Blue
.4.20.
The war was over. The Dark Lord was dead. People throughout Great Britain, Europe, and really the entire world, were celebrating. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived not just once, but twice. Defeater of the Dark Lord, no longer a boy, but a man. The Man-Who-Lived-Twice, the Man-Who-Conquered. There wasn't anyone who didn't know his name now, and it was a name thrown up into the air with cheers. There were crevices, specks of society, who were glum and going into hiding, crying- not because of lost loved ones, but because they lost. Everything they wanted in the world would never come to be.
But Harry, the Man-Who-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord, didn't know what to do with himself.
He didn't desire to become an Auror anymore. He didn't want to spend his entire life fighting Dark wizards, but it seemed it might be the only thing he's any good at. His friends were moving on. Hermione was going back to school. Ron was granted immediate entry into the Auror Office. His godson, Teddy, was being taken care of by his grandmother Andromeda- he had no use for Harry. No one did, not anymore. Sure, people smiled at him and tumbled over their own feet to help him, but, no, that's not what he wanted. He didn't know what he wanted now.
There wasn't anything left for him to do. He hit his peak at seventeen. The person who defined his entire life- the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle- was dead. Gone. Never to be back again. There was nothing left to tell help him determine what he should do.
Ginny was there, but she didn't get it. "Harry, he's dead, you should be happy." She scolded. Harry didn't know how to explain the hopelessness he felt, and dare he use hopelessness together in a sentence in Voldemort that didn't concern his effects on the world; "Harry! He's a horrible man! He's dead! Be happy! Happy!"
Ron and Hermione did their best to help, but they had their own lives. Harry couldn't expect them to help him.
"You just need to figure out what you like." Hermione said. "Something that makes you happy. What about Quidditch?"
"Maybe." Harry shrugged.
"Become an Auror, maybe fighting Dark wizards will help. Like fighting Voldemort." Ron suggested.
"I wasn't happy fighting." Harry said and he believed it.
Weeks twisted into months and months morphed into years. Harry bounced around, moving place to place and job to job. He babysat Teddy and sent him gifts at least twice a week. When Hermione and Ron married, he was the best man. He was there at the Weasley family reunions, the only place he seemed to fit in anymore. He became a godfather again when Hermione gave birth. The only things he never let go were the photos of his friends, his godchildren, and his parents. Secretly, he kept old newspaper clippings of Voldemort he looked at sometimes, and all of the man's old Horcruxes, except for Nagini (the Dark Lord was buried with his beloved familiar).
Time was nothing to Harry. Ginny visited him when she became engaged, asking if there was anything he wanted to tell her. He said no. She began to cry and left. He wondered if he could've made a life with her, but thought not. He couldn't marry someone and possibly even have children, knowing he couldn't be happy with them. He couldn't place the burden of a unhappy husband and an unhappy father onto anyone. Ginny deserved better.
Harry left Great Britain when he was nearing thirty. He retraced the Dark Lord's steps across the world as he knew it.
He first used the Killing Curse three years into his journey, to kill an acromantula attempting to make a meal out of him. He started using it a lot more then. Believe it or not, Harry didn't realize it when he began using more and more Dark magic.
Contentedness seeped into his bones while he traveled, learning magic and practicing it every chance he got. He competed in dueling arenas, professionally and legitimate and not. He spent a year across Texas partaking in illegal, underground tournaments. He fixed Slytherin's Locket, placed the stone into a new ring, repaired the Diadem and the Cup. He wore the ring and the Locket, always. When he opened the Locket, there was a damaged, still-moving portrait of Tom Riddle. He sometimes asked it stupid questions ("What's your favorite color?" "Do you like dogs or cats more?") but it never answered him. Sometimes, he talked to Severus. Sometimes he talked to Sirius. Sometimes, Remus. Occasionally, his parents. He couldn't face his parents, he didn't think they'd be proud of him as a nomad with no real presence in the world.
Harry did go back to Britain time to time, for his godchildren's birthdays and for the occasional holiday. He always sent gifts and letters. He didn't disconnect himself from his friends and family, not so much that he forgot about them. But, he never stayed for longer than a day. Not until he was in his fifties.
He came back. Ron was balding and Hermione was the Minister of Magic with thick bunches of white hair. His godchildren were adults and making their own families. All eager to welcome him.
"Merlin Harry, I can't believe you haven't got a grey hair yet. " Ron commented. "Keep waiting for something, but you look as young as you did when we were in our twenties!"
"Not even a wrinkle." Hermione said, frowning.
Harry shrugged. "I must be aging well." He said. He didn't think about it.
Then they noticed the Locket.
"You're wearing his Horcrux." Hermione said.
"It's not a Horcrux anymore." Harry ran his fingers over the gold. "It's just a necklace."
"Then why wear it?" Hermione asked.
"Why not?" Harry said.
He was back for a long time. He was surprised when his contentedness didn't fade. He continued to study there, began tutoring the newest generation of Weasley's and Lupin's. He watched them grow up, marry, have more kids. He taught them, too. Decades became an entire century.
And Harry still looked like he was eighteen.
And, no, Harry didn't know why he broke into Dumbledore's tomb until he was picking up the Elder Wand and leaving.
He didn't know why he went to the Dark Lord's hidden grave, either, until he was crying- Ron died. Hermione was a mess, sure to follow soon. Teddy was getting older, so was Rose and Hugo. Harry didn't know what to do. He couldn't watch them die anymore. It hurt too much, but he didn't want to leave again. It felt like the Dark Lord was the only one who would listen.
The rest of the story's a blur. Harry used the stone. Voldemort insulted him, but listened, until they were talking together. Then Voldemort was a ghost, then he wasn't a ghost. He was solid, cooing and petting Harry's hair while they sat together over his grave. Harry took him to Hermione's funeral. Everyone asked who he was, Harry introduced him as Tom Riddle. People nodded. "Happy you found someone." Teddy told him, patted his shoulder.
Harry wasn't entirely sure his life had a rhythm or beat, not even when centuries became a millennia and Voldemort was still there, a forever friend, with his Death Eaters (again) and ruling over a greater half of the world.
They played chess every night at nine.