Harry wandered aimlessly down Privet Drive. He liked to come here to think, a habit that had formed over the previous months. The Dursleys' didn't live here anymore, having sold the house once they were made leave the final time before the War and moved to somewhere in Devon. Harry didn't know their new address nor had he any wish to visit them in person.

It had been 5 months since the War and since he had disarmed Voldemort and brought some sort of peace to the Wizarding World. It still felt like every Witch and Wizard was in some form of celebration and Harry had, as a result, been the hot topic of conversation since that day. Not a week went by when the Daily profit didn't run a story entitled "What's next for the Boy who Lived…" or some variation on this.

The truth was, Harry didn't know what next. His whole lifetime spent in the Wizarding world was defined by Voldemort, by fighting for the Light, gearing up to that final battle. Without that anchor, Harry didn't know who he was or what he was meant to do. His friends had all moved on to other things – Hermione went back to Hogwarts to complete her 6th Year, Ron was accepted into Auror training with no application needed. Ginny had left to travel the world and was currently in Texas somewhere, the last harry had heard. He and Ginny and tried to make it work after the War but it became fairly obvious early on that they had nothing in common and both wanted very different things.

Harry didn't wish to return to Hogwarts and he had enough fighting bad wizards to last a lifetime, so ruled out Auror training much to the disappointment of nearly everyone he knew. He couldn't attempt to go anywhere in wizarding Britain without being recognised and badgered and prodded so in a fit to escape, he apparated to the one place that he could think of that people wouldn't look for him: Privet Drive.

In a similar fashion to the summers of past, Harry wandered the streets of Little Whinging aimlessly, over hot from the summer sun and without any direction to his days at all. At night he returned under the cover of darkness and his Invisibility Cloak to the steps of Grimmauld Place, where a constant stream of reporters waited outside the steps to try and catch a glimpse of Harry Potter, Saviour to the World.

Harry hated it.

Sometimes, when Harry felt the need to get black out drunk, he visited a Muggle pub in North London. The Barkeeper knew him well enough by now to not try talk to him and to keep the drinks flowing. Harry always overpaid in Muggle money with a very generous tip at the end of the night and this bought him the right to be left very much alone and get very much drunk.

Harry looked at his watch: 8.03pm. His stomach rumbled and he tried to recall the last time he ate. Deciding he should probably get something to eat before getting wasted for the night, Harry Apparated to Grimmauld Place to find Doris, his House Elf to rustle up something edible.

"DORIS" Harry shouted while hanging up his Cloak and simultaneously prying off his boots.

With a loud CRACK, Doris appeared.

"Yes Master Harry?"

"Any chance of some dinner Doris?"

"Yes Master Harry, Doris is making dinner right away".

Harry thanked her and wandered upstairs for a shower and to change. Harry didn't pay much attention to his appearance or what he wore, generally just picking something that was vaguely clean and not too creased. He learned fairly early on that the best option was to buy clothes in dark colours and as a rule, they all generally matched enough without any thought or concern on Harrys' part.

Harry showered quickly, threw on a pair of faded black jeans and a tight fitting dark jumper and meandered downstairs for some of Doris' cooking.

Harry had inherited this house from Sirius along with the screaming portrait of Mrs Black and Kreacher the House Elf. Kreacher sacrificed himself in the final Battle and Harry had to admit he missed his sarcastic mutterings. Harry hadn't sought out a new Elf nor did he really want one, but the day he turned the key in the lock with the intention of moving in here, he was greeted by Doris, who announced herself as the Elf to the Noble House of Black and Master Harry with no room for argument.

Harry always got the impression that Doris was rather amused by him and she treated him like you would a toddler. She placed a plate filled with steak pie, mash potato and green peas in front of him, a small smile hitching the corners of her mouth. Harry began to open his mouth and before a sound came out, a large tumbler of whiskey joined the plate. Harry thanked Doris and quickly started eating.

Years of starvation at the hands of the Dursleys had Harry eating with a speed not many could match, maybe only Ron. He didn't think any amount of time or assurance that he had food and had access to food would ever cure this habit.

He did, however, take a bit of time to savour the whiskey as he drank it down. Enjoying the burning sensation in the back of his throat and the subsequent heat in his stomach. Since the War, Harry hadn't spent any money on himself, save for food, the odd bit of clothing as he wore threw jumpers and boots and really good whiskey. He found he could live without most things if he had to but good whiskey was a luxury he wasn't willing to give up.

Draining the glass, Harry stood up and shuffled back into his boots. Heading out to the back garden, Harry Apparated to the dark alleyway behind the Goat's head, the Muggle Pub he liked. The barmaid greeted Harry with a small nod and went about fixing his drink of Whiskey and a small glass of water. He took up on his usual stool and another night, similar to many previous nights, stretched out before him.

The Bar Maid, as she always had done, kept the drinks flowing and his water topped up and didn't attempt to try start a conversation, knowing from previous attempts this was completely futile and Harry didn't enjoy the intrusion.

Harry heard the door open, felt a brush of wind across his face but kept his eyes firmly on the glass in front of him not wanting to draw attention and not caring who had arrived. Harry felt something tug at him, urging him to raise his gaze up to the stranger and tried to fight it. He heard a small sigh and something made his eyes snap up to meet a pair of eyes the colour of a storm.

"Fuck".