Harry sends the kids off early the next morning with home made food and pats on the head.
Credence seems reluctant to go but he's always reluctant to go so Harry gives him extra hugs and ushers them all off so they don't miss class. They're going to apparate to the Leaky Caldron and floo to Hogsmeade before sneaking back in.
Harry lets out a refreshed sigh once they're gone. He got all charged up again seeing his cute kids!
However, a week later, Harry is sadly hanging around the Unspeakable's office because he's gotten lonely again. To be more precise, he's inside the library within the third expanded drawer of the Unspeakable's desk.
"You have an entire zoo with you," the Unspeakable deadpans where they're perched on an armchair sipping tea and eating Harry's biscuits.
"Yeah, well, maybe I just like your company," Harry huffs, running his fingers along the spine of the dusty books lining the shelves.
Harry is feeling particularly upset about the Unspeakable's retort actually, so he summons invisibility cloak to throw over businesswoman Death sitting on the couch - the fabric unable to be burned through by the eldritch being and thus safe for Harry to use for extended periods of time.
After Harry ensures all bits of Death are covered, he then flops onto the couch and cuddles the inevitable heat death of the universe.
"I just-" the Unspeakable tries. "I mean, should you be touching that thing?"
"They are actually quite comforting," Harry admits. "Like the numb apathy of fully accepting my mortal end."
"Oh, you won't end," Death says and even sounds like a businesswoman, all bland politeness.
Harry slowly nods along. "And now I'm having an existential crisis."
"I can make it worse," Death offers. "Do you want a panic attack?"
"No, no," Harry says quickly. He mushes his face into the part of the blanket that might be Death's shoulder. "Oh, wow, no. I'm really -ugh- starting to feel it."
The Unspeakable makes a sort of a cooing noise. "Poor thing, first time? Focus on something else, name five different textures you can feel."
"The bleak iciness of Death," Harry sighs. "This silky-smooth cloak. My utmost frustration at you, who are dropping crumbs all over the carpet."
The Unspeakable very deliberately eats the last bite of cookie and brushes their hands off, spilling more crumbs.
Harry sits upright. "And I'm back. Thanks. For nothing."
"You have empty nest syndrome," the Unspeakable explains. "You need something to fill your time now that your day job isn't corralling three tiny world-enders."
"I have a hobby," Harry protests.
"No," Harry tells the snake, lying on the couch and staring up at the boa hesitantly trying to cross from one beam to another when she definitely knows she's too heavy to manage that jump.
The snake rears back and goes for it, sailing across the room in a graceful arc before gravity hits and she belly flops onto Harry, who barely managed to get his arms up in time, spluttering as the breath is knocked out of him.
"I need a hobby."
Harry sprints through the hallway, skidding around a corner earlier than planned at the blockade that form further down by the stairs. He flicks a hand and the guns jam, shots go wide and some bullets curve at the last second to puncture through brickwork.
Harry has gotten better at making it varied because if eighteen people are shooting at him and all the guns miss then that becomes pretty obvious there's a problem.
Harry turns another corner and leaps through a window, the glass rippling around him like water. He throws down a cushioning charm and lands with a roll over the roof of a truck. He drops off the side and his clothes blend into military green and black, his stride smoothing out as he marches.
He crumbles some wooden posts from the inside, causes cracks in concrete, bends metal sheeting, vanishes some important things.
Harry didn't change too much however so when the soldier from earlier spot his green eyes behind round glasses and messy black hair, Harry takes off running again as they give chase. Harry dives into a narrow gap between buildings and uses pressure sensitive sticking charms on his gloves and shoes to climb a wall quickly and rolls up onto the roof. He pauses.
There's a muggle there, a man in civilian clothes.
"Just passing by," Harry offers and walks past towards the rooftop door back into the building.
"I know you're not from here," the muggle says.
"I'm in the reserve," Harry retorts but he stops, turns to face the other man. "Excuse me, sir, but what is your division?"
The muggle is brown haired and grey eyed, dark skin and dressed in a nice suit. Nothing too fancy but he blends in well, stands confidently.
"You must know what they are," the muggle muses. "You're protecting them, and yet you come to places like this and try your hardest to stall."
"I'm not sure you have the right person," Harry says easily.
"Is it because we're muggles?" the man continues. "I hear that argument a lot. There's so many of us, who cares if the wizards wipe out a few hundred thousand. Like killing bugs."
Harry's jaw clenches. "They have done nothing. Yet. They can but they haven't. Why don't you put your effort into this." Harry throws out an arm, encompassing the entire French camp because Harry doesn't discriminate when it comes to sabotage. He goes after them equally to stall all the armies because you can't start a war if your buildings are falling around you.
"Because this is nothing compared to what they do," the muggle retorts.
"So the lives here don't matter?" Harry snaps.
The muggle seems taken aback. "You genuinely believe that. Why…why are you helping them?"
"Because they can do bad things, but they can do even greater!" Harry cries. "And they are, I'm changing things. They're extraordinary, genius children and it would be more efficient to just kill them but I'm not here for efficiency, I'm here for the future where my boys lead people to something incredible."
The muggle hesitates and takes a step forward. "Come with me, back to the leader. Work with us."
Harry only laughs. "You have done shit all to endear me to you. I've seen no part of your organisation that I like. Quite frankly, you can tell your leader to go fuck themself."
Harry spins on a heel and disapparates.
"What do you think a hobby is, Harry?" Albus offers.
"I don't even know anymore," Harry groans where he's flopped face first into the couch.