The world ended and no one noticed. Men and women went about their days. They left for work and came home to their families, they ate their meals and tucked their children into bed. Nothing seemed different to them, nothing seemed wrong. But all was not right in the world, for magic had died.
No one knows how it happened. Maybe it was all used up. Maybe someone performed a dark ritual and killed magic. Maybe Mother Nature was tired of mortals having powers beyond them. Whatever the reason, magic simply vanished. Wands became nothing more than carved sticks, houses that were once hidden could be found, magical creatures simply vanished.
The world of those who could once do magic was thrown into chaos. People separated from each other with no way of transportation or of getting supplies. Those that could provide for themselves managed to survive. But not all were that lucky. Many of the old rich families that lived in secluded manors were never seen again.
For those who knew the world without magic, the disappearance of magic was devastating, but not crippling. For they were able to survive. They did what they could to help those that did not know a world without magic, and some managed to learn how to be a part of this new world without magic. Some however, did not.
Harry looked out the window of his flat. A few clouds floated by. Birds sang, and cars drove by. It had been seven years since the final battle at Hogwarts. It was the last time he was at the castle he used to call home. Harry stood up and looked around the living room. On the walls hung pictures of him and Hermione. Pictures that did not move.
On the mantle of a fireplace that would not light, sat a few thin pieces of wood. It was on these pieces of wood that Harry lingered on, and the memories that they held. One of the pieces had once belonged to him, one to Hermione. One belonged to his godfather, who he lost many years ago. Another belonged to his best friend, who could not stand the sight of it anymore. The rest belonged to others he had lost over the years, either due to the war or to the consequences of the Death of Magic.
He and Hermione had been lucky. They had been shopping in Diagon with Ron when they felt a piece of their soul disappearing and found themselves on the streets of London. It did not take them long to discover what had happened. Once they had, they did what they could. Many former wizards and witches stayed in the now accessible Grimmuald place while trying to find other lodging. They spent the next few months making expeditions out to the country to try to find the old manors and hidden homes to save who they could. They managed to save some, but they were too late for many more.
Harry shook himself. Tonight was not was not a night for such thoughts. He turned his attention to the kitchen and the meal that was prepared. He was lucky he agreed to a summer wedding, otherwise he would have to be at the school all day and would not have had time to prepare tonight's dinner.
He heard a key turn in the lock and he smiled. Hermione was home. She walked through the door, looking as beautiful as ever. He approached her and greeted her with a kiss.
"Happy anniversary," he said, embracing her.
"Happy anniversary my love," she said. "Happy anniversary."