AN: New fanfic! The chapters will be shorter, and I'm not sure where I'm taking this (so suggestions are accepted). I have the first five chapters mapped out, but that's it.
HP and canon are the property of JK Rowling.
Today was Harry Potter's first day on the job. Finally, he was given the opportunity to study Death's Archway, the literal veil, the instrument of his godfather's death. It had taken him years to work his way up to this position: one of the unspeakables tasked with studying death (or Death, depending on which self-styled philosopher is boring you at the time). The road had been filled with disappoints and tragedy, but there had also been joy and love and contentment. He had never really expected to lead a truly happy life (though when he was younger he had hoped) and in this one thing, fate chose to prove him right.
After Voldemort was gone, Harry had been offered a spot in the Auror program alongside Ron, which he had accepted. Soon after he had married Ginny, and they had had twenty-five blissful years together. Funny how a witch who had survived war, terror, childbirth, and a successful career in quidditch was brought down by a badly brewed pepper-up potion. The Potters had gone on a camping trip in the spirit of bonding, badly needed after the whole time-travel fiasco that Albus had gotten himself into, and they had been caught in a surprise rainstorm. Rather than going home, they went directly to St. Mungo's to treat their pneumonia, and the healer had given Harry four doses of pepper-up and left the room for a fifth. Harry, the caring father and husband, had insisted that he could wait until the healer came back with the fifth dose. When the healer did come back, Harry was casting every healing charm he could think of on his quickly expiring family. It only took the healer one diagnostic charm to realize that the batch of pepper-up potion had been past its shelf-life (a shorter shelf-life is a common side effect of improperly brewed potions) and had in fact become poisonous. At the age of 43, Harry Potter was once again the only living Potter.
Depression set in, fuelled by guilt, loss, anger, resentment, and, worst of all, self-pity. He couldn't bear to see the Weasley's, they only reminded him of Ginny, though in his sane moments he wondered how George could stand to see his twin's face in the memory every day. It had been Hermione that had pulled him up from the lows he'd sunk, and Ron who had first suggested a muggle therapist (there was no magical equivalent in Britain). The therapist had suggested funneling his grief into positive endeavors, and so Harry studied potions. Studied so that he would know what killed his family, and if there was anything he can do to prevent a repeat of that mistake from ruining someone else's life. Needless to say, he started with the Half-Blood Prince's diary, which he had retrieved from Snape's office back when he had helped rebuild Hogwarts in 1998. By the age of 45 he had become one of Britain's top potion experts (possibly due to the late Severus Snape allowing so few students into NEWT potions). It was then that he had first been approached by the unspeakables. They, after years of nagging from Hermione, were studying the wolfsbane potion with the goal of improving on it. Harry was quick to accept.
He had always, in the back of his mind since Sirius's death, known that they studied death and the Archway, and had been himself reluctantly curious about both. At the age of 48, he was finally in a position to sate his curiosity.
Within a month of starting his new position Harry was comfortable enough with the Archway to get up close and study the runes carved on its surface. One of the requirements of being an unspeakable was basic knowledge of runes, and Hermione had been more than happy to lend him her old notes to study from. Due to his intense (recently developed) study habits, and wit sharpening potions, he had been able to cram five years of ancient runes into three.
After six months on the job, Harry was letting his curiosity get the better of him, and had started to take shortcuts in the safety procedures. Then came the day when the lack of adherence for the safety procedure bit him in bum. He was studying the runes at the base of the Archway when the veil slowly (almost stealthily) rose and caressed his cheek. And that was the end of Harry James Potter.
AN: What do you all think?