Chapter Text
Harry Potter, one time hero, long-time hermit, stared in befuddlement as the walls of his cottage suddenly shimmered and shook around him. At 110 years of age, he had seen quite a lot in his time, but this was a surprise.
His surroundings flashed and shook once more before abruptly fading from existence. He found himself sitting atop the hill that had housed his cottage, sans the building itself. No one was in sight.
On a whim, he asked the ambient magic around him for the date, and then stared in disbelief at its message.
July 31, 1991.
Lovely, he thought.
He shook himself and turned to go down the hill before stopping and tapping his head gently.
There weren't any wards here yet.
One more tap to the head, and he turned and apparated silently.
Hogwarts' gates loomed in front of him, and he cocked his head to the side in question.
He tapped on them with an outstretched finger and they sent off welcoming sparks in his direction.
"Open, please?" He asked.
His voice was hoarse from disuse. It had been a long time since his last assignment. He hadn't passed his last mind eval, but that had been over two years prior. He had a feeling he would pass now, if he could find the man. If the man was a healer yet. If he had been born yet. If if if.
He tapped his head again and entered onto the grounds.
And stopped. Lord. It had been a long time since Hogwarts had felt this warm, this inviting.
He wiped at his cheek with the butt of his hand, and then pulled out a handkerchief when he realised it wasn't enough to stem the wetness dripping down his face. He wiped his face carefully and took a breath and held it. He took another. He wiped his eyes once more and didn't miss having to wipe around his glasses.
He had gotten rid of them sixty years ago. Later. He shook his head and decided to do the math when he was alone.
Maybe.
He meandered up the path slowly, keeping his pace down for the sake of his partially numb leg. A cutting curse on the battlefield had spilled his guts onto the grass in front of him, and severed many of the nerve endings in his hips and low back. It had split his face, and he had narrowly avoided losing an eye.
He carefully put the memories of that time back into its mental box and patted the cover lightly.
He had learned, through much pain and suffering, to keep his emotions and actions under a calm and cool exterior. Things tended to explode when he didn't, and he was tired of cleaning up glass.
Hogwarts sang to him as he entered her doors, and he touched the nearest wall in thanks. He had only been her headmaster for two very troubled years, but even though it was yet to come, it seemed she remembered him. Magic could be wonderful.
It could also be hideous, he thought. He pushed that thought back in its box and slid it behind a tapestry. He didn't need the clutter of that thought filling his mind.
He came to a stop in the Great Hall, mouth slightly open as he stared at the four long tables standing magnificently before him. Empty tables, but room for all who needed a place to sit. He trembled as he stood in the doorway, clutching desperately at the wall. Four tables. Four houses. Four equal houses.
Four.
Absentmindedly, he rubbed at the side of his face; fingers no longer catching on the brand that had been there for a time.
Four.
Hogwarts' magic embraced him, and bled through him with righteous fire.
She had brought him back. He knew it. There were things to be fixed, and it seemed that he was the one to fix them.
He closed his eyes to the empty tables before him and rested his head on the wall.
He didn't want to be the one. He had never wanted to be the one.
He sighed and opened his eyes. He turned on his heel and headed for the stairs, trudging wearily toward Dumbledore's office. He knew the man would be there. Hogwarts' had assured him of it when he had wondered.
He would be the saviour, just this one last time. He would be the saviour for Hogwarts, for Slytherin, for those yet to be killed, for those yet to be tortured, for those who had yet to be born. He would listen to her plea, and then, when it was over, perhaps he would die.
He doubted he would get his wish, but then again, he had doubted ever having this much of a chance again.
Wiping his face once more, he looked at the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office and spoke.
"Tell the headmaster I'm here for a job interview. I don't care if he doesn't have any openings. I'm not leaving until I'm hired."