The last leaves drift to the ground as the first Death Eaters turn themselves in. Fireworks burst all across Britain yet foliage bright as Lily Potter's hair is gone; Lily herself will not return come spring. The November clouds weep as though the heavens mourn victory's cost. The Wizarding World rebuilds amid pavement and branches slicked dark as funeral clothing, black as grief. This is the winter, not of discontent, but of despair.
Inspired by Lady Altair's In Ashes, the first line of which mentions the autumn of victory passing into the winter which had to come, and made me think of what it would be like to have a victory followed by short days, gray skies, rain and funerals.