AN: Hello! Some of you may know me from my other fics, most of you may not. This story is very close to my heart and it will be a work in progress writing, but I promise every single chapter will be worth it.

This story is a post-war fic that follows canon up to a certain point. Ships aren't a priority in this fic but they will happen.

This story will broken into two parts. The first part will be in the perspective of Harry, just like the books. The second part will be in the narrative of Teddy Lupin. I don't anticipate this fic to be very long, though.

Sorry for the long-winded intro, now onwards to the story! xx

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its respective characters belong to J.K. Rowling. This plot line, however, belongs to me.

Remember My Last

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"You're just different now, and there's nothing wrong with that."

-Leo Fitz, Agents of Shield

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Chapter One

Harry Potter, eighteen, sat stiffly in a wooden chair as he stared at the man before him.

The man in question was dressed in deep plum robes adorned with silver shooting stars, a cushioned hat with a golden tassel dangling off the side, and staring at Harry as if he didn't quite know what to do with him.

"Harry Potter."

"Kingsley."

Kingsley's eyebrows rose. "First time I heard you say my first name. It's a bit exciting."

"Yeah, figured seeing a war together brought us closer. Bit of a regal name, isn't it?"

"A bit," Kingsley smiled. He picked up the file on his desk. "Your application was very thorough."

"'Was', sir?"

"Back to 'sir', then?"

"Situation demands it, I think."

Kingsley sighed. "Harry."

"Sir."

"Your application is thorough," said Kingsley, taking the liberty to flip through the pages. "You already have more field experience than most wizards accepted into the academy. Your letters of recommendation—"

"Excellent, from what I was told, sir."

"—excellent," Kingsley agreed. "I was particularly drawn to a lengthy one that had seven different words for 'brilliant'."

Harry's lips twitched into a small, private smile. "I'm happy to hear that."

Kingsley's smiled faded. Closing the file, Kingsley sighed and folded his hands, leaning against the desk. "Harry," he said gravely. "We both know you're more than qualified to enter our Auror academy. My advisors would tell me to bring you in tomorrow, if they knew you were here for an interview."

Harry said nothing.

"Is there a reason you've decided to pursue this career?"

Harry raised a mocking eyebrow. Kingsley smiled wryly and shook his head.

"Let me rephrase. Is there a reason you'd rather work here than finish your last year of school?"

Harry bristled, shifting in his chair defensively. "If it's courses or credits required, I was told it wouldn't matter—"

"It doesn't matter," said Kingsley firmly. "Not for you or your classmates. I'm simply curious as to why you won't consider returning for your seventh year."

"I—there's no need," Harry was bewildered. "I've seen enough. There's nothing they could teach me for a final year when I've lived their lessons already."

Kingsley pursed his lips. Lowering his voice, Kingsley said softly, "Molly told me you moved out three days ago. Is that a factor in your decision?"

"I don't think personal matters are part of the interview, sir," Harry said stiffly.

"Harry…" Kingsley looked at Harry sadly. "It's only been two months. Take a vacation. Grow a garden. I know what it is you're avoiding, and I'm telling you now it's only going to get worse—"

"Look, just tell me straight if you'll hire me," Harry cut him off, then added quickly, "sir."

Kingsley blinked. Uncrossing his fingers, Kingsley leaned back against his chair and closed Harry's file, his charcoal-like eyes piercing through Harry's. "You will be accepted into the Auror academy," he replied, "naturally."

Harry's face lit up with a broad grin. It almost made Kingsley feel a twinge of guilt for what he was about to say next.

"That's great, Kingsley."

"With one exception."

Harry continued to smile.

"You must wait a year before you enter the academy. In that time, I strongly advise you complete your final year at Hogwarts. Once the year is complete, you can walk into this office the very next day if you like."

The smile, as predicted, dropped completely—a grimace-like frown took over instead, leaving Harry's face pinched and angry.

"Go back to Hogwarts? How—why would you want that?"

"It's not what I want. What I want doesn't matter. It's—"

"If you say 'it's what you need'," Harry said warningly.

"It's what you need," Kingsley said sternly. "Nobody, and I mean nobody, is considered for this kind of program two months after a traumatic experience to this scale, not without precautions. You being The-Boy-Who-Lived, however, grants certain privileges, I'm sure you're aware."

"Yeah, that's me. Privileged Harry Potter," said Harry sarcastically.

Kingsley's eyes narrowed. "Of your three reference letters, two expressed concerns of entering the program so soon after the war. One recommended not to accept you at all until you've had time to cope."

Harry gaped. "Cope? I've coped. I've been coping for years, since I was born! I've long since stopped feeling sorry for myself and moved on."

Kingsley sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is my final decision, Harry. What you do in the meantime is your choice. You can go to school or choose not to. Either way, you will have to wait a year before you're formally accepted into the Auror academy."

"Why are you doing this?" Harry pleaded, his body thrumming with rage and hurt that his hands were shaking just slightly. "After all that's happened—after everyone who's died—you need more people. You know that."

Kingsley glanced away, and Harry did not miss the unmistakable look of sadness. "Which is exactly more reason you must wait a year," Kingsley said quietly. "You're not ready."

Harry's nostrils flared as he breathed in and out rapidly, hands clenched into fists. Abruptly he stood, readjusting his formal dress robes, and opened the door to leave.

"Harry," Kingsley called, and Harry paused by the doorway. He stared at Harry with a familiar melancholy, one Harry had seen worn often by Dumbledore. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid."

Harry slammed the door loudly behind him.

-:-

"That can't be right," Hermione shook her head fervently as she rummaged through her bag. "No, it's breaking dozens of amended laws, I'm sure—don't worry, Harry, we'll sort this out."

As Hermione pushed her drink aside and dropped a large book open on the kitchen table, Ron made a noise of sympathy.

"It's messed up, mate. Who in their right mind would reject you from an Auror position? Shacklebolt's gone mental."

"I wasn't rejected, I was—given leave," Harry groused. "Before I was even given the job."

"I've half a mind to go up and see him," Ginny muttered darkly as she peered over Hermione's book. "What's he thinking, not letting you work in the Auror office? They need you, for Merlin's sake."

A loud pop and the clink of the Weasley clock indicated George's arrival, and within seconds the kitchen door opened.

"Evening, lads and ladies. Where's mum?" George asked as he removed a bright pink bowler hat from his head.

"Upstairs in the spare room," said Ginny. A silent exchanged passed between them, and George nodded.

"Let's see if she's up for some tea, shall we?" George said in an overly cheerful voice, and bound for the stairs.

"I'll go as well," Ginny glanced at Harry. His eyes were trained intently on his glass of pumpkin juice. Ron scratched his neck uncomfortably. "Harry, wouldn't you like…"

"Hermione, did you find something?" Ron asked loudly, and Hermione leaned closer to the book until she was centimeters from the page.

"Almost," she muttered, "almost…there!"

Hermione straightened, triumphant, and narrowly avoided a collision with Ron's nose, who had the good sense to jerk back just in time. None noticed Ginny leave the kitchen.

"According to Icthylion's Law, implemented 1st July 1997, 'all students who were aged seventeen during the Battle of Hogwarts are hereby excluded from regulatory requirements of N.E.W.T.s and/or Seventh year accreditation for any department of employment, including but not limited to management, office, field work, or government personnel'—Harry, this is it! Shacklebolt can't deny you entry to the Auror academy!"

"That's the thing, he hasn't denied me," said Harry emphatically. "He's forcing me to wait a year before I start working. That law won't help if Shacklebolt's not breaking it!"

"Then maybe it's for the best," said Hermione briskly, closing the book.

Ron was stunned. "How'd you figure that? Harry's got every right—"

"He does have every right," said Hermione coolly. "But clearly Shacklebolt's not the only one who thinks Harry should wait a year. All three of his recommendations said he won't be able to handle it!"

Hermione's words cut him deeply. "I can handle it," Harry said testily.

Hermione turned to Harry, and her expression softened. "Nobody doubts that," she said gently. "But they have a point. It's too early. The war only just ended, and we're all still trying to recover. The last thing anyone needs is more stress. Not without the proper time to readjust." She stuffed the book back into her bag, scowling when it took a particularly harsh shove to force the book inside. "Frankly, I agree with Shacklebolt. You should come back to Hogwarts."

"Fat chance," Ron snorted, leaning lazily against the chair.

"You should be coming back for your final year, too," Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously at Ron. "You don't even have a plan of what you'll do now. Finishing school would at least give you time to think about it while also learning new material."

"I told you I'd help Mum and Dad out," said Ron defensively.

"Getting your diploma will help them even more," Hermione shot back.

"Guys, please," Harry said weakly as they bickered over each other. "Let's not discuss this anymore."

Unwillingly, they dropped the subject. Ron and Hermione still shot glares at each other as Harry took a long sip of pumpkin juice, staring out the window and watching the sun slowly dim in the sky.

"So, er," Hermione started, "have you talked to Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry groaned inwardly. "Not more than what you see every day," he said uneasily. "I didn't realize how upset she'd get when I moved out. Ginny thinks I ought to say something but I don't know what else is left."

"You can't blame Mum for being upset," Ron said quietly. "After everything…and when you decided to leave, she felt she lost you too."

"She hasn't!" Harry exclaimed, frustrated. "I told her it wasn't anything she'd done, I just—just need someplace for myself, you know? The burrow will always be my home, but she can't've expected me to stay here forever."

"Expected more than three weeks," Ron muttered. Hermione glanced between them worriedly. Harry felt the distinctive urge to shout, to say they had it all wrong, but before he could get another word in, the sound of people rushing down the staircase filled the kitchen.

"Harry!" Molly's arms were outstretched and Harry stood to welcome them, engulfed in a warm hug that seemed to relieve some of the tension in his muscles. "You're here for dinner, how wonderful! Arthur should be here any minute. I'll get the chicken roasting."

"Mum's been doing some cleaning," George patted her fondly on the shoulder, leaning down to drop a kiss on her cheek. Harry's insides coiled with guilt when he noticed the redness around Molly's eyes. "We found her elbow-deep in dust."

"It has to be done," said Molly firmly, taking out several pans. "Now that there are fewer people living here, everything's gathered dust and dirt, absolutely filthy, I had to do something…"

"Did you find anything to help Harry's case, Hermione?" asked Ginny as she sat next to Harry.

"No," said Hermione wistfully. "I don't think anything can be done."

"Ginny told me what Shacklebolt said," Molly noted as she took out a large knife and began slicing some onions. "He means well, Harry. He's only looking out for you."

"Yeah, well, his concern is leaving me unemployed," said Harry shortly.

"Well I'm not going back," Ron crossed his arms proudly. "You'd have to drag me there. I don't know why you're returning, Hermione, you're overqualified as it is."

"Because, Ronald, I happen to value a full education," Hermione sniffed. "There's seven years for a reason."

"I just realized, we'll be the same year," said Ginny mildly, and the two girls grinned at each other.

"I'm not going," Harry said to himself, staring down at his hands. "I don't need it."

-:-

They stared at each other for a long time before the silence broke.

"It's good to see you, Potter," McGonagall's Scottish accent came strongly as she smiled at him.

The office was untidy, but Harry could tell McGonagall was seeing to fixing that; stacks of worn books lined the walls while empty portrait frames were shoved in the far corner of the room. The only portrait that remained on the wall behind McGonagall's desk was of Dumbledore, who was snoring softly in his frame. Most of Dumbledore's trinkets and whirring contraptions were gone—Snape's doing, Harry thought—and he could make out a small, porcelain plate lying cracked and forgotten under a rug. He could have sworn it purred.

Harry finally looked away from the office and back to McGonagall. "It's good to see you too, Professor."

McGonagall considered him lengthily. "I assume you've come with questions."

"Just the one," said Harry. "The reference letter you wrote for me. You were the one who advised I wait before entering the Auror academy."

McGonagall did not bat an eye.

"I told you in your fifth year, Potter, that I would go to great lengths to ensure you became an Auror. I still hold to my word." Her eyes narrowed, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. "It is my belief that entering the academy at the present moment will not help you achieve that goal."

Harry's shoulders tensed, before deflating completely. McGonagall didn't believe in him either. Normally he would be stung, but all he felt…was an overwhelming emptiness.

"You think coming back will help me?"

McGonagall nodded, watching Harry carefully as he stared past her at Dumbledore's portrait. "This school still has lessons to teach you, Potter. As do I."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Fine," he said finally. "I'll return to my seventh year." Before McGonagall could get a word in, Harry said quickly, "But I have some conditions."

McGonagall glared. From behind her, Albus's portrait said merrily, "A true Gryffindor indeed!"

-:-

Harry closed McGonagall's door and whirled around, only to crash into a wall.

The wall had ginger hair and lanky limbs, with a slack-jawed stare that made Harry start to laugh uncontrollably when he gathered himself off the floor. The wall was far too embarrassed to do much else than shrug.

-:-

Hermione's smile was so wide that Harry was convinced it would prance off her face and parade around the room, if only Ron had not glared so intently.

"Don't you dare say it, Hermione. Don't you dare do it," Ron hissed, his ears bright pink.

Hermione mimed a zip pulling over her lips, but the smile remained as she took a sip of water.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione turned to him with genuine concern. Harry gave a questioning look. "Do you know where the pot and the kettle are?"

-:-

It was raining hard when the train pulled into Hogwarts station, thick, fat sheets of rain pounding the paved road in turbulent ripples; the wind howled against the shadowed mountains and a streak of lightning illuminated the thestral-drawn carriages, as well as a towering half-giant that stood before them.

"Firs' years!" Hagrid's voice boomed over the thunder, holding up a large lantern. "Firs' years, this way!"

Harry kept his hood drawn, shivering against the chill that settled in his bones. Hermione and Ron were at his side and clinging to his arms, the three of them huddled together as they made their way onto a carriage. Harry did not need to consider if they could see them, if the other returning Seventh years could see them, if the little ones who had been first years during the war could see them; there were no shocked gasps, no looks of wonder as the carriages began moving.

The Great Hall was warm, and Harry heard several sighs of relief. Turning his own wand to himself, he spelled his robes dry and rubbed his frozen hands together. He didn't notice the crowd until he stuffed his wand back in his pocket and took off his hood.

Ginny, Neville, Luna, Seamus, Dean, and the Patil twins were around him in an instant; beyond that, there were many faces he recognized and dozens of others he did not; snatches of "Harry Potter" "the savior" "saved us all" surrounded him until a dull throbbing began in the back of his head. Harry backed away and sucked in a shallow breath, his eyes wide, and suddenly felt himself unable to move. He could hear Ginny, Neville, and Dean shouting at them to back away, felt Luna's reassuring touch as she said things he didn't quite hear.

A large hand clamped onto Harry's shoulder and roughly yanked him forward. "Oi! On with yeh! Let him breathe!"

Stricken by Hagrid's fierce glare, the crowd scattered to their tables. Neville and the rest looked at him solemnly as they retreated.

Harry looked up at Hagrid. "Thanks," he rasped, rubbing his shoulder.

"No worries. Was hopin' the students would still treat yeh like another student, but when have they ever, eh?"

"Usually when they hate me," Harry said dryly. "They've been consistent with ignoring me then."

Hagrid smiled. "It won' come ter that this year. Will the three o' yeh be stoppin' by the hut tomorrow for tea?"

A rush of familiar warmth filled Harry's veins, and he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. "Yeah, just like always. Seven o'clock?"

Hagrid nodded, and his eyes went watery. Harry's smile dropped and regarded Hagrid with worry. "Hagrid, are you…?"

"'M fine," Hagrid sniffed, and hastily wiped his eyes. "It's good ter see yeh again, Harry."

Hagrid sauntered back to the staff table and Harry took a seat by Ginny, looking troubled.

When he heard the Hat's song, when he heard McGonagall's start-of-term speech, when he heard the short memorial for all the loved ones lost mere months ago, Harry knew he had neatly settled himself into another year of Hogwarts in its truest fashion. The thought left him feeling…tired.

A prickly sensation rose on the back of Harry's neck, and he turned his head. Across the room at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was staring at him.

Malfoy looked away when their eyes connected, staring back at the students getting sorted.

Some things, it seemed, would never change. And Harry was damn relieved he made that deal with McGonagall before re-enrolling.

-:-

Hope you liked this so far. Please review if you enjoyed, it would mean a lot xx