We tell the new recruits the statistics;
The dead, the crippled, and the few
Who survive to retirement.
They look up at us who have made it through
But do not truly see the cost involved;
They will not be a statistic.
They say I must be proud of my scars;
Each one showing a time I survived,
A lesson learnt. They are wrong.
Scars are the mark of a lesson failed.
Scars happen when something goes wrong;
You just hope the only wounds
Are those that can be healed.
They smile and nod
When I say 'Constant Vigilance',
Placating an old Auror's paranoia.
They don't understand;
The lesson I'm trying to teach through repetition,
Is one I learnt through blood.
Because the scars on my body are nothing to those inside.