Hogwarts. Not every body followed where the heart led.
“We can choose to look at what we experienced as a warning against putting too much on the line. We can look at all those who gave their lives in the battle as being foolhardy, thinking they could convince their bodies and the people around them to jump the hurdle the battle presented. Or we can make another choice.
“Tonight, our hearts are heavy with the burden of our loss, but that extra weight does not have to anchor our hearts in our chests. For every person who died defending what they believed was worth fighting for, worth hurdling for, we owe a piece of Hogwarts. That might be a tower, or a classroom, but it might also be one of our own lives. Much of Hogwarts castle stands in shambles now, extensively damaged, but still, it stands. And we stand here, those that survived, either because we were brave enough to throw our hearts into the battle when it was being fought, or because we are brave enough now to face the truth of what happened to us. To all of us.
“We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the success of a group of students that put enough of their hearts and themselves into their studies to constitute a graduation-worthy amount of knowledge. But this class has more heart that their N.E.W.T. scores will indicate. Because our graduating Hogwarts doesn’t reveal the true complexity of our experiences, and the extent of the knowledge we have gained. Knowledge about ourselves, and our limits. So as we go out into the world and try to make our own way, we’ll have to go on throwing our hearts over the obstacles, because this won’t be the last one. Not by a long shot. But we as a class have enough confidence to continue throwing our hearts over those hurdles, and, if we’re really lucky, enough support to have someone on the other side to catch it for us if we throw too far.
Congratulations, Hogwarts graduating class, and best of luck.”
And with that, Amelia completed her speech. And as she stood staring out at the faces of her peers and their families, ministry members and faculty, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had said the right thing; if they believed any of what she had said.
But mostly, she was wondering if she herself believed it.
by Louis Weasley1 Sun Jul 17, 2011 9:57 am
