The world ended not with a whisper—but with sirens.
On October 23, 2077, as the bombs fell across the wasteland that would one day be called the Commonwealth, one wizard stood alone beneath a sky splitting with nuclear fire. Harry Potter had faced Dark Lords, Dementors, and death itself—but nothing like this.
Magic trembled as the first detonations struck.
Hogwarts fell in flame and radiation. The Ministry collapsed in chaos. Spells shielded thousands, but even ancient wards could not hold back atomic fire forever. In the final moments, Harry—now the most powerful wizard alive, his magic honed beyond mortal limits—made a choice.
He would not die.
Deep beneath the ruins of magical Britain, in a chamber powered by a fusion of arcane runes and pre-war American technology secretly acquired from Vault-Tec, stood a single cryogenic pod—an experimental preservation vault meant for "Project Merlin."
Harry stepped inside.
With a final whisper—"Protego Maxima Aeternum"—the chamber sealed in blinding light as the world burned.
219 Years Later
The vault doors groaned open.
Dust drifted through ruined corridors lined with faded Vault-Tec posters. Emergency lights flickered against steel walls scarred by time. Systems long dead sparked back to life as a surge of ancient magic pulsed outward like a heartbeat.
The pod hissed.
Ice shattered.
Harry Potter stepped out.
He did not cough. He did not stumble.
His eyes glowed faintly with controlled power.
He was unchanged. Unaged. Magic thrummed through him at levels no wizard had ever reached—every spell mastered, every branch of magic perfected. He was not just a wizard anymore.
He was something else.
A platform rose from the floor before him, revealing a suit of power armor unlike anything the wasteland had ever seen. Forged from a hybrid of goblin-forged metals, enchanted dragonhide lining, and reverse-engineered Enclave schematics, it shimmered with runic etchings across its plating.
It was indestructible.
No ballistic round. No plasma blast. No Fat Man detonation could scratch it.
The helmet sealed over his face with a whisper of magic.
On his wrist, a device flickered to life—a modified Pip-Boy, but far more advanced. The screen displayed a name:
PIP-POINT: MASTER ARCHIVE
Within it were blueprints for every known faction and weapon: Brotherhood schematics, Enclave data cores, Institute synth designs, railgun prototypes, even vault override codes for every Vault-Tec shelter ever constructed.
Every door in the wasteland could open for him.
Every weapon could be built.
Every faction could fall.
As he stepped out of the vault into the ruined world, Geiger counters clicked wildly—then fell silent as the radiation bent around him, repelled by passive magical wards.
In the distance, the shattered skyline of what had once been Boston stood beneath a blood-red sunset.
The wasteland did not know what had just awakened.
But it would.
Because the Boy Who Lived had slept through the apocalypse.
And now?