(M e l i o r i s m)
the believe that the world gets better
It's like this:
Harry returned to Britain later than he ever thought he would, yet certainly earlier than he would have if Andromeda hadn't written to him.
He returned three years after he left, and he didn't return alone.
Andromeda welcomed them both with open arms. She was even more gaunt than the last time Harry had seen her, her hair was thin and unkept, and her eyes had dark bags underneath them.
Just like Harry now finally managed to catch sleep — no longer screaming at night, shaking and seeing things long passed — sleep was evading her more and more each day.
Andromeda was exhausted, physically and mentally. Everything that's happened just now catching up with her; now that Teddy was older and did not need as much attention as before.
Harry and Draco stayed with her and Teddy for a few days, making sure Andromeda was, and would be, alright, before taking Teddy and leaving.
They'd bought a house, cozy and all theirs, with no memories tainting the freshly coloured walls or secrets covered by the rugs. A big garden was in the back, and many toys already strewn throughout the house. It was everything Harry had ever wanted. Well, almost.
He wrote a letter to Ron and Hermione, just a short note, really. But he told them he was back, and that he missed them, and that he would like to meet with them once more; just for old time's sake.
He did not expect a reply.
He wasn't surprised when he got none.
Instead, Harry simply turned to his boyfriend and godson. His family. His own.
When Draco had his shifts at Saint Mungo's, Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, he stayed home with Teddy. And while Teddy was sleeping or Draco taking care of him, then he was in his study tinkering away; enchanting mundane things, twisting spells, creating toys for his godson, whatever caught his fancy.
It was so idilic. So perfect.
Past demons were gone, vanished to the back of his mind. Nowhere he went where shadows. Memories of a war long passed were gone, replaced by shiny, new facades and better memories.
Hogwarts was once more as magnificent and magical as it was meant to be.
Many excited, happy children were enrolled in this great castle, learning of this hidden world and proudly showing their families all the magic they'd learned.
And if a not so close relative of a Muggle-raised witch or wizard found out? Well, they were still family, and after what happened to all of them during Voldemort's rise of power, a bit leniency could be shown. It was okay. It was peaceful and quiet, and that was the most important thing.
It continued like this:
On a sunny fall afternoon, the little family of three was just leisurely walking through Diagon Alley, when they met Ron and Hermione, all grown up and unseen for almost two years.
To say their conversation was awkward would be an understatement.
Gone was the easy camaraderie, the instinctive knowledge of their other two friends. It's nothing as it used to be, as Harry remembered and grieved it.
It was halting and not-knowing what to say, it were accusations of him not writing and staying away, of abandonment. It was criticising his new clothes and lack of glasses. It was berating him for breaking Ginny's heart and not being able to care for Teddy.
And when Draco stepped out of the shop to their right and next to Harry, there was anger and shouting, sneers and tears.
Harry... Harry took deep breaths and tried to stay calm, gently rocking his sleeping son on his arms and praying he wouldn't wake. He asked them, politely, to please be quiet, to calm down. Ron and Hermione just huffed and left. Harry did not recognise them anymore.
Draco took him home after that. He made them hot chocolate and sat with him on their couch, drawing him close and simply holding him.
The weight of the not-so-little Teddy and Draco's lithe body against his was what grounded Harry that night. Who were there while his tears flowed freely, mourning the people he once loved but did not know anymore.
The next day they took Teddy to the park, letting him play with the other children, all of them completely awed at his ever changing hair colours and features. Their parents were a bit stiff, some drawing their amazed children closer to them, but no-one so much as batted an eye.
It was no secret that magic existed. Not anymore.
It had been a shock when the Muggles found out, of course. They were stumped and felt completely wrong-footed. All the laws of physics they knew, had determined and built their world views on were suddenly ripped apart and left in shreds.
It left them feeling vulnerable, defenceless. But... Magic.
It was so amazing, and awe inspiring, and fascinating.
They wanted to know everything. How to make Potions, how to use charms, how transfigurations worked, how they could fly.
But oh, it was so unfair. Why could those with magic do all those great things but they couldn't? Why wouldn't they share their magic? They wanted to do all these things too! They wanted to use magic! Real life magic!
Of course, they stayed a good distance away from the... other magical things. Lest they get mauled over by things such as these ugly, knobbly Goblins, or feral, mindless Werewolves, or mind-controlling, raping Veelas. Those things were dangerous.
Still, it was better than they ever could have imagined.
It ended like this:
Not even a year after the discovery of magic by the rest of the world, regulations came into being.
At first, they made sense. Then... well... even the most kind magic users were unwilling to even hear their unreasonable rules.
Friendly meetings escalated and conflicts became the new norm.
A wand was a magical weapon.
Muggles bought up on muggle weapons.
They would not be defenceless any longer. They would not let themselves be ordered around by these backward beings. (They never were ordered around, but that did not matter.)
Eventually one thing lead to another until, finally, one last, desperate attempt of a peace conference was called into being. Not that many Magicals wanted to go anymore. They had seen what the Muggles did; had seen the destruction their weapons brought and the horror by their hate and envy.
Muggles did obviously not want peace. Well, the Magicals didn't either, anymore.
Of course, there were still these die-hard believers, those whose rose-tinted glasses had not yet shattered. And Hadrian, talking with Hermione for the first time in years — a woman he had once loved as a sister but could not like or even sympathise with anymore —, pleaded with her not to go.
She just sneered at him, hatred in her beautiful brown eyes.
Hadrian's eyes burnt and sharpened; he looked away. Despite all, he had no interest in killing the Mudblood; even though she turned her back on her own, her blood. Supported and excused the actions of those that wanted to slaughter them and took away their children, their traditions and customs. Their freedom.
Mudbloods like her would get them all killed.
Hermione left for the conference, screaming at the top of her lungs that they would all see that they were wrong, that they could work and live together.
They got her back the next day. Or... at least a piece of her. And then the next... and the next... and the next...
The change was sudden — the change in the atmosphere and in the people — but suddenly, they stopped hoping, and praying, and crying. They just... stopped. They stopped living. Only surviving on the quest of not dying first. Of not giving the Muggles the satisfaction.
Suddenly, there was nothing to do but keep fighting.
This wasn't about them anymore, about what was right and what was wrong.
This was war. And they all felt it.
A war like one never seen before.
They should have seen it coming; history repeated itself. But gone were the burning stakes and catholic priests trying to exorcise the evil forces.
Machine guns and bombs replaced pitchforks and torches.
Atom bombs were used for especially infected lands.
Children vanished. Either taken, or dead, or soldiering on the battlefield. They would never grow up. They would never grow old.
Fiendfyre was let loose, wielded beautifully and with extreme prejudice against their foes.
Dragons burnt down whole cities in retaliation.
Goblins controlled the underground, Faeries and Elves the forests, Merpeople the sea, giants and trolls the mountains.
It was one to ten; for every Magical there were ten Muggles. But somehow, they made it work.
They worked together. Light, Dark, Creature, Pureblood, Half-blood, Muggleborn — they all worked together. United. Magic was magic, and that was that. The only positive thing that came out of all of this.
Meanwhile, while they worked together, found their roots and reunited, the Muggles did what they did best: destroying that they did not understand and those different from them.
It was then that they realised:
Dying wasn't awful. Surviving was.
(M e l i o r i s m)
the believe that the world gets better; the believe that humans can improve the place they call home
xXxXxXx
I hope this explained a few things and explained some others; if you hadn't already figured out what happened, anyway.
It's just a short chapter, and I'm sorry for this. And for doing what I did.