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He allowed himself a year to grieve, a year to truly reflect on those close to him, and a select few he'd never thought of as close, who he'd lost. During that year he went away and made contact with no one. After that year he shut himself off from the grief, swearing he was done.
The next year was spent in guilt. It was during that year that he started his training. He moved ahead far quicker than his colleagues, his focus on the guilt and paying penance to ease the guilt.
By the middle of the next year the guilt had eased itself into anger. Everyone around him knew he was angry and most feared him. Even those accused of dabbling heavily in the dark arts feared him. The anger never left him, not for a long time anyways.
Several years later it was love that chiseled its way through the hard anger. Slowly, but surely, the anger left him. Her love had saved him. Once again love had come to his rescue as it had so many times before.