Disclaimer: not mine sigh
Harry Potter stood in the ruins that were all that remained of Hogwarts. The war had destroyed the old castle and all who inhabited it. Harry was the sole survivor of the Wizarding War. The sad truth was that it was neither Voldemort, nor Dumbledore who destroyed the Wizarding World, but Muggles. When the truth of magic revealed itself to them, they had reacted badly. The combined forces of military bases all across the globe had created a weapon, which targeted the gene carrying a beings magic and destroyed it. Magical beings were not able to survive without that one single gene and were wiped out when the weapon detonated. Harry, however, managed to survive. He is truly The-Boy-Who-Lived. Though now, at 23, he should be called The-Man-Who-Lived. Sadly, he shall be called neither, as any who would name him such are dead.
Looking over the ruins, Harry made a decision. He was the last magical being in the world and that knowledge was too much to bear. So with a last look at the place he had proudly called home, Harry raised his arms toward the sky and began chanting one last spell. It was to be the last act of magic this world would ever experience. As the last words were said, a lone tear made its way down Harry's face, and a flash of bright white light engulfed him. When the light faded, Harry Potter was no more. There was merely a small wet patch on the debris-strewn ground where a single tear had landed. Time passed and eventually some Muggles happened upon the land where a once grand castle now lay in ruins. They would forever be baffled as to the large phoenix emblem they found burned into the ground in the center of the ruins.
R&R please