Decades after the second great war of britain, the last remaining of the "D.A." or "Hogwarts Fighters", as they had later been referred to in the war's aftermath, time had come. Harry James Potter, Boy-who-lived, Hogwarts Champion, Greatest Wizard since Merlin, and also the last remaining magical on the face of the planet.

Harry had watched, year after year, as the muggles slowly wiped magicals out, a small part inside him dying each time he was a moment to late to save his companions, new and old. And now, at the old ripe of age of 45, after running, constantly looking behind him, constantly vigilant and alert, he could do nothing but watch, stripped of his magic as the muggles taunted him with the bodies of his dead children, drawing out the time before the dementor arrived.

The muggles had gained control of the rogue reapers shortly after the first nuking of the wizarding world, the dementor's all too happy as they were given the souls of the remaining magicals (they didn't bother with the muggles as, without the added "flavor" of magic, they tasted too bland).

Harry had only managed to survive for so long due to the nature of his magic, due to the constant beatings from his relatives and the common practice of "Harry Hunting" his magic had slowly fused with his body and mind, giving him strength, speed, a mind vaster and stronger than any wizard could ever hope to have, as well as giving his skin a resistance to near all spells and weapons.

However like with all advantages, there was a disadvantage, meaning by the end of his formal Hogwarts education the majority, of his quite frankly enormous supply of magic, was no longer compatible with a wand, even the elder wand. But, muggles were nothing if not adaptable, and after evading their grasp for nearly 15 years they finally devised a trap.

Luring him in with the coordinates of his children, which he had not seen in several years after being separated in a raid, and then capturing him with chains made of born vampire bone and carved with a modification of magic sealing runes, which could strip even the strongest of wizard's magic. Even with his unique brand of magic, Harry knew that he had no chance of escaping his binds.

Yet, suddenly Harry felt the presence of the being that had been his constant companion for many years, Death. Feeling the beings aura stretch out to him, he laughed. The insanity that the oh so great Black house was praised, feared and worshipped for because no matter how diluted every descendant had it lurking within, waiting for that last string to snap so that it may emerge. A thirst for power, pain, and revenge so great that the earth's magic swirled, raising up in response to calling. The muggles stared in confusion, as well as quite a bit of fear, as the last remaining wizard they had hunted for so many years stopped struggling and instead laughed, the elements announcing their presence as though summoned, though realistically they knew that his magic was not the one that was creating this chaos.

One muggle, Sergeant Arae Knott (unknowingly a descendant of one of the many pureblood squibs), whom was in charge of the mission, pushed past his fear and struck out with his hand. Cachting Harry across the face, and successfully ceasing Harry's laughter, "What are you laughing about, you vermin?" he barked out glaring down at him.

Harry smirked, spitting the blood in his mouth at his feet, "Oh, buddy. You don't scare me, because all that you can give me is a freedom that I welcome.". The soldiers shared apprehensive looks behind their Sergeant's back at the ominous tone of those words. "For I know that I will come once again, in any shape or form, to gain the revenge so many before me have sought. I shall watch as you lose everything, as your oh so precious ideals burn, along with the rest of your world." Harry continued, growing more passionate the longer he spoke, his eyes blazing with a fire wilder than Fiendfyre.

And even as the dementor removed his soul, his body shook with the laughter erupting from him. The laughter, that shouldn't have been even possible, unnerved all in the vicinity, save for the one being, invisible to all, Death was impressed by the wizard he had watched for so many years, and so granted him a gift.

The being gave him the ability to relive thousands upon thousands of lives, forever growing his magic, and even in dire circumstances revive himself, all in order to save his world.

In Harry's final moments of this life, he smiled, looking directly at Death, silently thanking the being who had given him the power to change it all.