The Battle of Hogwarts ended with the death of Voldemort and the eventual victory of Harry Potter. However, the cost of the war is something that is rarely spoken about. The post traumatic stress disorder that many people have to deal with is vividly portrayed below and really helps to drive home the lesson that in war there is eventually no winners.
The war is over, and nobody has won. Harry’s hands shake when he cleans his glasses, and sleep doesn’t come as easily as death. The boy who lived is now the man who can’t bear to live. His ears echo with the sound of falling bodies, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees nothing but green light. You’ve lost so much, you don’t have anything left. Hermione carefully chronicles the fliers that denounced her and her friends, because they are history, after all. She doesn’t think she needs to write down the hate she saw in people’s eyes when they saw nothing past her unclean blood. She’ll never forget it. She reads more than ever, knowing the cost of knowledge, knowing how much words can hurt, or heal. His crown is rusted and dented, but Ron still remembers when he was king. When his arms weren’t scarred, and they didn’t ache from holding a broken family together. His family tree is missing so many branches. It’s a wonder it’s still growing at all.
Cho still has pictures of Cedric tucked inside her wallet & shows them to anyone who asks who the first casualty was of the war. She won’t let him, or anyone, be forgotten. She remembers the names of the dead, and honours them in the way only the heartbroken can. Luna hates the dark, hates cold stone and slimy walls. She can’t find anything to love in locked doors. She holds Ginny’s hand through all the scary parts of this new world, and Ginny keeps the night at bay with a blazing temper. They’re best friends forged in war, and there’s nothing stronger. The war made a lot of orphans, and so many of the pass through Fleur’s doors. She keeps them open, never wants a child not to have a home in the cottage. The sea can cure a multitude of ills, and when somebody can’t see past the next day, she takes them to Dobby’s hill, and tells them all about a brave creature who did what nobody thought he could do, even when spells raged around him. (Nobody counted the house elf dead, she realises, later.)
Some days, the weight of what they saved isn’t anything at all compared to the crushing pressure of what they sacrificed. But the sun carries on rising, and children are getting their levers for a school that was almost lost. ‘Pure blood has lost it’s meaning, and muggleborn can tilt their bead in sheer defiance, their existence a rebellion. All will never be well again. `But perhaps, it’ll be a little bit better. The end isn’t always a happily ever after.