A/N- Sorry for the late update guys. It had been quite ill for a few days but am as fit as a horse now. This chapter contains POVs of three characters. It may be an inconvinience but I am trying to add as many perspectives as possible to the story. And again, a million thanks for you reviews. They are prime motivation for me to keep writing.

If you find any mistakes or do no like any part, please fo not hesitate to PM me or write your queries in the reviews. Read the third chapter of the story and enjoy. Please review.

Realization dawned on him. He was now the Master of Death. The strange scenario after he weilded the Hallows together for the first time (he had the cloak, the wand and the stone in his possesion together before, but had never held them together) clearly indicated that the Tale of Three Brothers was true after all. As true as a story in a children's bedtime tales book can be. But really, it didn't matter if the tale was distorted. It must have been a long time ago when these Hallows were obtained/created by the three brothers and such gigantic gap in time held impossible potential to distort the story. Time has a nasty habit of doing that. To everthing. From tales and stories to goods, artifacts and histories and even beings.

It was a nostalgic moment for Harry to remember how he and Hermione had always argued about the story's authencity but never reached to an agreement. Ron had always denied to participate in their verbal spar, citing that it too much mental effort [but he knew his best friend. He did not want to take sides. And academic topics never really attracted Ron (neither him, but the Hallows were mysterious enough to gain his interest as he had a habit of unnecessarily delving into mysteries)].

His theory was very similar to that of Dumbledore's. The brothers were very powerful dark wizards who created the artifacts in hope to conquer death but they failed to do so because they never tried to unite their inventions. Hermione regarded the story completely false and often expressed her opinion boldly (she had a hibit of doing that. And sometimes, it offended people). She believed that the Hallows were just overhyped and became famous only because someone decided to add it to Tales of Beedle the Bard, disregarding the fact that all stories held some creadability.

He finally got his answer. The Hallows were genuine. But the irony of the situation was that he had no one to share this information with. No Hermione for being smug. No Ron, who would selflessly motivate him (or say that he was becoming another Hermione). He was completely alone to test the extent of his powers as the Master of Death. He had always had a strong support system among his friends and it was instrumental in his victories against the dark, without Ron and Hermione, he would have died in first year. Thus, losing them was thus very devastating.

He quickly got out of the cottage. Careful not to trip over the fallen items on the nursery ground, when his eyes fell on a picture frame. The image was not moving but it was not necessary. It was him with his mother and father. On his first birthday, most probably. How lonely it must have been for them, having to celebrate his birthday without any friends and family. He picked up the frame, shrunk it and kept it in a robe pocket.

Outside the cottage, he moved quickly towards the graveyard where his parents were buried. He would go to muggle London after that. He needed some human contact otherwise he would go mad. Honestly, however much someone yearns some peace and quiet, a world without humans was a living nightmare.

He moved through the local market of the muggle cum wizarding village, and strangely, it looked quite deserted, with only a few little shops open here and there. And it was the early evening time, when people usually got out of their homes to enjoy the light wind and fair-like enviornment in tge village. Was there something wrong with the muggle world as well? No, there can't be. It must have been a coordinated attack against the Wizarding community. Otherwise, why would all the wizards disappear together?

Harry refused to be bothered by the stares the people were sending towards him and reached the graveyard gates quickly. He slowly opened them and moved towards his parents' graves. While doing so, he noticed something. Something that he hadn't really bothered to acknowledge ever before. At the very center of the yard, there was the grave of Ignotus Peverell, tge master of the Invisibility Cloak.

Years ago, when he had come to this place with Hermione, he had not bothered to acknowlege such a legendry man. He was just too focused on searching the horcruxes and it was the first time he had visited his parents' graves, so it was quite normal for him to focus just on them (Atleast he thought so). But now he felt like he owed him and automatically bowed his head, conjuring flowers and laying them on the beautiful grave. God knows after how many centuries someone had acknowledged it. He also quickly cleaned tge grave and mended a few broken parts of the headstone.

Moving on, he reached his parents' graves. He had lost them too early to really remember anything about them, much less miss them. But his yearning for them had remained as strong as ever, even after becoming an adult. He opened his heart there. Told them all his woes and worries. Chronicled all his moments of happiness and regret. Everything.

"Mom, Dad. I wish I could meet you. But it seems, its impossible. Fate keeps saving me, even when I am ready to give up. And I might have made meeting you more impossible than ever today. This writing on your gravestpne seems so well in sync with my own situation 'the last enemy to be defeated is death' and I have did just that. Well, I really don't know if I was successful. But successful doesn't seem like the correct word. It was never really my motive. To become immortal I mean. I just wanted to bring them all back. I just wanted the power to do so.

I lost everyone. But I know you are watching over me. It is the only thing that keeps me going. You gave up so much for me. When you could have lived, Voldemort had offered you after all. So how can I just give up on it? Wouldn't it be super disrespectful. Hermione would whack my head if I do something like that. I wish you are all together. Having fun. That you all are happy. Say hello to everyone for me and tell them that I miss this."

He countinued, blushing, "And tell Ginny that I love her and she would always have my heart. Well, who tells their parents to pass on such a message! I'm sorry. Oh! Sorry, I am...well, blabbering. I have to go. Miss you. Goodbye!"

He could see the Sun seeting in the horizon and it was not just the Sun that was setting, the God of Thunder was doing so too. There was a time when the tales of the bravery and valor of the Prince of Asgrad used to be children's favourite bedtime stories. Not only the people of his own kingdom, but nearly everyone in the nine realms respected and feared him. But the situation was vastly different. Children no longer liked Thor, people thought of him as some lightweight and his enemies estimated his bravery to be equal to that of a rat.

And he did too. What had he done in the past year? Saved Asgard, Saved his mother? Or Father? Or Brother? Or his people and comarades? He had done nothing. He had sat idle while the realm under his protection, Midgard, burned. Surtur consumed Asgard and his people. Loki was killed by him. And he could save none of them.

Honestly, he did not deserve to be called a God. Gods saved others, helped them when they wanted or needed it. Not run around trying to get away from their own guilts. But he could not help it. All his losses and failures had rendered him devastated and with no energy left to live.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately so, he was still the King of Asgard. Without the duty, he was sure he would not be able to live. And it was his moral duty to take care of his remaining subjects. Provide them a new home. Even if he could not replicate the grandeur of the palace or the calming, the soothing aura of homeland. He could at least provide them a comforting compensation for the losses they had suffered due to his fatal failures.

This was the only thing that provided him solace. His people. It felt good. Worrying about them. It was a wonderful feeling which connected him to his father and mother. He wanted to nuture his people just like his parents had. They deserved that, that is, the people and his deceased parents. And him. Hadn't he lost everything too. Perhaps more than anyone else.

Muggle London looked like never before. Never had he seen the grand megacity in such a dead state. Everything was so quite. No hawkers, vendors, no sound of horns and sirens. Nothing. Every few minutes, a couple of cars would pass by and leave behind themselves a sense of loneliness among the scarce amount of people around him. They knew why the roads were not busy as always. Why people were holed up inside their homes. Who would wish to come out when their very lives were destroyed in a heartbeat. Half of the city's population was gone, making the city feel empty. And he too knew now. There could be nothing else which would render the muggle world so helpless, than the loss of a large number of lives.

What was it that had killed so many people? Wizards and Muggles alike were killed. It didn't seem like a war which had targeted the Wizarding community specifically. And though all the wizards except him had been killed, it could have been die to the small wizarding population, he reckoned. He suspected that something bigger than anything he could fathom was involved here.

Being the most familiar with Charing Cross Road, he had apparated there to avoid any accidents. The Leaky Cauldron looked just the same as it always did. A dingy, smelly pub, which would have stood out between the large beautiful stores surrounding it if it was visible to muggles.

He kept staring at the pub for a long time and decided to enter it. He had stared for about ten minutes and no one had used a horn to alert him. Had it been sometime ago, he would have been flattened by the huge cars running on the busy road. The pub was in mess. Spiders had covered the tables in webs and the food kept on the tables was rotten, obviously giving off an extremely unpleasent smell, more so than the pub usually did. With a quick cleaning spell, he moved on.

A wave of nostalgia hit him when he walked upstairs. The memories from the summer before third year were haunting him. He had spent so many joyous moments in these corridors. At the time he had no worries except that he had upset the Dursleys and may not have a place to live (it was not home) anymore. And even that had not upset him much. He still remembered his relief when Fudge had told him that he would not be punished for doing magic outside Hogwarts. Fudge. He would even miss the babbling, bumbling man who had made his life hell in his fifth year. He had provided ample amount of jokes for them to laugh due to his idiocy after all.

The day Ron and Hermione alongwith the Weasley family had arrived to keep him company had been one of the happiest moments of his life. That day, he finally knew that he mattered to someone. He would repay them for their love.

And here he was, once again, walking through the hallway and it felt as if it was just a day ago that he had been playing exploding snap with Ron here. Well, his trip was not very fruitful in his mission to avenge his people but it motivated him more. Now, the memories did not evoke a sore ache in his heart but an adrenaline rush which motivated him to keep going with his mission and succeed in avenging the lives of his loved ones.

Bruce and Tony were already gone. There was no sign of Thor returning as well. The death of his family and friends and the burden of guilt after their empty victory must have been too har for him to bear. As they had returned from the space, the team had broken. Rhodey was off for a trip to analyse a situation around the world, Danvers apparently had bigger things to handle, Nebula and Rocket were off moaning their family just like many others. And Steve. She really admired his spirits and his ability to keep his mind in a diificult situation but all his positive shit had worn her down. He had decided that right niw, the world needed consolation more than a new war to bring people back. He wanted to help people move on and considered it the most logical solution (So did she. But the realisation of what she had lost and how impossible it was to regain it did not allow here to give up and move on).

That day was a nightmare. She was happy at first. And completely heartbroken by the end of the day. Clint had come to the the headquarters and a wave of complete relief had washed over here when she was assured that her best friend had not been snapped away like many others. But the relief was short-lived. Clint's devastated expression was enough to tell her. He had lost his family. And her family. Laura, Lila, the boys, they were gone. And it seemed, for Clint, so was the will to live.

For a moment, the old courageous, battle hardened Clint shined through as he asked in a bold was, "What happened?" The growl would have intimidated anyone else, such was the anger and hatred in his voice which clearly indicated that he would not allow the murderer of his family to live if he found out who it was. Natasha had seen him angry many times but never like this.

"He snapped his fingers and everything was gone." And she fell quiet as she ended the haunting tale of their defeat. It dawned on her that she was not the only one to endure loss, nor were the Avengers the only ones. Countless more families must have been broken die to that monster.

Clint took a deep breath and started walking away from her and out of the door. She knew he would not tell her but nonetheless, she asked, "Where are you going?" And the only reply she got was one word (confused the hell out of her)- "Work." She did not understand the meaning till a few months later.