Bleak

The war is over, but the aftermath is just as bad. Sometimes I wish the war was still going on. It's horrible of me, I know, but I hate watching Mum cry when she finds one of us getting up at some unspeakable hour, having forgotten about the end. We still sometimes wake up for watch duty, even though we don't have watch duty anymore. It's hard to readjust after a year of getting up in the middle of the night.

I was rather lucky, I suppose, in regards to watch duty. My brother, Ron, was a sixth year at the time. Sixth and fourth years had the night watch, while fifth and seventh years had morning watch. After all, we had to study for the OWLs and NEWTs. We worked in six-hour shifts, round the clock. Ron had midnight to six and I had six to noon. We were both on tower watch, so we were luckier than most. The Ravenclaws had to do hall watch.

I was on duty, the day of the final battle. It was around ten, and first through third year classes were well under way. The rest of us had to catch a lesson in between watch duty, meals, and sleep. I saw him first. He apparated just outside of the grounds, and he and his Death Eaters began to walk towards the school. I hit the alarm and watched as all the teachers scrambled to get the younger students locked and warded inside the Great Hall. We, the fifth, sixth, and seventh year students, gathered in front of the school in order to try and hold off the Death Eaters.

The battle seemed to go on forever. Someone had had the presence of mind to call the Aurors, who arrived about an hour after the first death. They didn't believe us when we called, so they took their time. Because of that, twenty students died before they came. Actually, some of them came right away. Tonks, Mr. Shacklebolt, Miss Jones....all of the Aurors that came immediately were Order members. Fancy that.

In the end, it was just Ron, Harry, and Hermione versus Voldemort. Luna, Neville, and I formed a little semi-circle around them in order to stop any of the Death Eaters from helping their master. Ron and Hermione did their best to distract Voldemort while Harry cast the Diablo curse. It was horrific. Voldemort slowly burned to death, from the inside out, until only ashes were left.

I still wake up screaming sometimes. Crying out for Percy, who died in the final minutes of the last battle. I cry for my soul, too, because I killed the man that murdered Percy. Lucius Malfoy. I cry for my father, who will never walk again because his spinal cord was severed. I cry for Professor Snape, who was tortured to death when he was discovered as a spy. And most of all, I cry for the man Tom Riddle could've become.

So maybe it's wrong of me to miss the war. Maybe I should be happy that my family only suffered one loss, as opposed to Smiths, who were completely wiped out. Maybe I should be glad that it's finally over, that we can live happily ever after. But from where I'm standing?

It looks pretty bleak.