Dear Parvati,

This same day every year, I try and finish a letter to you. I've sat down at this desk every year for the last ten and write for a few hours. Every year I tell you the news, what's happened with everyone in the D.A., How's my family doing, and what's happened in my life in the ever increasing span of years since my last letter. Every year I write until my hand is cramped, and I run out of parchment, but I can never bring myself to finish it. So I crumble it up and throw it into the garbage and wait until next year.

For ten years I've done the same thing, and I've always wondered why I bothered. It seems so pointless, but that still hasn't stopped me from sitting down and writing this again. I doubt that I'll finish it, but already this letter feels different than the others. Instead of just giving you news, I'm here telling you my problems… again. Honestly, these letters I've sent have probably been the best source of stress relief I've ever found, though this might be the first time that I've been sent a letter just because I've had problems writing a letter.

Anyway, it's May 2 today, the 62 anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. As far as anniversary's go, this was a pretty small one. They've always been fairly small for twelve years now, since the "Half Century Anniversary." Now that was a huge one, let me tell you. Imagine one long and tedious ceremony after another and then people clamoring around you for hours after that, and you have some picture of what it was like.

Today though there were less people than ever, though it was still much too big for my tastes. Enough years have gone by that most people weren't born when the battle happened, and they don't feel as strong as a need to thank us. Not that I'm complaining, I'm quite happy to live my twilight years in relative silence, rather than the craziness that followed me when I went to Diagon alley when I was still a young women.

I know that when I was younger, the attention still bothered me, but I was thankful that they were there to honor the memory of every one who died that day. I've watched the atmosphere of this day change slowly from tearful silence, to bittersweet memories of the fallen, to having a slight tedious air about them, to the current air, which, though still thankful, feels phony, like people are just there because they're supposed to be, and just don't care anymore.

I suspected several years ago (many years ago now) that people would stop caring about us, and that we would just become another footnote in the history books. I'll admit, at the time I just thought that it would mean that we would be less famous, and that people would stop recognizing me in the street. I never thought ahead enough to recognize that it would happen to ceremony that takes place today.

I'm perfectly fine with the ceremonies dying out. When they still really cared about who died that day, and why they died, it was, if not pleasant, satisfying to see people hold a memorial for the battle. Now, it's just annoying to show up and see an audience that clearly is imagining themselves elsewhere. It's not everyone that feels that way, there are still a lot of family members there who are still saying goodbye once a year, but this was first year that they were the minority that wanted to be there.

I never like the ceremonies anyway. In the beginning they weren't so bad, when the Ministry didn't have one planned, and the D.A. were free to be on their own in the graveyard (in other words, when we had no ceremony). Later, when we got famous, and they started pushing for us to come, that's when they got unbearable. One long ministry speech after another, most with the same hallow condolences to the fallen. Imagine, year after year, having to show up every year and sit through that, all because of public pressure.

Maybe next year I can just skip the ceremonies and just cut to the graveyard, where the D.A. still meets every year. There's not all that many of us left, but that's ok, because for the most part, everyone who's joined you in recent years are in the graveyard as well. Even many years later, where still gathered together on this date, just like before the battle.

It's not the same, with so few of us left, but I can't see us not gathering, even if many of us are retired and have enough free time to see each other now.

In hindsight, I guess that I'm not surprised it's come to this, with the ceremonies becoming more formalities than anything else, and the general lack of caring about us. I can hardly expect younger people with so much energy to want to sit still and go to a ceremony that I don't want to go to either. It's not all bad; there are some times when someone still thanks me. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it makes my day.

In a change of tone, the other Parvati, my youngest granddaughter finally married last month, making her the last of my grandchildren to marry. I'm not sure if I ever fully told you how big my family's gotten, though I'm sure I've written it down at least three times now. Three children, seven grandchildren, and going on thirteen great-grandchildren. Every year, it seems to get bigger, but I can't complain. There's no way that I can make you understand what having grandchildren is like. It's a mix of love and pride, along with a healthy portion of craziness.

When I have the time, I'll write another letter all about them. There's so much to say, I could spend all day just sitting here and writing about them. But the night's starting to look more like early morning, so I'll save it for another time.

This day's always been bittersweet to me. Not really special, but important to me. Every year I mark another strike in my old transfiguration textbook, where I marked it the after the first anniversary. And now, looking at it, there's so many marks there, it seems hard to believe that I've lived that long since that day. There's dozens, all around the introduction, the first ones I made now very faded, and the one I made just now still wet. I always drew solace in the fact that my last memory of you before Hogwarts was buying that book with you right before the summer holidays ended.

I just thought of something that Seamus said earlier. He was filled with regret, since he never got the chance to say I love you to lavender. In a way, I understand. Those few words I said to you before the battle doesn't seem to have been enough. All I had time for was a quick goodbye, ending with "I Love you" In hindsight, I doesn't feel like I said it enough back then, but I'm glad that those were my last words to you.

I think that I'll try and get some sleep, though it usually avoids me on days like these. I'm rather proud that I've stayed up long enough to finish this letter. All the previous letters I tried to write ended with me falling asleep at my desk, and then tossing it into the garbage. I'm fairly certain that this one's finished though, so I'll spend some time in the graveyard soon and read it toward you.

Affectionately,

Padma