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With the death of Albus Dumbledore, the wizarding world did not just lose a headmaster; they lost a leader, a hero, a legend. Now, the people turn their hopes to Harry Potter to deliver them from Voldemort's wrath, and the 17-year-old boy is staggering under the pressure.

The Dementors have not only bred and multiplied to a horrifying number, but they are gorging themselves on muggle souls, causing an epidemic worthy of the name Dementor Plague. The non-magical population is frantically trying to find a scientific explanation for the lifeless-yet-living bodies found in every corner of England, while simultaneously dealing with the out of control rates of suicide, crimes of passion, freak natural disasters that don't add up and the overall sense that something has gone very wrong with the world.

Voldemort's hostilities have accelerated and to the hushed surprise of many, they are largely directed at the muggle world. Witches and wizards cower in their homes as the carnage unfolds, secretly thankful that they don't appear to be part of You-Know-Who's plans.

Between hunting and killing Dementors, dealing with the fact that the acromantulas have joined Voldemort's war and preventing the constant assaults by Death Eaters, the Ministry's resources are being spread alarmingly thin and they are struggling to maintain their image of having the Second War under control. Rogue resistance groups have formed, angry that the Ministry is focused more on damage control and Obliviation than counter-strikes or rescue missions. Anyone who questions Scrimgeour's authority with too much passion is arrested for suspected ties to You-Know-Who and chalked up as yet another successful effort to stomp out his evil followers.

A schism has formed between the Ministry and its people, cracked and jagged and dark. As Ministry struggles with Resistance and Resistance struggles with Ministry and onlookers stand by and do nothing, they all have become too preoccupied with one another to realize that within the schism, Voldemort is waiting like a snake, reared and patiently awaiting for his moment to strike.

The magical world needs a hero. They look to Harry Potter for hope. There's just one problem: Harry Potter is gone.

7th year, trio-era, war-time, 17+, OCs welcome (if you're not an über speshul member of SparklyPoo House), no magical journals.

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On her way to work one mornin'
down the path beside the lake,
a tender-hearted woman saw
a poor, half-frozen snake.

His pretty, colored skin had been
all frosted with the dew.
"Poor thing," she cried, "I'll take you in
and I'll take care of you."

"Take me in, tender woman.
Take me in for Heaven's sake.
Take me in, tender woman,"
sighed the snake.

She wrapped him up
all cozy in a comforter of silk.
And layed him by the fireside
with some honey and some milk.

She hurried home from work that night
and soon as she arrived,
she found that pretty snake
she'd taken in had been revived.

She clutched to her buxom.
"You're so beautiful," she cried.
"But if I hadn't brought you in
by now you might have died."

She stroked his pretty skin again
and kissed and held him tight.
Instead of saying, "Thanks,"
the snake gave her a viscous bite.

"I saved you," cried the woman.
"But you've bitten me, but why?
You know your bite is poisonous
and now I'm gonna die."

"Aww shut up, silly woman."
Said the reptile with a grin.
"You knew damn well I was a snake
before you took me in."