It was over.
It had been over for months and everything was supposed to be "back to normal." What is normal when you've grown up in the center of a war? What is normal when you wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat with your wand in your hand pointed at the door, curse on the tip of your tongue because the wind blew it open with a squeak? What is normal when you look around the train platform and see 13 and 14 year olds hardened by war? Haunted eyes and nervous glances of those who forced to grow up much too fast. What is normal when you spent 6 years helping your best friend avoid death while struggling to get through school? Only to spend was was supposed to be your seventh starving in the woods on the run from a genocidal madman hell bent on destroying you and everyone like you? What is normal when people around you are hunted down and killed so regularly that you have to erase your parents memories and send them across the globe so they won't be killed simply for sharing your last name?
There never was a normal, she decided. She'd have to create a new one.