Farewell

Date: July 24, 1997 | Location: London, England

POV Oliver

Lost in thought, Oliver followed Sister Margaret through the busy streets of London. People crowded the pavements around them as cars and buses rolled past.

Helen walked a few steps behind them, holding Beatrice's hand. Beatrice looked around in wonder before her gaze finally settled on Big Ben.

Three weeks had passed since his visit to Oxford and the discovery that Harry Potter was just a story here too. It was a considerable relief. At least he didn't have to worry about a Ministry of Magic or Voldemort.

And in a few weeks, he wouldn't have to worry about Sister Margaret throwing holy water at him or sending an exorcist after him either.

But that sense of relief faded with every step they took.

"Here is perfect," Helen said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Oliver and Sister Margaret stopped and turned towards Helen and Beatrice.

"Let's take a picture here," she said, gesturing towards the crowd.

"Here?" Sister Margaret raised an eyebrow and gave her a sceptical look before marching straight towards the spot Helen had pointed out.

They followed the nun as the crowd parted before her like the Red Sea before Moses. Even Helen and Beatrice hesitated for a moment before hurrying after her, careful not to lose the others in the crowd.

Beatrice was nearly pushed into the street by a group of tourists carrying enormous cameras.

"Careful!" Oliver called, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him. Then he looked at her seriously.

"People with cameras sometimes lose sight of the things that really matter," he said, pausing for a moment. "Always be careful when you're out on the street."

"A remarkable insight from someone who, few weeks ago, was convinced you could walk through walls at a train station," Sister Margaret remarked dryly.

"How many times do I have to tell you? The book is new! Our visits had nothing to do with it!" Oliver protested, staring at her while inwardly dying of embarrassment.

She was right, though. God, this is embarrassing!

Sister Margaret had only recently heard about Harry Potter, after the book had quickly become popular at Mill Grove. Once more and more of the children started talking about Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, it hadn't taken her long to connect it to Oliver's strange insistence on visiting King's Cross on the first of September.

"Are you coming?" Helen called. She had already found someone to take their picture.

The other three gathered beside her with the Thames behind them and Big Ben rising in the background.

"A little closer together," the man said, raising the camera.

Oliver stepped closer to Bea as Margaret rested a hand on his shoulder.

Click.

[image]

***

POV Beatrice

Beatrice didn't like farewell parties.

She had enjoyed the party itself. There had been cake, far too many sweets, and almost all the children from Mill Grove had come. Everyone had laughed and talked, and even Sister Margaret had eventually stopped complaining about how loud they were being.

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Beatrice had enjoyed every minute of it, wishing the evening could simply go on forever.

Now the party was over.

Most of the children had already left. Barely half an hour ago, there hadn't been enough room to move, and now the only sign of it was the mess they had left behind in the common room.

Empty cups stood on the tables, crumpled wrapping paper littered the floor, and a single balloon was still floating somewhere near the ceiling.

Beatrice sat on one of the sofas, watching Oliver.

Tomorrow morning, she and Helen would leave for Nottingham. Oliver would stay at Mill Grove until the following month, before moving to Oxford himself.

He had even refused to call the party a farewell.

"It's not goodbye. You'll practically be around the corner."

Oliver looked up as if he could feel her watching him and smiled at her.

"Bea, it's time I kept my promise," he called. Sister Margaret and her mother both looked up, their attention turning to the piano.

But Beatrice shook her head.

"No," she signed. She didn't trust herself to speak. What if her voice trembled and he noticed?

She watched him glance at her mother for help.

"Bea, sweetheart, don't you finally want to hear it?" Helen asked gently.

Of course she did. She had wanted to hear it for years. He had learned to play the piano just for her. For her!

Of course I want to hear it! she screamed inside, fighting back her tears.

Oliver, Sister Margaret and her mother were all looking at her with concern, and she couldn't hold them back any longer. Tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks.

"I don't want him to go!" Beatrice cried.

After her father died, it had been just her and her mother. Her mother had tried to hide it from her, but Bea had still seen how badly she was struggling. And no matter what Bea did, somehow she always felt as though she only made things worse.

She hadn't wanted to go to school. She hadn't wanted to go to Mill Grove. She hadn't really wanted to do anything at all.

Until Oliver came along.

After that, everything changed.

Suddenly, she had started looking forward to her speech lessons. Later, even to school. She had started to love music.

Oliver had learned how to talk to her even though he didn't have to. And when she told him about her father's piano piece, he had learned that for her too.

She wasn't alone anymore.

And as long as Oliver couldn't keep his promise, he wouldn't forget her either. Then he would have to come back. He wouldn't leave her alone.

Oliver looked at her for a few seconds, then started laughing.

Beatrice stared at him in disbelief.

He's laughing? That idiot is laughing at me?!

Furious, she jumped off the sofa, marched over and kicked him in the shin. She was already expecting him to dodge again, but this time he simply let her kick him and smiled at her.

"Bea, you're moving to Nottingham." He pointed at her, then at himself. "Nottingham. Oxford. We're still in the same country."

"I'm not leaving you alone," he said quietly, pulling her into a hug and giving her one tight squeeze. "Never."

***

POV Sister Margaret

Mill Grove had grown unusually quiet.

Sister Margaret walked slowly through the common room, taking in the mess left behind by the farewell party. There would be plenty of time to clean it all up tomorrow. For tonight, she had already sent the few remaining children to bed.

Only one was missing.

Oliver.

Margaret had already checked his room. His bed was empty, and he wasn't in the little library corner where he liked to hide away either.

She was about to head downstairs when she stopped.

Soft piano notes drifted through the otherwise silent corridor.

Margaret sighed.

Of course.

She followed the music down the corridor until she reached the music room. The door wasn't quite closed, and warm light spilled through the narrow gap into the dark hallway.

Margaret was already reaching out to push the door open when Oliver began to sing.

She stopped.

His voice was quiet, almost as though he didn't want anyone to hear him. Margaret lowered her hand and remained outside the door.

Through the gap, she could see him sitting at the piano, his back slightly hunched and his eyes fixed on the keys. There was little left of the boy who, only a few hours earlier, had laughed at Beatrice for bursting into tears over having to leave him behind.

He had never considered Mill Grove his home. At least, he had done his best to make her believe that...

♬♪♩♫

Soft piano notes filled the room. A slow, melancholic melody hung in the air, at times barely more than a whisper, then growing fuller and heavier before fading once more.

♪ This is a place where I don't feel alone. ♪

His fingers continued across the keys, and for a moment the melody seemed to fill the entire room. There was something sad in it, but something warm and familiar too.

♬♪♩♫

And now he sat alone in this room, singing about a home built for himself and someone else.

Margaret leaned lightly against the doorframe.

Perhaps Oliver himself hadn't realised when it had happened.

Perhaps he would never admit it

But somewhere between their arguments, Sunday church services, Beatrice's speech- and music lessons, and all the ordinary days in between, Mill Grove had become more than just the place where he waited for the next chapter of his life to begin.

Mill Grove had become his home.