The End
Chapter Four
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, in her pristine cot in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, dipped her quill into the bottle of emerald ink and continued making lists of casualties and those who were missing in action.
So many dead, she thought sadly. No longer would Hagrid's bluff, huge presence warm the scholarly air of Hogwarts. No longer would Oliver Wood enliven the Quidditch pitches with his manic energy, which at first was amusing, second took a lot of patience to tolerate, and third was contagious. George Weasley had left behind a legacy of two children and a large, grieving family, his quirky enterprise left to his wounded twin.
McGonagall felt a surge of hatred towards Voldemort. So many lives, so many lives… Was it worth it?
She paused when she got to the P's. The nib of her feather quill, a plume that'd been shaved until the very end, where a sparse arrowhead of long, stiff fibers crowned the no-nonsense pen, stopped scratching against the rough parchment. Parkinson, and Perks, and Poinsettia, and finally…
She smiled grimly and continued, with a glance towards the next bed over, where an exhausted Harry Potter recuperated. He'd been physically and emotionally and mentally depleted after the final battle, his last act of heroism before he pursued a normal life. She felt pity and empathy for the poor boy, who'd known more than his fair share of tragedy in the first two decades of his life than most people knew in their entire lifetimes. Maybe he'd settle down to a simple life with his beloved Ginny Weasley, raise a passel of kids, and heal from his traumas and scars, coddled by his wife and given doses of the best medicine there was, a nice heaping portion of love.
Maybe whether or not the destruction of lives – and it was, indeed, an utter and wanton destruction of everything held dear – was worth it, maybe it was subjective.
If so, it was subject to her own opinion, and personally, and professionally, the new Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry thought so.
After all, after every winter, there was spring. After every end, there was another beginning.