Prologue
The war had finished, finally.
However this was more due to the fact that there was no good left in the world to fight for, and no one left to fight for it. Albus Dumbledore, the original campaigner for peace and goodwill, was the last standing, His final curse. He had nothing left, not even the ghost of a smile. Infact it had been rumoured that since the final blood, he had not stepped outside of his office in the former school of Hogwarts, choosing instead to stare at portraits and loose himself in the memories of what once was, and the smiling faces that he had foolishly led to their untimely deaths.
The grim dementor's of Azkaban prison, had finally been freed by the dark side, and set loose hundreds and hundreds of bleak muggle abodes, leaving nothing anyone could do about the despair, hatred and depression that spread out all around the globe. There were reports that the Dementor's curse had reached out as far as China and Australia, but it was all rumours, as no one could communicate with the rest of the world anymore. Muggle TV lines and power cables had been cut. Owls flying low enough were blasted to smithereens. Communication was eradicated.
As the last member of the children's order of the phoenix lay dying, a 14 year old boy, who was once a promising Hogwarts student majoring in defence against the dark arts, now it all seemed like a pitiful joke, but nobody was laughing. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, his wand broken and his arm burnt, as if it had been blasted at very close range. At that point Albus Dumbledore had finally admitted defeat; he had led mere children to war, to their deaths in a last foolish crusade.
The muggleborn had been given the unbearable choice, stay and be forced into slavery or brothel houses or flee into the muggle world, after their wands had been snapped or burnt, cast aside just like their owners so they could never return to the world that they once knew and loved, not that in the current state of things they would chose to return. There was no choice for them really; either way broke them, their brilliant yet foolish minds already corrupted by war and the innocence that had been torn from them.
Harry James potter, one of the last and most prized hopes for all that was still golden in the wizarding world, had fallen to a group of lowly zero ranked death eaters a year ago, Voldemort was not the one who finished him off in the end. He had no funeral and no remains to speak of, although that could never be confirmed as parts of his dismembered decaying corpse were rumoured to have appeared on the black market; His body was tortured and raped by the angry death eaters who blamed him for every bad time that had fallen in their sheltered lives of purity and corruption. His soul had left him before hand however, as he had to witness his girlfriend, his one true love, Ginny Weasley, Brutalised, raped and burnt slowly to death by a lone group of death eaters who had found her trying to hide beside him, He was freed afterwards, His eyes empty and his heart broken, until he walked into a group of death eaters and allowed them to destroy him. To him it may have been the release he was looking for finally.
Many war orphans were now housed at Hogwarts, which was now a home for the dead and the dying, whatever pleasant name the death eaters gave it, and were left in the care of Albus Dumbledore, who had been forced to stay and witness the death of nearly every pupil who had ever fought in his name. The orphans were looked after by a skeleton crew of society's rejects and 'filth' that were thought to be too uncivilised to roam the streets. The Orphans weren't allowed to study magic, and were beaten by death eaters weekly. Some didn't even survive a day their, their fragile bodies cast aside to make room for the living.
Also There were now many werewolf children roaming the streets, The death eaters found it fun to feed children to the hungry wolfs, and then train them in turn to bite unsuspecting victims, some as young as babies. The streets were no longer safe to any degree, and the ministry was so corrupted that it was like entering a cold war zone.
Surprisingly no one knew what happened to the mighty Lord Voldemort. It didn't seem to matter anymore. In all the carnage he laid forgotten, His followers had finally deserted him to lead a life full of evil and torture. And power, they all finally were as powerful as Tom Riddle had promised them 40 years ago, the power he had denied them as his underlings for so long.