Harry Potter

1st person Pov

March 16, 2045

If anyone finds this, then maybe we are not all gone.

I do not know how much longer I have.

The air has been thick with smoke for months.

The sky remains the same dull shade of gray, and I cannot remember the last time I saw the sun.

London is gone.

Diagon Alley is rubble.

Hogsmeade is ash.

Hogwarts—No, I will not write that yet.

I have tried to find others.

I have sent messages, charmed letters, Patronuses—anything that still works—but there has been no answer.

Perhaps the world is silent.

Perhaps there is no one left to reply

We were not ready.

Not for this.

We have always been set in our ways—old robes, old wands, old spells.

We thought ourselves superio.

That was our downfall.

Spells that we believed to be unbreakable shattered like glass.

Shields meant to last forever cracked in seconds.

When they came, they did not arrive with swords or axes.

They came with fire and steel, with machines that did not sleep, with bombs that fell faster than a Seeker's dive.

We fought back.

We had our victories.

We reduced their buildings to dust, sent waves of fire, wind, and stone crashing into their strongholds.

We thought we were winning.

But they had numbers.

They had patience.

And they had something worse  than all of it—something we had never mastered.

Change.

Adaptation.

We cast spells that had worked for centuries.

They built something new every day.

They had weapons that did not rely on magic, weapons that burned hotter than Fiendfyre, that shattered bodies, that poisoned the earth itself.

The first great loss was the Ministry.

The attack came at night.

There was no warning, no prophecy, no vision of doom.

One moment, the Aurors were standing guard; the next, they were screaming.

There was no spell against it.

One moment, a body was whole; the next, it was splattered across the walls.

Stone cracked.

Magic burned away.

There was nothing left but a crater.

Hogwarts fell months later.

We believed it was a sanctuary.

The wards were strong.

The castle had stood for a thousand years.

But nothing had prepared us for fire that never stopped burning, for waves of force that tore stone apart like parchment, for poison in the air that left people gasping, bleeding from the inside.

I was not there when the bomb fell, but I saw what was left.

Nothing.

Not even rubble.

Just a black stain on the earth, as if the castle had never existed.

James, Albus, Lily.

My children.

They had been there.

I  told myself it was safe.

I told myself they would be fine.

I had fought wars before, and I believed this would be no different.

I thought magic would protect them.

That I would protect them.

I was wrong.

Ginny died two weeks later.

They found her in the countryside near Ottery St. Catchpole.

There were no trials anymore, no courts, no negotiations.

There was only fear.

They burned her the old way.

I was too late.

I could still smell the smoke.

I image her in that Cross.

Screaming.

Begging.

Wishing for something to happen.

How naive we have been.

We had our own horrors.

We created our own weapons.

We unearthed spells long forgotten, ones buried in the darkest corners of our books.

We twisted magic into something else.

Something monstrous.

There were no rules anymore, no laws, no Ministry to stop us, no Dumbledore to tell us what was right.

I do not know how many we killed.

I only know that it was not enough.

That it would never be enough.

I do not know who is winning.

Perhaps no one is.

Perhaps there will be no world left for either side.

I am so tired.

But I cannot stop.

Not yet.

If anyone finds this, remember us.

Remember magic.

If you are a wizard, if you are still alive, do not make the mistakes we did.

Do not believe you are untouchable.

Do not believe that the old ways will always last.

The world does not care for our traditions.

It does not care for our secrets.

It only cares for survival.

-Harry Potter

The diary falls from my fingers.

My hands are thin, the skin cracked, the veins dark and swollen.

I have seen this before, on others—those who lingered too close to the bomb's breath.

The ones who did not die right away.

Radiation.

I know the word now.

It is worse than any curse.

It is in my bones, my blood, eating me from the inside.

*Cough* *Cough*

Dark flecks splatter the stone beneath me.

The taste in my mouth is bitter, metallic, unnatural.

My wand feels heavy, but I grip it tight.

It is the last thing I have.

I notice something but it´s too late.

They found me.

End of Pov

Omni Pov

Muggles.

Survivors.

Not soldiers, not the ones who had done this, but people who had lost just as much.

They did not see a man.

They saw a monster.

A sorcerer.

A relic of something that had brought them ruin.

They took Harry in chains, stripped him of his robes.

They stole his wand who had survive against countless of adversaries and snapped it in half, then they returned the broken pieces as a cruel joke.

They did not ask Harry questions.

They did not want answers.

There was no trial, no jury, just the sentence.

Pain.

Harry through the years have come to known pain before.

The Cruciatus Curse.

The cutting curse.

The burning of flesh.

But this was different.

They used rope, knives, fire, metal.

They knew how to hurt without killing.

They strip Harry to what appears a medical table and started this cruel Show.

One slice and his right index finger gone.

He want to scream but he couldn´t ... he won´t.

He won´t give them the pleasure.

Occlumency is a really good way to handle pain.

He look at the butcher with hate.

But he just looks at me with a smile.

"You know ... when this started... i had felt a inmense fear"

"Fear that you would come for us..."

"Fear that turned out to be true"

"So please... Scream"

"Scream for the children that you killed over the years"

"Scream for the by standers who did nothing , no, who couldn´t do nothing against your mind raping abilities"

"SCREAM FOR THOSE WHO WERE YOUR TOYS FOR SATISFACTIONS , YOUR BLOOD BAGS!!!"

And with that he slice harry hand off.

And he really couldn´t contained it.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

He tried to move.

To struggle.

But his body wasn´t answering to him.

They had put him something on him.

The realisation comes late as another slice of meat was taken out of him.

End of Pov

1st Person Pov

They spoke of justice, revenge, balance.

I could not tell them they were wrong.

Days passed.

Or weeks.

Time blurred.

I stopped feeling hunger.

The only eat he had was the Shi* and piss mix with what appears to be a soup.

I barely look up to see a finger floating in that soup.

Carnivalism.

I barely stop himself from throwing what would sure be his next meal.

I stopped feeling the cold.

The world was dimming, and I knew what it meant.

My body was failing.

My skin peeled in sheets.

My vision wavered.

The sickness from the bomb had done what their tools could not.

They let me go.

Not as mercy.

As punishment.

A thing to waste away, to be forgotten, to be erased like the rest.

I walked for miles, dragging what was left of me through the husk of the world.

That is when i had feel it.

There was nothing.

No magic left to save me.

No voices to call me back.

I reach the end of the road.

My legs buckle.

I sink to my knees.

The diary lies beside me, open, pages fluttering in the wind.

My hands tremble, but I press them to the stone.

I close my eyes.

I think of Hogwarts before the war—of children laughing in the Great Hall, of Ginny's hand in mine, of my children running through the corridors, safe, untouched by the horrors to come.

'Maybe we were Wrong Hermi'.

A tear falls from my eye.

'Maybe we were wrong from the start'.

*Sob*

My breath slows.

My heart falters.

The wind carries away the last of my words.

The world grows silent.

And then, nothing.