Summary: Three years later, and everyone has found their ending. Except Harry. And he soon realizes that his life has another twist to introduce. Or rather, his death does.


Lower London


Harry hasn't become an Auror, like everyone expected, and he hasn't come to realize his future in much else, like Healing or as a professor at Hogwarts, as tabloids have suggested. He's very much stuck in limbo, but it's not quite the hell he'd imagined it to be.

His vault at Gringotts is filled to the brim with galleons, and while he doesn't want to surf on his fortune, now Lord Potter and Lord Black, he feels like his parents wouldn't mind a little down time after the events that are still plaguing his thoughts. Three years later, it is now called the War of London.

It's already being written in the history books, how noble young wizard Harry Potter led the forces of Light against the malevolent Deatheaters of the Dark Lord Voldemort in a fight prophesied years before. And how that young wizard gave his life for the Wizarding world, and came back to life against all odds to vanquish the evil forever. No mention of those who stayed dead and gone, and no mention of the incompetence that led them all to that point, to depending on a child to end a war that had been long in the making.

But, he's had to learn to let things go, and he knows that there are those who have noticed and are doing something about it. His friends, case in point, and himself when he finds himself wanting to set the Daily Prophet on fire, Rita Skeeter and all, but decides to do something more productive about it.

He's on to way to Gringotts on some insignificant business regarding allocation of funds to WWW, which despite all expectations, is still moving full speed ahead onto the world market as a definite competitor to all other prank, and surprisingly, potion companies. George, not quite over the death of Fred, has put his all into making their dream something greater, something that the whole world will recognize, and Harry can do no more than support him full-heartedly.

But, there is something different in the air as Harry strolls through Diagon Alley. And it's not the usual adoring stares, nor the fidgety glances. Not the equal parts of fear and worship that saturate the air. It's something different.

Harry realizes that when he walks into Fred.

Fred, his eyes normally cheerful or fierce, are now full of terror as he looks up at him with something akin to surprise. He looks whole and healthy, as he had been before his death. He looks alive, though that cannot be possible in any reality. He stares at Harry hard, stares at him like he's never looked before, but as he glances at his palm, he scurries away into a crowded side alley, disappearing completely even as no one moves, or even looks at him.

It's strange, and it shakes him deeply for as long as it takes for some people around him to notice something other than his scar. That he has a pained expression on his face as a roaring sound rushes through his head and pounds so much he thinks Voldemort has returned in that damnable persistent fashion of his. But it stops all of a sudden, and then he feels fine.

Harry smiles away some faint questions from the few that have broken free of his fame's almost herculean strength, and continues his walk to Gringotts, the thoughts of death that have so plagued him for months now taking up their usual spaces at the edge of his thoughts, waiting to be recognized.

His stomach grumbles, telling him he's physically hungry, but his mind can't take the thought of food and make it appetizing, so he waits until he makes it to his flat, not strangely devoid of Ginny, to prepare himself a salad before turning it into an early night.

He spends the entire time tracing out patterns in the ceiling, mapping out this little part of his universe, until the sun rises.

And even a little after that.