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They tell you that when the First Wizarding War was won, everyone rejoiced and there was not a single soul who wasn't celebrating with a smile on their face.
But they lied. They lied and lied and will continue to lie because it doesn't hurt them. It doesn't affect them. They don't wake up screaming at two in the morning, their children don't wake up because of that scream, unable to understand what hurt their parents. They can look in their mirror and care about how they look instead of wondering who's staring back at them.
A monster or a human?
The liars aren't full of tears, tears they can never cry because it'll hurt too much and they'll never stop. They didn't have everything they ever loved ripped from their hands and thrown in the garbage like it meant nothing. They don't have to hide their grief because no one understands.
Their parents can tuck their children in at night, both of them. There isn't one parent who's never spoken about because it just hurts too much. There isn't someone else, someone's aunt or uncle or adult who doesn't really care but pretends to, taking care of them. They have their family safe, sound, and right next to them.
So they lie because to them, it is truth. But it isn't and it never will be.
The children lucky enough to grow up believing the lie is true no longer understand why Voldemort scars children so much he's gone, he's never coming back. They don't understand why their eyes fill with tears about something as simple as Mum and Dad taking them to the park.
They all believe the lie and all it does is hurt.
So when the First Wizarding War was won, people locked themselves in their houses. Too tired, too scared, too grief-stricken to even imagine celebrating. There were no smiles, just hollow expressions and people grasping for some resemblance of comfort, and most of the time, their grasp came up empty.
