Well, this is it. I completed my first fanfic on this site. This was kind of thrown together, because after I decided I didn't need an epilogue, I had already said I'd do one. I rather like the last paragraph though. Anyways, everyone please enjoy the last segment of War Stories.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter world.

*Added some thank you's at the bottom.


The room is dim; jars with faintly lit flames inside are lined on rope and are strewn across the border of my den. Another light brightens just over my book from my wand. I read along one of my favorite stories until a small ball of silver light jets into the room from the door way. The ball bursts in gleams of light and into the silvery figure of a lioness I've seen many, many times over the last 50 years.

"Cody you old nut hurry up and set the table! The kids will be here any minute," The lioness patronus demands in a voice that is none other than my wife's.

"I'm going! I'm going!" I shout in annoyance. The silver lioness evaporates with a flick of its tail at my yelling. I brandish my wand and all of the jars burst to life with bright light.

"Doesn't she understand I can set the table in two seconds with a swish and a flick?" I mumble to myself angrily. I lean my aged body forward in my rocking chair and set my book down on the nearby night stand. I stand with difficulty but once I gain my balance I shuffle along the hardwood floor. I cross my arms and gaze up to the hawthorn wand that sits atop of a specially made stand. I lift my wand to it, and let it conjure a very light gust of air to extinguish the small layer of dust it has accumulated today. I've done this every day for the last forty something years. I give a long sigh at the same thoughts that have haunted me since this very day, 50 years ago.

"Cody I said now-" Courtney's voice echoes through the hallway, but stops short when she enters the room and notices me gazing at the wand of a fallen wizard. Wordlessly, she strolls over to me and clutches onto my arm. We stare at the wand in silence, neither one of us making a sound. What it represents, what it makes us remember and what meaning it brings to this very day. Everywhere in the wizarding world is celebrating the day The Dark Lord was finally defeated.

I always find myself looking at Isaac's wand. I imagine what it would be like if he were here with us, if he'd spend the day celebrating with me and Courtney. It takes me to another place really, what Isaac's life would have been like. Would he have had kids? Would he have become an Auror like Courtney and I were? Would he still be my best friend? I'm almost positive about the last one. If our bond was strong before the battle, if he would have survived, it would be almost unbreakable.

"Let's go honey, the kids will be here any minute," Courtney whispers gently in my ear, whose voice has aged like her body, but it's still as sweet and silky as the day I met her. I look down at the floor; I don't want to be the mopey one on a day of celebration with my family. Courtney stands on her tip toes and places a small kiss on the top of my balding head, and quietly leaves the room.

I grab the wand from the stand and grip it tightly. The warmth it radiates is like the very same the day I was forced to use it. Another memory I am saddened by, the haunting of taking someone's life. Sure, Mulciber was as sick, twisted, evil and dark as they come, but the thought of any sort of life ended by me pain me. Nightmares were eminent the coming years after the battle. Images constantly materialized of Courtney being on the opposite end of my fatal attack, instead of Mulciber. I replay the image of Isaac being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse, or being hit by the arrows over and over again. Some are even Mulciber coming back to life and killing me, torturing Courtney or hunting down my family.

Things have gotten loads better, Thanks to Courtney and my family. They both make me a better person. The nightmares come on occasion; they may come tonight, but they are far less terrible in degree than in the earlier years. One I know for sure will come tonight; it comes a few days a week regularly. It's far worse than dreams of the cynical Death Eater. Every night I wake up from it, my eyes are wet from the tears and my breathing is rugged from the sobs I desperately try to suppress. I dream that Isaac is still here, having dinner with us every Saturday night. I picture him having a beautiful wife and several children. There are multiple scenarios he's in, as if he were never taken from us. He'd be with me and Courtney at the Auror office enjoying some butterbeer in the break room, or his imaginary children playing quidditch with ours. Every one of these seemingly happy dreams ends the same though, every one ends as a nightmare.

Everything will seem happy and warm, but shortly it all goes cold, damp and gloomy. Surroundings dissipate into fog and the images begin to attack my thoughts. My head replays the day I told Isaac's parents he wasn't returning home, the day we stood outside the new memorial on the Hogwarts grounds thanking those that have fallen, and then Isaac's own individual funeral. These are what make me hurt, this is what tortures me several nights awake; the thoughts of helplessness, the things I couldn't prevent.

Everything must be put aside now; I hear the doors to our house swing open and my family greeting Courtney. All things aside, I am so very thankful for what I have now. I have Courtney, I have family, and I had a job I happily enjoyed and happily retired from. I have everything I need to get through it all, I have come to terms with the fact that these nightmares will never recede; but I'll survive. I have the one thing Isaac told me to have: Hope.

"Grandad!" multiple high pitched voices cheer from the hallway. I turn around and my three grandchildren charge me with glee. I speedily kneel to the floor to meet them in an embrace.

"Oh no! Not you three!" I joke with them, earning individual giggles from each. We break apart and I'm met with three smiles, one of them missing their two front teeth. I'm instantly bombarded with comments like how tall one of them has become, or that they had a great first year at Hogwarts and how much older I've became to look.

"Okay, okay let's head downstairs, Nana is going to kill me if I don't set the table like she asked," I say in a chuckle. The oldest, eleven year old Gail steps forward.

"Oh, she already set it when we walked in, she was mumbling though how irritating it was or something along those lines," she beams. I give a small laugh.

"Grandad, show us the scar on your leg again!" curious 10 year old Katherine demands excitedly. The questions of both hyper active children continue, I honestly don't know where they get it from. I try and move towards my rocking chair, but my right leg feels like dead weight. I look down and see 6 year old Jordan clinging to my leg like an inferi on its victim.

"Jordan," I say in a parenting tone. He looks up at me with his grandmothers brown eyes, and stuck out bottom lip his father used on me every time he was in trouble. I give him a burning look and he unwillingly releases. I move over to my chair and plop down in fatigue. All three of the kids line up side by side, all with extremely wide grins and eyes trained on me. I give my "old man" frown and stare back with a raised eyebrow.

"Tell us how you saved Nana again," Jordan says with a hopeful expression.

"Oh, oh, OH! And how you got the neat wand!" Katherine giggles with her hands tucked under her chin in glee. I roll my eyes and sigh. I've told them this story several times. A cleaned up version of course, and made it look more heroic on my part to save them the actual horrific events that took place on May 2, 1998.

"Kids, I'd rather-"

"PLEASE!" Gail pleads with her hands clasped together. The other two quickly follow suit and do the same. When they gang up on me like this, I have to oblige. I can hear Courtney talking to our son, Tucker and his wife Maci. I figure I have a few minutes before Courtney sends up another patronus with the nagging power of a howler. I can give the kids a short version.

"Okay, alright! Settle down, you're going to put me in a coma," I groan. The grandchildren jump up and down in joy and all take a seat on the floor around my chair, eyes wide and locked on me.

The story, I hope, will be passed down from generation to generation. Eventually, all of them will learn the real loss that day, but more importantly they'll learn what they have gained through Harry Potter. They'll learn of bravery, courage, love, and hope. As much as I still live in sorrow of that day, and how much I wish Isaac and many others didn't give their lives for the wizards today, I don't take it back. I learned so much from being in mortal peril, and decided to stay behind and fight for good when I could have easily joined the Slytherins file out of the Great Hall. The things we take from the past shape us to who we are today, but we cannot let it define us indefinitely. We must move forward and grow, but never forget. The past is solid and indefinite, but the future is ever changing and fluid; capable of molding it to whatever you choose it to be. I hope my grandchildren, and the future generations of all wizarding families learn from the past and shape the future into what we fought for: Love and peace.


Thank you everyone so much for reading and reviewing. You guys push me to write and make it all worth while. This is a big deal for me, because it's my first ever completed story.

Thank you Abigail and Katie, my betas for putting up with all my mistakes and weird wording. This wouldn't be what it is without you guys.

Thank you Nat (koala75) and Christina (christinainwonderland) for inspriing me to write every single day.

Thank you Isaac for being the background to a character and supporting this story.

And finally thank YOU, all the people that read and reviewed. It means so much to me that you made the effort to do so, this story doesn't get many reviews, so I appreciate them all.

Thank you again, I hope you guys stick around for more.

_=Left4Hunger=_