Harry potter and the Time of retirement
Everything related to Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Chapter 3
As all the students came out of their compartments and into the station, Harry was sort of pushed outside among the first of them, catching the attention of Hagrid.
"FIRS' YEARS! FIRS' YEARS COMME HERE! Harry, hi!" boomed the half-giant, enthusiasm clear on his face "Yeh had a nice trip? I'm sure it mus' feel great to finally be near Hogwarts, right?" he said.
Due to his longevity, his tendency to go down to Hogsmeade for a drink and Harry's wandering habit Hagrid and Harry had remained in good relations even as he got older. Never deep friends as Hagrid spent most of his time alone on the castle grounds and Harry had, actually, very few things to share to him but they were nevertheless always to see each other. So, Harry could not help but smile when he saw him.
"Hagrid" he said, cheering up a little "Yes, to both... I am eager to see if this place is as awesome as you described it."
"As awesome? Jus' wait and see, Harry! It will be even better! For now, just stay close to me" and, with that, he turned again towards the sea of young students still waiting around him and the station. "FIRS' YEARS, ARE YOU ALL PRESENT? FOLLOW ME, AND MIND YOUR STEP!" shouted finally Hagrid, turning back to them and moving on.
The trip in the dark was silent, and cold; once or twice Harry stopped just to enjoy the scenery or to ponder over the faces of those surrounding him, while he tried to recognize them. Some were identical to their older counterparts, but others were almost foreign to him. So much time had passed... suddenly, all the students stopped while some murmurs of wonder filled the air: Hogwarts was visible in the distance, and it was certainly quite a sight. In front of them, the lake.
At Hagrid's instructions, they all started to board the boats, for their traditional sea-travel to the castle. This was something Harry had never repeated since his infancy, and he wondered why wizards rarely if ever repeated the experience: the view of Hogwarts at night was great, and the water calm. He felt like he was relaxing a little, the quiet surrounding him having a soothing effect. For those who could ignore all the whispers from the new students, of course
After a while they landed, and Hagrid led them to the door of the castle where Professor McGonagall, after thanking him, welcomed them all. She started with her spiel about the houses and the sorting, but Harry had no interests in it so he let his eyes wander. While he turned around, he saw a blonde boy on his left staring right at his forehead... his scar. A gesture that, unfortunately, he had to suffer through all his adult life. Still...
'Is that Draco Malfoy? Eh...' thought Harry, with an internal smile, as he had troubles reconnecting the baby face in front of him with the Malfoy he was accustomed to. 'Poor Draco', he thought, 'time has really been hard on you'. As a father himself he knew how unpredictable puberty could be, and while he did not expect everyone to have the same luck Neville and Hermione had he could not stop thinking how Malfoy really, really went down in looks with age.
His, appropriately childish, good mood was stopped when said boy approached him, immediately after professor McGonagall, welcoming speech complete, had left:
"I heard that Harry Potter would come to Hogwarts this year... so, is it you?"
At these words even the small murmurs that had started about the coming sorting disappeared. While some of the students, among the muggleborns, knew nothing about him there were enough kids aware of his name to draw immediately all the attention. Harry spent some seconds looking around him at all the faces that were staring only to be, again, addressed by Malfoy:
"So, is it you or not? You have the scar after all."
"...yes. I am Harry Potter. Why?" said Harry.
"I want to help you, Potter. I am Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Not all of us are the same Potter, and you should not make friends among the lesser sort" he said, while helding out his hand.
Harry, quite surprised, was unsure what to do; in any case, before he could decide, someone somewhere almost shouted: "Don't listen to him! Malfoys are evil, everyone knows that!".
It had been a pitchy voice which, sadly, Harry recognized as the one of Ronald Weasley. While secretly grateful that the focus was again moved away from him, he could only shake his head at this feud starting maybe five seconds after he "met" them. There was no way he would be dragged into it if he could choose, though.
At Ronald's provocation, Malfoy turned towards him leaving Harry free to move back among the other students to enjoy the arrival of the ghosts and, eventually, the walk into the great hall. His focus, though, was more on the kids surrounding him - in a way, their excited faces lifter his spirit too. With some sadness, he recognized their expressions as those his own children had whenever he showed them something new or unusual.
Once inside the main hall, the ceiling was the first thing to draw Harry's attention and with good reasons: when he first became a father he tried to apply a similar enchantment to the nursery only to find out that what few appropriate spells he could cast were obviously not enough to recreate this masterpiece.
Harry often considered that a teaching, humbling experience: at the time when he was considered an expert on Defense against the Dark Arts, and a promising auror with good results on the fields, he found out how his preparation was also specialized and therefore limited. Casual attempts to learn the advanced branches of runes, transfiguration and charms needed to recreate that effect proved fruitless as he literally had neither enough free time nor interest in the subjects; eventually, he just admitted to himself that it would be better to stick to what he could actually be excellent at, instead of trying to be a mediocre practitioner of everything. Hiring someone in Diagon Alley showed itself to be the right solution after all, or at least the efficient one.
During his musings, the sorting had progressed past the Sorting Hat's song, with many students already assigned to their new houses. In fact, the Patil twins had just been separated. Perks, Sally-Anne was assigned to Hufflepuff and finally arrived Harry's time to be sorted.
"Potter, Harry!"
He stepped on, uncaring of the whispers around him. 'I wonder...' he thought, considering what was about to happen. Harry was suddenly curious of what the Sorting Hat's judgment of his personality would be this time. He had sadly admitted, many times, that almost nothing remained of his childhood persona: buried under real life experiences and old age wisdom, he may think fondly of his childhood self – but also with a bit of disdain, as he could recognize now how foolishly he often acted at the time. He had grown, so much that he barely recognized his pre-teen self as a part of him. Finally, he sat down and felt the hat being placed atop him.
'Hmmm... difficult. Very Difficult. Plenty of courage, but a complete lack of chivalry and bravery. Certainly cunning, but without ambitions. No interest for the academic world. Not afraid of hard work and loyal... but unfriendly, and with no respect for the house of Hufflepuff. Any particular reason for that?' asked the Hat, mentally, to Harry.
'Hufflepuff is a wonderful house, for your friends. Or relatives. It's not something you usually wish for yourself. They are the butt of many jokes' answered Harry, mentally shrugging.
'Quite a prejudiced, bitter comment from someone so young. In any case, if you want to go to a specific house this is the moment to speak, boy. No second chances.'
'...'
'A bit of ambition wouldn't hurt you, you know? Maybe having some friends to nag you into action will help. That's why I am sending you to HUFFLEPUFF!" said the hat, shouting the last word for the whole hall to hear.
While the roar of the chosen house rose into the hall, Harry stood up shaking his head and walking towards his new table. He had long passed the time when he cared for that ridiculous house rivalry, but really... Hufflepuff?
"My name is sown into all of my clothes" he murmured with an half smile, remembering a joke he once heard his son James tell to his younger brother to explain why he, too, would do better to avoid the house of the puffs. Nevertheless, he walked towards his table.
Over excited, his new housemates welcomed him warmly while they waited for the sorting to be over. No other kids were sorted into their house, so after the last one and Dumbledore's crazy welcoming speech – something about blubber and tweaks - everyone started with their own introductions, while taking advantage of all the food magically served on the table. Harry easily recognized most of them, while for others he went by exclusion. He was surprised to talk with Sally-Anne, as he barely remembered her from his first years in school and yet he could not fathom when she stopped attending, as he did not saw her during his OWLs.
A bit later the house ghost, the Fat Friar, joined their section and started talking with them; in the background, Harry could see other ghosts joining the other new students of each house. While it was certainly not in character with his apparent age, Harry could not resist droning out the chatter of his pre-teen peers to talk with him. There was something he always wanted to ask a ghost, after all.
"Mr... Friar?" said Harry uncertainly, when the ghost had finished talking to most of the other kids and seemed ready to leave.
"Mmhh? Oooh, Harry Potter! What is it?"
"If I may even ask... are, no, were you a real friar? Consecrated and everything?"
"The correct term is ordained, but yes, I was. Why the hesitation? Are you scared of ghosts?" said the Friar, not unkindly. In fact, his whole persona screamed of niceness and acceptance.
"It's not that, sir... but, it's a bit weird. Do you believe in muggle's religions, and all that? I know they hated wizards during your life, and were quite violent too."
"They did, Harry... even more than you can imagine" said the ghost, a weird smile on his face and who knows what old memories in his mind. "But joining the church was my chance to apply my skills in services of everyone, muggles included, something I would not have been able to do otherwise."
"If i may, did you fake your faith then?" asked Harry, with a bit of hesitation.
"Harry, Harry... isn't my existence proof that there is something beyond death? Now, I may not believe in details of muggles' faiths" he conceded "but I do believe that your actions in life influence what will happen to you after the end."
"I do wonder of that... if we will, eventually, have the chance to meet again those who were dear to us" said Harry with a low voice, thinking of his own years and all the people he lost during them.
The Friar's gaze softened at these words: he probably assumed Harry was thinking about his parents. And he was not completely wrong, either.
"One day you will meet them all again, I am sure. Even muggles, even animals: we may be the only one able to leave ghosts on this land, but that does not mean we are the only one with souls. But, such a sad topic is not appropriate for tonight, Harry! Enjoy this feast, and talk with your new friends" said the Friar, before leaving the table and the hall, while Harry was now deep in thoughts. He spent many days of his retirement wondering about death and the afterlife, and even more – in his mature age – about the link between magic and the body and soul of those who could use it.
Still, his peers did not allow him to remain focused on that: their curiosity was great, and so he was asked again and again about his life until now, what he thought of Hogwarts, what he expected the classes to be and so on. No one asked him about Voldemort or his scar, probably out of politeness, but the looks at his forehead were there.
After the banquet Dumbledore stood up and addressed the whole school about rules and the prohibition to step into the forest. That part did not interest Harry, as he had troubles taking seriously rules meant for children, but the following part – about the third floor corridor – shook him out of his boredom. In these latest hours he had skipped over the problem of what exactly happened, but the memories awakened by Dumbledore's declaration posed quite a big problem to solve.
If he was, as he feared, prisoner in his own mind than doing nothing was an acceptable choice. Sort of – he had no desire to experience an illusion of pain and constriction, if it was going to feel as real as anything around him was at the moment. Anyway, if the impossible actually happened and he fell back in time, then a moral dilemma was unfortunately clear in front of him.
With his talents he was reasonably confident he could stop Riddle's wraith this same year, and put an end to his violence without the rest of the wizards even noticing. 'Hopefully' he conceded after a second, remembering how overpowering Riddle actually appeared at the time.
Done that he could easily go on with whatever he wanted, be it indulging to his more nostalgic side by remaining in Hogwarts or simply emptying his Gringott account and moving to the other side of the planet. Suicide too was an option, as he already knew roughly what to expect from life and was not THAT eager to repeat it all – but only after he dealt with all his duties, sort of. Such a drastic action was not really his... usual approach, anyway.
Luckily, there was no hurry – Harry felt no direct, personal responsibility to face that craziness of his youth all again, and so he also had nothing against postponing the problem for as long as possible, and then a little more. So, when the Hufflepuff prefects started calling for the first years he rose together with the other school children and followed them towards what he assumed would be Hufflepuff's common room. That, he was slightly curious to see as he only ever had tales and descriptions of his old friends from that house about it.
'Lord Voldemort' would have to wait, he thought while rolling his eyes. 'Voldemort' he thought, not for the first time, or the tenth either. 'It really sound so childish' he thought, shaking his head.
Author's note: a couple people expressed their opinion that this Harry is depressed or not that interesting. Fine, de gustibus non disputandum est. I just want to point out that what I am trying to write is a realistic old Harry. Even in canon, Harry is not that great: flawed personality, horrible home life, small and unassuming, not particulary gifted except for the always recurring patronus, which unsurprisingly is a feat copied by half of DA with a bit of training. If not for being the boy-who-lived and a quidditch star thanks to his unearned natural talent (where?) he would be an angrier Neville. This Harry has improved himself in all possible ways, but in a humane way. He is quite competent in certain branches of magic, but he is not the 2nd coming of Merlin – of which he is certainly no heir, I assure you. He has a calmer, mature personality: he has seen most of what life can offer, and it is not going to over react to anything short of his own children dying in front of him. The average human, and Harry is no exception, is by definition average: I like my share of Perfect-Harry fics, but I wanted to write something different. Something more focused on human interactions, and less of some grand adventure and heroic gestures.