Hello, this is the third story in my 'Darkness Series' . In the second one, Hermione dreamt of an alternate life, this is continuing with that alternate life. Hope you enjoy! xx

In the beginning there was hope. And it was good. There was life everywhere. But he did not like it. It was not life that he could control it. For him it made little sense, so he chose a few and eliminated the rest; not even the innocent were spared. To control the small numbers he had left, strange hooded creatures were brought it that took your happiness and threw it into the darkness. There was so many of them they obscured the sun, so the plants died. It was a dark desolate wasteland now, and he saw that it was good.

The shriek slit through his throat like a knife. His body contorted with pain, his face twisted and bubbles of blood oozed out of his mouth and dribbled onto his shirt. Each finger had been slowly popped from its socket and the fingernails carefully removed. A gagging spell had him swallowing his own tongue so that he bit it when the pain became too much. From a hole in the side of his head poured more bloody making him woozy and tired. Still they did not give in.

'How did you get in here?' They screamed at him. 'How did you cross our borders?'

Numbly, he shook his head and then thrashed his legs as he was hit with the Cruciatus Curse.

'He won't be able to tell us anything with that gagging spell.' A voice uncertainly said from behind him. 'Let him speak.'

'He only speaks treason,' the torturer snapped. 'He can nod his head when he is ready to tell us, and if he only spews more hate then I will blow out his brains.'

A further curse was sent flying his way and he jolted with the shock of it. In all honesty, he was thankful for the gagging spell. He would not be revealing his secrets any time soon.

'The Dark Lord is still waiting.' A colder voice said. 'How hard can it be to break a young man.'

'This one's stubborn,' his torturer smacked him over the head. 'Proud.'

'Veritaserum?'

'We tried it. He seems to have taken some kind of antidote and even now his Occlumency is keeping us out of his mind.'

He sensed someone walking towards him, but due to the scratches in his eyes, he couldn't tell. Then he felt the sharp blade of a knife cut through the soft flesh of his diaphragm, he gave a hoarse exclamation of terror and the knife was pushed in further and twisted. His world went black.

The attacker stared in disgust, wiping the blade on his fine robes. 'Take him to the Dungeons and clean him up.' He ordered the torturer. 'The Dark Lord wants him alive.'

'Yes Mr. Malfoy.'

The Silent Healers, who could not pass judgement even if they wanted to, tended to the young man and soon had him upright again. All they knew was that the Dark Lord was very interested to know how he had got from France to Britain, despite the forcefield. This man had done was no one had done in years.

This man was George Weasley.

A war was going on in Britain, but the muggles were not sure who they were fighting. In the last five years, crops had dried up, the economy had found itself in tatters, and more and more muggles were deciding to spontaneously move. Britain was now little more than a wasteland, and Lord Voldemort liked it that way.

A forcefield was around the isles. Only those invited could come in, and any muggles with no knowledge of the Wizarding World could get out - never to consider returning. Soon, muggles forgot about Britain, and for the first time in centuries, the Wizarding population outweighed the muggle one. The muggles who remained lived in constant fear. They could not see the dementors that fed on their despair, but they knew full well that something dark and horrible was happening. They were all kept in the same enormous village, anyone who tried to leave would be killed instantly. For the most part they were left alone, but the threat of wizards coming in and taking some of them away always hung in the air. They did not know where those muggles went, they never saw them come back. Some were taken to be offered to the werewolves, giants, dementors and all the other dark creatures that had come out of hiding. Others were taken as slaves and traded - that was often the worst option. Although they were alive, it was never for very long; their conditions were brutal and they often fell ill, or if they disobeyed instructions or made a mistake, they would be offered to the Dark Art Schools who would practice the curses on them until they went mad and killed themselves.

Squibs were still ridiculed, but if you were lucky enough to be born into a noble or respected family you could be employed as a nanny or companion to another pureblood family. Squibs who were not so fortunate were given the nastier jobs, such as tidying up the dead.

Purebloods were at the highest, continuing to intermarry and doing anything they could to stay in favour - many coming up with fanatical evidence of themselves being related to other, more noble, families. However, while they were the highest, they also had the furthest to fall.

Halfbloods were not as privileged, and had to work harder, but they received far more respect that initially expected. They were encouraged to breed out their muggle descendants by mixing in with the poorer purebloods. In their careers they could never exceed a certain point, but they able to have a comfortable enough lifestyle and were generally left to themselves.

Traitors suffered death, but they could repent if their blood status was high enough, and there were some who had managed to work their way up into favour again, but Lord Voldemort was unpredictable with his acts of mercy. Families were torn apart by the loss of their children, brothers, sisters, parents, cousins - their pleading never helped.

Mudbloods lived a life of fear. They were not welcome within the wizarding community as it was believed that they could steal more magic, and they were not welcome in the muggle community in case they taught the muggles how to steal the magic and raised up a rebellion. Instead, mudbloods would be left to roam the dangerous forests, always hiding. And one was hidden away so carefully that although many looked for her, she could never be found. Her name was Hermione Granger.