The assignments had been turned in, the exams written. For all intents and purposes, Celia was a Hogwarts New Zealand graduate now. She didn't need a ceremony or a piece of paper to tell her that, and she had seriously considered not even showing up as one last snub to the entire school. But Celia could also recognize the special opportunity in front of her. She would have a captive audience and a chance to say whatever she wanted. There was a lot that had been said about her, especially these last few years; people never could seem to get her name out of their mouths. But today, she, not them, would be in control of the narrative. Today, she would get the last word.
It had taken her a long time to decide on what to say. Celia knew she was speaking to a hostile audience, so anything she said would be criticized, likely unfairly, or even booed. Part of her wanted to call out and tear apart every single person who had wronged her, but that would take several hours, and she knew her words would immediately be dismissed as the rantings of a bitter misanthrope. Alternatively, she could shock everyone and deliver the kind of speech that was expected from a head student — something treacly and emotional and filled with motivational clichés — but she would rather jump from the towers than become a mouthpiece for the school.
In the end, Celia had landed somewhere in the middle. The ceremony started without incident, and she made her way to the stage with Eugene. Celia had very gallantly offered to let him go first, and she listened politely as made his way through his speech. It was, well, the kind of speech that was expected from a head student, and the only nice thing she could say about it was that it was short. But she clapped anyways. When it was her turn, Celia stepped to the podium and placed a copy of her speech on the lectern even though she'd already memorized what she wanted to say. As her gaze swept over the crowd, she felt a heady rush. "Hello. Welcome," she greeted with a smile, enjoying the way her voice boomed across the room. "I remember the first time I stepped into this hall. I was transfixed by the ceiling," she gestured upward, "its stars so sharp and lifelike. They weren't real, of course, but they seemed that way. It was a spectacular illusion.
"I've learned that a lot of Hogwarts is like that. The illusion of history. The illusion of education. The illusion of progress." Celia was still smiling. "Whether you were aware of it or not, those illusions have shaped our lives, and today, as we mark an ending, I think it is worth looking back at what we have missed so that we may go clear-eyed into the future." She knew she was starting to get dangerously abstract for a crowd that had never made it past a fifth grade English class. But as much as Celia was speaking for the audience before her, she was also speaking to the Accio! page that would document this speech forever.
"So how do we do that? Well, we might start with the castle itself. We might ask why we have been kept ignorant of our own history." Her expression turned serious. "We might ask why we have wrapped ourselves in the mythos of the Scotland founders, instead of the people who have lived in this country and walked these halls. We might ask why we lionize a notorious blood supremacist, dedicating an entire house to him, and why we cling so desperately to traditions that were barely ours to begin with.
"And then we might move on to our education. We might ask how much of our class time was spent learning and how much of it was wasted on study periods. We might examine the hoops we had to jump through to receive extra instruction, the permission slips we had to obtain to read books from our own library. We might ask why so many of our lessons were lectures, never discussions, and why we were punished every time we dared to go beyond the prescribed curriculum.
"When we take all these things into account, is it any wonder that Hogwarts is the way it is?" she asked, voice rising. It was clear that Celia was comfortable with public speaking, and she relished the way she had the whole room's attention. "I stand here and look out and see an institution frozen in time. The Hogwarts of today is almost exactly the same as the Hogwarts of seven years ago. As individuals, we might have grown, but the traditions, the ideals, the ethos of this institution have not. Is it any wonder that old prejudices persist when we honor their perpetrators, when we tolerate blood slurs as banter, when we judge people for their parentage? Is it any wonder that we, as a magical society, struggle to innovate when we quash every attempt to think outside the box, when we ignore entire branches of magic because of arbitrary categorizations, or worse, when we prohibit them because we are too scared, too apathetic, too lazy to grapple with anything that challenges our preconceived notions?
"I know that these problems neither begin nor end with Hogwarts," she conceded. As much as this speech was an indictment of the school, it was also a condemnation of the Ministry and the world she'd had to live in for the past seven years. "There are much larger social and political issues at play, and I know there are like minded individuals in this room who have tried to push back against them, who have tried to broaden our education. I also know that for many of us graduates, myself included, Hogwarts has given us something that can't easily be dismissed — a foundation for our magical education. But I can't help wondering how much more we would've grown, how much more we would've accomplished, if we had all striven beyond the status quo instead of accepting the limitations set before us.
"To the Class of 2060, soon, we'll leave these halls, and we'll be faced with the kinds of questions that only we can answer for ourselves. Are we satisfied with the half-lives our schooling has left us? Or do we want something more? What would our lives look like if we reached our full potential? Who would we be? What would we do?" Even as Celia addressed her classmates, she knew none of them were actually listening. She had no doubt that most of them were content with their time at Hogwarts and that they would continue to live their sad, little lives after graduation. Still, she paused to let the questions linger. "All illusions are based in reality. The stars I saw on that very first night weren't real, but what lay beyond them was," she said, gesturing up at the ceiling once more. "It would be a mistake to assume that as graduates, we are done learning, that we are done growing, especially now, when we have a chance to finally move beyond the illusions of this institution and reach for something real."