Hello peoples!

This is my first try at writing a HPxAvengers fic, and it was basically a plotbunny that attacked me at 2 in the morning and wouldn't let me sleep. I have little to no plot, and the timeline is all over the place at the moment.

So please tell me how I went!

BTW: Chapter 1 should be up in the next few weeks. (I think . . .)

A/N: HOLY GUACAMOLE GUMBALLS! *jaw drops* Wow . . . 80 followers and 37 favourites in 3 days? This isn't even the first chapter—it's the Prologue . . .

( . . .Not that I'm complaining or anything . . . . .)

Newly Found Hope, Newly Found Family

Prologue

Four years ago, Harry Potter thought that everything—finally, finally—was ok. There was no more Voldemort, no more Death Eaters, no more life-threatening challenges that he had to overcome, no more expectations, no more 'The Chosen One', no more fighting, no more death. Finally, finally, he was Just Harry. Sure, people still knew his name, and he had the occasional oggler when he went to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade (or any public place in general) but people no longer stared. They looked, but it wasn't the same as staring. Instead, they glanced, subtly pointed and muttered things like "look, it's Harry Potter—remember him? He fought in the War with your uncle." And that—that was the main reason people no longer stared; because he wasn't the only hero anymore. There were others—many, many, others—some had perished, some had lived, but they all received equal amounts of recognition, Harry taking a significant portion of that for being the one to strike the killing blow, but he was no longer the only one 'under the spotlight'. He had a wife, three beautiful kids, a successful job and his friends. Life, Harry had thought, was good.

How horribly, dreadfully, terrifyingly wrong he had been.

Rowle, Travers, Rookwood, Mulciber and the Lestrange brothers. All six had somehow evaded capture during the Ministry's crackdown after the battle of Hogwarts. All had lied in wait for years—waiting for what, Harry didn't care to find out.

He didn't care—he couldn't. Not anymore. There was nothing to care about. Those six men, they had killed them.

. . . Ginny . . .

. . . Al . . .

. . . Jamie . . .

. . . Lily . . .

. . . Teddy . . .

. . . Hermione . . .

. . . All of the Weasleys . . .

. . . Luna . . .

. . . Neville . . .

. . . McGonagall . . .

. . . Hagrid . . .

. . . Everyone . . .

He'd retaliated, of course, but there had been no sense of relief once he'd killed them. Because there was no-one left for them to hurt.

He was left to bury them. One by one. Piece by piece, he felt his heart break. Even now, a year later, he still felt the tight band of grief around his chest, still felt the ice cold dagger of loss twist itself deep within his soul when he woke and remembered and realized that it wasn't just some twisted dream—it had happened, it was real, they were gone and they were never coming back.

Harry realized, belatedly, as he stared at the cracked and peeling paint on the ceiling of his room at the Leaky Cauldron—because he couldn't go back to his house, not yet—maybe not ever—that they had won. In this twisted game of theirs, he had lost. They had won, and in doing so, they had destroyed him.

He'd lost his job, his family, his friends, his mentors, everything that he'd cared about, was gone. He had nothing. Nothing to own. . . .

. . . Nothing to lose. . . .

It was a dangerous way to think, he knew, but he couldn't help it.

Not anymore . . .

Tom found him the next morning, laying on his bed. Eyes closed, Harry Potter greeted Death with a smile on his face. . . .

Sooooo . . .*dodges rotten tomato*—yeah, I know I killed Harry—*ducks watermelon*—stop trying to kill me! you'll find out next chapter!

Nutter Out!
*screams*