I've been re-writing the past few chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or works authored by George R.R. Martin, or J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 1: Pulchra Es Amica Mea

April 30, 2030

In a small cottage, perched on a hill in Devon, Britain, lie one of the most powerful wizards of magical history.

Light wizard entrenched in goodwill. A mortal man, who met with his sons and daughters as he lay on a bed, illness striking his once strong - but now frail - figure.

He was once known as the great light wizard who destroyed evil, on the stonework of his ancient school. He was but a normal man laying, awaiting the next great adventure, a resounding legacy trailing behind him. Magic would still whirl around his dips and bends, harmony at last. Oh, how Magic loved him.

He was once a man that was known as Harry Potter.

A simple man, who did in fact permanently void the power of death's possessions. Breaking the wand, a stone lying deep in an ancient forest with magic hiding its existence, and an invisibility cloak that gradually lost its own power as Harry denied Death's power.

A simple man, who endeared to Magic, as they saw how one of their children fought against the grasps of darkness.

A simple man, whose love and loyalties would not waver. Bravery in one step, and honour in the other. Gryffindor taught him to fly as high as honour. And flying high, he would, his love for quidditch passing to his children

A simple man and his family reminiscing memories and dreams.

Let's begin this tragic tale with a little backstory, shall we?

After the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry's subsequent loss of the Hallows. The resurrection stone under the dirt of the Forbidden Forest, and the two pieces of the Elder Wand flowing down an offshoot of the Black Lake. One being was incensed at the careless handling of it's artifacts.

Dumbledore and his theory of the Peverell brothers being the powerful creators of the Hallows, was as far from the truth as could be. The Hallows were, in fact, made by the entity of Death. Death, unlike in the Tale of the Three Brothers, was not a mischievous or vindictive being.

When the Peverell brothers came upon the crossing and formed their bridge, they found the Elder Tree.

In those times, Elder Tree's were worshipped by the magical races as an artifact. The three brothers attempted to hold a harvest ritual. As the leaves fell by the October winds, a mistake in the ritual array summoned one being who opposed life. Instead of summoning a harvest goddess, they instead summoned Death in his eternal glory.

The three brothers continued their ritual unaware of any wrongdoing, all while Death watched on. Death was confused as to why the brothers offered gifts of gold and grain when an idea struck him. It had been such a long time since mortal-magicals worshipped him with such fanaticism, that he thought of gifts he might offer in return.

Death would not know that the ritual had never been intended for him at all.

As he appeared in front of the brothers, the sun setting in the west, he offered them their greatest desires. They took the Wand, Stone, and Cloak. While leaving the ritual they were shaken by their grievous ritual mistake.

The Ministry of Magic heavily revised the book in 1821, after a series of bills restricting ritual magic, forbid such knowledge. As the tale encompassed old magics and spells, severe redactions were placed on literary works.

When Harry refused the powers of the Hallows, the one being who fabricated them into existence, was infuriated at this mortal's insolence. To not accept the power of a being above human understanding was an act of war.

Harry should have simply accepted the Hallows into his internal magic. However, it was already too late to accept now. That was the first blow against the pride of one of the strongest primordial beings in the universe. Death was killing Harry for the wizard's stupidity.

"Father, I-" Albus attempted to form some sense of words on his tongue, words that would not form into legible sentences.

"Albus it is not the time to dawdle on a white skeleton, when you and your children's futures, still have a long way to go". Harry spoke with the command of a general, a strange scene when his voice shook his withering frame.

"It isn't right, for Magic to take you from us when you yourself, should still have a long journey ahead. I'm so sorry that I wasn't able to cure your Dragon Pox, and save you in…" Albus trailed off as he sighed, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

He blamed magic for their families misery but little did he know that magic would not dare do this purposefully. Their love for Harry was absolutely astonishing and would be attracted to the bright light in the darkest, as he shone with his beautiful inner character and values.

But Death was prowling around Harry, waiting for the sweet taste of quietus.

It was a more basic reason that had caused the rise of Dragon Pox and kept it strong against his magical immune system. Muggles had found out about it ages ago, and science had evolved to see to the molecular levels. It was a genetic ailment. When Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had contracted the disease at the young wizard age of 50 years, it would unknowingly attack the small number of ovules that Euphemia still had, and latch onto their DNA. As they would cure their disease, later on, the illness would silently wait in dormancy.

James Potter was a rare pureblooded child, pampered due to his high status. He was the only success after the many failed attempts of child-bearing Euphemia had undergone. She was devastated at her inability to conceive and even Fleamont would soon believe that she was barren. The dormant disease would wait inside of the stem-cells of James' bone marrow until it could resurface.

He would never contract the disease, however, as he died too early along with Lily Marie Evans who would further the spread of the disease through their own child, the parasite still in suspension.

Harry would at his own 50 years of age, also contract the disease like his grandparents, but magic was attracted to him far more than those before him.

That was his downfall. Magic quantity and density would strengthen his own Dragon Pox. He had both in spades, and the disease would thrive, even against medicinal or magical cures.

It was a tragic life-story to die so young, even after his heroism and the number of lives he saved through his school and career. He was a fallible mortal without the powers of death, and he was going to die.

Perhaps he shouldn't have blown off Death without a care of the consequences.

Perhaps it might've been the tinkering and pride of Death that would tweak the disease only slightly enough to kill it's target.

"My life is only a thread of the greater tapestry. I might hate the fates for pushing me to every which way and controlling my life. However, I understand that my life can only continue. My adventure will continue, just without you all beside me." Harry ended by quoting his good but manipulative headmaster.

"I hated my headmaster for being a crackpot lunatic, who would speak in riddles and force me to go in circles. He was right on one thing, and that was that after death, we will continue onto our next great adventure."

It seemed almost as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders as James stood by the door looking in apathy, and Lily Luna layed on his lap crying until her eyes ran red and the pink of her cheeks spread to her neck and ears. Ginny had left the room because she was unable to see her husband die in front of her. Her grief would bring her own death if she were to see him pass away.

He knew that his life was ending as images of his school, his crushes, loves, fears, and hopes melded into a blurry movie. His small affairs with Adrian Pucey, in the Quidditch locker rooms of Hogwarts, and his first and wet kiss with one crying Cho. His marriage to Ginny, and the birth of his children. It was strange how regrettable interactions continued to flow alongside the ones of pure love and happiness.

He wasn't ready. Harry was not ready for imminent death. He had told himself that it was natural, to not run from death like the coward that Tom Riddle had done, but to accept it and deal his card in the next life.

If there was one.

He didn't know, and that was scary.

But as he stayed in the company of his family, he knew he owed magic for all the elating moments in the Wizard World.

As darkness crept up, he almost had half the mind to hold on, to the last moments. The beeping intensified, as he heard screams from a distance. Was it Lily Luna or was it, Ginny?

But he let go, and silence.

He closed his eyes and watched as the colour spots in his eyes, faded to darkness. A bright light at the end of the tunnel. A tunnel so vast and consuming that it felt too scary to enter. But he walked anyway because he knew the way out. The light could only grow more intense as he trudged to the other end of the chasm.

He felt himself changing directions as he walked, and started dropping down the tunnel instead. The power of death cracking on the ceilings and walls, as another magic found it's lover and tried pulling him back.

Magic was a childish and frankly stupid being. However, they were also impulsive, and they fought against Death, they fought for Harry's life.

Magic could only fight so much against their brother, a primordial being. An ancient entity fighting with a younger attacker. And so Magic instead chose to save Harry by changing his destination. His destination to the underworld shifted into another of decaying magic and politics and metallic sword-thrones. They had no choice.

Harry didn't notice anything as he simply fell on and on until he couldn't anymore.

266 A.C 1st Moon, 21st Day - Highgarden, Westeros

A summer cold sweeping through the vast plains and fertile fields of the Reach. Many a farmer, wondering where this cold snap had arrived from.

It was all for naught, they thought, as they had no clue about the evil magic rising from the northern ice fields. Spiders of tremendous size, and beautiful blue eyes awakening from ancient caves submerged in the cool depths of horror.

But away from this terrible foreshadow, is a small soul wandering its way across the multiverse and into a new adventure, where cunning and money shall be their calling, rather than heroism, or bravery.

This essence, carried by magic, will no longer have a prophesied past or future. A fresh start, a new age, dooming powers in the north, sharp teeth to the south, and treacherous waters all around. Magic would once again resurface to the continent of Westeros.

And on an auspicious day in Westeros, where one fetus and a small light of life come together, can the people hear the terrible screaming of Olenna Redwyne. A queen in her own right, felt the pain of childbirth, for the fourth time as she birthed another son.

One who would grow in skill and curiosity, a mind far more calculating than her own. A wit that was far sharper than that of the blood-witch Shiera Seastar.

While he may not lack beauty, he would never be as beautiful as his family. To make up for that, he would choose a path of wisdom.

As the birth drew to a close on the twenty-sixth day of the 1st moon, 266 A.C, a single cry would ring out by a newly born child and soon cease.

It was the birth of one Hariloas Tyrell. A child blessed by Smith and Crone.

In one life he was a soldier, in this he would be a scholar of the arts and sciences.

Praise the Seven.

AN: I've been re-writing all my chapters for this story, so expect some major changes. I want to flesh the characters out a bit more. I hope that I can move away from the idea of MoD, and try another interesting concept with this.