This is, as you guys probably know, Sirius Orion Black, badguy, goodguy, prankster, Gryffindor forever. I've been writing this column all year, and it has been one of the greatest adventures. Latenights at the draft tables with Alice and Moony, as well as our occassional writers and press crew--Frank, James, Peter, Lily, Kenny, Arthur, Emma...you guys know who you are. And it's all of you. All of Gryffindor has helped make this paper, in one way or another. Without you guys, we wouldn't be here.
And this is about us. This is the end of the year. This is our last stand, our last dance. It's been a riot. Everything from green hair to rampaging demiguises to singing Slytherins to the infamous Lioness to Quidditch to underwear, sock, and green Jello crises. Animals in the bathroom, styrofoam, House-Elf wars... you guys know the stories. You made the stories. I just had the privelege of writing them down and sharing them with everyone else.
This is the last edition of the Oracle. This is probably the only time you'll catch me pontificating like this; you know I'm not the thoughtful type. Tonight, I'm having a huge party in the Gryffindor common room and all you guys are invited. But I just wanted to take a minute and say thanks.
Thanks for making this such a great year.
Hogwarts students have problems, from O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s to boy/girl relationships to Potions homework. To help Gryffindor students with their problems, you can...
Note from Moony: Yes, I am aware it is the last week, and that everyone is becoming sickeningly sentimental. I am trying to provide a heaping spoonful of sarcasm to counteract the love that is going rotten in the air. I must add, to all those who love to point out how heartless I am, that all my advice has been given in fun. I only make fun of you because I love you. Am I getting sentimental? Noo! Before I slip anymore into horrible cliches, onto the column...
Did you know that a young couple in New York named Natalie Jeremijenko and Dalton Conley recently renamed their four-year-old son Yo Xing Heyno Augustus Eisner Alexander Weiser Knuckles Jeremijenko-Conley?
-Name-Crazy in Ravenclaw
Dear Name-Crazy in Ravenclaw,
What is snot, really?
Dear Curiously Gross,
Don't you think it's a little late in the year to start the your mom jokes?
You've been doing your mom jokes all year.
...and so has your mom!
Can I live with you this summer?
Stop invading my column. You have your own. It's not my fault you chose to whine sentimentally in yours and want to be immature in mine. Besides, you're staying with James.
Maybe the hokey-pokey really is what it's all about.
Dear Philosophically Inclined,
Your mom does the hokey-pokey.
I love you!
-Dying To Say It
Dear Dying To Say It,
Feel better now? Too bad this is an anonymous letter!
Will you miss us at all?
You know, I could throw you a bone here and say I will miss each and every Gryffindor heart that somehow touched my life even though I didn't know half of your names and faces...
but probably, only half of you. Only a little bit. But yes, a little bit.
Thanks for the laughs, guys.
Making like a fetus at the end of the year and heading OUT,
Seventh Year Will
As the only seventh-year on the newspaper staff, I consider it my duty and duly in keeping with status of Editor to print the last and final Seventh Year Will, a complicated compilation of wishes of all the seventh years. So, without further ado...
We, the Gryffindor Seventh Years of Hogwarts, being of seventy-two bodies and sixty-six point six repeating minds, do will to first years: the right to never again be called 'ickle firsties' by us. To the Quidditch team: the right and responsibility to beat Slytherin (and all others who oppose you) mercilessly on broomsticks whenever the chance presents itself. To the teachers: the right to never see us again and the privelege of never having to decipher our homework. We know this saddens you. To Pringle, you snot-faced slimeball: the right to clean up our muddy footprints on our way out the door. To Dumbledore we leave our loyal devotion and heartfelt goodbyes, as well as the stash of lemon drops we have hidden in the third floor broom closet. To the House-Elfs we leave sushi. To the mice, we leave cheese. To the newspaper staff, we offer lots of cafe latte. To the third floor boys dorm, we leave shaving cream, and to the Square Table Club, we leave the fourth floor girls dorm. To the magic shoelace, we leave our prayers. May Jesus play his electric guitar loud. To YO, our lovechild and that one hamster, we leave two thirds of a piece of pencil lead. You'll appreciate it. And to the entire Gryffindor house, we leave Hogwarts. Use it wisely, use it well. Never forget. Keep it alive.
The Gryffindor Seventh Years Of Hogwarts
Lioness Poem of the Day
Here's to the nights we felt alive.
Here's to the tears we knew we'd cry.
Here's to tonight...tomorrow's gonna come too soon.
Final House Point Count: Gryffindor: 438
Ravenclaw: 436 Hufflepuff: 435
All Materials Copyright The Gryffindor Oracle, volume 27,456, 32nd edition--all character copyright JK Rowling. Aladdin Niadra & Alice Remerta copyright Abigail Nicole, as well as any minor characters.
Notices: Aw. I love you guys. Forgive any chapter inconsistencies...well, it's over.
WERD, snoogans is from SFW even though none of you read this, you guys own me and forever will. Poem is from Eve 6, of course, and that random fourth year who said it at camp and summed up the feeling so accurately.
And I listened to Jet's CD Get Born obsessively while writing this. In case anyone cares. And my TIP playlist.