The rain pelted down onto the roof of an old and shabby shed in the middle of a forest which contained all sorts of dangerous magical creatures. The roof was leaking and the rain was dripping in, soaking the man who was lying on the floor covered with an old and filthy sack. The man was very thin, as though he had not had a decent meal in weeks. His long silver blond hair was dirty and greasy; it badly needed to be washed. It was messy and it fell across his face covering his closed eyes. He was the kind of man you could tell would be handsome if he had a decent meal inside of him and if he was cleaned up. His face was muddy and there was still a faint trace of a scar down his right cheek. He was dressed in a long dark green robe with silver stitching. The cloak was now torn, covered in dirt and several inches too short but the colour was still recognisable and it was obvious that it had been very expensive when brought new. There was a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning which lit up the tiny shed, awakening the man from his troubled sleep. He swore loudly as he stood up and smacked his head on the ceiling.

“I can’t believe it has been 6 years,” muttered Hermione as she read through The Daily Prophet. She munched on her toast and spilt crumbs all down her top. “It seems so long ago, yet also like it happened only yesterday.”

“I know.” said Ron as he wrapped his arm around her. “So much has happened since then, but I still remember everything so clearly.”

They both sighed. It had been 6 years since the night Deatheaters had been let into the castle and 6 years since Snape had murdered Dumbledore. 6 years and still the Wizarding World was still not back to normal, memories still haunted the minds of everyone who had fought in the war or played some part in it. Many lives had been lost, including that of Harry Potter. Ron and Hermione still suffered from terrible nightmares about that night that their best friend had lost his life. They had both been there at his side at the final battle as Voldemort fell. At first they thought they had succeeded but it hadn’t been long before Harry fell down dead. It seems that although his scar was not a horcrux he still had a connection with Voldemort through his scar and once Voldemort had been destroyed, he had taken Harry to the death with him. At least Harry is with his parents and Sirius now, Hermione would often say to herself when her thoughts were plagued with images of Harry. No one had been more affected than Ginny, she barely spoke anymore and this saddened her friends, back before Dumbledore had died, she had been as lively as her vibrant red hair and was always up for a laugh but now she rarely cracked a smile. She put all her effort into her job as a healer at St Mungos. Everyone believed the cause of this was to do with her first love Harry dying, but really it was something else. Something she could not confide in anyone about. If they knew, they would disown her and she would bring shame to the family.

“At least we still have each other.” Hermione smiled weakly as she turned to kiss Ron.

“Poor Ginny though, she has lost Harry too. Harry had even said he’d marry her after he defeated Voldemort, even though he broke up with her at Dumbledore’s funeral. She was heartbroken when she learnt of his death. I know we miss Harry too but still. I always thought Ginny and Harry would get married and have a huge family and live happily ever after. I just wish there was something I could do to cheer her up and get her back to the way I remember her, I want things back the way they were.”

“Well things will never be back the way they were before. The best thing you can do for me is leave me alone. I don’t need your sympathy. I am 21 years old; I think I can take care of myself. There are just some things you will never understand.” Ron turned to face his sister who had appeared at the kitchen door. Her face had gone red, matching her hair and there were tears forming in her puffy eyes which were the result of many sleepless nights. She marched over to Ron and slapped him hard across the face before turning and storming out of the room and up the stairs. She reached her room and collapsed onto her bed, tears streaming down her face. She picked up the newspaper clipping she kept under her pillow.

June 30th 1998.

It has been confirmed that the last of the Malfoys is dead. He is believed to have been murdered by he-who-must-not-be-named as the result of his failure to complete the task he was set, which was to kill Albus Dumbledore. As everyone knows, Mr Malfoy was cleared of all charges relating to that incident as it was proved that the murderer was Severus Snape, thought to be an ex-deatheater. There had been a letter written by Dumbledore before his death proving Mr. Malfoy’s innocence. It has been a year since he fled the castle and he has not been seen or heard from since. We have found no body but it is reasonable to come to the conclusion that he is dead based on what is thought to be he-who-must-not-be-named policy towards people who fail him. Mr. Lucius Malfoy and Mrs. Narcissa Black Malfoy have also been confirmed dead which leads on to the problem of what will happen to the large Malfoy estate and bank vaults…

There was a picture of Draco taken back in happier days, before he had been given his task. His eyes were silver orbs and his silver blond shone in the sun.

“There are some things you will never understand.” She whispered, before putting her face down on her pillow and crying herself into a restless sleep.