Children of War

We are the nervous, with shifting eyes and jerky movements

For the past six years they had walked down these halls as if they owned them, and she had hated them for it. This year they could all feel the change that had swept through not just the school, but the whole Wizarding population. This year they no longer swaggered down the halls alone or in pairs. This year they travelled as a group – all five of them – eyes constantly moving, bodies tense and ready to run at the slightest hint of danger. Because they were the Mudblood, the Bloodtraitors and the half-Bloods. They were the targets. But they would stick together, because alone they were frightening but together they were formidable.

We are the warriors, travelling by dark and spying by day.

It was strange existence, the one they lived. Gone was the safety and assurance they had once felt in these walls, replaced by fear and darkness. By day they acted like any other student – attending classes, trying their best to stay alive whilst protecting others. But when darkness fell they transformed into soldiers hardened by battle and experience. They skulked through the shadows of the castle, rescuing first years from detention or recruiting more sixth and seventh years to help them. They were on the offensive and nothing would stop them. They may be young, but this war was theirs, and they would not stop until they won.

We're the broken, battered and bruised, carrying scars caused by the generation before us.

When they had arrived yesterday he hadn't had the time to take it in; all his energy had been spent ensuring the survival of their unexpected guests. But now Griphook, Hermione and Ollivander were stable and he could really look at them. His baby brother and the two people he had long since though of as his extra siblings. All of them scarred, all of them caused by those who should have been protecting them. The ministry, their Professors, people who should have been their friends – or the friends of their parents. His heart ached whenever he saw them, because he knew there was nothing he could do about it. And he also knew that the next time he saw them there would be more scars, because he could see in their eyes that they would not stop until this war was over. That they had long since ceased to worry about their own safety, but instead risking their lives to ensure the safety of others. They were doing the job that the generation before them had failed to do, and while he admired them for it, he also hurt for them, hoping that when he saw them next they would be merely scarred, because the alternative was so much worse.

We are the saviours, the heros, the sacrificial lambs.

For nine months they had been running, hiding, operating in stealth mode. But they all knew that the time for that was over. Because they all knew that they were the only ones that could end this, and the longer they hid the more people they were putting in danger. Because someone had to play the hero, and they could no longer deny that that was them. Because they had all come to the realization that their safety was no longer the most important thing to them, and that the safety of their loved ones and the entire Wizarding world rested on them. They had all come to a silent agreement that if necessary they would lay down their lives, because what was the life of one when compared to the lives of many?

We are the haunted, with hollow eyes and inescapable nightmares.

It was over, but at the same time it wasn't. Looking around at her family, she knew none of them would ever be the same again, especially not the younger ones. Because they had seen too much, heard too much, done too much. Their eyes, once clear blue, bright emerald and warm brown had now darkened and their voices were always hoarse from their night-time screaming. She could hear them at night, reliving the war in their dreams, and no amount of dreamless sleep potion seemed to help. For what they had lived throughcould not be imagined and what they had seen could not be taken away. She could only hope that with time and each other they would someday begin to heal.

We are the orphans, the bereft, the unknowing.

May the 2nd: this day always felt odd to them. Today was the day he was made and orphan and they were robbed of a crazy, fun-loving Uncle. Today was the day she was born and given the name that was a constant reminder of that fact. Today was the day that made their parents the saddest they had ever seen, and yet strangely happy. Today was the day they would see old photos and hear old stories that were never mentioned every other day of the year. Today was the day they were reminded of what could have been their fate if their parents had chosen to sit back and et other people do the fighting. Today was the day that they remembered just how lucky they were, despite their missing relatives.

We are the dreamers; the builders of a better life

Both the Weasleys and the Potters had been sorted into Gryffindor for as long as anyone could remember. And so the entire Wizarding population of Britain just took it for granted that all thirteen Weasley-Potters would be Gryffindors. What they didn't count on was the dream they all shared with their parents – one of diversity and equality. A world where children didn't have to cultivate certain character traits in order to be sorted into their parent's House. And so it made the Daily Prophet when Lily and Hugo were sorted and everyone finally realised what they should have long ago: whilst nine of the Weasley-Potters were sorted into Gryffindor, there were also two Ravenclaws, one Hufflepuff and even one Slytherin! And they didn't care that the whole country knew, because that's what they wanted. They dreamt of a new world, where they wouldn't have to fight another war simply because of prejudice, and they had made the first step.

We are the honoured, the decorated, the remembered.

"To Collin Creevey, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, Lily Potter, Alastor Moody and Frederick Weasley I award the Order of Merlin, Second Class. And to Ginevra Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter I award the Order of Merlin, First Class."

They would be written in history forever. There would be newspaper articles and books written about them. There would be history classes devoted to them. But they would all be glossed over. Everyone would remember the glory, the victory, but all would forget the pain and suffering. They would forget how they were stripped of their innocence, forced to grow up much too quickly. They would forget the scars, both physical and emotional, and only remember how many they had defeated. They would forget the people, and remember the heros.

We are the children of war.

A/N. Using prompt #33. Because, sometimes you've got to think about more than your own safety! Sometimes you've got to think about the greater good! This is war! - Deathly Hallows

I am so sorry about the time between the last update and this one. Real life got in the way. But, here is the next chapter! Yay! Anyway, any feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading and for putting up with my sporadic updates. NG.