What happens to the Ministry after Voldemort wins the second Wizarding War? Well, here is my version of what might have happened to the Ministry.

Special thanks to Slash_Bae on Twitter and Marvelgeek42! You guys helped me big time! I would still be pulling out my hair if it weren't for you two. Thank you!

(word) moonlight
(dialogue) "Who cares? We could be dead in a couple of hours."
(word) cruel

Enjoy!

Never Give Up On Hope

Groaning, Harry sat up in his bed, which had become the place he had stayed in the most for the last few months, leading up to a year. He still couldn't believe how quickly it had all happened as he gingerly touched his side where the curse had hit him.

They had looked into the dark magic that had taken over his body for a whole of six months, and by they, he meant the Order, or what was left of them at least. Not many had survived the war, and even less the following hunts organised by the Ministry of Magic. Most of the wizarding community was on the Hit-List of the new and pure Ministry of Magic. Harry scoffed. The leading regime had sent out so called Hit-Wizards, formerly known as Aurors, whose job it was to not only control everyone entering, moving in and leaving the Ministry itself, but also the cleansing of the Wizarding World. They do this by attacking, torturing and murdering Muggles, Muggleborns, some Half-bloods who refused to follow Voldemort's ideal, magical creatures that were classified as light, blood traitors and most above all everyone who said a word against Voldemort himself.

The Order of the Phoenix had tried to stay intact, but with all of the attacks on the members, a lot of them had left the group. Only to be shunned by both those who still had hope that the great Harry Potter would once again come to their help, and by those who despised everything connected to the Undesirable Number One.

He had very well known of the possibility that he could actually lose the war, but he had thought that if that would have actually happened, he would have been very much dead.

Being killed by Voldemort had, even back then, been a sure thing to occur. As he had decided to march into the Forbidden Forest to face the most evil wizard of all time, everyone had thought him dead as well. He had been hit with the Killing Curse, he had lost consciousness, but that had been about it. Hagrid had carried him back to the castle, a fight had broken loose and he had once again stood face to face with the man that had killed his parents. Ready to die for the people he loved and ready to see his dead relatives again. He had not foreseen, however, that Voldemort might not have had his death in mind, as he shot a so far unknown curse at him, which had torn half of his side out of him, leaving him to collapse in an explosion of blood and incredible pain.

He couldn't remember much more, but according to his friends, all hell had broken loose after him losing consciousness. Most of the Order members had tried to get the rest of the students and parents back into the castle and had been killed in the progress. Dedalus Diggle, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hagrid… They were all dead. Death Eaters, high on success and floating on twisted happiness had shot curse after curse into the group of people running for their lives. It had only barely been possible to get him out of there and back to the Order's Headquarters, where Madame Pomfrey had been waiting to try and save his life.

Sighing, Harry picked up his wand, pointed it at a random quill that was lying on the desk in the corner of his room and took a calming breath.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The feather twitched, floated into the air for a bit and fell back onto the wooden surface of the desk. Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Madame Pomfrey had told him more than once that his magical core had been completely destroyed after being hit by the curse and that it would need time for it to strengthen enough to heal itself, but seeing himself basically unable to perform even the slightest bit of magic, the most basic spells there were, seeing that he was unable to hold that spell before started to tremble in exhaustion was something that he was not good at accepting.

He had always relied on his magic ever since he was of age, had needed it to help him surface during his year on the run, and to see it weak like that hurt a lot.

A trembling hand pushed through his hair as he tried to calm his pounding heart beat. He needed to get a hold on himself! There were more important things to do right now, and he wouldn't be able to do them if he were to sit on his bed and wallow in self-pity.

He huffed and slowly pushed himself off the bed. He grabbed his morning gown from where it had been resting over the end of his bed, draped it over his slender shoulders and made his way out of the room. He needed to find out whether Blaise had found something out that could help them gain followers and more information on what was really going on.

The Daily Prophet's time of printing whatever they thought would entertain the reader was over. The newspaper was under the control of the Ministry, which kept a close watch over everything that was being written and printed, so they needed a direct source to get information from, and what source would be better than a Ministry employee?

*~*HP*~*

Polished shoes clicked loudly on the stone floor as he walked through the atrium of the Ministry for Magic. The centre of the Wizarding World was frighteningly subdued. Fireplaces flared bright green every few seconds to spit out another wizard or witch, who was choosing the Floo network to get to work, only to have them hurry off to colleagues, who were waiting next to the statue claiming that 'Magic is Might', or down corridors, being intercepted multiple times by Hit-Wizards. It was their job to make sure that only those who worked in said corridors, or ones with a specific invitation were allowed to enter them. Others hurried straight to the iron elevators at the other end of the cold stone atrium, ducking underneath hectically floating memos.

Announcements could be heard over the hushed chattering of Ministry employees, it reminded every wizard and witch in the building of keeping an extra eye out for blood traitors, Mudbloods and creatures, but above all that for the remaining few members of the infamous Order of the Phoenix and the Undesirable Number One, Harry Potter.

Blaise Zabini handed his wand over to a rather grim looking Hit-Wizard, letting him weigh and analyze it to make sure it was indeed the very same wand he had purchased over ten years ago in the late Diagon Alley. He let yet another angry looking witch poke his finger with a needle to run a quick test on his blood purity.

"Pure blood," the witch said to the Hit-Wizard, as the latter nodded and handed back Blaise's wand, deeming him worthy enough to enter the main part of the atrium. Without looking back, the young wizard quickly made his way over to the elevators, trying to ignore the announcement ringing out of speakers above his head.

"Any information about the whereabouts of the individuals on the Hit-List has to be reported immediately. Any disobeying regarding this subject will be followed by severe punishment.

The Counsel of Supervision will begin its monthly check-up of Ministry officials next Monday. Every employee is asked to bring the needed documents and results of the regular blood tests with them. No exceptions."

Ducking his head slightly, he hurried into the nearest elevator, pressed the button for the fifth floor and watched the iron doors slide closed. His heart was beating against his rib cage as he heard the other elevators zoom past him, transporting wizards and witches into other parts of the Ministry.

Blaise took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. Ever since they lost the war, he had been on the edge of breaking. Everything had gone to hell, starting with Harry being hit by the curse, Voldemort killing over half of the Order, his followers trying their best to finish the rest off and even the few people he had thought were on the light side had suddenly turned their back on Harry. He didn't know who he could trust anymore.

They were supervised everywhere. It didn't matter whether they were in a public place like Diagon Alley or the Ministry itself; the leading regime had their eyes everywhere, their ears everywhere. Diagon Alley had been demolished. Old and traditional shops had been burned down, their owners tortured or killed, and Knockturn Alley had grown like an aggressive fungus. Dark objects and artefacts were everywhere and could be bought without having to fear a trial at the Ministry.

The world had gone cruel. Laws had been changed for the worst. People who couldn't prove magical blood in their blood line that could be traced back at least five generations were imprisoned; some were tortured or even killed. Respectable personas were shunned in public, executed if they had been in a public profession, or had once admitted openly where they had stood in the war.

Even before the war had started, he had known that he could not live after Lord Voldemort's ideals and he had found out that he had not been the only one in a position that had forced him to act supportively for the Dark side. His mother had been quiet throughout the whole time of the war. She had tried her best to protect her son, but even she had had to admit to the fact that she had had no influence over her son's future whatsoever. He had been stuck at Hogwarts, surrounded by Dark images, people who had wanted to make sure he was also following the right path to true freedom, and she had had to watch and hope as her son had struggled to find his way in life.

The elevator screeched to a halt and seconds later he was hurrying down the dark corridor. The charmed windows, which had always represented the weather outside, were showing the full moon lighting up the hallway in an eerie, greyish light. Even the windows were under the full control of Voldemort now... His shadow twitched along the walls behind him as he rushed through the corridor towards a closed black door.

He knocked.

"Enter," the voice from inside called and he quickly pushed down the handle, hurried inside and closed the door behind him, casting several locking, silencing and privacy spells afterwards.

The blond sitting in the moonlight at his desk looked up. As soon as Draco saw his school friend, his impassive mask fell and true worry came in its place.

"There you are!" He exhaled sharply, stood up and walked over to Blaise, who allowed himself a moment to breathe. They were safe in Draco's office, or as safe as anyone could be nowadays. It still wasn't wise to be too direct, though, even in as private an office as this one. "Where have you been, damn it?"

"Sorry," Blaise mumbled and ran a hand over his face. "There's a lot going on out there. Have you listened to the news yet?"

Draco sighed. "I have," he said and leaned back against his heavy oak desk. "This is getting out of control. All those speculations are worth nothing at the moment, but that could very well change soon."

"They're not just speculations anymore, Draco," Blaise exhaled and looked the blond directly into his grey eyes. "The Minister has already spoken to the Wizengamot, who has started on working on the project immediately. They'll start putting magical children into those camps by next summer!"

The young Malfoy heir cursed. This couldn't be real! He had heard of more than a handful of his colleagues that the leading parties wanted to integrate some sort of school for the under eleven year olds, like the Muggles had them, but he had not thought that they would act so quickly. It was a frightening development - one that once again showed how important Harry had been for the stability of the wizarding community.

They wanted to make sure that their beliefs were engraved into every citizen's mind, starting with the very young ones to get the radical ideals into their heads early on. The student body had shrunken after the end of the war. Even more children were being tutored at home, were being kept isolated from the rest of the world and the danger it entailed, and to ensure the stability of the regime's beliefs, they would need to start at the stem – the next generation.

It was getting worse and they couldn't do anything against it, unless...

"Blaise, there's something important that I found out today. I spoke to some apprentices of the Department of Mysteries today and... come on. I'll tell you at Headquarters."

"Draco," Blaise hissed and gestured towards the walls wildly. "Not here!"

"Who cares? We could be dead in a couple of hours and I don't know about you, but I plan on making those hours count!"

The blond rushed through the dark room towards his huge fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, yelled "Malfoy Manor", grabbed Blaise's arm and pulled him towards the door, leaving the now green flames flicker wildly behind them.

"We need to hurry."

*~*HP*~*

Slowly, he shuffled through the dark hallway, past old portraits that had been banned from leaving their canvas, towards an old wooden door. Putting his trembling hand onto the aged wood, he pushed and entered the room. The creaking of the door echoed through the big room.

Pale faces turned towards the loud sound coming from the door behind him and someone with bushy, brown hair gasped and hurried around the big oak table that was standing in the middle of the room.

"Let me help you," Hermione said in a soft voice and firmly grabbed onto his elbow. "Why didn't you call any of us? We would have helped you get down here."

Annoyed, Harry tried to keep from rolling his eyes. He knew she only had his best in mind, but it was exhausting and infuriating to have them fuss over him. He could handle himself, but they just wouldn't listen.

"Anything new?" He asked and turned away from Hermione's disapproving frown as she helped him into a chair.

He looked up to the two former Slytherins, who had joined them in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts, much to everyone's confusion and suspicion, but who had helped them immensely ever since.

The blond wizard looked at the black-haired one and nodded slightly. "There is indeed something that Draco found out," the Zabini heir said, all eyes were now focused back on them.

"There are rumours," Draco continued, "about a small group of resistance in the heart of the Ministry."

Silence.

Harry opened his mouth, only to close it soon after. Resistance? In the Ministry? There were still people, who weren't either supporting Voldemort or too afraid to say anything against him?

A warm feeling spread through him. It felt weird. It was something he hadn't felt in a long while and it took him some long seconds to figure out what it was. Hope. He was feeling hope that maybe, just maybe, there might still be a chance to change what was going on, to turn everything into the right direction.

A discussion broke out around him. The few remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix were starting to plan how they could contact those people and offer them their support and help. Hermione's face was glowing with determination, Ron was clutching onto her hand, but he didn't hear any of it. His thoughts were twisting around themselves, all jumbled up and excited.

They had a lot to do in the next few days, maybe even weeks or months, but having hope and determination on their side again, it all seemed manageable. Of course, they were years away from a bright and happy future. He would not be of any help to any of them, being as weak as he was at the moment, but even that time would pass.

They would manage. He knew it.

He just knew that all of the losses they had suffered in the last decade weren't in vain, and that was a feeling that he hadn't had in a long time.

He smiled softly as he thought back to everyone who had given their lives for their cause. He would make them proud.

The Wizarding World would make them proud!

He just knew it.

I hope you liked it! Please leave a comment! I love reading and answering them. This story took ages to finish, so I hope it was worth it.

Word count: 2800

Until next time! See ya :D