Thousands of years after Hogwarts, so far into the future Harry Potter and Voldemort's names have faded into the endless echo of forgotten dreams, the wizarding population has grown scarce, due to one Pure-Blood family, a family that has survived through the ages. Malfoy.
Ten years back, the Malfoys decided only Pure-Bloods were superior enough to carry the name of wizard, and they began callously killing Muggle Borns, sparing none and slaying children, women and men. Flushed with the success of Muggle Born extinction, the Malfoys moved on to wipe out Half-Bloods. A bloody war commenced, stretching out for five long years until the war came to an abrupt end. The ground was scarlet with wizard blood, and only twenty or thirty Pure-Blood wizards remained. Desperate to not die out, the remaining Wizards joined together to create a tightly knit band named The Family. The Family worked hard on cloning devices to create more wizards and witches… but it went terribly wrong. The clones were evil killing machines, destroying anything in their path. Now the Family are all on the run, hiding frantically from the wizard Clones.
Little do they know, miles beneath the earth's surface, the small amount of remaining Muggle-Borns and Half-Bloods have built a secret underground city. It is the only place they can be safe… or so they think.
The sky was blindingly white and the air was thick with bitterness. Crows, dark shadows against the snowy sky, circled high above, their sharp cawing lost in the howl of the vicious wind. A man stood alone, by a fire, completely still. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across his pallid face and still he stood quietly, moving not a muscle. A second man melted out of the shadows, his black hood in sharp contrast with the white air. Mist curled beneath his feet with every large step he took, as if he was bending the shimmering air to his will. He approached the man by the fire stealthily and a pale, bony hand rested on his shoulder. The first man jumped and whipped around, his face tight and worried. He relaxed visibly when he saw the second one and lowered his raised palms. "Brother." The second man inclined his head rather regally and regarded the first with curious liquid eyes, which were oddly flat and devoid of emotion. "Hello, Alcatraz." He spoke in a rusty voice, as if he had not spoken in years. Alcatraz's face pulled into a frown and he eyes the other man warily. "I thought you were dead. They said you were cornered by one of the clones…"
"I got away. But that isn't important." A note of impatience entered the man's voice and he flicked his eyes over Alcatraz with something like disgust. Alcatraz stared hard at the pale grey pavement and he swallowed audibly. "What is it?"
"There are surviving Mud-Bloods and Half-Bloods." He paused and silence hung between the two, heavy like an oncoming storm. Alcatraz's jaw dropped and he remained like that for several moments, as if too paralyzed to speak. His voice quavered as he protested faintly. "That is impossible, Brother. You know that…"
"Silence." The man spoke quietly and pleasantly, and Alcatraz shut his mouth swiftly. "Thanks to sources…" He paused delicately, mouth forming into a gruesome grin. "Dead sources… we know the location. We will be attacking tonight."
Shock flitted across Alcatraz's face once again and he managed to choke out, "Is that wise?"
The man's eyes hardened to flint. "Ridding the world of mud-bloods is always wise."
Alcatraz nodded rapidly. "Of course, Brother. I will notify the rest of the Family and we shall attack at once."
As the two men moved away, feet sending up puffs of snow, none of them noticed a dark figure watching them intently from the window in the house in front.