The sun was setting on the small sparse flat in London. Its lone occupant was sitting at a makeshift table staring off into the space across the table from him, a bottle of firewisky sat in front of him. With a heavy sigh he lifted the bottle and drained its contents into his cup and took a long drink. This had been his life for three long weeks. Get up, sit, remember, drink, sleep, when sleep would come to him. The war was finally over the oppressive force of Lord Voldemort was gone.