Harry took care of Teddy as best he could, answered fan mail…and that was it.
Technically, he was still fixing up Grimmauld Place, by destroying the odd dark artefact he'd find, but they were few and far between. Sirius had done all the work in months before his death, and as a result the house had a brightness to it that Harry suspected it never had before.
Harry glanced at Teddy, who was sleeping soundly in his crib. A colourful, magical solar system model set floated over the baby's head, that Harry himself had enchanted. Teddy clutched a plush blue bear, which had been Tonks' last gift to her child.
The depressing thought made Harry think of his own Mother.
Many times, Harry had been told that he had his Mother's eyes. It was a remark, that he only understood as he grew up, wasn't merely comparing a physical similarity, but rather a remark on his similarity with her character. The eyes were windows to the soul, after all.
His Mother had been brave, kind and selfless, and Harry was honoured by the comparison.
But lately, with a frequency that surprised him, he was being compared to a different individual.
He struggled with it.
Teddy twitched, and Harry watched, amused, as Teddy's hair changed colour from turquoise to the exact sky-blue shade of the bear's fur. Harry smiled melancholily, the action never failing to remind him of Tonks.
Harry shifted back and forth in his rocking chair like an old man, and his mind continued to wander. It settled on his friends, as it so often did.
His friends were quite busy.
Hermione and Ginny had gone back to Hogwarts. Ron had jumped into Auror Training as soon as he received the offer, relishing the opportunity to sit out his NEWTs. Neville had as well.
Shacklebolt had sent out offers to all the accomplished duellers of the Battle of Hogwarts. The Auror department had gotten sizeably larger.
As for Harry, his offer remained untouched, collecting dust at the bottom of his bedroom cupboard.
He had been toying with a different letter, though.
The newly instated Headmistress McGonagall had sent it to him.
Harry's lips curved upwards, wryly. He didn't think he would get used to her having that title.
The thought made him think of Dumbledore, and his stomach roiled.
People looked up to him, like they did Dumbledore. He had received an Order of Merlin, First Class, as Dumbledore had, and for the same reason too.
Harry didn't think he merited the comparison.
The public didn't seem to understand that taking down Voldemort had been a collective effort. Dumbledore had stopped the war against Grindelwald single-handedly.
He remembered the old O.W.L examiner, who had said Dumbledore at fifteen, had done things never seen before.
Harry knew his magic was exceptionally powerful, and that he was a fierce fighter. Yet skill wise, Harry was willing to bet he could study for the next ten years and still be outclassed by a fifteen year old Dumbledore.
Even Hermione knew more spells than he did, and she had no Dark Lords or Triwizard Tournament's to force her development. Though, Harry allowed himself, Hermione also knew more magic than Ron, a pure-blood raised around magic, so perhaps it was a moot point.
Whether rational or not, the mixture of public pressures and personal insecurity had put Harry into something of a limbo state. The infinite possibilities paralyzing him into inaction.
Harry imagined what Dumbledore would say to him.
Probably something about love.
Still, there was only one way to be sure. Harry began to write a letter back to Professor McGonagall.
—-
"Harry! How wonderful to see you!" Dumbledore beamed at him.
Harry smiled at the portrait, relaxing for the first time since entering Hogwarts. Even reduced to a painting, Dumbledore managed to make Harry feel safe.
Harry's shoulders sagged, and McGonagall took note, "Take a seat, Potter."
She smiled grandly at him from Dumbledore's chair.
Harry sat opposite her, in the seat he had sat in so many times as a student. He looked uncertainly at the Headmistress.
"Oh," She said, her smile slipping off her face, "my apologies. I didn't know this was meant to be a private conversation."
She hurried awkwardly out of the room.
The door shut with a soft click, and Harry was alone with Dumbledore. As alone as he could be, he mentally amended, choosing to ignore the other portraits eavesdropping while pretending to sleep.
"What should I do with my life?" It was a broad question, Harry knew. But it was also an honest one. He was interested to see where Dumbledore took it.
Dumbledore spread his hands, "The world is your oyster. What does your heart tell you?"
Harry's smile turned tired. "I got an Auror-training offer. I wouldn't even have to sit my NEWTs. On the other hand, Professor Mcgonagall thinks I should teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. But really…I don't know."
"You do. At the very least, you know better than me," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement.
Harry acknowledged the statement with a dip of his head, before saying, "People always compare me to you, now."
"I am most flattered," replied Dumbledore.
Harry laughed, and perhaps it was a touch bitter, because Dumbledore frowned.
Dumbledore continued, "I mean that most sincerely-"
Harry interrupted him, "I'm not a fraction as strong as you were. And…I'm not as good as you think I am, either. I've used the Unforgivable's, Professor. In these very halls, I tortured Amycus Carrow for spitting at Professor McGonagall."
Dumbledore hmm'd and closed his eyes.
"Well?" Harry said, "Aren't you going to say anything?"
Dumbledore cracked open a single eye and peered at Harry, "My dear boy, I am thinking."
Harry fell silent, a little embarrassed.
"Your life has been shaped by the crucible of war." Dumbledore said at last. "A most horrible and difficult ordeal."
Dumbledore paused, "Many young men struggle to return to society post war. Filled with scars and pain, and no enemy to take it out on. I suspect that is the true reason Kingsley has offered Auror positions to so many wizards, regardless of their magical ability. It is a way of acclimating them, so to speak."
Harry tried to wrap his head around the idea. It made sense. No matter how brave Neville had become, he still wasn't first class at magic. Certainly not good enough to get a NEWT in potions, a requirement for an Auror's position.
Dumbledore explained further, "By putting them in the Auror training program, they can continue focusing on their enemies, but only in the hours of their job. They will go out for late dinners with their supervisors, chat over coffee in the mornings, and slowly their fractured war-mentality adjusts incrementally to the idea that they are no longer at war, merely at a job, albeit an important, and dangerous one. Only then do their scars begin to heal more permanently."
"I don't think I need the…adjustment. I'm alright as I am." Harry said.
"If you were, you wouldn't be here, going far out of your way to talk to a portrait. But," Dumbledore said with emphasis, "I do not believe you need to become an Auror to adjust. It is merely one way. As for Professor Mcgonagall's offer, I think you would be a wonderful Defence Professor. After all, you already have a years more experience than anyone else who's ever applied for the position."
Memories of Dumbledore's Army floated into Harry's head. Inexplicably, he remembered kissing Cho Chang. He cleared the thought out of his head.
"So you see, Harry, I do not think there is a decision you can make here, that I would discourage you from. And so again, I come to the conclusion, that you must follow your heart."
Unbidden a phrase bloomed on his lips. It seemed horribly childish, and Harry wrestled to control his to tongue. But Harry's restraint had never been a great quality of his, and it had only worsened after the War.
"My heart wants me to be like you, Professor." Harry blurted.
There was a moment of silence, and Harry stared at his shoes.
"Harry," Dumbledore said heavily, and Harry looked up to see Dumbledore's eyes were watery.
Dumbledore quickly regained composure though, and said, "When I defeated Grindelwald, I was already the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. I simply returned to my post. But when I was your age, after the death of my sister, I traveled the world, and conducted magical research. I apprenticed with the best masters, and stumbled upon the twelve uses of Dragon's Blood. I learned about magic, in near all it's forms. I indulged myself in my academic interests, a practice in truth I never let go of. I became quite the formidable duelist as well. It was more common back then, but I frequented duelling centres all around the world, and won galleons off any wizard who thought they stood a chance."
Dumbledore and Harry shared a laugh at that. Harry couldn't imagine being the unlucky soul who bet against Dumbledore, only to find themselves helpless at the business end of his wand in mere moments.
Dumbledore continued, "In short, I did what I pleased. And that is the path I advise to you."
"I guess I'll take a holiday then." Harry said, testing the word out, "Not a magical learning one…Just a trip to somewhere sunny…with nice beaches. A muggle place, too, so nobody recognizes me. I think, I also do want to become more skilled at magic, but I don't feel like finding a master. I'd rather teach it to myself, but I don't know where I'd start."
"A budding autodidact," Dumbledore nodded approvingly, "Best if you stick away from potions and healing in that case. Additionally, I don't believe you could further yourself much in the ways of Defense Against the Dark Arts without a Master. Transfiguration, while my specialty, is rather dangerous without supervision as well. The best and safest course would be Charms."
"That sounds alright, actually…But I will do some transfiguration. I want to be an Animagus." Harry replied, not knowing it was true until he said it. It was advanced transfiguration, but his Father and godfather had both done it, and perhaps it was foolishly sentimental, but Harry thought he ought to continue the legacy.
Dumbledore smiled at him, and Harry continued, emboldened.
"And I want to duel too. I've always enjoyed it." Harry said, now warming up to the ideas.
"Duelling in an arena is different than what you are used to. You must defeat your opponent without causing severe harm, or bringing down a room. It is skill oriented, rather than relying on power." Dumbledore warned.
"I know, I was in the duelling club in year two. I know the rules." Harry said, confidently, "I'll learn some more charms, come up with a few strategies. I'm already great with the Disarming Charm."
"True," Dumbledore said, smiling, "you are talented, Harry, and I'm sure you'll go far. Becoming an Animagus, visiting the muggle beaches of the world, and becoming an even greater duellist than I, are all worthy interests."
"Greater than you?" Harry echoed.
"Surely, Harry, you won't be contented with a second place finish. As long as I've known you, you've had the true spirit of a competitor. When you participated in the Triwizard Cup, although you nobly sacrificed the second event for Gabrielle Delacour, I saw in you the desire to win."
After a moment, Harry chuckled, "You're right. Sometimes it's like you know me better than I do."
Harry thought of how he had raised the Quidditch Cup, and the elation he felt wrapping his hand around the snitch. The joy and freedom he felt in flying, too. It gave him another idea.
"And," Harry said at last, "I want to learn how to fly."
Dumbledore looked at him curiously, and Harry remembered that this portrait of Dumbledore had no idea that Voldemort could fly. Still, it felt nice to have confused Dumbledore.
Harry expanded, "Not with a Broomstick. Unassisted. Flight with no magical aides. I'll figure it out."
Dumbledore clapped his hands, "Then it appears you will have your hands full for quite a while."
Harry felt like he could fly already. He had come into the office, and had spent so much time with the agonizing decision of what he should do. Now he realized that it was the wrong question to ask.
He was now at the stage of his life where he could do things because they were interesting and fun, rather than doing them because they were right and good.
A small part of him perceived these new ideas as dereliction of duty, but the larger part of him thought that his duty was done the moment Tom Riddle's soulless body had hit the floor of the Hogwarts courtyard.
Harry grabbed a lemon drop that was sitting on the table. Harry suspected Professor McGonagall had kept them there to honour Dumbledore. He popped one into his mouth, and sucked on it, savouring the sour taste.
Harry got up, "I think I'll buy a few of these as well. Thank you, Professor. This was really helpful."
Dumbledore waved him off, "Take as many as you like. It's a pleasure to talk with you, as always."
Harry scooped a handful of lemon drops and stuffed them in his pocket, and walked out of the room. As he closed the door, he heard the rest of the portraits erupt into chatter.
He walked down the stairs, where Professor McGonagall was sitting on the windowsill, curled up as a cat.
As soon as she saw him, she transformed, "How was it, Mr. Potter?"
"Brilliant." Harry said with a grin.
Professor McGonagall looked at him appraisingly, "Will you be joining us next Fall, then?"
"No," Harry shook his head, "I'll be at the beaches."
Professor McGonagall looked taken aback, "Beaches? Mr. Potter-"
Harry interrupted her, "It's alright, Professor. I know what I'm doing. I think."
"What has Dumbledore told you to do?" She sounded exasperated, but resigned to the fact that Harry was declining her offer.
"He didn't tell me to do anything," replied Harry, "good luck finding a Defence Professor, Headmistress."
She smiled slightly at that, "Good luck to you too, in whatever endeavour you find yourself pursuing at the beaches." Her tone turned slightly incredulous at the last part of her well wishes.
"Beaches and lemon drops," said Harry, 'and a few other things,' he finished in his head. "I shouldn't need much luck for that."
She drew him into a hug, which surprised Harry, but he relaxed himself and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She murmured, "If anyone would need it, it would be you."
Harry heard the affection and care in Professor Mcgonagall's voice, and it made him feel warm and fuzzy. He remembered how she had screamed upon seeing his limp body, and how she'd steadfastly taken care of him as his Head of House for six years.
He squeezed a little tighter, and for a moment, felt guilty that he was turning her down, when he owed her so much, and thought to change his mind.
"Thank you," Harry whispered, and instead of saying 'I'll be back,' he said, "Goodbye."