He was right about that. If there was one thing Harry Potter could handle (other than Voldemort, of course – thanks), it was rumors. When he had been younger they had bothered him more than he had let on, especially in the summers where he had been so cut off from the Wizarding community and had nothing but the papers to stare at, not even word from his friends. But as he’d gotten older and gotten more involved in the things happening around him, the things the people were actually talking about – when the rumors about him became more outrageous but at the same time, more factual (he was the Chosen One, after all), Harry had become more and more comfortable with pushing the ideas and the criticisms of others out of his mind. What did he care? Regardless of what anyone said, Harry had always had a goal. He hadn’t ever had the choice – he was Harry Potter, and he had been in a battle for his life since the day he was born, there wasn’t any avoiding it.
Until now. And that was why he’d run off. That was why he found himself here in this place, instead of living a happy life at home with Ginny. That’s why he’d gone, he hadn’t stayed and started a family. What was a hero supposed to do when he’d spent the entirety of his teenage and adult life thrust into the role he had been? The war had been Harry’s life, even before Harry knew it. It’d been a part of his life even before he was born, and now there was no war. Some might say that was cause for a little bit of an identity crisis.
“From talking to some of the people around here? Id’ reckon you could have heard all sorts of things about how loony Harry Potter is.” He knew you were teasing him, Lupin. And really, if he didn’t look so serious, the older man might think that Harry was actually playing along with it – but that couldn’t be, right? “If you don’t say something that’ll make me turn tail and run, you’ll say something that will light my incredibly short fuse.”