There is a whisper of apprehension tickling the throats of every inhabitant of Wizarding Britain. Has it really been this long? Have we come this far? How did we get over the losses? Or did we? I can't believe it's been ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts. This is a monumental anniversary, one whose celebration will taste as bittersweet as the ceremony of victory we all choked down and endured only days after that momentous battle. For many, the pain that pricks our hearts still reminds us we were fortunate or unfortunate enough to survive.
I dare to speak his name. I will always dare to speak his name. I will never give him that kind of power over me ever again. Tom Riddle took my wife from me and after a decade of grieving, my only solace is that there is, in fact, justice in this universe. I believe with every fiber of my being that somewhere in the deepest, darkest and most painful catacombs of a Hell-like place, Riddle burns and suffers the agony he heaped on so many in life—if that's what he had—tenfold. Harry Potter and his friends have always been the beacons we needed to look to as we healed. In turn, we respect their privacy as their families grow. It is with that respect and their consent that I tell this story.
I have been preparing for this editorial since long before I took it on as my responsibility. On this, the tenth anniversary of the best and worst day of our lives, I offer not my words, but the words of the generals and soldiers who lead us to victory. From correspondence collected from old owls, parchments and letters, I record their candid experiences in the hope that they bring the internal peace we all so desperately crave.
For the seven days leading up to the celebration, I present the personal stories of seven heroes in their own words.