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hp_goldenageTitle: Retirement
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chokolattejedi
Characters/Pairings: Harry
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 1,103
Content/Warning(s): Reflective, Light angst, References to past attacks and medical things; nothing too gory.
Summary/Prompt: Moments away from retiring, Harry looks back over his office and his career.
A/N: Beta’d by Howl.
Harry glanced around his office one more time, almost wishing that someone would pop in and prevent the inevitable from happening. Alas, no Senior Aurors rushed in to report an attack at which his expertise was needed. No Junior Aurors raced in to insist his presence was required at the training hall. No undersecretary appeared to inform him that his second in command had suddenly been attacked by a Blibbering Humdinger and was no long able to replace him.
With a sigh, Harry looked away from the door and back to his desk. His trunk sat there, packed with the personal items that had once festooned his office, ready to be shrunk and placed in his pocket when he left.
On top were the requisite photographs of his family through the years, and they waved cheerfully at him. Beside them were pictures colored by his grandchildren and grand-godchildren, as Teddy called them. A spare cloak for when the weather turned or it just felt a little nippy in his office. A few toys that he had kept tucked in the bottom drawer for when the grandkids came to play.
Buried beneath those mementos were the less precious but still personal items; his name plate, a lovely blotter set Hermione had given him one Christmas, and a few plants that Neville had gifted him over the years. Harry couldn't remember what all they were, but they looked and smelled nice, which was enough for him most days. There were also awards, such as his Order of Merlin First Class for defeating Voldemort, and the Meritorious Conduct Medal that saw him rise to the position of Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement many years ago.
His enchanted clock, with hands for each of his family members, was also safely packed away, as were the portraits he had hung up. One was a landscape of the mountains around Hogwarts, and the other a Wizarding Portrait of Sirius, who's duplicate hung in his office at home, able to relay messages in a wink. His floo powder box, a gift from Andromeda and slightly less utilitarian than the one provided by the Ministry at all fireplaces.
In another compartment of the trunk, one warded against dark magics and curious little hands, Harry had tucked away all the weapons and offensive magical pieces he had kept in his office. Foe glasses and sneakscopes, dark detectors and secrecy sensors, magical maps and enchanted spectacles, deluminators and revealers, swords and daggers, combat brooms and emergency portkeys, shielded armor and spare wands.
And of course another compartment was filled with books and documents and quills and all the other detritus that went with running a department for over fifty years. Things he hadn't even glanced at as he'd tossed them in.
One the one hand, Harry was glad to be done with it all. He'd ascended to the head of the DMLE at fifty-one, having worked as an Auror for thirty-four years before that. Now, at one-hundred and thirteen, he was feeling every inch of his age, though he joked with his undersecretaries that he still felt a like spry young auror of ninety-three. But sitting in his well-worn chair before the fire, feeling each of his many aches and pains, Harry knew that he should leave the job to someone younger.
The prosthetic foot that replaced his - lost to an acromantula - was the medical miracle St. Mungo's had declared it: he could feel every sensation just as though it was his own flesh and blood. But the joint where it connected to his ankle ached if he stood on it for more than half an hour. The upper arm that had been hit with a reductor and reassembled in much the same way could only tolerate about ten minutes of paperwork before Harry found himself needing to massage the shoulder and elbow joints.
When he had gotten the first replacement - the arm - Ron had joked that Harry was going to end up looking like Mad Eye Moody one day. Then, at twenty-nine, the thought was dismaying. Now, as Harry took inventory of his scars, nicks, and replacements, he thought not of the losses from his own flesh, but of the lives he saved in the process.
The nick in his upper ear was from a vicious part-veela, but Harry had freed her from the compulsion charm that made her attack muggleborns. The scar across his neck was from a nasty dark wizard who wanted to succeed Voldemort as the nest Dark Lord. Harry and Ron had put him down, hard, early in his reign, but not without cost. Harry had been in St. Mungo's for a week while he healed from that attack. Still, they had saved countless lives from another war, and seven teens directly that the wizard had intended to ritually sacrifice.
He was partially blind in one eye - something Hermione had claimed was inevitable since childhood, given his glasses - but the inevitable had gotten a little assistance from yet another dark wizard. That attack had seen Harry saving a family with two young muggleborn toddlers.
No, it was indeed past time for Harry to turn the department over to someone younger. (Of course, younger was a relative term for Wizards; his replacement was seventy-four.) Harry had accepted his inevitable retirement, and he had allowed the party and the packing with quiet tolerance and good grace.
The problem was, Harry just didn't know what to do with himself. He had been fighting bad wizards since he was eleven! After over a hundred years of that, he just wasn't sure what to do with himself. Ron, of course, had retired several years back, and was quite content to sit at home playing chess and reading magazines and bothering Hermione. But Harry just didn't know what he was going to do with himself.
The idea of sitting at home was, though pleasing to his physical body, intolerable to his spirit. Harry knew he'd be bored in a week and be up, puttering around and aggravating his ankle, in the quest for something to occupy his mind.
With a sigh, Harry looked around his office one last time and then spelled his trunk shut. There was a ceremony scheduled in a few minutes; sort of a changing of the guard. Harry suspected they were going to surprise him with some kind of party or something else sentimental. Not that he minded.
Of course, Harry reminded himself with a little chuckle, that was only if a vicious Blibbering Humdinger didn't attack his replacement before then.
Author:
chokolattejediCharacters/Pairings: Harry
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 1,103
Content/Warning(s): Reflective, Light angst, References to past attacks and medical things; nothing too gory.
Summary/Prompt: Moments away from retiring, Harry looks back over his office and his career.
A/N: Beta’d by Howl.
Harry glanced around his office one more time, almost wishing that someone would pop in and prevent the inevitable from happening. Alas, no Senior Aurors rushed in to report an attack at which his expertise was needed. No Junior Aurors raced in to insist his presence was required at the training hall. No undersecretary appeared to inform him that his second in command had suddenly been attacked by a Blibbering Humdinger and was no long able to replace him.
With a sigh, Harry looked away from the door and back to his desk. His trunk sat there, packed with the personal items that had once festooned his office, ready to be shrunk and placed in his pocket when he left.
On top were the requisite photographs of his family through the years, and they waved cheerfully at him. Beside them were pictures colored by his grandchildren and grand-godchildren, as Teddy called them. A spare cloak for when the weather turned or it just felt a little nippy in his office. A few toys that he had kept tucked in the bottom drawer for when the grandkids came to play.
Buried beneath those mementos were the less precious but still personal items; his name plate, a lovely blotter set Hermione had given him one Christmas, and a few plants that Neville had gifted him over the years. Harry couldn't remember what all they were, but they looked and smelled nice, which was enough for him most days. There were also awards, such as his Order of Merlin First Class for defeating Voldemort, and the Meritorious Conduct Medal that saw him rise to the position of Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement many years ago.
His enchanted clock, with hands for each of his family members, was also safely packed away, as were the portraits he had hung up. One was a landscape of the mountains around Hogwarts, and the other a Wizarding Portrait of Sirius, who's duplicate hung in his office at home, able to relay messages in a wink. His floo powder box, a gift from Andromeda and slightly less utilitarian than the one provided by the Ministry at all fireplaces.
In another compartment of the trunk, one warded against dark magics and curious little hands, Harry had tucked away all the weapons and offensive magical pieces he had kept in his office. Foe glasses and sneakscopes, dark detectors and secrecy sensors, magical maps and enchanted spectacles, deluminators and revealers, swords and daggers, combat brooms and emergency portkeys, shielded armor and spare wands.
And of course another compartment was filled with books and documents and quills and all the other detritus that went with running a department for over fifty years. Things he hadn't even glanced at as he'd tossed them in.
One the one hand, Harry was glad to be done with it all. He'd ascended to the head of the DMLE at fifty-one, having worked as an Auror for thirty-four years before that. Now, at one-hundred and thirteen, he was feeling every inch of his age, though he joked with his undersecretaries that he still felt a like spry young auror of ninety-three. But sitting in his well-worn chair before the fire, feeling each of his many aches and pains, Harry knew that he should leave the job to someone younger.
The prosthetic foot that replaced his - lost to an acromantula - was the medical miracle St. Mungo's had declared it: he could feel every sensation just as though it was his own flesh and blood. But the joint where it connected to his ankle ached if he stood on it for more than half an hour. The upper arm that had been hit with a reductor and reassembled in much the same way could only tolerate about ten minutes of paperwork before Harry found himself needing to massage the shoulder and elbow joints.
When he had gotten the first replacement - the arm - Ron had joked that Harry was going to end up looking like Mad Eye Moody one day. Then, at twenty-nine, the thought was dismaying. Now, as Harry took inventory of his scars, nicks, and replacements, he thought not of the losses from his own flesh, but of the lives he saved in the process.
The nick in his upper ear was from a vicious part-veela, but Harry had freed her from the compulsion charm that made her attack muggleborns. The scar across his neck was from a nasty dark wizard who wanted to succeed Voldemort as the nest Dark Lord. Harry and Ron had put him down, hard, early in his reign, but not without cost. Harry had been in St. Mungo's for a week while he healed from that attack. Still, they had saved countless lives from another war, and seven teens directly that the wizard had intended to ritually sacrifice.
He was partially blind in one eye - something Hermione had claimed was inevitable since childhood, given his glasses - but the inevitable had gotten a little assistance from yet another dark wizard. That attack had seen Harry saving a family with two young muggleborn toddlers.
No, it was indeed past time for Harry to turn the department over to someone younger. (Of course, younger was a relative term for Wizards; his replacement was seventy-four.) Harry had accepted his inevitable retirement, and he had allowed the party and the packing with quiet tolerance and good grace.
The problem was, Harry just didn't know what to do with himself. He had been fighting bad wizards since he was eleven! After over a hundred years of that, he just wasn't sure what to do with himself. Ron, of course, had retired several years back, and was quite content to sit at home playing chess and reading magazines and bothering Hermione. But Harry just didn't know what he was going to do with himself.
The idea of sitting at home was, though pleasing to his physical body, intolerable to his spirit. Harry knew he'd be bored in a week and be up, puttering around and aggravating his ankle, in the quest for something to occupy his mind.
With a sigh, Harry looked around his office one last time and then spelled his trunk shut. There was a ceremony scheduled in a few minutes; sort of a changing of the guard. Harry suspected they were going to surprise him with some kind of party or something else sentimental. Not that he minded.
Of course, Harry reminded himself with a little chuckle, that was only if a vicious Blibbering Humdinger didn't attack his replacement before then.
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no subject
Date: 2016-03-07 08:16 pm (UTC)The idea of sitting at home was, though pleasing to his physical body, intolerable to his spirit.
That's Harry, even with this beautiful picture you painted of the person he became I still see that in him.
That ending his just the right touch of playful, to end this moment with a smile. :)
no subject
Date: 2016-03-07 08:38 pm (UTC)And I love the fact that Harry doesn't like the idea of "resting" because his formative years were all about death and danger. This feels so true for Harry. Good job!
no subject
Date: 2016-03-07 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-07 10:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-07 11:43 pm (UTC)He's clearly earned his rest, even if he doesn't want it. :)
Beautifully done!
no subject
Date: 2016-03-08 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-08 11:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-08 02:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-09 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-09 11:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-10 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-14 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-15 08:47 pm (UTC)This fic is overflowing with details about Harry and I love it, especially that he got to a 100 before retiring.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-20 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-21 09:09 pm (UTC)