A decade with the Dursley's wasn't enough to beat the fight out of Harry Potter. Seven years at Hogwarts dedicated to taking down a Dark Lord couldn't keep him down. But five years in the Auror Corps was all the young man needed before he started to notice that he still looked like a teenager.
He took it well and property damage was kept to a minimum. However, Minister Shacklebolt had been annoyed when he was forced to use Obliviate Rain on London after the Muggle authorities finally caught the mildly deranged wizard. It was to Harry's chagrin that public nudity laws did not preclude Absinthe and catastrophic news.
After being forced to deliver an Unbreakable Vow regarding unspeakable acts of debauchery, the Man Who Conquered spent a year confirming his worst suspicions with a muggle geneticist. Hermione had been confused about why his research took so long until she discovered the collection of bottles that littered Grimmauld Place.
Harry Potter was functionally immortal.
Of course, a secret of that magnitude took all of a week before an article ran in the Daily Prophet. Many well-wishers passed on their kudos to their hero, exclaiming platitudes of "Cool! You get to stay young forever. That sounds amazing!"
Harry was disinclined to agree. Nowhere in any personal description of his circumstance did the words "cool" or "amazing" come into play.
The crippling loneliness set in as he realized he may forever be cut off from joining the ones he loved. His parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks.
When he finally pulled himself together, more material reasons flittered through his mind. Harry's escapades through Gringotts to destroy one of Voldemort's Horcruxes meant money was a concern. The mere thought of living forever paycheck to paycheck as an Auror suddenly became very unappealing.
However, the normal everyday events could not hold a candle to the abnormal. While some had expressed delight in the thought of their saviour protecting them for all of eternity, others became skeptical. With skepticism came research into immortality. With research came the name Flamel.
Nicholas Flamel had been an untouchable relic. So far removed from history. Hidden in the depths and forgotten.
Despite his reservations on his career path, Harry needed to eat. Until he could sort through the future, the monotony of the present needed to sustain him. His work was regular. His routine was set.
Money changed hands. A senior Auror was complicit. Even the great Man Who Conquered needed a wand.
Harry cursed himself for his mistakes.
Poison. Burns. Cutting curses. It was torture. When they asked him how he had done it, Harry spat blood in their faces. When they removed his left leg above the knee, he screamed his throat hoarse.
Magic seemed to want Harry to survive. His captors had a vested interest in learning what he himself did not know. So he was kept alive. When his body began to heal, the men that faced him became gleeful and started all over again. Harry lost count of how many fingers he regrew. One particularly sadistic man had even made a macabre necklace of teeth.
Harry did not give in to hopelessness. One day after he had felt he was whole again, a polished piece of wood appeared in his hand. The Elder Wand sang in delight.
Torture and dismemberment had been a good impetus to resign as an Auror. He tendered his resignation to Minister Shacklebolt by dropping Auror Dawlish on the man's desk. Harry was in a charitable mood for traitors that day. He only left with a necklace of teeth.
When Harry tried to get drunk that night to forget the nightmares, he found an exercise in futility. His body purged toxins too quickly.
The man's friends invited their battered companion to stay in their home. His goddaughter was turning three and adored him. He declined. People were still looking for him.
Hermione suggested going back to school under a pseudonym. The idea appealed to Harry. He worked as a waiter while he put himself through University. But eventually, three Masteries, a Doctorate, and a teaching certificate were all he could take. While the man still looked like a teen, he found himself more and more akin to Rip Van Winkle.
Ron's advice was to see the world. Backpacking across Europe. A pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Buddhist shrines throughout Asia. It was relaxing for a man that so desperately needed a vacation. Sex without strings attached helped.
But, here and there between his long term goals and projects, Harry would pop in across the world. Sometimes, it would be to get information on a random spell. Other times for a quick shag with the local talent. Mostly, it was to put a smackdown on an up and coming moron or terrorist cell.
After a lifetime of fighting for his life, Harry found that despite his best wishes he could not stop finding trouble. He couldn't live with myself if he let the occasional bad guy take free reign. Hermione had once called it his "saving people thing". George Weasley set up a family betting pool and placed even odds that he had gone a bit crazy. At the very least, the saviour made sure he remained discrete. He didn't want more attention.
When England invariably became host to an up and coming Dark Lord, Harry was amused.
Apparently, the mythos of Harry Potter had grown to such an extent in a couple decades, the younger generation believed he was a fictional character made up by the "blood traitors" to control the Purebloods.
Luna had spent an inordinate amount of time preparing the Muggle world for the inevitable cessation of the Statute of Secrecy. Harry particularly liked the movies. He felt Daniel Radcliffe was spot on all throughout and especially enjoyed the glazed look in the actor's eyes when he was drunk on set for the added bit of realism.
Of course, the obligatory the Dark Lord is dead after-party thrown by Minister Granger-Weasley was a bit awkward. Harry had been satisfied with himself until he learned he had woken up next to a blonde 1/8th veela and her redheaded cousin on the other side.
Victoire and Rose had decided they would share their "Uncle" Harry. With the festivities underway, he had made an honest mistake. The last time he saw them, they were in their nappies and struggling to sit upright.
The only thing that stopped Ron and Bill from attempting to kill the immortal wizard was the fact they got tired of watching him regenerate his spleen.
Harry tried to assure his brothers in everything but blood that it was only a one time thing. The mental age differences bothered him and the physical ones in people his actual age were off putting. Somehow, this did not appease the Weasley brothers and Harry felt another couple decades researching esoteric magic would be worthwhile.
Headmaster Longbottom allowed the green eyed savior to slum around Hogwarts after that. The deterrent of an immortal legendary wizard living in the castle was felt to be useful. Harry took advantage of a few of the old classes he had missed the first time around.
Spells started to make a lot more sense to him with Ancient Runes and Arithmancy in his repertoire.
Harry also enjoyed the trust that came from one of his old friends around impressionable youth. Though, he supposed it also helped that he swore an Unbreakable Vow not to corrupt anyone not of age. The faculty never did figure out why becoming a 7th year suddenly unleashed a person's inner prankster.
It was a nice summer day, a Tuesday, when Hermione died. Harry was developing a ward scheme. It blew up in his face when the House Elf told him the news. The poor dear became quite frightened until the man re-grew his nose. It was a more disgusting party trick than Tonks' pig snout by an order of magnitude.
The old spell damage from Dolohov had lacerated Hermione's heart and made it much weaker than it should have been. It robbed decades of her life. She and Ron never told Harry about the extent of the damage. Partly, they did not want their friend to blame himself for something that could never be fixed and partly, because of his bouts of self-imposed exile.
Harry cried hard that day.
It wouldn't be the last time he cried that hard, but it was probably the most meaningful. He understood his reality as Hermione was lowered into the ground and a pebble appeared in his hand.
He was still the Master of Death.
A/N Update: A reviewer pointed out that first person felt more like a self-insert. Originally the fic was planned to shift perspectives between third person for Fay's scenes and first person for Harry's. I felt that the reviewer had a valid argument and have rewritten everything to the third person.