Remembering is Painful; Forgetting is Painful.

When literature described war it always so magnificent. People fought and the good guys won and nobody suffered. The underdogs were always victorious. They never talked about the fighters waking up wanting nothing more than for it all to go away. It was always that good guys were ready to go, valiant warriors always sacrificing so the weaker would be stronger. So what was wrong would be right.

Matty was pretty sure that the writers of those wars had never actually seen a battle in their life. They hadn't seen their friends fall with a splash of blood that left a scent of copper that never scrubbed out no matter how hot the water. Their senses hadn't gone numb from the constant screams and blasts. They hadn't wished that it could all be over.

He'd been in one battle. Just one. It wasn't even a battle. It was more of a complete massacre. There wasn't anything they could do but try to get the residents out of their burning homes. Try to drown out the sound of screams from those they couldn't save and block their lungs from breathing in the scent of burning flesh. But that one "battle" was enough to know that he could never join his family's ranks. He could never stand by while people screamed and fires burned and do nothing to stop it. But he'd have to.

In the end, Matty hadn't slept since the attack on Hogsmeade. He'd spent the nights pacing nervously, staring at the sky, watching as the sun broke out on another day. This morning, though, he didn't think he could stand to attend another mindless lesson when he couldn't have the energy to care about going down to eat. Instead he sent out an owl to Camden, asking the boy to meet him out at the Shrieking Shack tonight.

Once sent the Hufflepuff boy went off to shower and spent the day staring at the way as shadows lengthened. After the room was fairly plunged in darkness he threw on his thick, fur lined cloak and his satchel containing "contraband" alcohol. Maybe it would help him sleep. Maybe Camden would have the same problem as him. He took off through the empty halls, pausing only once when he ran into a limping professor but smiling when he was just waved away. He took the path under the Whomping Willow, not able to stand the thought of seeing the charred skeleton that remained of Hogsmeade. He made his way through the dark tunnel and came out to the dirty and dank house, heading to one of the few standing chairs left to set his stuff on.