Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. Everything that isn't part of the canon universe belongs either to Tsubasa K. Kruger or to someone else who will be given the appropriate credit in the corresponding chapter.

Note: This story and the accompanying series will have the books as base canon unless explicitly stated otherwise. In that sense, assume that everything up to Voldemort's death progresses exactly as in the books, with the moment he dies being the divergence point. Therefore, the Epilogue doesn't exist.

One – Start

There was once a time where all things were doomed to end, where the dead remained dead and their experience was forever lost. It was a time of endless struggles and unavoidable pain, where even the most paradisiac of worlds eventually faded into dystopia or vanished in a burst of fire and blood.

It was a dreadful time to live in, particularly for the mortals born during the final decline of their world. Dimension, age, species and intentions mattered not as millions of mortals perished with their Higher Spirits watching helplessly from the sidelines, powerless against the Apocalypse – and sometimes, it was their own inner fights as they grew disappointed on their charges what ultimately caused their demise; in some particularly painful cases, the Spirits themselves chose to end the worlds entrusted to them, no longer willing to face what they saw as their most horrifying failures.

Through all of this, the Higher Powers stood and watched, not uninterested but neither exactly concerned by all the chaos. It was the nature of things to come to an end, after all, and one or a thousand universes meeting theirs wasn't worrying – just the Cycle of Life occurring, though perhaps a tad accelerated.

However, when the previously nigh-infinite amount of living universes was reaching a dangerously low count of just about twenty-three hundreds, the Higher Powers unanimously decided that They needed to do something lest the whole multiverse suffered the worst of fates.

At that point, there were three kinds of universes.

There were those that had completely disappeared, leaving behind empty voids of despair where they had once been located and vague memories of their former existence in those who had known of them. These were the majority and, sadly, there was nothing the Powers could do to save them, for they lacked even the most basic of materials for Them to work with.

Secondly, there were the universes where all life had been lost, and yet the worlds still existed – broken and hopeless and oppressed by empty silence, but they still were. Those were somewhat difficult to work with, but finally They agreed to set things back to the Beginning and watch them closely so as to not lose them again; perhaps, They mused, They would have to create new Higher Spirits to properly care for them. These worlds would be more experiments than anything else, and the wager paid off with equal amounts of thriving, death and Final Apocalypses; much as it hurt, They chose not to reset those that had somehow managed to perish twice under different patrons.

And last but certainly not least, there were the worlds that still lived, despite all of them being in various stages of their own Apocalypse; the stubbornness with which Life remained in them was seen as a proof of worth and resilience, leading the Higher Powers to pay more thought to the method they would use to make things right again. In these worlds, and eventually those who thrived after having died once, They decided to do something more than simply ordering the Higher Spirits to watch more carefully: give the best mortals they had to offer the chance and the responsibility to involve themselves with the happenings of the multiverse to a degree previously unheard of.

Because the Higher Powers are timeless beings, it was just a matter of decision for Them to observe what had already been so as to choose the mortals They would single out for this mission; as They would reset the worlds afterwards to allow the chosen ones to actually make an impression, it was entirely possible that some of them would never be born in their world's second chance. It was a delicate task with potentially bad results if They missed one key component, but They stood behind their choices.

These mortals were impressive in their own rights, without interference from any higher being and more often than not without much to distinguish them above their peers. However, what all of them had in common was their refusal to sit by as their worlds neared destruction and their willingness to work hard in their efforts to avoid it – not that they were all always successful, but it was the intention what counted.

Once They were certain that a mortal deserved to become a Legend, They plucked their soul away from their Reaper Spirit and held them closely, instructing them in their mission with the warmth and concern of a parent wishing their child happiness; once They were completely sure that They had all the souls these worlds could offer, they completely reset them at the same time – this, of course, included granting them new Spirits (which mostly meant shuffling around those that existed already). The souls that were not chosen as Legends were partially cleaned, so that they could not remember anything that had happened but retained the broad aspects of what had made them their own person, before they were freed and began to be born for the second and last time (unless, of course, they did something worthy of being Ascended).

Then, slowly, one by one, They started returning the Legends to mortal bodies (this time around, never in the world they had originally belonged to) with the whisper of their mandate in the back of their minds, hoping silently that this would work.

For the following millennia They watched and debated, making arrangements here and there when They thought Their plan could use some adjustments and occasionally (very rarely, just once or twice per thousand years amongst all the worlds) choosing new souls to become Legends. Mostly They just observed the proceedings, and when a Spirit asked for a savior They evaluated if the situation truly warranted one before taking a random, currently 'unemployed' Legend and placing them where needed.

The Hero Mandate all Legends received upon their Ascension wasn't absolute, however, but rather just a strong suggestion that would follow and whisper to them whenever they needed encouragement. Free will had been in most cases the sole reason why the mortal had risen to Legend, after all, and in an effort to preserve that treasure the Higher Powers had to accept the wager.

Sometimes, a Legend would keep true and take the world to a new level of Balance. Sometimes, they would sit by doing nothing to change things. Other times, they would try but be unsuccessful. It follows that, once in a while, a Legend would cause the world to spiral downwards; for these occasions, the Higher Powers would always insert another Legend to hopefully fix things, following the same pattern.

A few worlds would die regardless, but this time it was a natural, not-accelerated Cycle of Life. That it may or may not have been provoked by Legends was irrelevant.

Sometimes, the story of two or more Legends would be so intricately woven together that just the mere possibility of either one of them having risen to that status without the other by their side was inconceivable. They were not only almost as plentiful as the Lone Legends, but often more successful as well – because, clearly, they had their shared bond to fall back on whenever they needed strength.

They were also the ones most likely to cause a Final Apocalypse, especially if they had already reunited with their eternal partners and lost them in a violent way. Sometimes, not even other Tied Legends could prevent such an event.

Regardless, if the Powers could feel fondness it would be directed to Tied Legends above the Lone ones.

However, unlike the Powers, the Higher Spirits had emotions (it was an important part of the reason why some had begun to fight) and therefore could feel predilection. One aspect of this was that certain Spirits preferred to have certain Legends incarnated in their domains, based on their deeds in other worlds during their first lives and those that followed. Tied Legends who could bring worlds to Utopia without even trying were evidently top of the list, and would be the ones with most incarnations if the Spirits could choose which Legend to have born in the universe they watched over – as it was, they could only express their need of a Savior, and whoever answered the Call was, as previously stated, completely random.

Some Legends were, in this aspect, important enough that whichever Spirit had been their patron before their Ascension felt proud that their path started under their watch. The greater the Legend, the prouder the Spirit– the situation was very akin to a parent bragging about their child's success, which of course meant these Legends would have felt incredibly embarrassed to learn of this.

Quite understandably, one of the prouder Higher Spirits was the patron of the universe randomly identified as number 777. This Spirit's almost-smugness was absolutely deserved, for it had been one of the few to not be reassigned and, despite the fact that universe #777 had had its fair share of struggles and came close to death more than once, its population had always somehow managed to come out on top. And not only that, but this world had also given birth to an almost unbelievable number of Legends, many of which were widely liked by all the Spirits – but none like a trio known even by their world's mortals as the Heroes of Gold, or more commonly (even centuries after their deaths) as the Golden Triad.

These Tied Legends had been born millions of years into the existence of the universe they'd called home, in a critical point of history that without their intervention would have meant a Final Apocalypse within a couple hundred years at most. Their efforts, however, spawned over five centuries of unprecedented peace and gave ground for a relatively peaceful and prolific society that would only start to stir fifteen hundred years after their deaths (a situation that they would be later sent to solve, ironically enough).

The Heroes of Gold, three friends born with the gift their people called 'magic', lived long and successful lives, punctuated by selfless work in benefit of their world and little personal lives to speak of – there were, of course, but most of their time was spent in their restless pursuit of a society very much unlike that which they'd grown up in.

They'd loved their world and its people, and they'd loved their traditions and quirks, but they'd seen and experimented very closely (though not always personally) the downsides of each and every ingrained custom and neither felt the slightest bit comfortable leaving things be for the following generations to suffer through.

The eldest amongst them, called Hermione Granger, was the only female, a brilliant witch born from a long line of non-magical humans and the one that took the lead when it came to intellectual matters. The second in age was Ronald 'call-me-Ron' Weasley, son of a very long magical line and their inevitable guide when they needed an actual, honest-to-Merlin strategy. The youngest, Harry Potter, became famous as a toddler for surviving an otherwise lethal attack and with his unbelievable luck and natural charisma took the lead in every matter that was not appropriated by his friends.

Unlike many other Ascended, they would forge the beginnings of their legend in the fires of war – in a conflict they'd become involved in as children, a conflict that lasted three decades and killed thousands for the mere crime of not being pure enough to live. They were veterans of war by the time most mortals in their world were finishing school, hardened by battle and pain when everyone else was chasing love. But they'd been thrown in with little to no choice and they'd done the best they could, finally rising above all hardships and becoming pillars of a stagnant society – and instead of hanging their battle dress and settling with a standard, peaceful adult life, they decided to embrace their newfound status and do everything within their power so the war they'd won wouldn't start again, so that future generations wouldn't have to step forward and solve problems caused by their ancestors.

However, the rest of their rise to Legend had been... less violent, although not entirely peaceful. Indeed, the young trio merely transferred their combined might from the field of battle to that of politics, and within their long lives managed to establish the bases for what could arguably be considered one of the greatest civilizations their world had ever seen.

The Heroes of Gold met when they were barely eleven years old, and one would be lying to say that they became friends at first sight – in fact, they quite disliked each other for the first several weeks of their acquaintance, but there wasn't much they could do to be separated when they were in the same dormitory within the boarding school for young witches and wizards they attended.

Their friendship was, just like their legend, forged in battle.

They had barely known each other for two months when Ron, in what he would later call the most stupid thing he'd ever done but something he would definitely do again if only for what came of it, insulted a very stressed Hermione, who then spent the rest of the day crying in the bathroom. Later that night, during the Halloween feast, a troll was set loose within the school, and both Harry and Ron rushed to warn Hermione once they realized she wasn't in the Hall with everyone else. The troll entered the bathroom before they did, and so it became a fight to the death – the first the trio would partake in and come out of on top, stronger and closer for it.

They became friends after that day, always closer than family despite the many frequent arguments they fell into, due to them being too immature to interact smoothly with their clashing personalities.

Their worst arguments were during their third year at school, when Hermione's cat fixated on Ron's rat and later seemingly killed it, and again the next year, when Harry was entered against his will in a deadly Tournament and Ron immediately assumed it had been on purpose. Both times, their friendship tensed almost to the breaking point – and both times their bond proved stronger than their differences.

And so they stood together, engaging in yet another battle to the death against their enemies late into fifth year and once more in sixth, growing closer as their experiences held them together when everyone else their age was naïve and completely unprepared to understand their too-mature battle-hardened personalities.

What should have been their seventh year of school was spent on a trip around the islands their country was located in, as they looked for certain objects that needed to be destroyed before they could kill their greatest enemy, the same man who had tried to kill Harry half a dozen times since he was a toddler and was hell bent in conquering England for himself.

Ron wavered for the last time that year, when one of the objects they were hunting turned his mind and his insecurities against him, but he came to his senses immediately and spent the following month trying to get back to them until he finally succeeded.

That year was the worst so far for them, because not only their bond was tested again (for what they didn't know would be the last time), but they suffered the lives of political fugitives with grossly large bounties on their heads, away from their friends and families and knowing that, no matter how bad was their situation, their loved ones had it worse – because the others were living in the previous comfort of their home or the castle that was the boarding school, but they were also under the enemy's thumb and risked death every day for being who they were and being in some way related to the trio.

They almost broke under the pressure of that reality – not as a group (never as a group, not after they grew up and realised they needed each other more than their personalities clashed) but as individuals, as children forced to become adults way too soon, as teenagers forced to become soldiers and pick up a sword that their predecessors had so clumsily dropped, as young adults desperately trying to keep themselves together while their nation seemed determined to tear itself apart.

But they persevered, and they became stronger for it, and when the time came (when they'd destroyed every single one of their enemy's anchors, rendering him mortal once more), they were ready.

Ready to stand their ground and fight, to rally a young army against cruel mercenaries who'd oppressed and tortured them for a year, to become the symbols their people needed to stand against evil, to stare into the abyss and will it to blink first, to raise their weapons and risk their lives for a nation that didn't quite have to courage to stand for itself.

And it hurt.

It hurt and they bled and their hearts broke, and their leader died saving those he loved and the world he'd fallen in love with despite its many faults, and he came back and they stood together to deal the final blow against the forces that would subjugate and kill millions if someone didn't stop them.

And in the end, when the sun rose and shone over a broken hall where once upon a time children had eaten and played and laughed and loved life and magic and love, when they looked upon the cooling bodies of those who'd fallen and the barely together frames of those who'd somehow survived, at once they knew what they needed to do.

Because it wasn't enough to take up arms and kill a man if the ideology behind him remained alive.

It wasn't enough to defeat a small army if the society who'd given birth to them didn't move forward.

It wasn't enough to end one reign of terror if chances were another would come, mere decades later, and force more children to grow before their time and become soldiers to fix a mess caused by their ancestors.

It wasn't enough to topple one tyranny when the pieces were set for another to settle into power.

It wasn't enough to overcome one ideology in battle if they couldn't erase its roots in a stagnant society.

It would never be enough.

For their world to not suffer again, it needed to become better. And it wouldn't do so on its own, not when the powerful were comfortable in their seats and the poor and forgotten were too intimidated and used to their place to realize there was something deeply wrong.

Someone needed to nudge their beloved nation into change, to lead it to a brighter future and show it that life could be better if everyone had a better place.

And if not them, who?