Harry potter and the Time of retirement

Everything related to Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Chapter 1

It was a somber, cloudy evening in Hogsmeade and Harry Potter was enjoying it as much as he could; which is to say, not much. He celebrated 86 years right that morning, and he had an happy, lively lunch with his children and grandchildren, all present to cheer his birthday with him. All three of his sons and daughter were still alive, thank god, and they had by now children and even grandchildren of their own: all youngsters for which he was only their nice grandfather, who sometimes took over as a babysitter or as a teacher of quidditch. It had been a merry moment, and he certainly enjoyed it, but now that he was back to one of his latest, main activities he felt... weird.

He felt restless, that's what. Hard to say why: it had been years since he desired to do something new. So, he spent many of his evenings seated on his porch, watching all the new people passing by the now much enlarged Hogsmeade. Many of them, unsurprisingly the older ones, recognized him and stopped to talk once in a while which made for many pleasant days; and yet he did not mind simply being alone, watching and thinking of his past. No matter all that silliness about prophecies and dark lords of his youth, his life had been surprisingly mundane in the end: a serene but stale marriage, with he and Ginny living together more as parents and friends-with-benefits that passionate lovers; a normal auror job, with a satisfying, paced career followed by his unavoidable retirement party with his colleagues; children and grandchildren. Ginny was long dead, many of his old friends and relatives either dead too or retired in their own houses, and new faces filled the roads, the newspaper and the life of the "magical" world. Eh, that last part was still able to make him smile: it took many years for him to understand how deeply linked the wizards were to the muggles, and how small the magical world really was. As a kid he had not been able to pierce together all the details, and as an adult he was too deeply integrated with his peers to be able to keep a foot in both societies. He remembered how Hermione once talked about it, in private... of the deep disconnection she felt towards her parents and the way they lived, of all her dreams of excellence in both worlds that never ended up anywhere.

"How many years ago had that talk been? Thirty? Forty?" he mumbled by himself.

At least she was still alive, unlike poor Ron. She even sent him a short message today, but did not show up. They wrote each other regularly, but rarely met – a side effect of living in different towns. Apparition was not always enough to keep old friendships truly alive.

Harry shook his head, as to free it from all these useless thoughts. He may be old, but he prided himself in still being clear-minded. His past may have been the only thing left for him, but that did not mean he had to be swallowed by it. He stood, walking towards his house – maybe a drink could help. Inside his living room, there were some of his favorite books and a newspaper with the latest muggle technological discovery next to the closed fire pit. The complete isolation the magical world had to fall into to prevent "contact" may had worked... if all the voices about the various magical nations having been contacted by the muggles were fake... but the interest of the wizards and witches in what was happening outside of their enclaves was surprisingly growing. No matter, he cared not for that: he had switched against integration during his forties and fifties, but now he was no longer interested in the future of muggle-magicals relations. Sitting down, he called for his house elf.

"Cindy, come here" said Harry.

"What are your orders, master Harry?" said a mature looking female elf. Relatively well dressed, she still shared many of the traits of her race: a little slow, over emotional, hard worker. Harry treated her well, but also regarded her as little more than a muggle appliance casually able to answer back.

"Prepare me a drink, Cindy... something strong" said Harry, while looking trough a book open on the table. "Effects of the muggle religious artifacts on vampires", a memento from his auror days.

The house elf disappeared, only to return after a few seconds with his order. A mumbled "Thanks" was all Harry said, with the house elf immediately going back to her chores. The taste was strong, and bitter, but unlike other times did not calm him. What was happening today? He got nervous, and a little irritated. Slamming close the book, with a bit more strength than needed, he stood up again. Obviously, a quiet night at home was not on today's schedule.

"Cindy, my coat" ordered Harry to the empty room. Nevertheless, his house elf immediately appeared with the prescribed item.

"Master Harry, are you going out? Any changes in your schedule?" she asked.

"Yes, Cindy. I am not sure how long I will be out, so just keep my dinner ready to be warmed for when I will be back" and, saying that, he opened the door, took his walking cane, and stepped out. The sun had dawned already, so the air was getting colder and the roads emptier, but he did not mind that: with firmness, he headed onward. Houses and the random store passed by, with lights filtering trough half-closed windows. Voices passed, too, and he could recognize some of them: voices of old and "new" acquaintances, talking of who knows what. Some of the buildings, especially stores, raised more memories into him: sunday strolls with his children, shopping trips with his wife, or more recent outings with other old-timers like him. And yet he did not stop. There was not much to do, especially if one did not want to go out of the heavy (and hard to cross) wards around the town borders, so he headed towards the lake of Hogwarts. Hopefully, there were no school kids fooling around, violating their curfew.

The lake was calm, and the water deep black – in fact, only a quick spell allowed him to still be able to watch it. A quarter moon was high in the sky, and the castle shone at a short distance, but his weakened eyesight required more than the light they were able to provide. He trow a couple pebbles into the water and then, bored, and he headed towards the forest. He still had not found what he was looking for, if there was something he wanted in the first place. The forest did not particularly help: it was gloomy, and felt hostile. He cast a couple protection spells, just to be on the safe side: being pierced by a centaur's arrow was not high in his priority list. He went on, aimless, stopping only two times to kill some damn Acromantula – in quite a vicious way, too.

"Disgusting beasts" he murmured. If only the ministry had the necessary strength to exterminate them... but it did not. The price in lives and gold was considered too high for such an endeavor, he knew it well as he tried once to propose exactly that without success. At least, being sentient beasts, they knew better than to get near the school or the village, but it still irked him to leave them alive so close to people. He still remembered fondly Hagrid, but releasing Aragog into the forest had been downright criminal.

"He was not the sharpest tool in the shed, poor Hagrid..." he said half-heartedly. After a life spent capturing and punishing people for mistakes way less serious that that, he felt a little ashamed in minimizing what Hagrid did; at best, he was able to tell himself that Hagrid was not evil, just stupid.

"Slow. Hagrid was only slow" he mumbled again. His guilt-laden correction had to be interrupted anyway as more Acromantula appeared in front of him, this time a group of three, and he started to worry. He was not sure where he was, which could mean he was getting closer to their nest – and to be their midnight snack. As two of big spider attacked, he quickly cast a sticky charm to the ground, before piercing their heads with some spikes he conjured and banished. Keeping it simple and deadly when needed was a lesson that he, unfortunately, learned only long after that stupid pureblood uprising of his youth; at the time he was still tied up to the schooltexts list of spells, with their bright colors and their flashy charme. Hindsight is always 20/20, he supposed. In any case, the disappearance of the third acromantula was definitely his cue to leave: when it would be back, certainly with more spiders, he better be as far away as possible. A quick point-me spell and the position of the quarter moon, barely visible trough cracks of the foliage ceiling, allowed him to head towards Hogwarts, and then to Hogsmeade, back home. He felt better, so this night out could have been considered a – needlessly dangerous, true – success. And yet, once out of the forest, he did not immediately turned towards home; Hogwarts was in the distance, and he decided to get a little more close to it. In a somber mood already, that seemed the right thing to do. Or maybe, that was just an excuse to do something just for the heck of it.

The quidditch grounds. His day of playing were an almost forgotten memory, overcome by the much happier times in which he taught his kids how to fly, but he still enjoyed their sight. He stopped going regularly to quidditch matches in his mid-twenties, both for lack of time and interest, but he still regarded the game with a spark of affection. Had he a broom with him, maybe he could have gone for a ride... but he quickly dismissed that thought. Beside the fact that it would be even too easy to just call for his house elf and order for a broom, if he really wanted, it was silly to contemplate flying in that hour and situation. He still valued his dignity, thank you very much, and he already behaved recklessly enough: it was time to head back. With a last, longing look to the castle he finally took the way home. An uneventful walk followed, with a quick dismissal of Cindy after she served dinner. Harry ate only crumbs of it, not really hungry, stopping his gaze once in a while on what was Ginny's seat many years ago. He could not stop to wonder what it would mean to still have her with him... more problems? Less boredom? The quiet companionship that they had during their child-raising years? Hard to say. Their children had not taken well the death of their mother, but they have been over age by many years at the time so they did not crack or anything, and neither did he. By association, he suddenly thought of his own mother, Lily Potter. His desire for a family had always been one of his weak spots, and one of the reasons he went the extra mile in the past in trying to offer it to his wife and children, no matter the small detachment he sometimes felt inside him. He hoped at the time it was just a residue from living with his Uncle's family, and right or not he managed to overcome it and be the almost-spotless father and husband he hoped to be. He had an happy life, of that was sure... had he? He moved to his bedroom, feeling tired in his body but still quite active in his mind; while changing himself in his night clothes, his eyes fell on the decorated mirror hanging on the wall. The old Mirror of Erised came up to his mind... what would he see, were he to meet it again? What did he desire, at the moment? The idea scared him, and made him even more nervous... he wished for many things, especially for his children and grandchildren to keep being healthy and happy. On a more selfish note, he would not mind to remain healthy himself, and to die in a painless way when his moment finally arrived. Meeting everyone that was dear to him would not be terrible either. And sure, there was the usual world peace and end of suffering, but those were placard desires, something he accepted on a surface level but that had no value to him at all, emotionally. What desire was hidden inside his soul?

Suddenly, his heart sped up and a jolt of pain crossed him. Stunned, he sat on his bed grasping at his chest, half paralyzed by fear. Was it a stroke? Were these his last moments? His vision got blurry, and yet he heard a distinct voice in his ears talking to him.

"Would you like to go back?"

He turned his head around, that little that he could, but no one was around. He tried to call for help, for Cindy, but he could not talk. The pain was getting stronger, while he was becoming weaker. As for the voice, it repeated itself:

"Would you like to go back?"

Harry was almost blind by now, and terrorized. He barely managed to utter his last syllable:

"...no"

when darkness finally surrounded him.

Author's note: there is a lot I could say on my motivations in writing this fic, but its way too early (1 chapter? come on) for it so i'll be brief. I love time-travel fics, as they allow the writer to expand and explore the wonderfully underused world created by JKR; and yet, I wanted to get out of the dichotomy of 1) Harry know it all, that uses monologue and is either perfect in every way or a angsty teenager with grownup skills or 2) political harry, that tries to influence a complex, semi-realistic magical world (think of delenda est, altered destinies, a necessary gift). Mine is "old Harry", and I will write the following chapters (hopefully I will actually write them) thinking of a witty old man that is visiting his grade school. He cares for the schoolkids, but he is not there to teach them or help them in any way. In any case, this will be an heavily Harry-centric story. Not in the sense that everything revolves around him, but that he is just not that interested in interacting with the canon story.