You know, it's almost funny. How the world ended.
Because, in the end, the muggles were right. And we, the so called 'higher beings', didn't have a chance. Not against this.
Oddly, it wasn't the sickness that got us. Or some big muggle-magical war, or the bombs of an entirely muggle war. Or the climate failure, oddly enough, though we're pretty sure that that was coming up in the next couple hundred years. It was the same people who believed that we were here, that predicted how we would go. 'Extraterrestrials', their government said. 'Aliens', said the commoners. 'Sky Terrors', was what we called them. Because that was what they were.
They came in huge formations, but not numbers. You used to hear fairy stories, sometimes, about 'giants'. People who we were like ants to. As kids, we would try to comprehend how big that would have to be.
We weren't even close.
True giants came to us, in big metal suits. We don't actually know what was controlling them, how many were in each one, or why they came.
Well, I have a theory.
For fun.
We were sport, see. As if someone had found a small planet, covered in ants, and decided it would be cool to step on it, and watch the craters their feet formed, and watch the ants scurry in terror. We even heard them laugh, once or twice. Voldemort's had nothing on their's. I can't actually describe it, and I don't want to. It's horrible.
You may be wondering about the craters bit. I'm not kidding. When they stepped onto our planet, literal craters formed. The Earth's core flooded up into them, burning everything.
The once green and lush planet is no more. Now we are a barren waste land, only high, crooked mountains, surrounding oval craters that are still crumpling inward under their own weight. The Earth is swallowing itself, like a burst lysosome.
Magic gave out, trying to heal her, only a couple of months before the Sky Terrors came. Magic users were the first to give up and start killing themselves, just to escape the pain of being forced to live the muggle way on a dieing planet. Those of us who didn't give up are about to. There's no way out. No way up. No way down. Nothing to eat. The air is poisoning us.
I'm sending this back, into the past, in hopes that whoever finds it can do something, anything, to make sure this doesn't happen.
Save what you have left, get off the Earth before it's too late.
And please, if it's a muggle who finds this, make sure it gets to the Magics. Tell them to stop draining her, because even Magic will run out at some point, even if it's difficult for them to comprehend now. The way we used to use magic-the way they will still do when this reaches you, odd thought-is just taking and using.
There's no giving back, except from when we die. Though it turns out that the reason people have been dieing of old age sooner is because they are born with less and less of the magic, then using it, and dieing from burning up their magical core. Hence more squibs. There's not enough magic to go around.
I'm rambling, sorry. It's the air, I'm still not entirely used to the lack of oxygen.
Good luck, and pass the message on, please.
-Harry