Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. Please exercise understanding of personal boundaries before and during reading.

Author's Note (Generic Note for the Houses Competition): All my works should be considered to be Not Epilogue Compliant and I treat everything that is not the HP books and the Hogwarts Library Collection as apocrypha (supplementary to canon but still outside of it) and treat it as such (including ignoring it unless it suits me). I also make a policy of not ignoring abusive and distasteful actions/decisions of characters and not handwaving the effects of trauma experienced by characters. If you feel that a character isn't acting like their "canon self" chances are good that it's because of one of these two things and they are merely displaying a more realistic response than they did in canon. Such changes are not considered AU elements, and therefore do not have the same requirements.

Author's Note(s): Something that had always bothered me about the Epilogue (and part of why all my works end up Not Epilogue Compliant) is all the implications of how nothing changed after the war. One would imagine that these people would be a bit more proactive about erasing the ideals that led to the war in the first place. But they learned nothing and that's the true tragedy of the series, I think.

Dedication: to the Lady Justicia, who is blindfolded to ensure that all are the same before her and armed with the sword of Truth & Knowledge. May all remember that Your scales are tipped in favor of those to be judged, not in favor of those authorized to judge, and that Your sword smites those who use the authority entrusted to them to spit upon Your edict of impartiality.

Challenge/Competition Block:
Stacked with: Houses Competition (Term 3); MC4A
House: Hufflepuff
Year: 4th (In-House Stand-In)
Category: Drabble (200-750 words)
Additional Requirement: A sad occasion/event/emotion
Prompt: Reflection (theme)
Representation: xx
Bonus Challenge(s): xx
Word Count: 741

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Reflections of Doubt
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If there was one thing that Harry learned after the war, it was that some battles never truly ended, no matter the cost that had been paid. He watched as the dust settled from the Battle of Hogwarts and saw that nothing had changed. Purebloods were still forgiven by the virtue of people wanting to forget that they had been ruled by Voldemort for nearly a year while doing nothing. None of the laws passed during his regime or before were repealed, even with a member of the Order taking over as the Minister of Magic. Harry had never entered the fight with Voldemort for the entirety of the world, but it still stung that he had died for them, only to find that it changed nothing.

There were times when he thought that it would have been better to walk away—to just take Teddy and Andromeda off to some place like Australia or Canada and leave them all to their own devices to stew in the shit of their own making. Then he would see Hermione arguing over a piece of legislation, alight with passion and trying to improve things, or George would ask for his input on a project, his brown eyes haunted by the loss of his twin. Every time, Harry would hesitate and then decide to stay. It didn't matter when Ron started acting like a git again, taking out his frustrations on whoever was in his sights regardless of their connection to his troubles or when Ginny started making noises about wanting to get back together despite how much he tried to explain that he didn't think they were a good fit.

Harry went into the Auror Corps just like he had once suggested to McGonagall he would. It wasn't terrible. The physical effort of it helped him sleep. Shortly after the restoration of Hogwarts had finished, Harry had started having weird dreams where he relived not just the War itself but also various things from his childhood. The exhaustion from training left little energy for such nightmares. He didn't mind the mental effort either. It was nice to not have to worry about upsetting Hermione by studying off her schedule, to be able to slow down or go faster as he needed. He didn't want to continue fighting but he also couldn't deny that he was damn good at it.

The problem was his co-workers. Prejudice ran rampant in all of them, despite the rarity of the murderous intent that had marked the Death Eaters. In many ways, that annoyed Harry more than things simply not changing after the War. How could he convince someone like Ron, who was a bit of a git but overall a good person, that treating someone like a bumbling child for not having magic was just as bad as wishing them dead for the lack? Or someone like Mrs. Weasley that no, it wasn't actually reasonable to worry about the threat of a werewolf losing control outside of the influence of the full moon?

All of it, he thought in his more morose moments, was perhaps the reason that someone like Voldemort could have come to power in the first place. Continuing on as they had before the war had broken out would not prevent another one from happening. They needed to change! They needed to grow! They needed to reflect on the course that had brought them to war in the first place and the inaction that had killed so many.

If he was a better person, maybe Harry would start the arguments necessary to force them to do the necessary reflection. He would start giving the demanded interviews and talking about the need for self-examination. He would talk about the way small bits of prejudice could condense into the fuel for larger ones, just waiting for a spark to incite another war.

But he was tired of being their mirror, of being whatever they wanted him to be. He wanted a chance to be just himself, to reflect nothing except the person he wanted Teddy to look up to and Andromeda to be proud of. He thought again about how people thought of werewolves and those born to werewolf parents, about how they acted as if they were monsters.

In the end, no amount of reflection could have made him force his godson to grow up in an environment where he was hated, as Harry himself had.

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An Ending
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