Of how the War was explained to the new generations

[Anadora Black]

Anadora:

This was a clear day, I do remember. The Daily Prophet was lying in my nine years old hands, with a dark line written on top of the first page: "Hermione Granger still on the run. Golden Trio's survivor declared wanted dead by the Minitry."
I walked into my grandma's house and looked out for my godmother. She was hiding here, of course, since the end of the Second (and last probably) Wizarding War. I entered her bedroom, next to Teddy's, and sat on her bed to wake her up.
Hermione's eyes have always been sad, as long as I can remember. Her love's death, her parents' death, my parents' death, everything was painful for her, but I never had the guts to ask her about it.
"'Mione?" Her brown eyes locked on my blue ones and she leaned to hug me. "Nightmare again?" She nodded. Sometimes I felt as if she was older than her 26.
"Do you want to ask me something, ma chérie?" She always used that nickname to call me. Her knowledge of French was impressive, if it wasn't for the fact that no one cared anymore.
"Yes. I wondered if you could...tell me about the War. Please?" It ached to ask, because it would reopen her old wounds, but I had to know. "Why did it start?"
Hermione sat on her bad and took a sip in the glass of water Grandma always put on her bedtable before nightfall. "What do you know of Voldemort, Ana?"
"Not much. He is the Devil. He killed Uncle Harry and Uncle Severus. He is still out somewhere and it is our duty to stop him." Like an old lesson that had been repeated thousands and thousands of time. I knew I would have to fight someday, that's why I was born an Animagus. Don't tell me that's a coincidence.
"Ana, listen very carefully. Harry, Ron and I, we were...searching for objects. Very dark objects which were containing...a part of His soul." I nodded. I knew that part from Uncle Bill. "We only had one more to find and Harry could have killed Voldemort. We would have been saved. But..." I put my chin in my palm, she looked at me warily, and I kew she was wondering how a nine-year-old girl could listen to this without crying. It would come. "But He was trying to find something else. He was trying to find the true master of the Elder Wand. Have you heard about it?"
"Yes, 'Mione, that's the story of the Peverell's brothers. The Elder Wand is the most powerful wand in all history, but it bows allegiance only to those who are worth of it."
She nodded. "So, Voldemort thought Professor Snape was the true master of the Death Stick. And he asked his snake to kill him. We were there, hiding behind some boxes. It killed Harry to see it." Her eyes were blurred, as if she was reliving the moment. "Then, there have been others deaths, other friends we lost. Fred, Colin, Arthur, and then, when we entered the Great Hall, Harry collapsed before two bodies. Remus' and Dora's bodies."
That's it. I started to cry. I knew of course how my mother had been killed by her own aunt, Bellatrix, who also killed my father two years before, and how Remus had been murdered by that guy, Dolohov. But it was so hard to see it in her eyes, to know that it had happened for real.
"We lost him. He ran into Voldemort's arms and sacrified himself to save us. But it didn't last. We lost Molly to Bellatrix, Ginny to Greyback, and Ron...Ron to Macnair. It was over. I barely remember being lead to Bill and Fleur's house, and then I woke up few days after. That's all."
I leaned in and hugged her so tightly her ribs could have broken. "I promise you, Hermione, I promise you we will find a way of ending this. I will never allow anyone to touch my brother's hair. Never." And then I looked in her eyes once more. "Will you teach me how to Disarm?"
And this is how the story was told to me. How I started to learn how to fight. Because one day, we will have to make a move.