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“Damn, what happened here?”
Harry scratched his head. Hogwarts looked different.
It had been way too long since he’d last been at the place. With the war and everything. And then rebuilding magical wizarding society…and getting married…and getting divorced…
Well, it was all over now. He was pretty sure he’d wasted his whole young adult life once he’d defeated Voldemort. He hadn't actually done any rebuilding or whatever. That was all Hermione. Bless her patience for stupid bureaucratic bullshit. Harry couldn't have done it even if he tried.
At least he and Ginny hadn’t had those kids they had talked about. Now that would’ve been a whole other thing to deal with.
And then Harry wouldn't be able to go through with his plan.
“Not very much, Mr. Potter,” the tour guide—some seventh year prefect—said, hesitation lacing her voice. “I’m not sure what you mean.” He had no idea why they had even given him a tour guide. It wasn’t like he had gone to Hogwarts or anything.
“Ah, you know,” he said, scratching his head. “It just looks different from when I was a kid here. Though, yeah, change is a natural thing, and all that.”
“Of course,” the girl said, giving him a quizzical look.
She probably thought he was crazy. Harry couldn’t blame her. He was probably a little crazy, yeah. All of the…everything…had taken a toll on him. But he was trying to ignore it. And it was going really well, exceedingly well, in fact, no matter what the little Hermione voice in his head tried to say.
“This way, Mr. Potter,” the seventh year said, leading him into the castle.
Finally. Now he just needed to find a way to politely drop her and get to the object of his ambitions.
Harry whistled in appreciation as they passed a portrait that had obviously been splattered with tomatoes by Peeves. “I was just kidding earlier. Nothing’s really changed.”
He was glad Peeves had the grace to teach the current Hogwarts generation all about pranking. Harry idly wondered if there was anyone in the current student body that resembled the good old Fred & George duo. There probably was. Good for them, honestly. Nothing was ever that serious. Most of it, anyway.
“That’s great to hear, Mr. Potter." Yeah. She definitely thought he was crazy. The tone of voice never lied. "Now, if you look to your left, see those brass doors, that’s the office of the interim Headmaster—”
Harry winced. “Um. Other way, maybe?”
The current headmaster was, ah, how to put it lightly, one of Ginny’s closest friends and definitely not someone that Harry wanted to see right now. Again, Harry didn’t know how he had even gotten onto the Hogwarts campus with all the drama going on and why in Merlin’s name there was a bloody seventeen year old leading him around the place as if he’d never been before, but whatever. Fate liked to grant him certain things on a dangly stick, it seemed.
Yeah, it was probably because he was the Chosen One. Now, if he could actually just use that to his advantage—
—“Neville!” Harry exclaimed.
The prefect to his side frowned. “Professor Longbottom?”
Professor Longbottom indeed. Harry had spotted the man from what felt like a mile away and was waving at him. Thank Fate. She was feeling generous with the dangly stick today it seemed. This was just the distraction he needed.
“Ah—my old friend from when I was a student. You mind if I stop and have a chat? You’re free to go,” Harry offered awkwardly, still waving at a quickly advancing Neville.
“Oh—no, not at all, Mr. Potter.” The prefect looked relieved to be freed of him, honestly. Harry was doing her a favor.
He watched her leave the corridor in a flurry of footsteps and then broke into a wide grin, embracing his old friend. “Neville. It’s been too long.”
“Harry! You should have told me you were visiting! Come on, let’s have tea,” Neville insisted, practically dragging him down the hall to where Harry assumed his quarters were. Oh how he’d changed from the nervous kid Harry once knew. It was a great thing, really. Harry was so happy for him. A lack of crazy Bellatrix and disdainful Snape had done him a load of good.
“I really can’t,” Harry said once they were situated in Neville’s room, but Neville ignored him and started fixing him a cuppa. Unfortunately, catching up over tea wasn't why Harry found himself here.
"Mate, I've got to go."
“It’s so great to see you,” Neville gushed again, just completely ignoring what Harry had just said. The newly minted Herbology professor sat himself down and started to say something.
“Neville,” Harry interrupted apologetically, pushing his own cup away and standing up. “I’ll stop by as soon as I can. But, really, there’s something I have to do right now.” Seriously, change was good and all, but since when had Neville turned into a version of Molly Weasley? Did Herbology have that kind of effect on people?
And he did want to catch up with the guy, really, but there really was something he had to take care of. “I’ll be right back,” Harry promised, ignoring Neville’s exclaims of surprise as he got up and let himself out.
Getting himself to the third floor was easy work. Like, way too easy. He didn’t even have his cloak on him and just some crappy disillusionment charm worked on the 3rd(?) years he passed. Then again he had never been super aware of his surroundings at 13 either.
Harry felt excitement burn in his veins as he made his way to the object—no, a room wasn’t an object, place was a better way to describe it—of his affections. The Room of Requirement. Here was the key to everything he needed. He would fix his life in no time.
When he got to the corridor, he did the usual three turns and thought of something he needed. Something fun. Something that would excite him and change his life. Nothing easy but nothing too complicated either.
A new challenge.
Ever since defeating Voldemort, he had honestly been kinda…bored.
There, he said it.
(In his head. To himself. But whatever.)
Ron would have rolled his eyes and Hermione would have hit him over the head with a book, but they weren’t here with him, were they? They had settled into their lives—together—and Harry was really just on the precipice of it all, watching it unfold from the other side. Like a happy relationship was some kind of stream he could never cross. Ah, fuck metaphors. He was never any good at those.
The door shimmered into existence and Harry ran through it willingly. He didn't look back at what he was leaving behind. Here he was—on his way to his next great adventure, he was ready for it, he’d been ready for it since like 2000, he could take whatever Hogwarts was gonna throw at him—ah, fuck.
Not again.
Harry had gone through the door way too bloody fast and hadn’t looked where he was going and he had bumped into someone—what the fuck?—and of course when he looked up and looked into jarringly familiar red eyes he realized it was nobody other than Tom fucking Riddle.
Shit.
Shit.
He really hadn't thought this through. At all.