"I would like to see Professor McGonagall," Harry said to the Gargoyles looming over the office which had once been Dumbledore's.
Dumbledore had quit his post as Headmaster a few years prior when his health started failing and Hogwarts only grew more strenuous to him. Don't be mistaken, the man was still an exceptional wizard.
Only, he had gone slightly mad in his old age. Creating odd sorts of enchanted devices, spinning straw to gold, breaking Magical Laws, and Harry bailing him out from afar whilst making sure to avoid him at all costs.
It was likely the most productive Dumbledore had ever been, these last ten years. But Harry had seen none of it. He had to imagine some log cabin in Albania was on fire right now, Albus had always seemed the type to have death contingencies.
Though Dumbledore had tried insistently to get Harry to quit his job and go off with him to realms without faces, people without names. Or it could've been the reverse? Regardless, Harry had never quite bit like he used to.
Their previous Mentor and Apprentice relationship had been much the same in the past. Dumbledore pulled Harry from his classes and they went off on some sort of retreat or to an abandoned ruin or island off the coast of a tropical rainforest with a particularly savage populace of cannibalistic Magicians.
Every time they would escape, and Harry would learn more on his quest to destroy Voldemort. Albus had always impressed upon him that there would be more, that there would be a fight that he could not be present for but Harry would be.
Old Laws, Ancient Magic, it was a hidden and sinister underbelly to all the teaching Dumbledore did. Creeping up slowly until their last lesson where Dumbledore explained that Harry had to die. To dissolve the same Old Magic that protected him upon birth, and to destroy the Horcrux that tethered Voldemort to life.
Harry never learned any of the old laws or ancient spells however, it was all considerably above his Magical paygrade. Something that if Voldemort learned he'd be royally fucked, and if he learned he'd still be royally fucked.
Old Magic was a realm meant for more experienced Wizards, and Harry who had begrudgingly finished his final year at Hogwarts with Hermione still never touched it when he thought he was ready.
He stood in front of the gargoyles for one more moment then sighed.
"I saw the ad in the Daily Prophet, you need a Defence Teacher."
"Appointments only."
"I'm the saviour of the wizarding world!"
"Appointments... only."
These things were harder to talk to than Kingsley who was still sending him owls in an array that would overwhelm even most muggle-raised children with guardians that hated magic.
Grimmauld place was filled with bursting howlers, and Dobby along with Kreacher were having a time of trying to contain them.
"'Arry Potter, in the flesh." Harry was squeezed into a bear hug that awkwardly made him still feel like a child. It was a mess of moleskin overcoat and beard but he could make out who it was that had embraced him.
"Hagrid, beautiful. I need your help with seeing Professor McGonagall."
He inclined his head.
"O' course Harry. Gawp's Third Law," he announced and the Gargoyles hopped aside.
"Thank you, Hagrid."
"No problem Harry. How y' been since, y' know," tears gleamed in Hagrid's eyes. The man had respected Dumbledore with an adoration that Harry had never taken to personally. Dumbledore was too flawed to be adored by anyone that got up very close to him.
"I've been fine Hagrid, how are you though? Dumbledore always said you'd be Hogwart's last line of defence, you don't want him looking down to see this..." The words were manipulated and warped, but Dumbledore could have possibly said something to this effect at some point.
Hagrid blew his nose and patted Harry on his shoulder.
"Thas' a good lad, no need to worry bout' me though. I'll be seeing ya, Harry."
Then the half-giant was off, dead weasels hanging on an equally gigantic spit on his back. Buckbeak's progeny were very hungry these days it seemed.
This was the first time Harry had gone to a Headmaster's door and wasn't immediately told to come in before knocking. He knocked and with a pang hoped to hear Dumbledore's voice, beckoning him in.
Instead, McGonagall's brushed out calmly.
"Come in."
She had not aged a day it seemed. Still, the middle-aged woman that was likely nearing Abeforth's age at this point; she was greying and her eyes were weary. But she had a kept a certain regality to her, a handsomeness that few women could hope to hold once they reached their eighties.
"Ah, Harry." She got up and in an unusual display of affection hugged him.
"How are you?"
"I've been better McGonagall, but I'm managing." No use in lying to this woman, she wasn't a Legillimens but she was a damn sight close. But the drinking was always something he could scoot around, Hermione and Ron sure never knew.
"Truthfully? Albus always said you were not quite as open with your feelings as you let on."
"Truthfully."
"Would you like some tea?" she added quickly as if remembering her manners.
"Please."
She waved her wand and two ornate cups were filled. They steamed across from him and she sipped lightly, though he didn't touch his for the moment.
"Biscuit Potter?"
"No, thank you. As you have probably already presumed I'm here for a reason."
McGonagall inclined her head.
"I would like a job," he said, sipping his tea slowly. If it was possible, McGonagall's lips had formed a tighter line than Harry had ever seen.
"How were you fired?"
"I wasn't fired."
"Then why in heavens would you quit being Head Auror to work at Hogwarts? I'm assuming you'll want the Defence Job?"
Harry knew this was all a formality just by that last statement. They needed a Defence teacher, Harry had received such an outstanding O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. in Defence that it would be insane not to accept him.
She wanted to know why. But Harry's first lesson from Dumbledore was that the truth was a dangerous thing, often more times than the lie you tell to mask it.
"I missed the castle. I missed the environment." All things that were not lies, he had deeply missed Hogwarts and always wanted to find the time to come back.
Unfortunately between his separation with Ginny, which had been about as much a nightmare as a fiery redhead that knew one too many curses with a grudge could be. And his duties as an Auror, he had never quite made it back, not even to help out one of the Defence Professors that constantly rotated in and out.
Of course, Harry knew how to destroy the Jinx on the job. But at this point, it was part and parcel to Hogwarts.
Probability Manipulation at its most simple level, affecting everyone at Hogwarts with the centre of origin being the Defence teacher every time. Unlucky events, things that shouldn't happen. It was breakable, but in some ways, it could be made to work to your advantage.
McGonagall narrowed her eyes speculatively but did not further pursue the line of questioning.
"So am I in?"
"I would be a fool to not, however, there are several rules that you must be privy to and read up on." She handed him a dusty old book.
"I'd brief you if you were any normal person. But I'd like to think that you'd prefer to just have the book and never read it as is usual."
"Thank you, Professor," he smiled through the jab and let himself up, taking in the room around him. It was far different from Dumbledore's old office but possessed its own unique charm to it.
There were several rotating transfigurations lining shelves upon shelves. Leaves turning into small trees, flowers in bowls turning into fishes, fire becoming ice and melting then becoming fire again.
It was also littered with various jars and pickled objects that made his stomach churn. This was the room of an Alchemist, he had underestimated his old Professor.
"I'll see you Sunday?" She added hopefully.
"You will," his voice croaked out a bit less cooly than he hoped. The fact that Dumbledore was dead only served to heave the weight on his shoulders down further.
His mission, he thought as he made his way down the stairs and out the Headmaster's office. It was costly, it would require much more than he had, just like everything Dumbledore had asked him to do.
I am afraid I must ask too much of you as usual Harry, his voice rung through his head, a dead echo that had appeared in reality a handful of times.
Before every flighty temptress, there was a dagger, waiting to sink itself in your back. Enchantments as old as Magic, unbreakable bonds and unbreakable spells, it was all so very nebulous.
He made his way to the portrait of the Fat Lady, yet instead of her, it was Dumbledore now standing in the frame. The large size of the frame stretched the frail headmaster to great proportions.
"Harry," he said fondly, and for a moment Harry looked away from him.
"You've asked too much of me again," he looked at his shoes and his jaw tensed. "You're not even here to do much of the work this time."
Harry looked up to see Dumbledore had a smile playing on his lips already.
"While I am but a memory of Dumbledore, Harry, I can tell you that I have the utmost confidence in you."
"You don't understand," Harry cut off. "This is bigger than Voldemort." All the paintings around him drew in great breaths.
"Is it?" Dumbledore asked inquisitively, his hand stroking his beard.
"Old things, you don't understand. This isn't just good and evil, this is about Magic as a whole Dumbledore."
"Oh, I do very well understand," the old headmaster corrected. "But the Harry you are now is most assuredly more different than the Harry that sulkily came up in my office after his defeat at the hands of a young Tom Riddle."
"What does that even mean!" he all but shouted. "You're cryptic even in death, why does it have to even be me. There are generations of wizards, you've seen them pour in and out."
"Alas, there are," he said softly. "But none are Harry Potter. You may think the things I saw in the battle with Voldemort were flukes, lucky accidents produced by a scared wizard. You, however, are wrong Harry, as I've told you."
"That nonsense again, about training me for the impending doom? I wanted a life, Albus, I wanted a family."
"People like us do not have the luxury of family Harry. I had hoped to see your children myself. You are my son, my brother, and my closest partner Harry. You are now thirty years old and you are being called to something great wizards could not hope to be challenged to."
Both of them did not speak for a moment, Harry had remembered that indeed, Dumbledore had managed to lose far more than him. Harry lost his parents just like Dumbledore, but Dumbledore had them, Dumbledore lost his sister, he lost everything he'd ever cared about.
But never once did the man falter. Not even when his mentor Nicholas Flammel died pitifully in a country over. He was superhuman, he was meant for this, not Harry.
"I take it that you understand what you must do. And that is why you've come here?"
"I do."
"Then I must say one last thing to you. I love you, Harry Potter."
A tear threatened to well in Harry's eye but he staved it off. Not now.
They parted ways and Harry fumbled with something in his coat pocket as he made his way down the grand staircase and into the Great Hall. He had long since found a small crook in the warding that allowed him to apparate directly out of Hogwarts.
It was situated to the middle left of the grand table where all the Professors sat, and was desperately hard to find if you didn't have a good sense for Magic.
With a pop, he was near across the world. To be more specific, America.
While Ron still ran his joke shop with George, it was from home. He was about as silent a partner as you could be while still collecting money. Along with putting in none of the efforts that the other Weasely did.
It was quite a sight how the joke shop had evolved. It became multi-purpose, play pranks, eat interesting candies, and learn some tricks while you're at it.
Not every wizard could cast spells as easily as Harry could, nor apparate across countries like Harry could. But the joke shop provided quite a few defensive use items, that while out of style now had provided the ministry with a bit of protection during the war.
Harry leaned across the fence post and smiled. Hermione was currently playing with their youngest, Hugo. He was already sprouting the ubiquitous Weasely red but was quite a sight prettier than Ron.
He'd be more of a Bill surely. School hero of Ilvermorny, they don't know what will hit them.
"Harry!" she shouted finally making him out. She bounded up the yard and nearly crushed him in a vice-grip hug. While she looked at him a bit sadly, he was thankful she knew better than to ask about Dumbledore.
"Merlin, is that a new scar?" Ron's voice came from inside the house as he was making his way through the screen door. "Mate, I thought you were done with Auror work."
They, of course, were far away from Britain. They didn't know anything about Harry's quitting or the fact that he was now encroaching upon Magic that could very well open the gates of Apocalypse on the wizarding world.
Hermione had gotten an opportunity to move to the American Ministry five years ago because of how much they loved her 'forward-thinking' mindset. Harry shuddered at the thought of having a student like Hermione, she had been a nightmare.
"Workplace hazard," he waved it off as a brunette and red shape hugged his legs.
"You really do need to be more careful," she looked at him severely. "Next thing you know an ear can get blown off!"
"Too caught up in the heat of battle, eh Harry?" Ron punched his arm, Harry pretended to budge slightly and then rubbed it.
"Still a strong right hook, eh Weasely." In reality, Ron had been one of the weakest Auror cadets in the history of the department. Most of his Magical feats were elevated from wartime stress, though the same could also be said for Hermione who now floated around being only a pseudo-savant much to her chagrin.
"So what are you here for Harry, is something wrong?" She gave him a serious look. All of their pretences had faded with the years of Harry dodging around his problems and them attempting to chase after him.
There was an explosive fight at some point in their fifth year where Hermione had used nearly every expletive in the book before kissing him. It was something he wasn't quick to forget, especially now that she had grown into her own quite well.
Motherhood suited her well he noticed as he glanced at the opening in her blouse.
"We should go inside for this," Harry motioned to the front door and both of them nodded seriously.
"Upstairs Hugo, Rose."
"We want to stay with Uncle Harry!" they protested. But in the end at the promise of sweets, they were up in their rooms in no time.
Hermione put the tea on and they all sat down. Ron and Hermione across from Harry. It was like they were back on the Hogwart's express, only with rural America as the setting and a comfortable couch as their seats.
"I quit my job–let me finish," he quickly cut off Hermione's noise of outrage and Ron's whistle of what was most assuredly disapproval.
"Dumbledore has a job for me to do. It's something he left for me," Harry fished out the note from his pocket and placed it on the table. "There are things that I can't explain about this, Dumbledore told me even after his death never to discuss them even with you lot."
"I'm telling you this because..." he rubbed his hands through his hair. "I might not come back from this one."
Hermione's face went white as she read the note, Ron looked at Harry in disbelief.
"He can't be serious Harry. You told us about this in your Fifth year, this could... this could."
"End Magic, yeah."
"We have to go with you."
"No Hermione, you won't. You have kids now, you have a family. I don't have that luxury," Harry said bitterly as he remembered the portrait's words.
"We're your family mate."
"Remember what we said when you went hunting for the Horcruxes with Dumbledore?"
"I denied you then, I'll deny you now. This is different. This isn't Voldemort, this is Demons, Elves, Fae. These are things you are not equipped to handle.
"Neither of you. Old Magic is something that Dumbledore prepared me for, the only tool a Wizard has in the realms beyond. I won't be going instantly, it'll be a year for now. But in the meantime, I'll be training."
He didn't realize how juvenile he sounded saying that word. When he used it a decade ago to tell Hermione and Ron of what he and Dumbledore were up to, it had sounded somehow majestic and grand.
And Dumbledore tried to make it such. But Harry knew that practising Old Magic wasn't easy, it was the hardest thing he'd ever have to learn. The caveat is that you were also susceptible to death or worse if a spell went wrong. If your head wasn't even the slightest bit clear enough, or if you channelled the spell improperly.
That's why Dumbledore didn't learn it until sixty. And Harry would only start learning it when he became thirty.
He sighed, leaving his cup of tea.
"I'll see you at Dumbledore's funeral."
With a pop, he had vanished again.
"Bloody hell, I still crack like a Pixie when I apparate. Are we going to go after him?"
"I don't think we can."