Disclaimer: I may be losing my mind, but I'm well aware of the fact that I don't own Harry Potter.
Harry Potter had lived a long and full life. Despite the hardships of his life in the initial eighteen years, the remaining hundred and thirteen were spectacular in their normalcy and lack of death-defying adventures. This is not to say that his life proved uninteresting. With a large adoptive family and three mischievous kids who spawned many equally mischievous grandkids and great-grandkids, Harry's life had plenty of adventure. Add to that his career as an Auror and his apparent inability to lose his permanent "Hero" status, and you have one satisfyingly fulfilling life. The only thing left to do now, he thought, was to die. For death is naught but the next great adventure right?
Oh, if only he had realized how true those idly spoken words would be, he might have not have been quite so blasé towards his eventual demise. Most stories start at the start of things. This one is different. This one will start with the end, or perhaps, you could consider it the middle. For with the end, came a new beginning, and we are all familiar with the original beginning. Let us spin a tale hopefully worth telling, and you can decide for yourself whether this is the end or the beginning.
If you care at all, don't hate me. I realize that this makes three stories I'm working on, but, to be honest, this one has been in my head for as long as the other two. I'll be working on whichever one floats my boat, so sporadic updates can probably be expected. But, I will be updating something. Don't hate me :(