She hated the rain, it only reminded her of things she'd rather forget.

Large, heavy drops bounced off her bedroom window, obscuring the view of the street below, the sky a dull gray.

Her small room was dim, the overcast sky blocking the sun. It was cramped, a rickety bed shoved into the corner and a desk and single chair pushed into the wall by the window, a grimy mirror screwed into the wall above.

She turned from the window and sat upon the rough, wooden chair. It was stiff and uncomfortable and the rough wood dug under her fingernails as her small hands gripped the seat, teeth grit hard.

And there, there lay the source of her ire, confirmation of what she already knew but hard to take all the same.

Official Numbers In! 99.99% of Muggles Dead!

A team of international researches today published a report detailing the estimated drop in Muggle population worldwide, following the release of what has become known as the 'Muggle Killer' by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The report confirms speculation that the Muggle population has been wiped out, with researches from across the world, from China to Canada, working together to locate any potential survivors.

The 'Muggle Killer', released approximately a year before the fall of You-Know-Who, has succeeded in spreading across the globe; many are now calling You-Know-Who the most successful Dark Lord in living memory.

The Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy, had this to say when asked for his thoughts on the report.

"It is important for our society to come together in these trying times. I believe we all knew what the results of this report would be. The Dark Lord may be vanquished, but the scars he has left upon the world shall take many years to fade. I am currently working with a special team to ensure the survival of what few muggles remain; it is the least I can do after my own role, unwilling though it may have been.

We must strive to move past this dark time and into a brighter future, to bring the nation together and heal the wounds in our society."

Minister Malfoy…

She cast the newspaper to the ground, sheets of paper scattering across the wooden floor.

Disgusting. All of it, this entire society was a festering heap. She'd been re-building a life, she had a family, a girlfriend and a successful job; she was happy.

And now it was all gone, torn away from her by these fucking filthy wizards. All her hard work, destroyed. And the worst part? She couldn't even bring herself to despise Voldemort for it; all her hate was focused on the failure that was everyone else. Not one person was capable of stopping this genocide.

She bit her lip so hard a bead of blood welled up, the sharp pain only serving to heighten her anger.

Wiping away some of the grime upon the mirror with her ragged sleeve, she revealed her new face to her eyes.

She was small, only five years old. Her hair was black, hanging down over her left shoulder and her face had a sharp, aristocratic look to it. Noble, imperious, everything she currently wasn't, holed up in this dingy orphanage.

But it was her eyes that held her attention; a murky orange, they reminded her of fire, of the flickering flames that…

Shaking off the memories once again, she glared at her reflection. Once again, she'd rejected death, only to awaken as one of them. Like a new sense that she was only now aware of, her power coursed through her body, infinite in potential. Was this what it would feel like if a blind man saw the world for the first time? It felt like it, to her, as though her previous lives were spent wandering in the darkness and now she could see the light, could sense the… bland noise that surrounded the other children.

All she could do was laugh, harsh and bitter. She'd known, it had been obvious what had happened to the world, but it hadn't hit her until now, until she realised that an entire civilisation lie shattered and she was now part of the one that did the breaking.

Raising her fist, she readied herself to once again smash the mirror, an almost habitual habit at this point, but stopped, sighing. The workers would only become pissed if she broke the mirror again. God, it only took a flick to fix, but you'd think she was pulling their teeth out.

Mudblood was practically a common term these days

Magic. Such an unfathomable concept, the idea that a human can change the world with nothing but their will.

And yet, with the power flowing through her body and her reincarnations, she wouldn't deny it.

She would master it.

But that would take time. Tom Riddle could use his powers in various ways by the time he was eleven, no doubt he spent every waking moment training it to respond to his will; she would do the same.

How to describe it? It wasn't a well she could draw a limited amount of power from - their was no number she could place upon her magic - instead it was more like… Music. An orchestra, with herself as the maestro. Or a painting, with herself the painter. There was no limit upon what she could do, with the will and the training.

She couldn't get a wand until she was eleven, but she would master her power, bend it to her will. Wandless magic was possible and if she ever wanted to reach the heights she wanted then she would have to be more than an ordinary muggleborn.

It was just… Difficult. She sat at the desk, leering at the small ball of paper she'd placed upon it.

She wanted it on fire, but that wasn't working so far. She could feel her power working, trying to respond to her commands, but it was sluggish, confused as it roiled in her body and mind.

"Incendio" she growled. The paper twitched and a tiny puff of smoke appeared as a corner singed, but that was it. Her magic broke apart, unravelled as though a tapestry had been pulled apart. She had found that magic was easier when she had spoke or used gestures, it gave her magic slightly more direction than she was currently capable of giving with just her mind.

She slumped, panting for breath. It felt like she'd just tried to move the ocean to fill a bucket, not a pleasant experience.

Well, at least she had plenty of time. If only she had a book, explaining the theory… But that would take money and she had no idea how to get that. Right now, she was going purely by instinct.

She knew that she could do this. She'd had some… Mishaps, with accidental magic; she'd felt it come alive, responding to her feelings in a clear, unconfused manner. But replicating that was beyond her. For now.

She wanted to be strong, no matter the cost.

"Incendio!"

She hissed as she felt burning at the tip of her finger, before slumping as the mental strain became too much, the spell collapsing.

Their would be no flames erupting from her fingers, at least. She may one day be able to conjure a flame, but that didn't stop the flame from burning her.

London was dead. Running through the city, its desolation was never more apparent. The streets were empty and quiet; it was almost eerie viewing the once bustling streets emptied.

Nature was spreading, weeds overgrowing the pavements, swaying in the breeze. The smell of corpses had finally been cleared out, thankfully, but it had taken a long time for the air to be clear again. No doubt there were still some that had been missed, rotting away in forgotten apartments and dark alleys.

She hated it, she hated this city, she hated this quiet, she hated the signs of nature overgrowing a once incredible civilisation.

They had been growing, moving faster and faster towards a technological era. The Internet wasn't yet off the ground but it had been coming. Science had been advancing, technology improving.

But now it was all gone, nothing but rubble and slowly crumbling infrastructure remaining.

And most of all, she hated how unsafe the world now was.

Running down the street, little legs carrying her as fast as they could, she skidded around a corner, narrowly avoiding a jet of red light that shot through the rain, drops blown outward by the force of its passing.

"Hahaha, that's right. Run run run, street rat, hahaha!" came the hacking voice of the scumbag chasing her.

She paid it no mind, dashing towards her target, not far from her now. This fool would soon learn the price of his arrogance.

Dashing around another corner, she saw her destination. A police station, one where the last piece of news she had heard of it was of a shooting against a panicked public, storming the building in desperation.

Crashing through the front doors, she looked around frantically. The entrance room was… ordinary, looking as though it was but a holiday for the workers, posters pinned to the wall, though they were now a little grimy.

The building was dim, with electricity shut-off, but she could see clearly enough, including the piles of ash that were once bodies.

She kept running, ignoring the ash piles scattered around the building, eyes flickering around the building until she found what she was looking for.

In a room resembling an office at the end of a hallway, she found a gun, hiding half-buried within an ash pile at the foot of a chair behind a desk.

No doubt the blind wizards hadn't so much glanced at the obvious weapon, not recognizing it for what it was. They were too stupid, too arrogant to ever learn about muggle weapons.

The majority, anyway.

It was a black pistol, she didn't know the type, but a quick check confirmed the presence of bullets within. The metal felt cool and reassuring beneath the still damp palm of her hand. For too long she'd been defenceless in a dangerous world, it was nice to have a little protection.

With this, she would put this lowlife in his place.

The room was dark, there was no window letting light into the room, what light existed came from the hallway. She ducked behind the door, waiting, the only sound that of the dripping from her clothes and hair.

She was just a street rat, after all. Nothing to be afraid of, I mean he had a big scary wand, what did she have…

"Oh, is the chase over? Hahaha, come out, come out…" His voice was low, taunting as faint footsteps slowly crept closer.

Well, she might as well try to get him to lower his guard further. Putting on her most innocent voice, she called out. "Wh- why are you chasing me? What did I do?"

He footsteps stopped, then a harsh laugh barked out from down the hallway. "Who cares what you did, mudblood? In fact, you should be thanking me for teaching you your rightful place."

Rightful place?! Why this bottom-of-the-barrel scumbag!

"You'd know a lot about being in your rightful place, wouldn't you, Mr low-achiever? I bet you dropped out of school, like some filthy mudblood." Unlike earlier, her voice was now cool and taunting, bellying a maturity that was previously hidden.

A snarl ripped its way out his throat. "You little bitch, even the fucking street rats are stuck up little cunts! You think you're better than me! I'll show you, and that prissy bitch Rosmerta!"

A jet of white light shot through the door, hitting the wall opposite with a resounding crack and creating a crater, flecks of plaster exploding into the air as dust filled the room.

"Oh? What's wrong? Get turned down by a girl? Were you too far… beneath her? Could she not stand the sight of failure on her doorstep?" She tightened her grip on the gun, readying her finger on the trigger. This man was clearly unstable, it wouldn't be long now…

Now was a time for calm, where a single mistake could cost her life.

Was it wrong that she found this exciting?

He let out a ragged shout and another jet of light collided with the wall. "You! And her! I'll show you! This is your own fault, don't blame me! I bet you work for Rosmerta, don't you!? You deserve this, being born a mudblood!"

He descended into violent, unstable rants. She wasn't certain whether he was cursing herself, Rosmerta, or himself; excuses riddled his rants, blaming herself and this Rosmerta for his actions, unable to bear the thought that he was at fault.

It was close now, his footsteps were getting closer and closer…

Languidly, he walked into the room, wand held loosely at his right side. His hair was a scraggly grey, his beard overgrown and his clothes ragged. How a wizard could have ragged clothes was a mystery in itself; she crossed off any talent with transfiguration.

Without hesitation, she aimed the gun, still hidden out of sight behind the door, and pulled the trigger, a bullet slamming into his right arm as the bang reverberated off the walls, much louder than she expected. The recoil of the gun almost caused her to lose her grip, sweaty with nerves, but she managed.

With a yell, he dropped his wand, left hand coming around and grabbing the bleeding wound as he looked around frantically, locking onto her as she stepped out, filled with rage and humiliation. She liked that, the sudden powerlessness in his eyes as he snarled at her.

"You!" he shouted, stumbling towards her. Another bullet had him stumbling backwards onto his back, foot leaking blood as he cried.

"Me" she stated, standing over the now downed scumbag. "What's wrong? Weren't you going to show me my 'rightful place'"

His face was paling, eyes fixed on the point of the gun, now pointed between his eyes. "You- you don't wanna do that. I- I have friends, they'll come for you, they'll know you did this!"

How laughable, that someone of this calibre would have any friends to care about him. Clearly, her thoughts must have shown on his face, because he frantically switched track

"Y-you wouldn't do this, I'll die you know? You'll be a murderer! There's no way a kid like you will kill me!" His face hardened, gaining a more confident look as he picked up steam. "Th-that's right. J-just give me the weapon. We'll forget this whole thing. I was only messing around, I wouldn't actually hurt yo-"

The cold barrel of the gun was pressed against his forehead, shutting him up. "How disgraceful. So quick to reveal yourself as the coward you are, such a fool. Tell me, why shouldn't I kill you right now? Give me a reason."

He was beginning to sweat, blood was continuing to pour out of his wounds and all the while he was getting more agitated, desperate. Oh, how she enjoyed this. For a full grown wizard to be beaten by a child wielding a muggle weapon. The fear on his face was… Delicious.

"I- I can give you money, please! I'll give you anything, tell you anything!"

Ah, such desperation. A smile curved onto her face, it was just too amusing. Her fiery eyes almost seemed to glow in the low-light of the room.

"If you want to live, you'll answer my every question, won't you?"

He hesitantly nodded his head, eyes crossed on the gun barrel.

"Excellent. Well then, first of all…"

She learned quite a lot from him, such as where the most dangerous places within London were. He obviously didn't know much, being the waste that he was, but he knew general things, like the value of galleons when compared to muggle money.

She could hardly ask others about things like that, it was rather suspicious, but he wasn't going to live for much longer anyway.

"Ash and Leprechaun hair, really? What an… interesting combination. If I'm not mistaken, Ollivander doesn't use such wand cores. I guess your wand is substandard? How fitting."

The impotent rage in his eyes only made her grin wider.

"Well, as interesting as this little chat has been, I believe its time for our acquaintance to come to an end. Such a pity, you were a… fascinating conversation partner." The gun was pressed harder against his forehead, her finger tightening on the trigger.

"W-wait! You said you'd let me go!" The mans eyes were flickering around the room, seeking an escape, lingering on the wand lying a distance away.

"I don't believe I did. If it makes you feel any better, just know that this wasn't your fault, of course. It was just your misfortune for being born a wizard" she mocked. She felt a certain delight in turning his words back upon him.

His eyes widened before he made a move for his wand, but it was too late; with a resounding bang, he slumped to the floor, crimson blood pooling beneath his head, eyes glassy.

Now that that was dealt with, she could finish off what she came here for. Searching the rest of the building, she found other guns and bullets. Most she left untouched, though she replaced her pistol with one which looked cleaner, having rested in a glass case, as well as grabbed a number of cartridges for the gun.

She was humming a little ditty to herself as she explored, satisfied with how the day went. It wasn't much, but putting down a rabid wizard made her feel… Satisfied. It calmed the rage within her, just a little.

Oh, she'd almost forgotten in all the excitement. Walking back to the corpse, she searched it for any useful items. There was a small bag of galleons - about 5 with some sickles, knuts and others she couldn't recognise - but that was it. The wand lying nearby, however, that was a prize.

It was rough looking - she could almost mistake it for a branch - as well as short, only 7 inches long, a tiny wand for a tiny wizard. She could faintly sense the magical nature of it, however. No branch would feel like that.

The light brown wand seemed to stutter feebly as she picked it up, sparks jittering from the tip. It felt coarse and brittle beneath her hand. She could feel her magic melding with it, but with a deep thrum, the wand jerked weakly, almost jumping from her grip. It was… Rejecting her, pushing power through the wand felt like trying to thread a very tiny needle.

She pointed the wand at the body. "Incendio" she said.

The spell failed, nothing but a faint trail of smoke rising from his hair. Well, that was disappointing - and tiring - but hardly unexpected. She could experiment later.

Exiting the building, she took a cautious walk back to the orphanage. She may have a gun now, but it wouldn't do to get cocky, that would only get her killed. Others could have been attracted by the sound of gunshots, though that was unlikely. Bangs and other such noises weren't exactly uncommon and as she had just learned, this wasn't a particularly active area for criminals. It was why he - she never got his name, did she? - had been there, hiding from others. He'd seen her and just couldn't resist, the filth.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a shiny golden galleon. It was cold and heavy, reflecting her image in its embossed surface. £50 this was worth and she now had five of them, counting the other coins she had, that was around £300. He must have had his entire life savings on him.

It brought to mind something she had been thinking about for a while now. She needed money if she was ever going to achieve her goals, a lot of it.

She could hardly conquer the world a pauper, could she?