I'm back at my parents' house for the holidays, which means very low-speed internet. It took me ten minutes just to get on to ffnet, so posting this chapter was a struggle, but here it is, done and dusted. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Thirteen:

My Adult Years Beyond the Wars

This is the last chapter of my life.

I shall meet with you again once more to share the last of my acknowledgements, but I imagine that will be the last we will see of each other. I wonder if you find that thought as upsetting as I do, but I'd rather not to dwell on it in case the answer is less than complimentary.

I left you last week on a rather glum note, did I not? Words of past wars will do that—death and destruction are not things one should discuss with a smile on their face. I shall not get into it again; I have said my piece, and I shall leave it at that. But I recall mentioning that the wars stole my self-esteem away from me. As you have no doubt been able to tell, I have since managed to earn it back. Be aware, though: it was no easy feat.

A person's self-confidence is a shaky thing. One wrong word can send it all tumbling down, and the effort it takes to rebuild it can be outstanding. Sometimes it becomes stronger from the fall; sometimes weaker. There's no way to tell until after the facts. Remember that. The next time cruel words slither into your mind, take a moment to imagine their effect and the repercussions that may follow. Keep in mind that words can do more damage than a physical blow and reconsider them.

I'm not solely referring to the words you use to describe that classmate you dislike or the colleague who steals your lunch; my point has more to do with the ones you use when you think or talk about yourself. Your negative thoughts will tear down your self-esteem more efficiently than anyone else ever could. It is the most effective method of self-destruction I have come across. Getting rid of those thoughts—the ones that tell you that you aren't good enough—isn't easy. They sneak in no matter how hard you fight them, burrowing themselves into your mind and clamping down like limpets onto rocks. Strength of will alone isn't enough to remove them; that requires a certain amount of stubbornness and a dedication to positivity that borders on naivety.

I mentioned a little anecdote last month about Aileen and me trading sweets, using it to demonstrate how we apply our experiences to those of others. That same point can be made again here. Aileen radiated positivity. She never had a bad thought about anybody. I doubt she would have understood the concept. And yes, to me that made her naive—she could never wrap her head around people doing atrocious things, and she would probably have forgiven them in an instant if they'd asked. But she was happy. She loved others so completely, for everything that they were, that she could find no reason not to love herself just as much.

It may not be the fastest of ways to gain self-confidence, but it's a start. Think only positive thoughts—about others and yourself—and destroy the negative ones before they have the time to settle in and poison your mind. If you must be negative, then at least be constructive.

And be kind. You must always be kind.

Personal improvement is a never-ending battle, a constant dance of gained and lost ground, backwards and forwards to an ever-changing tempo. It's enough to make your head spin, and it often seems easier to just stop; to give up and give in before you fall; to choose to step out of the game rather than experience another failure. But the dance never ends, and the game carries on with or without you. Believe me when I tell you that the sidelines are a very unsatisfying place to be. The stability is stagnant, dull, and lifeless.

You will never improve if you do nothing; although admittedly, you will never fail either. I suppose it is up to you to choose which you prefer.

On to other things, though.

After each war, the world was rebuilt, and much like a person's self-esteem, it was not always evident how deep the scars of destruction ran, how fragile that newfound peace really was. Each war was supposed to be the last, but we all now know how that turned out. I, however, was blissfully unaware at the time. We all were. So we rebuilt and did our best to heal as we carried on.

After Hogwarts and between the wars, I dabbled in a few trades. I wrote books on Arithmancy and Astronomy. I became a guest speaker at History of Magic conferences all over the world. I sold the rights to my potion recipes; I studied wandlore under Ollivander; I designed a broomstick that Quality Quidditch Supplies still stocks to this day…

I imagine you know that expression: jack of all trades, master of none. But did you know that that is not the complete saying? Originally it was: a jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one. Isn't that so much better than what it has become?

Many such sayings have lost bits and pieces of themselves over the years. "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back." "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb." "Great minds think alike. Small minds rarely differ." Minute differences which change the entire meaning of the phrase.

But I digress.

When it came to work and hobbies, I never specialised. I was a generalist, versatile and adept at many things—never the best, but that wasn't my goal.

Hogwarts had left me exhausted. I'd had to work my arse off for seven years, and once it was over, I refused to ever live that kind of life again. I recommend you do the same—none of this grind-til-you-die mentality. You have one life, one precious, fragile life, don't waste it doing something you hate. You must work because capitalism demands it, but you owe it to yourselves to find something that you enjoy, at least a little. Another solution, of course, would be to dismantle capitalism altogether, pool every resource, invest in robotics to keep everything running, and have a universal basic income. If no one has to work, we could have ourselves a second Renaissance, preferably without the misogyny, racism, and theocentrism, though. Wouldn't that be nice?

When it came down to my experience in the workforce, my versatility eventually caught people's eye, and I somehow made a name for myself as one of the most gifted witches of my generation.

When the Ministry of Magic acknowledged that, when they held a ceremony in my honour to congratulate me for all that I'd accomplished, I did something I never thought I would: I revealed my secret to the entire world. On a stage, in front of a crowd of hundreds, holding my Order of Merlin, Second Class for all to see, I told them what I was because I'd made it. A Squib had fought her way to the top of the heap, and I'd be damned if I wasn't going to let everyone know it.

It was a scandal; there was a full-on investigation. Some outraged pure-bloods wanted it to be tried as a criminal case, and it almost was. What I did was illegal. I misrepresented myself and cheated the system. But legality is a construct of the powerful, not of justice. Slavery, colonialism, apartheid, genocide… a long list of atrocities that were—and still are in places—completely legal. Without ethics, laws are just the stories we tell to justify horror and inequity.

I fought, obviously, and, fortunately for me, I won. The case was dropped, the laws were changed, and I got to keep my awards and earn a few more.

The Hogwarts' Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, invited me over for tea recently and asked me how I had done it. I told her about my Muggle tricks and my clever friends. Then we discussed some changes to the school's curriculum to cater to children who were born different and work on some bloody inclusion measures. And that is perhaps my greatest achievement.

I was thrust into a stressful environment which was not designed to accommodate people like me, and against all of the odds, I thrived. Not everyone manages that, though. I very nearly didn't. Luck alone saw me through, which is why things need to change. If education is necessary for success, it shouldn't be a battlefield—not when the ones fighting are children, and certainly not when the fight is unfair.

To those who say that the unfairness made me stronger, know that you are wrong. I was a child. I didn't need to be stronger. I needed to be safe and secure, but those were things that I never had.

Some people don't see the unfairness. They "never use disability as an excuse" and believe they're being positive and motivational. They're not. People with disabilities have limitations that are not negotiable. If someone with a disability tells you they cannot do something, it is not an excuse; it's a statement of reality.

And while we're at it, saying to someone with a disability that they can do anything they want if they put their mind to it may seem supportive and kind, but trust me, it's not. A person can't live on an increasingly strained hope that someday they'll be good enough, especially if you keep implying that who they are and what they do now is worthless. Instead, tell them that the things they are capable of doing matter and make them matter. They cannot change, no matter how hard they may try, so the world must change for them because that is what is fair. And if anyone dares to say that the world isn't supposed to be fair, then you give them a firm telling off because, of course, that is what it's supposed to be. You are supposed to enjoy your time here because that is what living is; it is the very definition of it.

So enjoy it and fight to ensure that everyone can.

A/N: I still can't decide whether 'theocentrism' is an actual word or not. My dictionary seems to think that it isn't, but it sounds too good to pass up. So just be warned if you're ever tempted to use it in a more formal setting.

So long as my internet connection doesn't start acting up again, I'll post the next—and last—chapter tomorrow!