AN: Welcome to New Utopia! This fic is going to be a long ride, that's going to help explain and expand on what people were dealing with in the years following the last war.
We see fics all the time, centering around our favorite characters during this time, or of the Next Generation- but rarely do we see any about the exact repercussions, or how just normal people were dealing with things during this time. So this fic will follow the troubles of the new Hogwarts students and Professors in the years right after the war, but way before the Next Gen attend.
This story also takes characters by Hoprocker's SYOTs. It includes many characters from them, and I actually only own a very small handful of the OCs in this story. So this fic has more than 2 dozen OCs incorporated, all from different creators. Don't worry, this can be read stand-alone, but I recommend Hoprocker's insanely awesome stories anyways.
I know that this fic is OC-centric right now, but canon characters start showing up and starring in the story by Chapter 1.2!
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Prologue: After the Battle
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In the early hours of May 2nd of 1998, the Dark Wizard Lord Voldemort fell. This day marked the end of the Second Wizarding War.
The word had spread quickly amongst the magical population. Finally, Voldemort's reign of terror was over. There was no longer the danger of their families being tortured, being slaughtered, being captured and turned into mindless slaves.
Harry Potter had managed to save them all. He truly was The Chosen One, the child born from Prophecy. He defeated the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries, at just seventeen.
Harry Potter ended the war.
Some were still in disbelief, or were still deeply in hiding—the news having not reached them.
0∞0∞0
A boy of about ten stared wide-eyed at the door that lead out into the cruel outside world, in his best friend's home. His mother was clutching him and his friend protectively, the girl's mother busy with her younger brothers. They were all huddled closely to another, in the smallest, most secure room in the house.
The girl's mother had her arms full of her youngest son—just a mere baby—trying to keep him content and asleep. The second youngest—a boy of about three—was clinging onto her as well.
"Things'll be okay," his friend said in a wavering, frightened voice, the comment barely coming out in a whisper. She was clutching his hand so much, that he could barely feel it anymore.
"I hope so, Gliss," the cloud-haired boy murmured between bloodless lips.
0∞0∞0
A little blonde girl sat in her room, hidden in her closet, huddling closely with her two best friends. She hugged them closely to her chest, her thoughts swirling dangerously in her mind.
Her older sister was out there, in danger. They said Hogwarts was the safest place, but nowhere was safe anymore. Her big sister was probably scared, and surrounded by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's evil henchmen.
At that thought, the usually bitter 8-year-old buried her face in her plush animals' soft fur, crying her eyes out for her sister Zenovia.
She only had her best friends and her closet. Those were the only safe things in her world.
0∞0∞0
A woman in hysterics clutched her fair-haired ten-year-old daughter to her chest.
"What if H-He calls me to H-Him, a-and I have to—I have to," the woman blubbered, stroking the young girl's ringlets.
"Honey, it's okay," the woman's husband said, trying to sooth his wife, as he held her to him. "He probably just has his high-ranking Death Eaters with him, and—"
The little girl shrunk into herself further, when her mother burst into another round of noisy tears.
"W-What if H-He does, though!" the woman wailed, her words barely discernible through her blubbering.
The young girl, Cicely, hoped that he wouldn't— for all their sakes.
0∞0∞0
However, a good majority of the magical population had heard of the groundbreaking finale. Many witches and wizards across Britain, and its neighbors, burst into celebration at the news of the fallen Dark wizard.
0∞0∞0
In a whirl of confusing activity, the ten-year-old girl found herself being dragged into a sudden, rambunctious celebration, by her parents.
Everything was a burst of color—various people doing bouts of celebratory magic, wearing colorful robes, or using various joke products from Zonko's Joke Shop or Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
Viatrix loved it all—she felt happy and alive, now that the war was over. Now that no one had to worry about You-Know-Who, or follow his strict rules, hiding in pure and utter fear.
She didn't even mind that her dress robes were itchy and uncomfortable. She simply lost herself in the joy radiating from every single person.
0∞0∞0
Perrin felt the energy flow through himself, as well as all the other guests, at the party.
He couldn't keep himself still—he bounced back and forth between various places in his home, hair cycling through bright colors, elated for all the attention his family was getting for throwing this fabulous party.
It's honestly been too long since the House of Halliday has been at the top of Wizarding Society, in his humble opinion. They hadn't gotten much recognition since the boon when his grandfather introduced the Wizarding World with a magic-patented radio.
The Wizarding Wireless was so commonplace nowadays, that the ingenuity and novelty had worn away, making the Halliday Family drift back below the other prominent Pureblood Houses once more.
But no more! His family—and of course himself, by extension—where finally back at top, as the elites they were!
Why, it was criminal how such a stable, Ancient House had been discredited and thrown to the wayside for so long. Their family name branched out farther than even the Blacks, and dated back well before the 11th century.
Maybe it was because they were rooted in Scotland, rather than Britain.
"I'm just so glad tha' You-Know-Who managed to not get his bloody claws fully into Scotland! Tha' would have honestly been the worst for us," he heard his Mam say loudly to fellow high-society witches, his baby sister cradled in her arms.
The group of women tittered, and the blue-haired boy's mouth split into a grin. His mother was strict and the meanest witch possible, but she sure knew how to word things to sound like she cared about the little people.
The 'us' she'd mentioned had obviously been the Hallidays. If You-Know-Who had managed to get ahold of the Hallidays, it would've been ugly—even he knew this, and he was only eight. The Hallidays were too pro-Muggle to join that Dark Wizard, but too pro-Pureblood to be cast aside as blood traitors.
The boy cast his complicated thoughts and worries away, and decided to enjoy the party to the fullest. He proceeded to flit about the house, gaining the attention and adoration of the adults with his charm, his hair turning golden from his joyous energy.
He could certainly get used to this.
0∞0∞0
Casca smoothly winded his way through all the partygoers with ease.
It was quite the large celebration. A bit impromptu, but his family arranged it quickly enough.
Why, it could even be considered the biggest celebration party for the end of the Second Wizarding War. It was full to the brim with people of various positions—mostly of high societal and government positions, of course, but there were various war heroes and duelers among the crowd as well.
And it was a very fun, joyous party. He was incredibly giddy, spurred by the energy in the air, and his natural youthful energy. He even let his perfectly crafted, calm persona slowly melt away, as he chatted and enjoyed the festivities, celebrating with everyone.
It was an incredibly good time for the Vaesleys, right now. First, obviously, the war was over. Then there was the fact that his father helped the war effort—sending as many healing potions as possible to the side of the Light, without being discovered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And finally, the Vaesleys were some of the wealthiest people, and threw this spectacular spur-of-the-moment bash that encompassed a large mass of people.
The Vaesleys were always a minor, humble Pureblood house. Many of the top Pureblood Houses had deemed them too 'un-pure' or 'soft', with the fact that they never persecuted their own because of frivolities like being a Squib, or for one of their members marrying someone who wasn't a Pureblood.
There were the constant Halfbloods and Muggleborns marrying into the family tree, but the Vaesleys persisted with their strategic allowance of new blood, talent, and fortune into their House.
And it paid off—many of their witches and wizards were very powerful, very intelligent, and very sane. The same could not be said for other Pureblood houses, such as the Blacks or Lestranges.
It currently showed how solid their Family was, with the fact that they were now the richest, most beloved Pureblood House left—if one didn't count the heroic Potter, Longbottom, Bones, and Weasley Houses.
Then again, Harry Potter was technically a Halfblood, the Weasleys were financially poor, and both the Bones and Longbottoms had quite the tragedy befalling them, barely holding on to a thread.
Now the House of Vaesley was at the top of the ladder, the highest in the Wizarding World food chain, after so many generations of having sat in snide disdain and obscurity.
And it was all thanks to his brilliant businessman of a father. Everyone's hero—especially his. So brave, smart, resourceful, and righteous—definitely someone who could help leading the newest generation of Wizarding Britain.
"Casca, my boy, come here!" his father's voice called throughout the large ballroom, the blonde boy easily picking it through the hubbub of the party.
With a wide grin, that showed how young the blonde was, he made his way through the celebrating witches and wizards, to stand proudly next to his father.
0∞0∞0
The people would embrace one another, grateful that they were alive, that their loved ones who had fought in the Battle came back.
0∞0∞0
The strawberry-blonde girl sat huddled with the large group of children, inside the safe confines of her home.
It had been a few hours since the students of Hogwarts streamed into Hogsmeade, evacuating from Hogwarts. A few hours since most of the adults—including her parents—marched towards the castle, going in as reinforcements.
Her parents had told her to stay in their home, invite as many lone children to hide as possible. In the end, almost a hundred other kids swarmed into their large home. Most of them were Hogsmeade children, young and defenseless like herself, not even near the age to have a wand. Others were Hogwarts students, who had wands and could help protect them—even a handful of older students, fifth and sixth years.
She was grateful for those few older kids being there. The congregation of children was too dense to leave them quivering and frightened, without anyone to help them, in one building.
She angrily wished that she was old enough to fight along her parents, or at least old enough to have a wand and be able to protect the littles, her fellow Hogsmeade kids.
Suddenly, cheers resonated in the streets. The children looked around wildly, barely believing the noise.
Her parents suddenly entered their home, and Brianne quickly waded her way through all the bodies to embrace them. Shouts of jubilation and childish glee seemed to rock the walls of their home, as her parents exclaimed that the battle was over, they won, they won, they won! You-Know-Who is no more, and they were safe!
The Hogsmeade children streamed out of the Ravelle home, running into the streets, back into their homes.
Brianne held her parents close, not even considering the fact that some of her neighbors wouldn't be coming back. All she could feel and register was that her parents were alive and well, and that she was hugging them, and she felt warm and safe.
"Most of the reinforcements made it back," her mother murmured in her hair. "We're alright. We're alive."
The small family cried happily together, completely engrossed in each other, cheers ringing around them.
0∞0∞0
A bedraggled man in torn and stained Aurors robes stumbled into his home, feeling oddly elated despite how tired he was, and how much death he'd seen during the Battle.
"Dad!" an ecstatic, high-pitched voice shouted. Before he knew it, his youngest son had flung himself in his arms.
Laughing happily, the man picked up the boy, swinging him in an arc, and exclaimed, "Zion! My boy!"
The man's wife rushed forwards, his eldest son closely behind her. As his wife hugged and babbled over him, crying in relief for his return, his eldest son apologized for not fighting with him. He replied with a simple terse look, stating that he'd rather his boy stay safe and had evacuated with the other students, rather than getting hurt.
"Dad, Dad—So you really beat them?" his younger son asked enthusiastically, bouncing on his feet.
"Sure did, sport—I beat all the bad guys! So now there's nothing more to worry about," the man replied with a booming laugh, as he ruffled the eleven-year-old's hair.
The Auror didn't dare mention the fact that he'd have to go into overtime to haul all the Death Eaters that had survived, into Azkaban prison. Nor did he mention that large portions of Hogwarts were destroyed, and there was a strong possibility that his little future auror wouldn't be able to attend next year.
0∞0∞0
Many were so grateful for the war ending, that they forgot that there were other families mourning.
0∞0∞0
A brunette woman sat in the basement of her home, sobbing, as she cradled her young son to her chest.
"Pierce…Pan…" she choked through her tears, her voice utterly hopeless.
It had been hours since her husband and eldest son had rushed out to go help those fighting at Hogwarts.
Pan—in an atypical Hufflepuff fashion—had insisted on going back to fight and help his friends, with the logic that he was of an adult in both Muggle and Magical tradition and should have the choice to do so. His father had agreed, whilst she'd vehemently, hysterically denied.
Pierce decided to join his eldest son—in an atypical Gryffindor fashion—to go and fight for the Light, to end You-Know-Who's reign. Neither had allowed her to sway them, despite all her pleading.
They were going to do what's right, to be heroes, to stand up for everything they believed in. They would not let a Muggle-hating maniac hurt and kill more people—not after the Death Eaters attacked their Muggle neighborhood a few weeks ago, and especially because she was un-magical.
And just a few minutes ago, her neighbor Homer came back, with news: they hadn't made it.
Pierce and Pantameleon Palenciste were dead.
Her small son Locce looked up at her, eyes desolate, as she sobbed even harder. He slowly wiped her face with his tiny, dark-skinned hand, showing her that she still had him with her.
It was only a little comfort, but it was all that the poor boy could muster, in his numb haze.
His father…His brother…Both dead. Gone.
And he never told them he loved them.
0∞0∞0
Why, the majority of the Wizarding World of Britain forgot about how large the blow to Death Eater's families truly was. That those families also lost precious loved ones, and they were also grieving.
0∞0∞0
"Why isn't he back yet? He should be back!" the 4th year Slytherin said to himself, as he paced back and force in his family's living room.
"I mean, we were evacuated, and then His forces came in…Father should've found a way to slip away and get back by now!" the boy said louder, almost in hysterics, running a hand through his hair.
"It couldn't have been that easy," his little sister muttered, as she sat perched on an armchair. "Both sides of a war lose people. He could be dead, or captured, Gamlen."
"Don't say things like that!" the children's mother cried out, before weeping in her hands.
"He's a Batiatus! He has Greek warrior blood running through his veins—we both do, Judith! He can't have lost!" the boy roared towards the eleven-year-old, who simply glared at him.
"Just putting the idea out there, shite-for-brains. I'm being realistic," she snarled at him. "If Potter really is the child of Prophecy, then the Dark Lord is doomed, and so are a majority of his followers. It's not like I want Papa to lose, or anything…"
The boy softened, when he saw the tears in his usually strong sister's eyes. His mother gave a loud shriek, and clutched the girl to her. It was a testament to how hard this was affecting them all, when the girl hugged the woman back tightly, and he joined their little hug-fest.
A day passed in utter nerves. Then news came to the Batiatus Family, in the form of an Auror.
"I'm Auror Kim," the Asian man told the family, when the House Elf opened the door, the Batiatus right behind the creature. "Your husband was captured during the Battle of Hogwarts, found in Death Eater robes, and holding the Dark Mark. He is going to be held on trial, and your family will be put on probation, as well as your house searched for Dark artifacts and evidence."
The man tried to keep himself emotionless as possible. Even when the frazzled woman burst into noisy tears, and slid to the floor. Even when the boy—a Slytherin, by the colors of his tie—glared at him with venom, before sinking down to comfort his mother. Even when the little girl—about the same age as his son, Zion—stared at him with the iciest eyes that no child should ever have.
"We didn't do anything," the dark-skinned girl stated coldly. "My brother and I are too young to have followed Him—" here, she spit the word out angrily "—and Mother only busied herself with the House Elfs."
The girl straightened, managing to look intimidating despite her youth— especially with the golden chain and green vine tattoos spiraling down her arms, contrasting with her black skin.
"You could search us all you want, but you'll only find evidence on my Father having allegiance with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That is a fact," she stated, hiding her grief behind her fury.
When the man left, the family held onto one another, tears wetting their faces.
They all knew that the patriarch of the House of Batiatus would be thrown in Azkaban for a very long time, and there was nothing they could do about it.
0∞0∞0
"No…" the black-haired girl muttered, shaking profusely. "Papa…Papa can't—"
"He was," her mother said tiredly, her face wet with tears. "He fought during the Battle, and was injured and captured. They'll probably throw him in Azkaban…"
"But he didn't want to!" the ten-year-old girl shrieked, waking up her baby brother in another room of the house. Her mother gave a harried, worried glance at the door.
However, her friend Roulay Weiger was thankfully with them in the house, and had volunteered to take care of her small boys whilst she told her eldest child the horrible news. She, along with her boy, Chip, were most likely soothing the little ones.
"I know he didn't, Gliss…He was forced into taking the Mark," the woman said, already hating how tired and hopeless she felt.
"S-So they shouldn't…They shouldn't—" her daughter choked out, and the woman enveloped her in a tight hug.
"I know, but…H-He was one of the leaders. A commander. Even if he was forced into it, they'll never let him go away innocent. Not after the First Wizarding War, where lots of the Death Eaters got away," the woman explained, her voice bleak and thin, wobbling dangerously. "They'll see that he's a bad man, see the bad things he did—"
"But he's not!" the girl wailed vehemently. "He's not, he's not, he's not!"
"Th-They w-won't see it i-in our perspective, honey," the mother sobbed, rocking the girl in her arms. "P-Papa's gonna b-be thrown i-in Azkaban. And w-we have to b-be strong without h-him."
The two sobbed together, for the loss of innocence, and the loss of their loving father.
0∞0∞0
"Daphne, honey, I have to tell you something," the girl's mother started tentatively, fiddling with the rings on her fingers.
"Father's either dead or captured, isn't he?" the girl stated bluntly, her eyes hidden by her dark prescription glasses, and her features blank.
"H-How did you…?" her mother asked, mouth agape.
The girl sighed, sagging slightly. "Mother, it's obvious from all the cheering and partying in the streets that You-Know-Who is dead. Honestly, do you hear the people sing? It's the feeling of a people that won't be slaves or dictated again."
The woman paused, eyes turning calculating. "Honestly, you're a shoe-in for Ravenclaw, honey."
The girl gave a grim smile. "If Hogwarts is still standing, that is. You-Know-Who wouldn't have gone down easily. So—is Father d-dead, or…?"
Here, the eleven-year-old's mask wavered, showing her grief of her father's fate. She bit harshly on her lip, her shark-like teeth drawing coppery liquid.
The woman sighed, bringing her daughter into an embrace. "N-No…Just captured. Most likely going to be chucked in Azkaban for a good number of years, i-if not for life. It's probable that he'll be there for life, considering how much of a hypocritical fanatic he was about blood purity."
The girl sighed, giving an involuntary sob. "W-Why couldn't he have been a Ravenclaw too…? His ambition got him imprisoned—and he c-could have died."
"I know Daphne, I know," her mother murmured, soothingly running her hand through her daughter's straight hair.
The young girl merely sobbed into her mother, a mix of confusing emotions, not knowing what she should be feeling anymore.
0∞0∞0
That, or the populace simply forced the Death Eater's families out of their minds, feeling as if they didn't deserve pity or mourning just yet.
0∞0∞0
"Horatia, honey," a harried woman said, voice strained, "I need to tell you something."
"What is it?" the young, dark-haired girl asked disinterestedly. She was currently flipping through yesterday's edition of the Daily Prophet, wondering what her father saw in it that was so interesting. It's not like the Dark Lord found Potter or anything…
"Your father—and your Uncle Petrovich…They're both…" the woman trailed off, biting her lip.
This caught the girl's attention.
"What? What about Daddy and Uncle?" Horatia asked, her eyes soon becoming bright. "Did they help the Dark Lord with something great? Did they find Potter?" She wriggled in her seat, a disconcerting look upon the face of such a young girl.
"They're dead, honey," the mother finally choked out, past the odd lump in her throat. "There was a battle at Hogwarts. Them, some of the other Death Eaters, the Dark Lord—they're dead. Only your cousin Pansy managed to escape from the battle alive."
The girl froze, the smile sliding off her face. Her eyes grew incredibly wide.
"No…" she mumbled weakly. "No, that can't…"
"It is," her mother said firmly, a hard look on her face. "And we can go past this! Your father managed to elude taking the Dark Mark, and with the Parkinsons as a poster-family for Death Eaters, we can go scotch-free! We don't have to leech off of them any longer, nor do we have to be considered a minor family—the Vici name will be the best!"
Her daughter's face, however, colored red in rage, and she began to throw a tantrum.
"But I want Daddyyyyyyy!" she shrieked, showing her obvious youth of 6 years. "He's not gonna be here to give me any more presents! I want Daddy's presents! Waaaaaaaaa!"
"Well, we'll just have to get a new daddy!" the woman snapped ferociously, burying her grief under a harsh mask. "One who'll give you even better presents, and make us the most richest Pureblood family!"
The girl hiccupped, quieting down her wailing. She had a contemplative look on her face, before nodding crisply.
"You better get the best, most richest Pureblood Wizard, Mummy. My birthday's in two months, and I want the bestest presents ever!" the young girl exclaimed, the grisly demise of her Uncle and Daddy forgotten in place of fortune.
"Don't worry, I will. I already have someone in mind—Uncle Jonas," the mother stated primly. He'd be sympathetic to her plight, with the death of his older brother in the Battle, leaving his family behind. It'd be easy—much easier than finding an eligible, high-end Pureblood Wizard in these times.
Jonas Vici was younger, smarter, and more attractive than her late husband, as well. Not to mention, that he held the other part of the Vici fortune. With him as her husband, their wealth would exponentially grow.
Her daughter grinned. "Uncle Jonas always gives amazing birthday presents. Go get him, Mummy."
They'd both have to put aside whatever feelings and grief they had, to move on.
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Extra Notes:
-The Daphne in this story is not Daphne Greengrass.
-Locce Palenciste, plus his family and neighbors, are my OCs. Every other person in this are someone else's OCs.
-I have lost control of my life