She Said What?

Chapter 60: I Make More Baby Steps Onward

A/N: This chapter, my mission is to lighten the mood and give you fluff. Next chapter, my mission is to let Livvy open up a little – which she hasn't since I killed off her boyfriend. Chapter after, it's more fluff. Gosh, I forgot how much fluff I planned for this story.

Regarding this chapter – you should note that the Zay version of Hogwarts has a special rule. Due to an unfortunate oversight on my part, I conveniently forgot that cats were allowed at Hogwarts when Napoleon came into play. Because of this, I declared that the rule allowing cats had not yet come in place, just because I didn't want to change my outline. So keep that in mind when you're reading, yeah?

So...that's that. Cheers and enjoy!

April 27

2:30 PM
Status: Thoughtful

I've always known that the scope of my knowledge is very small, that there are many things I will never understand even if I'm told; but one of the things on my big list of questions about the world that has recently surfaced reflects upon the concept of moving on.

Moving on.

It's terribly strange, moving on, when you really stop and think about it. It's like...one minute you're here, and then the next minute, you're not. You're somewhere else. You've changed position – it feels sudden and inexplicable – and you're not sure why you had to do that.

I know we've all been warned by philosophers galore that it's not a good idea to stay, keep your life in one place; but we've also been warned that it's not a good idea to go too fast, move too recklessly, darting from here to there just because you can.

So my question is, where is the happy middle? When is it okay to cling tightly and never let go? When is it okay to make that sudden movement, that change of sudden and inexplicable position, and put yourself elsewhere? When is it okay to transition who and what and where you are?

Is there a time limit? Hours, days, weeks, months? Years, maybe? Is it definitive, fool-proof, hidden away in some secret rule book we know nothing about? Where is the line that divides healthy movement from unhealthy movement? How do you find it?

Okay, so I guess that's technically more than one question, but my point is, when something happens to you, when are you allowed to move on?

Right now, I feel like I'm at a transition point, a fulcrum if you will, with Russell's death. For the past few days, we've all been shocked, we've all cried, we've all mourned. There was this big, horrible, gaping space where Russell's seat used to be in class which no one has filled. The student body has not been sure how to talk about it, how to deal with it, and I saw it in my friends as well as in others in my classes. It's a difficult thing to absorb, that someone you know is suddenly gone, just like that.

But, now, some of that movement that so confuses me has come to our moods. Slowly, carefully, the school is starting to get back to normal again. Teachers are teaching lessons and giving homework. Our outgoing class clowns are cracking jokes. The black drapes which had been up when we came back from Easter break went down three days after the big announcement; the teachers changed our seats around and Russell's old seat is not empty anymore; his death is not the only thing people talk about between classes anymore; his friends (and there were many of them) finally had more color in their faces than the ghosts.

Even James, who has not peeped a word about Quidditch and the finals since break, held his first practice last night, with Katie Volarie playing for Russell – a practice Livvy did not go to, because she went upstairs and cried for ten minutes after I gently broke the news to her.

James asked me during patrol that night if Livvy would play in the final – he would understand if she didn't – but I told him she would. She loved Quidditch with everything she had and I knew that regardless of her mood right now, she would go hysterical if she didn't play. And I think James knew it too, with the way he nodded and swiftly dropped the subject.