Atrium
Standing in perhaps one of the most quite places on planet Earth was weird for him. All he'd known for the last thousand years was noise, pain, and violence. Although there were times that it was quite, this was a different type of silence. It was like the absence of sound rather than the lack of it. Standing here, there was almost a profound sense of peace. As though the last visages of who he is was being lifted off him as he took steps getting closer to the archway.
Harry Potter had never been someone that was moved emotionally, even when he was laughing, it was merely what he felt was appropriate at the time to do. There was only ever one emotion that burnt in him, rage.
That was until he hit sixteen and learned of occlumency, then he learned of directed rage, hatred, and anger. The times his magic was strongest was when he was angry, nothing that old coot had said about love and unicorns ever got him results. But rage did, and so he raged. He raged not at the world, but with the world for a thousand years. Against powers held by the powerless to corruption, against Death Eaters and their cohorts, against bigotry, against unjust holiness held by the light, and against himself for the broken man he had to outgrow.
With that rage came the darkest of power, one that has never been seen before, but will forever be cemented not only in the magical community but the greater world itself, Shadow Mage. That was what they called him. The one that stalks the night and brings unholy retribution to the unholy, to whisper his true name was to call upon oneself a nightmare of eldritch glory.
Harry or Harold, depending on who is using it, had learned at a young age that everything is dependent on ones outlook and perception. That's why his relatives could abuse him and get away with it, those around them perceived as good neighbors, so unspoken horror could never be brough about by them. He applied this to his magic, once he learned of it that is.
Delving not into books but through practice and diligence he came upon a path that sparked wonder at first, but horror after. The way in which he connected with his magic had never been done before. He had no use of wands, staves, rings, or even gestures to accomplish any of his magic. Will born from the desire to live under the tragedy that was his relatives had tempered him to be able to enact upon the world what he desired.
Magic was simple to him and any wizard worth his salt could have done what he did, but like sheep they all follow the loudest in the room. So Harry became the quietest, never speaking out but always heard when in motion. Dumbledore was mystified but had chocked it up to the prophecy which he had no understanding of outside its base principle. He did not realize that with his meddling he had interfered with a higher calling, one that sat at the top of this universe, his blatant schemes had indirectly caused any action made by Harry to be seen as something that he had done himself. Thus Riddle was able to come back over and over again. Each time stronger, smarter, and faster in all ways. Thus began the millennia long mission of killing the bastard.
Once Harry had accomplished his mission, he sat down in his manor, on a throne built by his loyal subjects, only to realize that there was nothing left.
Coming out of his reminiscing, Harry looked upon the gateway that should end him. One that he had sought only to finish this cycle of both boredom and emptiness he now carried. He had several wives over the course of his life, but his first was the one that always meant the most to him, someone who was with him when he had nothing, and stood by him when the world wanted nothing more than to see him vanish.
"Master..."
A voice came from his shadow.
"Yes Dobby, what is it."
A deep voice came from Harry due to not using his voice often, choosing rather to speak directly into peoples minds, a game he had come up with in his younger days that transitioned to being a permanent fixture of his identity. Though there were a few that he would rather speak to, since they are of some importance to him.
"Are we leaving the young masters and mistresses behind.."
"No Dobby, I have left a piece of my consciousness in one of the constructs. No matter what happens from here, they will always have me to rely on, though they will not have a walking nuke to rely on like they used to. But hopefully from one of my descendants will rise another Mage of unequal prowess, we might yet see them to where ever this leads."
"Master, are you sure it is a good idea to delve into that thing, even with your powers as the Master of that One, you have never been able to perceive what is beyond this thing..."
Harry had met Death on several occasions, in fact she was always present on any given holiday and his birthday, though no one knew who she was, the fact she always sat to his left had given the impression of someone important. Thus while no questions ever arose about the mysterious person, but his most loyal knew who she was.
"That is why we are here Dobby, to see what is beyond the thing that even She doesn't talk about. I would be it is interesting to say the least. Besides, the others are getting restless, with no more war and nothing left to learn in this place, it is best to move on, even if that means going to Her realm forever."
Realizing that what his master is saying was final. Dobby asked no more questions. He like the others, simply kept quite and watched as their master took the final steps into the afterlife. What awaited them... well that's the story isn't it.