May 2nd, 1999. One year after Voldemort fell. One year after our hunt for the horcruxes finished. One year after the battle of Hogwarts. One year after the 2nd Wizarding War ended.

One year after everything changed.

Our previous... expeditions... were all typical fairy-tail-ish style. And we expected it to finish that way. We never said that out loud, of course.

We all expected Harry to defeat Voldemort quickly and easily, few lives lost and a poor excuse of a battle. We then would walk away victorious and elated. But that was far from the truth.

The devastating truth.

Voldemort didnt go down fast at all. It took all year: sometimes we were on the brink of just giving up: again, no one said that out loud.

The number of innocent lives lost was horrific. After the battle, the once pristine grounds of Hogwarts was strewn with bodies: some with growing pools of blood forming a gruesome halo around their chest.

The damage done to the historical school was outrageous. Whole towers had collapsed and now were brick heaps on the floor. And when I looked around at the classrooms, the majority of them were completely and utterly obliterated.

The Gryffindor common room wad a mess. The squashy armchairs around the fire where Ron, Harry and I would talk and laugh with unbelievable innocence were ripped and smashed into barely distinguishable shreds.

The planks of wood that were once a staircase that led to the girl's dormitories were wobbly and I was forced to balance precariously as I edged across. When I finally reached stable ground, I checked out the dormitory that was once my Hogwarts home. Now I wish I hadn't.

I didn't cry at the collapsed bricks that lay on the castle grounds. I didn't cry at the destroyed classrooms (shocker, I know), I didn't even cry at the ruins of the common room!

But I did cry at the remains of my 2nd home.

I immediently knew which bed was mine. It was easy: The middle one. I had once thought it was the biggest; the one with the extra-comfy mattress; the one with fluffy pillows: the one who's material was the brightest. When I had discovered that all of them were identical, I had briefly considered switching beds, but I had become attatched to my beloved bed. So I stayed.

It had been my home for 5-6 odd years. I still remember those sleepless nights when I would creep out of bed and sit next to the large window. I would stare out at the luminous crescent moon and the pinpoint stars, sparkling like dots of glitter. It had been so peaceful and soothing. I had missed those nights dearly during the Horcrux Hunt.

The sky had almost always been clouded over with dull grey clumps. And when the sky had been clear, just brilliant - a new moon night and no stars to be seen. But there was that one special night in the Forest of Dean.

Unable to sleep, I had snuck out and leaned against a sturdy-looking oak tree. I had glanced upwards, bracing myself for another moonless and starless night, when the full moon smiled down at me and little stars danced around with joy.

Nowadays, I can't bear to look at the night sky, for it brings back memories of lost innocence and the childhood I miss greatly. Maybe one day I will look at the night sky and remember how lucky I am to be alive. Maybe one day I will look at the night sky and remember happiness, remember peace, remember love.

But for now, that day will have to wait.