Enough troubles for a lifetime

With the newborn Fawkes held in his hands, Harry stumbled into the Gryffindor Common Room without knowing the password, but being welcomed nevertheless by the Fat Lady, who already knew of the events that had recently transpired.

Since the dawn that marked the end of Lord Voldemort's reign of terror, the Chosen One had moved restlessly, giving aid to whom he could: removing some of the rubble so that those trapped beneath could be recovered, and composing the many, many bodies that had happened upon his path.

He moved in the familiar Common Room with a faint sense of disbelief coloring his senses: it was as if his mind had remained back on the Hogwarts Grounds, where his body had labored until the sun had reached his zenit and his knees started to tremble at each new step.

Under the light of the morning sun, he had dragged himself despite his mental exhaustion, helping how he could, sidestepping to the best of his abilities the well-meaning pats on his back, the ever-growing awe in the eyes of those that seemed to see him as some sort of messiah, and the few calls for a 'speech' that had left him quite flustered.

Ever so slowly, he climbed up what had been his dormitory, only to seat on the edge of the nearest bed: he knew with startling certainty that if he were to take another step, he would fall on the unforgiving stone floor, and how could he hold onto the warm presence of Fawkes then? His eyes hooded over as he took notice that there were only two beds in the dormitory that should have been his, and as if by magic, his tiredness increased while his mind fatigued to leave behind the strange world he had decided to retire from.

Everyone was already eager to put the ruinous past years behind them, apparently galvanized by the Chosen One's victory, they wanted to take care of the loved ones that they could still help, and to arrange for their fallen. The joy of his victory over the Dark Lord was tempered with grief, and the anguish it brought, but every time the shoulders dropped too low, every time the weight of what had been endured became too much, wizards and witches alike looked at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Harry's Patronus Stag slowly wandered, carrying with it a memory of the White Place where the last Potter had met with whom he was starting to suspect was not Dumbledore.

He sat hunched forward, with his elbows resting on his knees as he peered upon the newborn Fawkes in his hands, some of the ashes marring his skin with grey: "I haven't thanked you yet, have I?"

A joyful chirp was the only answer he received, and his green eyes shed their lost expression as he finally managed to return to the here and now: part of him wanted to go back into the Headmaster's office and talk with Dumbledore's portrait, but after thinking about it, he realized that he had seen enough of the man enough after dying in the Forbidden Forest, and that he had no reason to seek whatever was left of him in the portrait that had been conveniently left empty when he had to view Snape's memories.

"I knew I'd find you here." a familiar voice made Harry turn his attention towards the entrance of the dormitory: and there, frazzled and almost gaunt because of the exhaustion that they shared, was Hermione.

Sluggishly, he gave her a faint smile while he started to seek out the strength necessary to fall back on the bed and surrender to blissful sleep: "Of course." was his only reply. Trust Hermione to notice his absence from the chaotic madness that was going on in the Great Hall, but why would she leave Ron behind?

As if hearing the question that he had barely managed to think about, she stepped forward, and Harry noticed the battered shape of both the Sorting Hat and the infamous purse with the undetectable extension charm: "I stayed as long as I could, but Ron has his family, and you..."

"I can manage."

"You went in the Forest." she accused him flatly, the betrayal in her eyes summoned tears that remained unshed, "You just up and vanished, and you were returned to us as a corpse."

Some life seemed to return to the Chosen One's features then as he gave her a true smile while he managed to straighten himself a bit: "I'm sorry I worried you, but I had to..."

"V-Voldemort believed you dead." the Gryffindor witch had never been accused of being easily distracted, and she took another step forward, her grip on her purse and the Sorting Hat tightening to the point that her knuckled became white: "His whole group believed it, Hagrid believed it."

Harry held back a wince at the memory of the half-giant' tears falling on him as he carried his limp form through the Forbidden Forest, and made a mental note that he'd need to seek out the groundskeeper once he had enough energies for it. "I know." he replied simply, his eyes fixing themselves on the newborn Fawkes that he was still holding in his hands.

"You gave yourself up." her eyes became flinty while her arms trembled, and this time tears fell from her eyes, "You went in there, alone, without warning Ron or me, expecting to die, and given how everyone of them dropped their guard around you, I think you actually died!" she hissed the last few words, outrage clear in her expression as she had to restrain herself from hitting him, "How could you?!"

"If I saw either of you, if I focused on what I was going to lose even for an instant," slowly, Harry placed Fawkes over the pillow at the top of the bed, smiling softly at his annoyed squawk at the faint jostling, "I think I couldn't have done it."

"And why did you think for a single instant that it was a good idea?" the Gryffindor witch crossed her arms, and despite the tiredness that dug deep bags under her eyes and had left her pale, her cheeks reddened with barely contained rage, "We fought to stop him, to stop losing people, to..."

"I think you know why I had to do it." Harry exhaled softly while the memory of his final walk into the Forbidden Forest rose unbidden: the certainty of his heart beating furiously as it measured the moments he had left to live, the whispered words to the Golden Snitch that Dumbledore left him, and the meeting with those that he was going to join soon. Easier than falling asleep.

"I can no longer speak Parseltongue." the Chosen One hinted when he saw that his brilliant friend was refusing to think at her full capacity, "There was a reason why we could see in each other's mind, after all." He traced the scar above his brow with a deliberate movement, dragging Hermione's eyes to it.

Pure horror appeared on her face as she stumbled back, as if struck: "Oh, Harry..."

The pity in her voice was something that he didn't need at the moment, so he simply looked out the nearest window as if he was burned by his friend's concern. Outside, he could see how the midday sun was happily shining above Hogwarts: "You don't have to worry for me, Hermione."

She pursed her lips in obvious disagreement, and simply shook her head: "Nobody else is going to, not now, and I have your clothes in there," she lifted her purse, "and I thought it'd be better to wash away the grime of the fighting and..."

"Hermione," Harry's voice was soft, and the slack in his shoulders paraded his extreme tiredness, "you have your answer now, what's up?"

She bit her lower lip and focused on the newborn Fawkes, not looking him in the eyes as she got to the actual reason why she had sought him out: "I need to sleep, but there are too many people in the Great Hall, and..." unconsciously, she grabbed the forearm where Bellatrix Lestrange had forever marked her with a cursed blade.

The green eyes of Harry Potter seemed to brighten for an instant, as if a spark of rage had ignited anew in his soul, but when he spoke, his voice remained calm and reassuring. Since his death, it felt like he wasn't completely present, like he could only remain forcefully calm in order to not fall apart like he was made of glass: "She's dead, Hermione."

"I know."

He simply nodded in understanding, taking his eyes back to the newborn phoenix in his hands, which had already succumbed to sleep: "You want to set up the tent here?"

With a speed that showed just the insane amount of practice they had with the movements, Harry and Hermione set up the drafty tent that had worked as their home away from home since their infiltration at the Ministry, and it was telling that even as exhausted as they were, they didn't forego the wards that concealed it.

The small amount of energy that the Chosen One had managed to recover by sitting still was spent while they took turns to wash and change into something clean, and as Hermione drifted towards the small 'room' that was left to her, Harry dragged his cot in the main room, and settled down in front of the entrance.

Some tension in the witch's shoulders eased at the quiet gesture of support, and she left both her purse and the battered Sorting Hat on the table next to Harry, who spared a cursory glance to the magical artifact that once promised him that Slytherin would help him on the way to greatness while he placed Fawkes into a makeshift nest made out of a tattered jumper: "Why the Sorting Hat?"

"You just left it on the ground, as well as the Sword of Gryffindor, so I kind of... returned it?" Hermione fidgeted on the tent's flap that led to her room, "It just didn't seem right to let anyone parade them, and we know how useful the Sword can be, and I just didn't think, and your Patronus kind of nudged them when I went close and..."

"My Patronus is still there?" the Chosen One asked with disbelief in his tone while he turned his head to the entrance of the tent, as if he would be able to peer outside it and down the nearest window to seek the stag made of starlight that apparently refused to fade.

"Well, yes?" the Gryffindor witch frowned at the question, "You mean you didn't know? How could you maintain it without thinking about it?"

Harry's eyes became vacant for a moment, and his friend had the feeling that he wasn't fully cognizant of what was going on around him: "It was my first spell... after."

His attention however snapped back to the Gryffindor witch when her expression brightened with curiosity: he could already feel the many questions she was developing about what exactly had happened in the Forest, and if he knew her, about a thousand more topics that he'd never even think about.

"Hermione," Harry's voice calmed her while he grabbed the Sorting Hat and settled down on his cot, facing the entrance of the tent and with his wand ready, "it's okay, we have time now, just go to sleep."

He didn't see her, but he could feel how relieved she was by his easy acceptance of everything that made her herself, and once she had left the main room, Harry thoughtlessly tapped the Sorting Hat with the Elder Wand, muttering "Reparo" under his breath. He felt immediately the humungous amount of power that the Deathly Hallow poured into the simple charm, and he grinned unabashedly at the startled snort of the enchanted artifact.

It was still covered in patches, still, its stitches were clearly visible, still, it showed its venerable age: but where before it was of a dark color that muted into dull grey with the inexorable passing of time, the cloth was now of a rich black.

Without thinking too much about it, Harry laid face up in his cot, and to shield his eyes from the light of the room, he plopped the Sorting Hat over his head so that its brim covered his eyes, and finally, he slept.

An undetermined amount of time later, the Chosen One awoke with his eyes still hidden under the brim of the ancient artifact, and was greeted by a familiar voice: "Harry Potter, I, of course, maintain that Slytherin would have helped you on your way to greatness, but it seems that greatness found you nevertheless."

"Hat." the Chosen One muttered in greetings at the Sorting Hat, which seemed to preen under the wizard's attention, "Thank you for not waking me by dropping that sword on my head."

"You didn't seem in need of the Sword, and I must thank you for restoring me to my previous glory!" the voice of the enchanted artifact spoke clearly in his mind, and still laid out on his cot, Harry could feel the Hat twist about over his head, "I believe that I could instead help you with a new Sorting!"

"I'm happy in Gryffindor," Harry snorted under the brim of his new headwear, "but thank you for the offer, you helped me twice already, we're even."

"I'm a Sorting Hat," the artifact objected, "while I could suggest you another House, if your choice is set I can do nothing about it, but what if I helped you to sort through your thoughts instead? Normally, I wouldn't offer this, but you've restored me to the days in which I was Godric's Thinking Cap! And I'm eager to help!"

"Sort through my thoughts?" immediately, his mind went to the memories of Snape's awful Occlumency lessons, and he moved his right hand as if to grab the hat to toss it away.

"Nothing like that, I assure you!" the Sorting Hat spoke reassuringly while Harry relaxed a bit on his cot, feeling his back cramping slightly because of the uncomfortable position he had taken during the night, "I'm merely offering to help you think."

"Think about what?"

"But of course, about what you're going to do now!" the ancient artifact spoke with certainty then: "You'll be clamored as a hero, and you'll be paraded because of your great accomplishment!"

The distaste for that idea was felt clearly by the enchanted hat, and even before the Chosen One could get started on his reply, the Thinking Cap talked once more: "If that is not of your liking, you should start thinking about what you would like to do, after all, now you no longer have obligations: your life truly belongs to you for the first time, and all doors will be open to the one that vanquished Lord Voldemort."

Harry managed to rise to a seated position, but the Hat wasn't dislodged by his head, and so it poked around his mind: "Ultimately, everything boils down to what you truly want. When you refused Slytherin, you didn't seek greatness, despite it being clearly coming for you. Again and again you threw yourself into danger to protect others, but now that the shadow of the Dark Lord no longer hangs above you, now that you dislike the idea of reaping the fruits of your heroing, what do you wish to do?"

The Gryffindor wizard turned so that his feet landed on the tent's floor, and he adjusted the Sorting Hat so that he could wear his glasses and see once more. Years before, the artifact had been too large for him, and it had completely hidden his eyes when he wore it: now that he was an adult, the Thinking Cap sat perfectly upon his brow. It was telling that only then Harry fully realize that he had grown from the scared eleven years old kid he had once been.

"Will you simply retire from the public world to live off your inheritance and fame, to focus fully on your recently orphaned godson?" the option was discarded as soon as the Chosen One considered it, and fighting off the stabbing grief of the deaths of Lupin and Tonks, the wizard rose to his feet.

"Will you try for a career in Quidditch?" Harry smirked at the thought while he turned to look at the still asleep form of the newborn phoenix, which had remained where he had placed it before laying down on his cot. Maybe there was some merit to that idea, but the wizard quickly discarded it: he had spent his life trying to not be paraded because of his fame, and a professional career in that fantastic sport that was quidditch didn't truly make sense.

Besides, he had loved flying, and the companionship of the team. But that paled in face of the true comradery he already had with Ron and Hermione, and he could go flying on his firebolt at any time he wished.

"Will you become an Auror as you once thought, risking your life on the line of duty?" That option froze him for a moment, as he recalled the absolutely hilarious meeting with McGonagall, during which she had promised clandestine help only to tweak Umbridge's nose.

Thining about Umbridge made him glance down at the scar on his hand: 'I must not tell lies'. Immediately, that set of memories brought up the battle at the Ministry that had cost him Sirius, and like links in a chain, his mind followed the many instances in which he had almost died at the side of his friends, or alone.

"No." he surprised himself with the certainty of that answer, but somehow, he knew it was the right one: "I've had enough troubles for a lifetime."

AN

This chapter sort of concludes the alternative ending of the Deathly Hallows, and with the next one we'll get started with the arc that will take place before the beginning of the MCU proper. I never truly got the versions of Post-Hallows Harry in which he decides to become an auror: 'I had enough trouble for a lifetime' is truly fundamental to his character after Voldemort's defeat. So all the fics in which everything is perfectly canon and he still ends up seeking adventure after the war don't sit all that well with me.

That is one of the reasons why I decided to begin this fic as early as his death in the Forbidden Forest: this chapter was important to take some form of distance from the standard Harry that is somehow happy to talk with Dumbledore's portrait without setting him up as the super lecherous thrill-seeking OP wizard that is somehow so common in all the fics that I've seen placed after the Deathly Hallows. (Also, Harry canonically talks about the Resurrection Stone in the Headmaster's office referring to it as 'the thing in the snitch', while he had just openly explained the nature of the Elder Wand in the Great Hall, and that doesn't make much sense to me, so I simply cut that particular exchange).

This chapter is fully focused on the characters of Hermione and Harry, with only a mention of a relevant act of magic (the patronus) which will be explored later.

Hermione is still herself, ever-curious, always-worrying about her friends, and obviously confronting Harry (because I find it more in character for her to be fucking furious about his self-sacrifice, and I thought that it deserved a few hundred of words instead of a off-hand mention like in canon). Also, being tortured by Lestrange must have effects at some point, and I thought that this was a good moment to start showing them.

About the more or less new character of Harry... well, I began taking the distances from the standard one by having him comfort the Horcrux despite Dumbledore's warnings, and the difference in how the battle went on seemed enough to me to make him avoid the companionship of Hermione and Ron once he was done doing what he could to help.