Waker tried not to look too pleased with herself, but she couldn't really help the feeling of elation that had finally set in after boarding the train back to King's Cross. The end of term feast had been full of mixed emotions. The sudden announcement that Headmaster Greyfriar-- who in the Nolan girl's mind had always been a remarkable man, and who had, just in the past several weeks, proven himself a lifesaver, too-- would be leaving Hogwarts and its students was a heavy and troubling one to hear, even as summer introduced its wonderful lightness. Knox Greyfriar had been the only Headmaster Waker had known, at least in her few precious years studying magic. It felt wrong, Waker felt shortchanged and simultaneously guitly for feeling it, to have to say goodbye (or not have the proper chance) before she and her peers could graduate. She only hoped the patient historian knew she was thankful for what he'd done in the Hospital Wing most recently, and also for her appointment of next term's Head Girl. She knew he'd had a hand in it, and could only hope the new Headmistress would not doubt what he'd seen in her.

But the air of happiness was unmistakable, too, and had mostly to do with the oppertunity to hold and serve the title she'd always fleetingly (or not so fleetingly) day-dreamed about between devouring books and reciting incantations. She knew Jasper was similarly thrilled with his own well-deserved role of Head Boy, and the selfish part of Waker was exceptionally relieved that it was she and her best friend together. She was confident that with Jasper, she would be able to help the new Prefects adjust. (Unbeknown to Waker, it was quite an eclectic bunch of fifth years looming over the soon-to-be-stuffy autumn train car.)

"This isn't your birthday gift," she warned, shooting the boy a sidelong glance as she tilted her head. Obviously that would be saved for mid-August, but Waker was in the habit of planning a little far in advance. Her hand grazed the hyper-organized inside of her bag, and drew the second of two boxes she'd brought along for the day. The pair of future seventh years were seated on a sunny bench in Diagon Alley, across from the apothecary. On Waker's left was an open box of now-mostly-devoured cupcakes she'd brought from Colchester. She'd ordered them from a muggle bakery, and had had to be crafty about the questions that followed her curious confectionary request. The desserts, two vanilla with light green buttercream frosting and snaky formations of sprinkles atop them, and another pair of sky-blue frosted, chocolate treats with walnuts clustered oddly like birds, were a promise that even if Slytherin and Ravenclaw hadn't won the house cup this year, they would go neck and neck for the title next. (With Waker intermittenly giving a few savvy salutes to the loveable lions, too, perhaps).

Handing the second box to Jasper, its contents wholly for him, she set her bag aside again. Inside the box was a small, white, pearly orb charmed to float in place and shed light wherever desired. It was similar to the lumos charm, but the light could be adjusted to varying levels of brightness and subtle colors, and did not include the potential hazards of a bewitched candle. Jasper could use it to read at night, if he pleased, without having to hold his wand up to each page. It could be taken anywhere, really. "It's a bit useless here in broad daylight," she admitted. "But you won't catch anyone on fire." She grinned, finally feeling at liberty, after all of these weeks, to tease him about the powerful, lightening-like spell he'd accidentally cast. (Granted, what had happened to George was still not funny, but humor made it a little less daunting on Waker's conscience.) "Happy year of exhaustion, Head Boy." She toasted the last bit of a cupcake in his direction in lieu of a goblet.