Disclaimer: The author of this story does not own the Harry Potter world, or any characters in this story. They all belong to JK Rowling. The author does not make any profit from this story. This disclaimer applies to the entire story.

Author's Note: Long time reader, first time writer. Still getting the hang of this website as well. Hope you all enjoy(:

WARNING: This story contains a lot of angst. It is not a happy story, and contents might be depressive for some readers. Only the reader knows what they like, so read at your own discretion. There are no explicit themes, only implications. There is character death, but they are not the main characters.

Setting: Post-Hogwarts, Voldemort wins. One year after the war.

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Those Dark Days, Chapter One.

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February 15th, 1999

Dear Diary,

There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who possess the courage to live, and those who possess the courage to die. I no longer know which one I possess. I hope it's the latter. I remember I once possessed it-the courage to live, I mean. It once shaped my life, just like it shaped many others. But things happen, time passes. The war happened.

It was tough. I thought we were going to win. We could have. We were really close, with six horcruxes destroyed with our own blood, sweat, and tears. But Harry never made it out of the forest alive. I still see Hagrid carrying his limp and mangled body every time I close my eyes. I see a lot of things when I close my eyes. Voldemort, Hogwarts in pieces, friends, foes, human beings. Blood... So much loss. That was the day our innocence was completely lost. We had lost it before then, but that day, after all that happened, it went away completely.

Voldemort won. I spent months in denial of this, because there was still a chance, as long as we hoped, but I see now there is none. Everyone is too afraid. I am too afraid. The conditions we all face... it's all way too much. I can't handle it.

I need to thank Molly for saving my sanity, however. She brought me you, diary. She told me to write everything in it. My thoughts, opinions, fears, hopes, uncertainties... everything. So I took her word for it. This helps-definitely keeps me in check. Life is dark right now, even just one year after the war. It will be dark for a while, so this diary will be my best friend. The only trouble is hiding it. This diary is an act of rebellion. It helps me believe I am fighting against him still. If this book were found, it would surely mean death, because my kind aren't allowed to own any property. Or anything. Just being in the Wizarding World is a rebellious act, because I am not supposed to be living here anymore.

The Ministry of Magic had all the muggle-borns exiled and moved into the Muggle World. They took their wands, destroyed them,and sent them away. I was scheduled to have my wand confiscated and appear at the Ministry to be shipped away to the muggle world with the rest of my kind, but I didn't show. Someone else did, posing as me under polyjuice potion. To this day, I still don't know who it was, or why they did it, just that they did. But I thank them nonetheless.

Molly and the other Weasleys keep me in the basement, which is hidden under a trapdoor in their livingroom. Well, their only room. They no longer live in the Burrow. It was burned down long ago by Death Eaters. I don't know what their place looks like or how big it is, because I have never been up there. I can't be seen. I only know what they have told me about this place, and what I can gather. They share quarters with another family, and between the both of them they split the rent of their place so they can get by. The Weasleys feed me, and keep me company when they can. For that, I am also thankful.

February 16th, 1999

Molly finally visited. The Weasleys usually alternate their visits with me. They can only stay for what I believe to be an hour, because they have obligatory duties to attend as members of this new dictatorial world. They bring me a lot of food, and tell me news of what is going on, which is never good. Today Molly had informed me that a whole family was publicly executed for holding a reunion to rebel against Lord Voldemort. Some people are driven mad by the state this world is in, so they try to rise against their oppressors. Others live in quiet disagreement. But we all live in fear. It makes me sick. This is why no one will take a stand. Because it means immediate death. No one can even say "Voldemort" aloud, we must use, "His lordship." No one even enjoys life anymore. Except Purebloods of the highest degree, that support Voldemort. They walk around freely, with rights, and freedoms, while blood-traitors and half-bloods have trouble getting employed. On top of that, people of lower status have duties each is expected to do. Molly refuses to tell me what they are, and Ron won't either. They say they don't want me to worry about them too much, and knowing what they have to do will make me depressed. They truly do try to keep me as content as possible. I try, mostly because they work so hard to keep me hidden and alive. But I can't live with the guilt sometimes that I am just a weight on all of their shoulders, and that if I were found, it could cost them their lives.

Ron seems to be in the same state as I. He is depressed and tired of all this. He was never the same after he saw Harry dead. He became hard, and cold sometimes, as if he had an invisible shell around him. It's not easy seeing your best friend die. It drove me mad too, seeing Harry, but I dealt with it differently. Something in me snapped. I think from then on I was broken. But when Ron visits, and when we have our precious time together, we numb our pain. It helps.

Anyways, while Molly was here, she told me Death Eaters publicly tortured Neville Longbottom, for spitting on some pureblood's shoes. He died after six hours.

February 17th, 1999

I think I am losing my will day by day. But I have to keep living, I have to keep pushing. For the Weasleys. For Neville and Harry. For the world. Sometimes, I lie to myself and think I can fight this. That I can live through it, and see better days. Can I?

February 18th, 1999

Voldemort has attacked muggle London. Wiped out all muggle villages surrounding the city as well. All I can think of is my home. That's why my mum and I made cookies, and watched films. Dad read me books before I went to bed. I first learned to ride my bike on our driveway. Now it is probably nothing but memories. I never quite grasped why the Weasleys were so adamant about keeping me here in the Wizarding World, but I understand now. They would have practically been sending me off to die. As sad as I am to find out about this, I am thankful that Arthur told me.

February 19th, 1999

I hate not knowing what time it is. It seems like a petty thing to complain about given all that is going on, but time is a small comfort to me. I constantly live in the dark, as there are no windows in the basement, so I cannot tell when it is morning, or night. It is always dark. This room is too small, with just enough room for a twin mattress and a ladder leading up to the Weasley's living quarters. I haven't had proper sheets, or clothes. But I'm not blaming anyone. The Weasleys barely have clothes for themselves.

Later that night-

Had another dream about the war. I heard Arthur telling the other family living with them that Molly had nightmares again. I don't know how much longer the other family will believe them, because the screams come from the floor.

February 20th, 1999

Ron came to visit today. He couldn't stay long however, he said he had to go to the Ministry. He wouldn't say what exactly, no matter how much I try to pry it out of him. I just have nothing to do all day so information is really vital to life right now. I told him about the lack of time and light, and so he gave me the deluminator Dumbledore had given Ron in his will. I had no idea he still had it after all this time. I have long lost track of Tales of Beedle and the Bard. I hardly read anymore. But on the bright side (no pun intended), I have light. He says the clock will come later. He also brought me news: Voldemort attacked the muggle world again. Wiped out a large amount of cities along the Spanish coast, just for fun. Every time I hear something like this, I worry for my parents. Are they alive and well? I can't bear knowing something happened to them. They're still under the memory charm I gave them over three years ago.

February 21st, 1999

Ron got me a clock. It's simple, and black. It's 4:23pm. It is dark inside this room, so I shall turn on the deluminator.

"Light can be found, even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light." From the wise words of Albus Dumbledore.

February 22nd, 1999

It is 2:43am. I relived the war. I saw Lavender Brown, lying there while Greyback...Fred, Snape, Remus and Tonks. Harry. And the last thing I ever said to him before he left. I tried to go with him. I really did. But he had to do it alone, he had said. Perhaps things would have been different if Ron and I went. He could have stood a chance. I woke up crying, shaking with screams, and my voice is hoarse.

4:05pm

George came down to see me today. Gave me a dreamless sleep draught with an apologetic look on his face. He says to take it every night before I sleep, no exceptions. I think the other family is getting suspicious.

George's eyes are dead. Devoid of emotion. Just like mine. I guess that's what happens when a part of us dies. But it made me angry. We have to fight against this. The dead should be nothing but a reminder of how much we need to believe in ourselves and never lose hope. Because Harry, Fred, Neville and countless others never did. We can't shut down when people are torn from our lives. And we must never lose hope.

So I did something I would have never imagined doing: I carved the word "rebellion" on the wall with a shard of glass I found in the corner of my room. I haven't got anything else to carve with. My fingers are bleeding right now, but I don't care. I didn't feel the pain. I imagined it was Voldemort, and Bellatrix. Greyback too. Then I cried, because I think I am going insane. I can't go insane. Not now. Not while there is still a chance to fight this.

March 2nd, 1999

I blame Ginny. She interrupted my thoughts. She came to ask if I was still writing, and told me to keep going once I told her I had stopped. I didn't even realize I stopped. I suppose Molly and Ron grew worried about me . Every time they came down to see me I was staring at the carving I made. Rebellion. Ginny told me this diary is a rebellion. So I feel better now because of that. I'm fighting back, quietly. Ginny also tells me no one was executed or tortured in a while, because everyone is too afraid. So things have been rather still. I didn't reply. I just sat there until she left. I am afraid that any comment I make will diminish the little hope I have left in me.

March 3rd, 1999

I remember how I refused to believe that the Chosen One never made it out of the forest alive. He had to live. He just had to. No matter what everyone else had said over the years, or how Ron was jealous of him during our childhood, there was no denying that Harry Potter embodied the spirit of hope and fight. If Harry didn't live, who else would fight?

Then Neville responded to our fears, and took the void previously filled by Harry. He told us what we should have assumed from the beginning: He will always live on. In our hearts, and in our souls. That's when everyone began to look up to Neville. He was everything we needed then. He led the last fight for our lives. That was the last time anyone ever thought Voldemort could die, once and for all. But Death Eaters eventually caught Neville a good three months after the rising. They caught Ron and I a week later. I can't even bring myself to even write about what happened, let alone think about it. All I can say is, I gave up. On everyone. Ron did as well. We were just too broken to carry on, and too tired to fight. We thought we could at least save ourselves a shred of happiness together if we laid low. So things died down. Those who opposed Voldemort but were too weak to fight, showed support to the light by tattooing a lightning bolt on the back of their neck. I have one. Ron, and the Weasleys do too. It's a symbol, I suppose. A reminder for us more than anyone, to convince ourselves that we were still fighting-somehow. Of course, if anyone happened to see the lightning bolt, the person wearing it would be executed.

We lived quietly for about four months. Pretty much the same as present times. Ron and I tried to be happy with each other for company. I remember I wanted a child, more than anything. But I would have to be barking mad to raise a child in a world like this. So we found other ways to forget the terror. I know that if we ever get the chance-if this ever gets any better-I want their names to be Rose, and Hugo Weasley. A girl, and a boy.

March 4th, 1999

3:43am. Dreamless-Sleep Draught isn't working. I need something stronger. Stronger than the pain I suffered under Bellatrix's wand, or the countless curses fired at me for my blood.

March 5th, 1999

1:32pm. Ron keeps me going. Although he forces himself to be optimistic around me, it does help. I wish I could capture his spirit, and the will to keep going, along with his kisses and touches in a bottle, to open whenever I feel down. He's the only one I truly truly love. I tell him all the time. He's the only thing I have left. Love is a very powerful thing.

March 7th, 1999

6:30pm. I heard Molly crying upstairs. She cried for a half hour. I wonder what happened. It worries me tremendously.

7:41pm.

Ron came. Told me things were not going too well. Molly got fired from her position at the Ministry because she refused to torture a half-blood. She probably won't find a job anytime soon, the way things are going. No one wants to hire a blood traitor. Arthur is now the only source of income for the Weasleys. With that, they only have enough to pay the rent, nevermind food. Now George, Ginny, and Ron are looking for jobs to help out on top of their obligatory duties.

They didn't work before because it's dangerous and traumatizing. Only purebloods have decent jobs. The others hold shameful occupations. Some are even hired to torture their own. It keeps the masses separate. I wish I could help. I'm just dead weight on the many things plaguing this family.

March 8th, 1999

2:45am. No money. No dreamless-sleep draught. No draught. Many screams.

It was Bellatrix in my nightmares tonight. That scar she carved is still on my arm. Mudblood. It won't go away. Neither will the sound of Bellatrix's cruel, cold laughter. They can't even place a silencing charm on my room. Blood traitors and Half-bloods have limited amounts of magic they can perform. Silencing charms are not one of them. Voldemort doesn't like secrets.

March 11th, 1999

3:21pm. I am starving. Arthur brings only news now. He keeps apologizing, and I tell him to stop. It is not his fault. Imagine the poor man's pride, after slowly watching his family go hungry. Molly is so thin now. She is no more the plump and cheerful woman she used to be. I can tell she and Arthur have not slept. One can't expect the man to sleep when his family is falling apart. And there he stood, right there, apologizing for not bringing me food.

March 12th, 1999

5:01pm. Molly brought news. Seamus Finnigan blew up Borgin and Burkes. I remember that store used to sell dark objects and such. I felt a wave of admiration and hope. I looked at the word "rebellion" on my wall. It's happening. For the first time, I am glad exploding potions at Hogwarts paid off for him.

7:32pm. Ron came down to tell me Seamus will be executed tomorrow at three o'clock. Attendance is mandatory for all citizens. I cried. Is there no justice? Where is the light at the end of the tunnel we are all desperately awaiting? Are all attempts made to rebel pointless? Here's to the Irish boy who managed to explode his feather performing a levitation spell, and blast his goblet in attempt to turn it into rum. For the young man who's potions kept blowing up in his face, and completely destroyed the wooden bridge during the war.

For the man who burned down Borgin and Burkes.

REBELLION.

March 13th, 1999

3:32pm. I can't keep Seamus from invading my mind. Ron said he died honorably: Head high, and silent. I suppose he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

March 15th, 1999

4:15am. It was a very strange and powerful dream. Everyone fell dead to the floor, pools of blood filling up the room I was trapped inside. I was... drowning in it. And then- a flash of light, and the light left Seamus' eyes. I found that when I woke up with a start, shaking and convulsing, that I could not talk. My throat hurts like it never has before, and the little sound I can make comes out as a hoarse whisper. I am scared now. Terrified, because screams can be heard.

6:27am. I hear screaming, and shouting from above. I'm frightened. Molly, Arthur, and Ron are all shouting vehemently, and unknown voices are arguing back. I can't make out what they're saying because it all sounds muffled. But I can't shake the pestering feeling that it's about me.

3:16pm. I can barely write. I can't see through the tears. Ron came down today. He had many bruises, along his jaw and eye. He told me the other family heard my screaming last night, and they didn't believe Arthur's lies. I gather it turned violent, because they wanted to protect me.

They found out. They found out. They found out.

Ron says they might just possibly keep it a secret, but even he doesn't seem so convinced. If the other family were found to be knowledgeable of my stay they would suffer.

A/N: Hope you all like it! I update often, so my next update will be tomorrow and at the latest Thurday (8/16/12). If you like it, please review, I would really appreciate it :D