PROLOGUE
Disclaimer: Any and all characters that appear in this story probably belong to J.K Rowling and Rick Riordan respectively. This disclaimer should/will hold true for any future chapters (if any) of A Past Best Forgotten.
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They say a Past is Best Forgotten
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This was meant to be my end. No more great adventures, no more prophecies, no more loss. I feel so tired, I have nothing left. So why am still breathing? Why am I still alive? And why is death greeting me like old friends?
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27 is the age I died at.
Some would argue that's not nearly enough time for someone to live. I would argue against that, I've seen way too much.
See, the only thing that's worse than dying young, is having a hard ass life and then dying anyway. And my life has been anything but sunshine and daisies. I'm sure you know all about my life, believe me, witches love to gossip and my ex-wife was one of the biggest alive. You might think I misspelt bitch as well, but I didn't, even if that's what they also are. I am what some muggles (that's non magic folk for you muggles out there) would call a Wizard. Pointy hat, robes that reach the floor, magical wonders and wands galore.
You're probably wondering why I'm caged like an animal then? Why I haven't just apparated (teleported) outta here, or busted out all cool and fancy like? But the problem lies with the chains holding my ankles and wrists together, we call them magical inhibitors (I know, creative name right) and you can safely assume my magic has gone bye-bye. But you would be wrong, somehow I still have access to magic, just not enough to apparate.
Now you're also probably asking yourself, the hell did I do to wind up in this situation? Which is a valid question, and one I will answer, I mean it's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon, except maybe my perpetual death. But there is a precedent to these types of affairs and I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm forgetting my manners and Hermione would have thrown a right old fit if she could see me now, but I'll be seeing her soon enough. If I'm lucky, never am though.
My name is Harry James Potter and this is how I died again.
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They say a past is best forgotten, but the past is what make us who we are.