I do not, have not, will not, own Harry Potter.
All those years ago, and it still felt unfinished. Everything they had fought for, everything they had battled for still felt useless. Sure, maybe something had been gained, but it couldn't be undone. Everything he had done seemed pointless after everything HE had done.
Now, even now, even after all this time, he still takes precautions. He never answers the door without a wand, never leaves it lying in the living room.
He never places too much trust in someone. He can't. He can try, but he can't trust. Not after what happened.
He's careful to always make sure that his friends and family are always safe. Wanting to make sure that they're all right.
And his friends. They still have the pain. His wife, who still cries for her sleeping brother. Her sleeping brother that won't wake.
His best friend, who can't bear to see or hear his wife in pain. Not after that time in the manor.
The man who started it all. The pale, snakelike face, the red, snakelike eyes, the white, spidery hands. Everything freezing, falling backwards, time frozen. The wand in the air, the final catch, the final fall.
It's all over. All over. Never again will that wand kill. Never again will the man hurt. But that's not true.
He's gone, but he still hurts. Families torn apart, missing people, evil people.
It's unfinished, what he's done. But there's nothing else to do about it.
Because it's unfinished, not meant to BE finished.
