A Brave New World
Ron Weasley threw a handful of dried leaves on the fire, and shoved another of old newsprint down his jersey. It was the warmest way to keep warm, stuffing clothes with scrunched paper. An old woman had taught them that a while ago. Ron spared a brief moment to wonder what had happened to her, but no more. He didn't have the time, heart or energy to give her more. They'd moved on, left her behind. They'd found a good place, for the moment. They would stay here for a while, he thought. Gather information. He knew Hermione was planning something with Harry. He wasn't sure what; he knew his mind was starting to weaken. It was the long periods of intense cold and starvation. He was on the way out. He knew it. Everyone else knew it. But they were going too. So at least he had company. Ron thought about smiling, but couldn't be bothered.
Then he heard a crunch next to him. Hermione had returned, so he did smile then.
"Find anything?" He asked, shuffling over and wrapping his arm around her for warmth.
She shook her head. "How's Harry?"
"The same. Brooding. Ill. Harry."
Hermione nodded. Something bad had happened, when Harry and Voldemort had faced off. Harry had won, but he wouldn't talk about it. All everyone knew was something bad had happened, the magic had been torn from its human anchor, and it was tearing their world apart.
The consequences were quite ironic. The blood purists had been fighting for decades for complete separation from muggles, and now, with the last vestiges of magic drained from their bodies, they no longer had enough magic to enable muggles to see them. The muggle world was still whole and healthy, completely unaware of the third-world wizarding society that lived along side it. The economy had collapsed, magical illnesses had run riot with no Healing to counter them, the magical animals had been freed and had turned feral, houses and possessions turned on their owners, no longer able to control them, and the wizarding world had slowly fallen to ruin. It was now a shell. The streets were mere clear paths in between derelict buildings, too dangerous to enter with normally innocuous household spells running riot. Their farms had failed, destroyed by blight and fire, and the Separation had prevented them from buying food from muggles. Starvation was wide spread, stealing and murder even more so. Everyone lived on the streets, in worn out rags, no possessions, no food, families turning upon families, friends stabbing each other in the back for just one more meal. It was hopeless.
And here Ron and Hermione were. Sheltered beneath an overhanging roof in a dark street corner of Hogsmeade, keeping Harry company. Harry hadn't really spoken much since the end of it all. Ginny had died, caught up in a mugging on her way back to their squat one evening. The Weasleys had torn themselves apart. Neville and Luna had died in the same cold season. And Harry had felt responsible. So, he and Hermione had talked long into the night, and they had come up with The Plan.
A biting wind tore through the streets, bringing dust and the smell of decay in its wake.
Ron didn't know what The Plan was, but he knew it required lots of books. They'd been camped out in Hogsmeade for many seasons now. It was the closest they could stay to Hogwarts with relative safety. Not many people came here nowadays. Hogwarts had crumbled, and the grounds were treacherous. Spend a night there and you would wake up to feel the rancid breath of some chimeric beast upon your face. All the magic and emotions from centuries of wizards had come alive, and it was full of anger. But the three of them had braved it. They'd made countless expeditions into Hogwarts library for books. Harry had lost three fingers, Ron his mind, Hermione an eye. Harry walked with a limp, Ron not at all, and Hermione with a fear that Ron had never seen in her.
He looked at Hermione now. She looked so beautiful still, clothed in an old man's jumper, stuffed with newsprint, a blackened face, one eye, hair matted, three pairs of trousers, two of which she'd pulled from corpses on the street, lips tinged blue with cold, and skin glowing from fever as they sat in the flickering light of their sad little camp fire.
She was looking at Harry, Ron realised. He looked over too.
Their friend was sat hunched over the fire, his frost bitten hands curled into his chest and his eyes glazed.
"Harry?" Hermione asked gently.
He twitched his nose to show he'd heard.
"Harry, do you really think we can do it? We haven't eaten for days. We've pieced this together from scraps found in a mad library. We haven't even got any magic!"
Ron squeezed his girlfriend's shoulder. He'd have asked her marry him seasons ago, if there was anyone left to marry them. Where they talking about The Plan?
"There's loads of magic about, Hermione." Harry said finally. "It's angry with us right now. But maybe, if we ask it nicely, it'll help us out."
"Harry..." Hermione said sadly.
"What is The Plan?" Ron asked suddenly. They'd been hunting this for many seasons, perhaps it was time he knew it.
"A new world Ron." Harry answered. "We've messed this one up. Let's go to another one where things are nicer. We don't ask for much, we just want a nice quiet life somewhere. Safe. Happy. Where no one died." He stood up sharply.
"Are we doing it now?" Ron asked.
"Yes." Harry nodded curtly. He held out his hands. Ron reached up and was tugged to his feet. He felt Hermione stand and put her arm around his waist to support him. "Come on." Harry helped Hermione pull him over to the fire. They stood in a circle around it, Ron supported by their arms. None of them had any idea what they were doing. They hadn't found any mention of this in any book, or heard any tale of a suitable spell from any street-person's mouth, but they were going to try any way. Wing it, that's what they did best. Harry took hold of their hands again, and motioned for Ron and Hermione to do the same. It felt weird, holding hands with a guy with only two fingers, Ron thought. He wobbled on weak legs.
"Think about where we want to go." Harry said softly, staring past the fire. "Then we'll just ask the magic." He scrunched up his nose. "I want to see Ginny again."
"I want a hot bath." Hermione added.
"Hospitals." Ron suggested.
"Sun light."
"On green fields."
"With quidditch pitches!"
"And tea and scones."
"With the whole family."
"And everyone there."
"Even Percy, right down to his boring day job."
"Any boring day job."
"And late buses!"
"And the Sorting Hat!"
"And Colin Creevy"
"And Dumbledore's bad fashion sense!"
The three of them dissolved into giggles.
"And happiness and sunshine and long lazy days." Harry murmured. "Please, Magic? Please?"
When Ron opened his eyes, he found he'd dozed off in his favourite chair. Harry was playing chess with his father, and failing miserably, as usual, despite James Potter's old age. Harry, Ron and Hermione hadn't intervened when he started to decline; it was as it should be. But they made it easy for him. The evening sunlight was streaming through the window. Harry and Ginny's middle child, Al, was sat at Harry's feet, idly tying his father's shoelaces together. Ron nearly laughed, but didn't want to give the game away.
He must have fallen asleep after dinner. Ron rubbed his stomach. His mum had out cooked herself this time, really she had, he had never eaten so well! It was no wonder he'd gotten drowsy; the weather had been so warm lately and he'd been kept late at work all week with blasted paperwork, that one good meal was all he'd needed to send him off. He was sure he'd had a strange dream...but what was it...?
No, he shouldn't think about that. Ron knew that if he thought about it, he would remember that this world wasn't natural, and he couldn't bare that. So instead he smiled when he heard Fred Senior running after a laughing Fred Junior and yelling meaningless threats, and ducked automatically when Hugo's football went soaring over his head. It smashed a window.
Hermione, his beautiful wife Hermione, was sat on the sofa with his father, gently explaining how aeroplanes worked. It had been a lifelong ambition of Arthur's to understand, and Hermione had researched it tirelessly for weeks until she could help him fulfil it. She laughed at Arthur's bemused expression, and Harry gave a shout as he tried to stand up and went toppling over onto his backside when he discovered his laces tied.
Hermione laughed harder, and the whole room joined in when they saw Harry sprawled on the floor, finally, Harry joined in too.
Hermione, Harry and Ron's eyes met. They smiled. Hermione twitched her head, and the broken pane of glass smoothed over, not fixed with magic, for that was something from the old world, but undone. Never to have happened. For this was their world. And it was perfect. They kept it that way.
Magic watched as the three friends crumpled to the floor. It watched as they lay and slid into insanity. It watched as they slowly died.
Magic looked down at the three humans. They were curled around a fire, lying with hands held in the dying embers. Snow began to cover their bodies but they didn't move. They were dead. Smiles graced their worn faces.
They had asked for a new world, a happy world. What they had been given was a life which they controlled. They sat in the background and let things move as they would, only interfering when something threatened their lazy happiness. Magic had given them that. It wasn't a world, it was death. As the winds howled and the fire died the three friends had stood and pleaded, and, when the world became too much for their frail bodies, they had fallen, and, with thoughts of their perfect world in mind, Magic had gently remove their sanity and life. Magic had given them what seemed a lifetime in this world, them never realising, then it had taken their lives, also. They were gone now, beyond the Veil. And if their dying, hypothermic minds had believed that they were living in a perfect world, held in warm serenity by their own manipulations, then, well, who was Magic to judge?