𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐀

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒’ office of Ilvermorny was a grand room, its walls lined with portraits of previous leaders, their eyes sternly watching the unfolding drama. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting intricate patterns on the polished wooden floor. Rosaire Hargreaves stood at the center, her long auburn curls catching the light like a halo of flames. Her bright hazel eyes, shimmering with a mix of defiance and amusement, scanned the room.

Surrounding her were officials from the American Ministry of Magic, their expressions a blend of incredulity and frustration. At the forefront stood the President himself, a man of imposing stature, his gaze fixed intently on Rosaire. Her adopted parents lingered near the back, their faces pale with concern.

The headmistress, a woman of stern yet kind demeanor, sat behind a large oak desk, her fingers steepled. "Miss Hargreaves, would you care to explain the events that led to the destruction of half our school?"

Rosaire tilted her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Explain? Isn’t it obvious? I was merely conducting an experiment in advanced transfiguration," she replied, her tone dripping with mock innocence.

The President cleared his throat, stepping forward. "An experiment that resulted in chaos, Miss Hargreaves. This is a serious matter."

"Chaos?" Rosaire echoed, raising an eyebrow. "I prefer to call it... a creative reimagining of the east wing."

Her parents exchanged worried glances, her mother finally speaking up. "Rosaire, please. This isn’t a game."

"Everything's a game if you play it right." Rosaire quipped, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

The headmistress sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Your talents are undeniable, Rosaire, but your approach leaves much to be desired."

Rosaire shrugged, unapologetic. "Talent needs room to breathe, Headmistress. Would you rather I stifle it?"

An official from the Ministry, a stern woman with sharp features, interjected. "There are consequences for actions, young lady. You’ve crossed a line."

"Lines are meant to be crossed." Rosaire retorted, her voice unwavering. "Otherwise, how would we know what's on the other side?"

The President shook his head, his patience wearing thin. "This isn’t just about you, Miss Hargreaves. It's about the safety of everyone here."

"And I assure you, no one was in danger." Rosaire replied smoothly, her expression serene. "I had everything under control."

The room fell silent, the tension thickening the air. After a moment, the Headmistress spoke again, her voice softer. "Your talents are undeniable, Miss Hargreaves. But they need to be honed, directed."

Rosaire raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Directed? And where exactly do you propose to direct them?"

The headmistress paused, choosing her words carefully. "I've reached out to an old friend, Albus Dumbledore. He's offered you a place at Hogwarts."

Rosaire’s eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth falling open. "Europe?!" Her voice rose, tinged with horror. "You're sending me to Europe?"

"Rosaire, it's an opportunity." Her mother urged quietly, trying to soothe her. “A fresh start.”

Rosaire threw her hands up dramatically. "Opportunity? To what? Live in dreary castles?! I think not."

The Headmistress attempted to interject, but Rosaire was on a roll, her voice rising with passionate disdain. "I mean, really! Where's the charm? The excitement? Everything's so... old there. And have you heard what they call pancakes? I refuse to spend my days in some drafty, old castle surrounded by... by British people! Their tea obsession, their love for queueing, and don’t even get me started on their food. You expect me to eat—what do they call it?—fish and chips? I am to be be deprived of sunshine, hamburgers, and coke!” She shuddered dramatically, as if the very idea was an affront to her senses.

The headmistress bit back a smile. “Miss Hargreaves, Hogwarts is a prestigious institution. You’ll have opportunities there that you wouldn’t here.”

Rosaire’s eyes flashed. “Opportunities to become a bland, tea-drinking, stiff-upper-lipped—AND TO USE THE METRIC SYSTEM!”

The officials exchanged amused glances, but Rosaire's outrage was genuine. She spun around, her eyes blazing. "What about my independence? My fireworks? My Fourth of July! To send me across the ocean is a betrayal of everything I stand for!"

She collapsed onto her knees, her auburn hair fanning out around as her hands were thrown dramatically to the heavens. "Why must I suffer so?"

"Tea is quite delightful." The president interjected with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

Rosaire shot him a look of mock betrayal. "Et tu, Mr. President?"

"Hogwarts is a place where you can truly thrive. Imagine the possibilities." The Headmistress cut in before Rosaire and continue her dramatics.

Rosaire looked up, eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and intrigue.

"Possibilities, you say?" She rose slowly, brushing imaginary dust from her robes, her mind clearly at work behind those bright hazel eyes.

"Yes." She continued. "Your talents will be nurtured, your ambitions encouraged."

Rosaire considered this, her posture shifting from theatrical despair to thoughtful contemplation. "And Dumbledore... he’s quite the legend, isn’t he?"

"Indeed.” She nodded, seizing the opportunity to convince Rosaire. "You could learn much from him."

The room held its breath, waiting for Rosaire’s response. Finally, she spoke, her tone still playfully defiant but laced with a newfound curiosity. "Well, I suppose if I must endure the rain and questionable cuisine, it might as well be under the tutelage of someone worth my time."

Her mother sighed in relief, stepping forward to hug her, but Rosaire stepped back, holding up a hand. “Let’s not get sentimental. I’m not gone yet.”

As Rosaire made her way from the headmistress's office to the dining hall. Her footsteps echoed with a confident rhythm, each step a testament to her indomitable spirit. The news of her departure had already begun to ripple through the school, whispers trailing in her wake like the flutter of leaves.

As she pushed open the grand doors of the dining hall, the room buzzed with anticipation. Students from all houses were gathered, their curious eyes turning toward Rosaire. The hall was a kaleidoscope of colors, each house represented by their vibrant banners. But it was the Thunderbird table that drew Rosaire's focus, her heart swelling with affection for her fellow housemates.

With her characteristic flair, she leaped onto the table, her auburn curls bouncing like flames. The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on her. Rosaire picked up a goblet, raising it high with a dramatic flourish.

"My fellow Ilvermorny students!” She began, her voice echoing with theatrical gravitas. "Today, I stand before you, not as a mere student, but as an exile! A pioneer, cast forth to the distant and mysterious lands of Europe!"

A ripple of gasps and whispers spread through the hall, punctuated by a few dramatic "No!"s and "Say it isn't so!"s from her friends, fully invested in the performance.

As laughter rippled through the hall, mingling with a tinge of genuine sadness. Rosaire's eyes sparkled as she continued. "Yes, it's true. I shall leave behind the land of freedom and opportunity, where the stars and stripes wave proudly, for a place where tea flows like water and the sun is but a myth!"

Her closest friends, gathered at the table, cheered, raising their goblets in salute. "To Rosaire!" They chorused, their voices a harmonious blend of adoration and camaraderie.

Rosaire feigned a tear, brushing an imaginary one from her cheek. "Oh, how I shall miss our grand feasts, the camaraderie of my fellow Thunderbirds! The way you all cheered when my spells went awry—"

"Or when you turned Professor Elms's hair blue!" A voice called out, prompting more laughter.

"Indeed!" Rosaire nodded, her expression one of mock solemnity. "I shall miss our adventures, our shared victories, and even our shared detentions."

The students from other houses joined in, clapping and hooting, their rivalry set aside in this moment of shared affection. Rosaire's charisma was infectious, her words weaving a tapestry of unity and nostalgia.

Rosaire grinned, her heart warmed by their support. "But fear not! For I shall carry the spirit of Ilvermorny with me, lighting up the dreary skies of Hogwarts with our thunderous pride!"

From the Wampus table, a voice called out, "Make sure they know how to play Quodpot!"

Rosaire laughed, nodding vigorously. "Indeed! I shall educate them in the ways of true wizardry. And perhaps, teach them a thing or two about real American fun!"

"So let us remember the great times!” She declared. "The midnight escapades, the enchanted fireworks, the unforgettable pranks. Who else could have turned the entire east wing into a jungle, complete with singing vines?"

The hall erupted in laughter, students from all houses nodding in fond recollection. Even the professors at the high table exchanged amused glances, their usual stern expressions softened with nostalgia.

"And so…" Rosaire continued, her voice growing softer, more sincere. “As I embark on this unexpected adventure, know that each of you will be with me. In every spell I cast, in every challenge I face, Ilvermorny will be my guiding light."

A hush fell over the hall, the weight of her words sinking in. Rosaire's gaze swept the room, meeting the eyes of friends and rivals alike. "You have been my family, my inspiration. And though I may be miles away, we are bound by the magic we share."

She paused, her gaze sweeping across the hall, meeting the eyes of friends and rivals alike. "Each of you, in your own way, has shaped me. Pukwudgies, with your kindness and healing—who will I turn to in my moments of weakness? Horned Serpents, your wisdom has been my guide—what shall I do without your counsel? Wampus, your bravery has emboldened me—who will stand with me in battle?"

Her voice softened, becoming more intimate, as if she spoke to each person individually. "Thunderbirds, my fellow adventurers, my heart soars with you. You have been my family, my inspiration. I promise to carry our legacy across the sea, to show them what true spirit looks like."

She paused, lifting the goblet once more. "To Ilvermorny! May our legacy endure, and our bonds remain unbroken!"

The hall erupted into cheers, students from all houses standing in unison, saluting her with heartfelt admiration. Rosaire basked in the moment, her heart full.

Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she brandished her wand. "And now, a parting gift, so you won’t forget me too soon."

A soft incantation slipped from her lips, and from the tip of her wand burst forth a magnificent lion, her Patronus. It leaped gracefully, its form shimmering with silvery light, casting an ethereal glow across the hall.

Gasps of awe filled the room as the lion danced through the air, weaving between the tables. As it passed, each student felt a warm flood of memories—moments with Rosaire, each unique and personal. Laughter shared during late-night study sessions, her daring escapades, the way she could turn a mundane day into an adventure.

The lion circled back, coming to rest beside Rosaire, its proud head nuzzling her shoulder. She smiled, a bittersweet ache settling in her chest. "Remember me well.” She said softly, her voice carrying the weight of farewell.

For a moment, there was silence, a collective breath held in reverence. Then, as if released from a spell, the hall erupted into applause, cheers echoing off the walls. The  students rose as one, a sea of raised goblets and heartfelt salutes.

"Rosaire! Rosaire! Rosaire!" They chanted, the sound rising to a crescendo, louder than any victory cheer, a powerful chorus that reverberated through the hall. It was a tribute to her impact, a celebration of her time with them.

The professors watched from the sidelines, some with tears in their eyes, others with proud smiles. They knew they were witnessing the farewell of a truly remarkable student.

Rosaire took a moment, absorbing the love and admiration that washed over her. She bowed deeply, her heart full.

"I will miss you all…” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, yet somehow heard by everyone.

As the lion faded, its light lingering in the air, Rosaire stepped down from the table, her presence leaving a lasting impression. The chants continued, echoing through the hall, a tribute to a student who would never be forgotten.

The Headmistress approached her and gave Rosaire a nod, her eyes soft with understanding. "You’ve left quite an impression, Miss Hargreaves."

Rosaire shrugged playfully, though her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I suppose I just couldn’t resist going out with a bang."

With one last look around the hall screaming her name, Rosaire took a deep breath, ready to face whatever lay ahead. The doors of Ilvermorny closed behind her, but the spirit of the school, the friendships forged in its halls, would accompany her on her new journey.

As she walked away, the echoes of her laughter and the warmth of her presence lingered, a testament to the spirit of Rosaire Hargreaves.