Today is Victory Day. There will be a huge celebration going on later today, and already people are coming into the school, ready to celebrate the 25th anniversary of Voldemort’s death. I look out of the window of Gryffindor Tower, and watch as yet another person arrives, waiting for the greatest celebration since the death of the evil man himself.

I slowly make my way downstairs to the common room. It’s full of chatter as my classmates look forward to the celebration and to seeing their families. The noise is too much for me, so I head out into the grounds, hoping for some sort of relief from all the noise. I wander aimlessly, with no real goal in mind.

Victory Day has always been bittersweet for me. It’s hard for me to really comprehend living under someone as evil as him. It wasn’t until now that I realised how difficult it would be to wait for some boy only a year older than myself to save the world, to rid us of a reign of terror. I know I wouldn’t have been able to save the world at that age, and yet the world waited, waited on a teenager. I can’t imagine a Hogwarts where the students lived in fear of hearing that their friends, family, or parents had been killed; where one wrong move subjected you to torture I can only imagine in my worst nightmares. I can’t imagine being subjected to the chills of Azkaban simply because I was born without magical parents. And yet here I am, celebrating the death of an evil I never experienced.

It’s not as if I know nothing of the war. Every Victory Day, for as long as I can remember, my mum spends a good hour in her room, reminiscing, looking at the pictures of her family from before the war. I watch her put on a brave face, I watch her celebrate, but I know all she can think about is the brother she lost. She lost schoolmates and friends. She watched as the ones who seemed so strong fell to the power of two words. But today isn’t about that for her. Today is the day where she lets herself remember. But she wasn’t the one affected the most by his death. My usually carefree uncle just sits in silence, mourning his other half, unable to celebrate without him.

On Victory Day, Dad broods. I know today means a lot to him, and for the most part it’s a happy day, for it was the first day to a life of freedom, yet the freedom came with a cost. I know he blames himself for the loss of so many. Since I was little, I’ve watched as Teddy did all the things a boy growing up would do, all without real parents. I watched him finish Hogwarts, become a Healer, and get married, all the while wishing that he had met his parents. His only comfort was knowing they had died so that he could grow up in a world free of fear and prejudice. I think he understands the importance, for no longer is he the son of a werewolf, he is Teddy Lupin, the son of a hero.

Today is Victory Day. I end up by the monument that salutes the fallen of the final battle. It stands next to Dumbledore’s tomb, the white accentuated by the black. There are over fifty names, and I know that many more died in the years leading up to it. I’ve never taken the time to read the names, as it wasn’t a place I typically visited. Today feels different, and so I look. I see some names I recognize, such as Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, who were Teddy’s parents, and Lavender Brown, the girl Uncle Ron once dated. I see names I don’t recognize. Most of these names, in fact. Names such as Colin Creevey mean nothing, and that saddens me. All these people who gave up their lives to ensure that the future would be happy leave no legacy. They remain only a name and are remembered only by those who knew them. They are taken for granted. They are the unsung heroes, the ones we have all forgotten.

When my children come to Hogwarts, they will not recognize any of these names. To them, Voldemort will be simply a name in a textbook. They will never understand the terror he created and how greatly he was feared. The name will simply roll off their lips like any other. They will have no reason to fear even speaking the name – a fear that existed for decades, long before I was born. The fact that my dad was willing to die so that they could be free will mean nothing to them. The fact that he offered himself to death so others might live will not hold any wonder. As time goes on, Victory Day will lose its meaning. The names will not be remembered; the faces will not be seen. Victory Day will simply be a day where the faceless, fallen heroes are honoured by a moment of silence where the children really have no idea of what they were saved from. To a certain extent it angers me. I can barely comprehend any of this. I find myself appreciating everything that happened, but yet I’m still so removed from it all, even though my dad is the one who saved us all. I suppose I should be thankful that I have never felt the terror of Voldemort’s reign. When I have children, I hope they can be thankful that they don’t even know the beginning of it.

Scorpius comes up behind me, and slips his arm around my shoulders. I look at him and smile. “Today is Victory Day,� I whisper. He smiles at me. Today reminds me that the Battle gave us a chance. I’ve been told our fathers hated each other in school. Wars, it seems, allow even the greatest of enemies to put aside differences. It has allowed us to love, regardless of our heritage. No longer do our fathers hate each other. They put aside the hatred when my dad saved his dad’s life. The war gave our parents a different perspective. It allowed people to move past the old prejudices so that the world might be different. This is what Victory Day is to me. It reminds me that things could be much different. It reminds me that the little things don’t matter. Regardless of your house or your family, we are all really the same. We all want peace and love.

We walk back to the castle. The celebrations have already started. I see Dad. I go up to him and give him a big hug. “Happy Victory Day, Daddy,� I whisper. He hugs me back, and it’s then I realise that perhaps Victory Day is more about celebration, and less about what we lost. The war’s end allowed families to live in peace, and new bonds to be made. The sacrifice of many, including my Dad’s, should be celebrated, for it is what made the world the place it is now. No longer will I focus on the unsung, faceless heroes and see it only as tragedy. Instead, I will be thankful for their sacrifice. I will honour them, but I will not mourn them. They did not die so that the next generation would feel sadness. They died so that we could feel joy, love, and freedom. They died so that we might be able to enjoy life. Today is Victory Day. Today, I celebrate.