I don't own Harry Potter or Game of Thrones and I have no clue where this is going so enjoy the ride.
(I know I'm supposed to be working on my other story but I'm at a block and this just came to me)
Harry was bored. He had lived an exceedingly long life. Being the master of all three hallows had made him age slowly, even more so than most wizards. Four hundred and twenty nine years he had lived, eleven spent in a personal hell, six in a magical school with someone constantly trying to kill him, forty- six in a marriage built on love potions and lies, three more trying to escape said marriage, twenty- four studying to be a magical lawyer and then practicing said craft, four trying to convince the magical world he wasn't dark just because he aged slower than most wizards and still looked to be in his mid-twenties, seventy-two years in a dementors infested hell which he then escaped after becoming immune and even being able to replicate the dementors aura.
Once he had escaped he led the British magical world on a thirteen year man hunt before they finally gave up. Fifteen more years spent recovering and meeting with various magical creature societies and recruiting them, followed by nineteen years of the second bloodiest magical war the world ever saw which resulted in an entire upheaval of society when the creatures won. The Wizmagot was disbanded and the High Council was introduced.
Two creatures from every race elected every four years to make decisions for society as a whole. Twenty-eight years of relative peace in which Harry learned the healing arts; both magical and mundane, before he got restless staying in one place for so long and decided to fulfill one of his dreams of traveling. He spent a half century give or take a few years traveling and learning new magic's. Then shit hit the fan and he once more became a war commander as pureblood supremists attacked the council accords and started off yet another magical war.
This war was less bloody as many wizarding citizens and magical creatures stood together and fought back. Life had been good under the new government and no one but the bigots wanted that to change. The war only had forty-seven casualties thirty six of them being the pureblood terrorists but it lasted a full six years before they were put down. The war had major consequences though and less than seven years later led to the beginnings of the bloodiest war the world had ever seen.
One hundred and twenty three years later the world was dead. Plants, animals and people, all gone, early on the mundane realized how full grown wizards simply apperated out of danger and created technology to stop them from leaving an area much like anti-apparition wards and then bombed them or shot them down as they tried to run.
Eventually the magical species retaliated. Goblins marched on cities and ransacked them wearing their own forged armor impervious to bullets. They had even gifted Harry his own set; not that it had done any good in the end. Nothing not even magic can stop a nuclear holocaust. Harry coughed as he laughed lying in the dirt. In the end the muggles had destroyed them all. It was only in the last year and a half that he had been the only living thing on earth that he realized exactly what mastering the hallows meant. It meant that he was forever alive, and forever alone, and now Harry was bored.
DON'T MIND ME I'M JUST A PAGE BREAK
Harry sighed as he stood up. He was barefoot and barely dressed, his clothes torn to shreds and hanging off his old and starved body. The rubble of London surrounded him as the breeze noiselessly moved through the streets. Everything was burnt, cracked or shattered. Bodies rotted in the streets but not even flies buzzed around the corpses. Every breath was agony as the deadly chemical filled air seared his lungs before they healed and scabbed only for the internal wounds to be reopened seconds later at the next breath. Sores opened on his skin as his body fought to heal and die all at the same time. Still he moved forward walking on the streets. He recognized some of the buildings that were still partly standing.
He was on the same street as the ministry of magic but it wasn't like there was anybody there to help him.
"Dead," he rasped. "They're all dead." He chuckled at the irony of being one of the few people who wanted to die but being the only one alive before breaking off into wet bloody coughs. Spitting the blood out onto the cracked and dusty pavement Harry once more straightened up. Where should he go? Where was there to go?
He took another step forward. A pull began in Harry's chest and whispering reached his ears. Was he going mad? Or just finally properly dying? He followed the pull. Slowly making his way through rubble and broken glass, cutting himself and healing as his bare feet were sliced to ribbons.
He could barely see through the chemical haze and dust clouds as he walked. He had gotten his eyes fixed shortly after escaping Azkaban but even perfect vision couldn't help him here. Suddenly the chemical fog cleared and the whispering grew louder.
He was standing where the ministry of magic must have been located. The building was completely gone and the structure in front of him shouldn't have been standing. It flapped in an unfelt breeze. Its pillars a shiny black carved with runes and completely dust free. Harry just stared as the whispers grew louder until they were almost shouting unintelligible words. And then; silence. Not even the sound of wind brushing through the rubble just Harry's stuttering heartbeat ringing in his ears, and he closed his eyes and fell forward into the cool warmth of semi-corporal cloth. Even as the death gate swallowed him the world he left behind imploded and Death smiled sliding the hood of his cloak up over his head as he took on the appearance of another one of his avatar's The Stranger.