Hermione Potter looked out at the city. The Gray, dirty, tired city in the magic less world she was trapped within. That they were all trapped within and had been for the last 40 years. The only good thing was the few children laughing.
Somehow when Voldemort was defeated magic itself began to fade. No one knew why or how. Maybe he had corrupted the very fabric of magic itself, maybe he had created some sort of fail-safe device in case he lost, the end result was magic failed within a short span of five years.
The oldest and most powerful magics went first. The unplottable places like Diagon Alley appeared, Hogwarts was revealed, then collapsed with many victims inside. Ghosts faded, dragons, giants and other magical creatures found themselves unable to exist.
Many magicals could not handle the changes, the new world they lived in, and chose to end it all. They even joking called it going into the west from one of Hermione's most loved books. Ron was one of those who went into the west, as did his sister.
Harry helped Hermione heal and they soon adapted. Helping other magicals adjust to the mundane world. Their friends Luna and Neville joining them in the effort.
What no one expected though was how much magic kept the world of muggles alive. After the magic died things began to change. Technology began to break down, nature started failing. Wars broke out leading to more and more areas of wasteland forming.
They tried their best to protect and care for their families. For their friends in the growing darkness as Hermione calculated the end was coming closer. Without magic the world just could not exist.
She had stepped outside to watch her grandchildren playing. The human spirit refusing to give up and roll over had allowed each generation to bring new life, even if there were fewer of them born each year, into the world.
Her granddaughter, Minerva, ran over laughing and smiling giddily as her long brown hair streamed behind her. "Gramma look what I found!" she exclaimed.
In her thin gaunt hand was a glowing coin, one of the old D.A. coins that had become nothign but a lump of metal so many decades ago that she had forgotten about them. Taking it from the child she held it up to see that it was glowing, the runes along the edge dancing and shifting as she felt the familiar buzz of magic coming from it.
Looking at her granddaughter in wonder she managed to croak out, "Show me where, please."
