"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter, please! Just a quick interview on the Proposition For the Relocation Of Muggleborns! Mr. Potter..."

The cries of the crowd in Diagon Alley of the reporters and general populace cut off as Harry disappeared right through the Alley's wards without a sound, not even at the Apparation Point. The wards had been upgraded after The Second Voldemort War to prevent Apparation anywhere in the Alley except the entrance point, but that didn't stop Harry from slipping through them.

When Voldemort had killed the soul shard, not Horcrux, soul shard, the drain it had constantly had on his core ended, revealing a massive core bigger than any in living history, due to its constant growth to fuel the drain and himself. It gave him quite a few abilities. He wasn't a Metamorphagus, at least not like Tonks, the only other one in the last hundred years, who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. He could shift his very DNA and keep it there as long as he wanted. His magic auto-built impenetrable Occlumency barriers, preventing all entry, even that of the Sorting Hat. It constantly attempted to reach out and read the minds of those around him, constantly annoying him with other's thoughts. It made his memory perfect, bringing back every detail of everything he'd ever seen.

His spells were always wandless and wordless now, as every wand he tried to use blew up in his hand. He could slip or force his way through any wards on the planet, including those of Gringotts, Hogwarts, and the Department of Mysteries. Magical Creatures loved him, even things like Nundu, which had always attempted to kill any magical near them in a territorial rage. They were drawn to his power. Plants flourished, potions were much more potent, and runes he carved and powered lasted much longer than others. His Animagus had changed, from a simple falcon to a straight up Hungarian Horntail. And his Patronus could drive off every Dementor in Azkaban, just by him casting it on the shore of the island.

And he had finally inherited his Lordship and Wizengamot Seat on his eighteenth birthday, no matter of Dumbledore's meddling. He didn't use them, because the corrupt government just ignored him. They hadn't changed at all.

He had rebuilt the Manor, filling it's greenhouses with rare plants, its acreage with rare animals, and its general area with so many secrecy wards you wouldn't even know the place existed if Harry took you there by the hand, told you the address, and walked you into its front doors.

But he was depressed. And he couldn't die, either. He'd tried, in the manor. With magical and muggle methods. With an AK even. But those stupid Hallows he'd accidentally mastered wouldn't let him. He'd tried to get rid of them. He dropped them in an active volcano. Blasted the stone with his full power. Snapped the wand. Gave the cloak to the Nundu on his property stuck to a tree for a scratch post. Nothing worked. They always came back.

He had been approached by the DoM to work for them, researching obscure magic. He had agreed, because he was bored. Now he was bored again. Finding a way to shield the Unforgivables, unraveling the mysteries of looking through time reliably, and even magical interplanetary travel weren't keeping him focused.

He had gone to the Flamels, before the DoM, who weren't actually dead, as he'd figured out, and learned Alchemy, producing a Philosopher's Stone after his first five years working with them. He'd gone to muggle college, graduating with a doctorates in ten different things after two years.

And now, at age twenty-eight, he still looked eighteen in his base form. And he wanted to die. Hermione and Ron had been killed in a raid on their home after Hermione made enemies with the wrong people in the government. Ginny had cheated on him, so he left her. He hadn't any kids, of that he was grateful.

And today he had been asked to join the team in the Death Chamber, so he packed everything. Including the land his house sat on. He used an old family heirloom, a staff with a holder on top for glass orbs like the prophecy balls, to literally remove it from the earth and trap it in a snow globe, basically. The animals and plants were in stasis, and the ball was unbreakable. He carried the Hallows on his person, knowing in his heart he was going to try again today, this time with the Veil.

He had gone to the pub before work, in disguise, for a drink after withdrawing everything from the Potter Accounts from Gringotts, nearly bankrupting them due to their age, several loans that the bank had made from their accounts, and other debts he had collected on. After stubbing his toe, he had lost his form, then was nearly crushed in the mob. So he apparated directly into Croaker's office. The Head Unspeakable wasn't there, but it was the closest office to the Death Chamber, the one place he actually couldn't Apparate.

When he got there the team was already there, performing the daily diagnostics on the Veil, the Arch, and the room. He joined in silently, not communicating until he discovered something.

"Um, guys? This doesn't go into the afterlife like you thought." He announced.

"What?" The one nearest him snapped.

"It's an inter-universal portal, used to travel between universes, although it actually only gets you to the walls between, then draws on your core to bust through." He replied.

"So it does go to the afterlife. The power required to do something like that would be beyond even you, I think. Not to mention backlash." He replied.

"Yes. But from what I can tell, using this as a death sentence for all those years has weakened the wards, so to speak. I could probably bust through." He answered curtly, then darted into the veil.

"What the FUCK!" they all yelled.

"We can't detect that, whether he was successful or not. We couldn't even tell what this was for. For all intents and purposes, Harry Potter is dead. And even if he lived, he'll probably never come back. We have to tell the public." Croaker announced. Everyone in the room jumped, scared by Croaker's sneakiness again. "Yes, Head Unspeakable." They chorused.


I thought I'd known pain before, when I'd slit my wrists. When I'd tried to blow my brains out with a blasting curse. When I'd severed my spinal cord and jumped off my broom. When Voldemort held me under the Cruciatus curse at full power for ten minutes.

But all of that was NOTHING compared to breaking through the walls of the Universe. All of my magic reserves, drained out of me in an instant. That of my animals and plants, potions and runeschemes, drained into sleep mode. Then liquid fire filled my veins, every bone shattered, every nerve fired, pain and bliss, heat and cold, all at once. My organs ruptured, my heart stopped. I should have died. But I didn't, those damn Hallows keeping me alive even with my brain off and my heart still.

I crashed through the walls like a wrecking ball through plate steel. Meaning I bounced at full power between the weakened walls of my own universe, and the full strength walls of the other I was entering. And I finally broke through, unconscious.


Meanwhile, in Shield HQ, on the Helicarrier, one year before Loki and New York.


"What is that?" A sensor tech muttered.

"What is what, Agent?" Nick Fury barked from the bridge.

"Sir, We're receiving signals from every satellite that we've got over the Pacific that something like a Dirty Bomb just went off in the Pacific...