Reflecting

Though the last few months of the War were gruesome, the losses weren't as bad as had been predicted.

We had killed Bellatrix Lestrange. They had tortured Rufus Scrimgeour. Yes, they were great blows at the time, and they did shake the public quite a bit. But now, over 10 years later, the prominent parties don't care as much.

Lestrange had been a leader in Voldemort's movement, but was mainly a fanatic. She would always try to stay by her Lord's side; always try to be a part of his biggest plans. And, in the end, where had it gotten her? Her fellows became aggravated, her superiors became annoyed, and her husband (as if you could call him that. Voldemort most likely had the marriage arranged for safety purposes) became envious. Once they found her body nearby Grimmauld Place, there was a bit of chaos with the Death eaters, and quite a few plans were stalled, but no one mourned. No one said, "Hey, she was a great person, and she did great things for us." Rabastan, Bellatrix's brother-in-law who had secretly harbored feelings for her in one way or another, shed a single tear. Voldemort, when told of her death, simply said, "Another casualty. Break out drinks if you like," and returned to his plans. But that was it. And that was all she deserved.

Scrimgeour could have been a wonderful Minister, and maybe he was. He had fans, I suppose, but the Order cared little for him. He was stern, but instead of focusing on alerting the public of the impending doom, he reassured them that everything was all right. And I bet that the only reason he was elected Minister of Magic was to provide safety. As head of the Auror Force, he tended to be overly soothing. Maybe that was his demise: not warning anyone. I doubt he warned himself. And the night that he was captured, it was too late to tell himself anything. When the Death Eaters searched him for information, he gave up what he had easily. An effect of the multiple Crucios, but they weren't satisfied. We had never given him as much as a hint of our motives, and the most that could be gotten out of him was, "Something is happening against you." Scrimgeour screamed several times after that, until his body couldn't take the pain anymore, and the Death Eaters flung what was left of him into a lake. My wife jokes about it from time-to-time. No one minds.

Charlie Weasley was killed in the final battle, but it wasn't murder, we know that. Nymphadora lost her father, Hermione lost her parents, and Ginny lost Dean Thomas, but they have done all the grieving. The rest of the damage was more emotional than anything. Ron and Hermione often have nightmares about that night, but they are almost routine, and when they awake, they cling to each other and know that that is the past, and nothing can bring that back. I've seen Harry sit in his back garden, staring, and when we ask what he is doing, he always responds with, "Thinking." Maybe it is both, staring and thinking, but I know that he just replays it all in his mind. His internal record player is broken, and it constantly skips. Mine was the same way for many years. Nymphadora has gotten me a new one.

In the end, it is said that the end of the War benefited both sides. Quite a few Death Eaters rejoiced at the fall of Voldemort, and there was supposedly a large drunken party of them who celebrated in the old Riddle Manor. Even if the vast majority were sent to Azkaban for their crimes, it was clearly visible that they were glad to be away from their former master.

"At that point near the end the Death Eaters became lackeys, slaves even," Severus Snape had told me once. He stays secluded in a cabin near Whales and won't talk to anyone. But for some strange reason, I am allowed in his home, and we will sometimes have a drink or two together, reflecting on the past. He says I am the only one who forgives him for all he has done, and I don't reply. "I was glad to leave them, if you could call it leaving."

No, I called it leaving, as did Dumbledore. Most of wizarding Britain was convinced he was a spy for Voldemort, but Albus knew better. A few months after his death, we called him foolish for ever trusting Snape, foolish for never seeing that he couldn't be redeemed. But we never considered how much Severus had lost: his job, his respect, and in the end, most of his eyesight. And though I do forgive him and believe that he really was on our side the whole time, I still don't reply.

"Why Scrimgeour?" I asked, changing the subject to something I could never really understand.

"They were confused, they needed time. They needed a public stunt, something to scare us a bit," he said, not caring about my change of focus. I noticed, though, that he said "us", in reference to the general wizarding world. It was progress.

And that was it: Progress. Even 10 years after the War, there's still so much that is broken, so much that is left in ruin. But we've made progress. Ron and Hermione have finally gotten married, after years and years of unrequited love. Harry has finally found a place in the world as head of the Auror Force, when most of his life had been a jumble of Fate. Severus has let some of the bitterness rub away, and he's begun to except the world. And Nymphadora and I have a family, even when I believed I could never love again.

The War has ended, and we have made our own progress. It's all we can do now.