Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.

I apologize for any errors this may have as I do not have a Beta.

He looked into the dingy bathroom mirror before him and barely recognized the man he saw there. His hair was even more unkempt than usual and could probably rival Snape's in greasiness, his eyes stood out in a vivid green against the dark circles that surrounded them, while he had lost his usual tan and looked even more sallow then a summer stay with the Dursley's. His eyes were bloodshot and he felt tears begin to try to form and he quickly grabbed the bottle of fire whiskey he had sat on the floor and took a large swig trying to drown out the painful feelings with the soothing numbness of liquor.

The whiskey burned down his throat but the pain still clenched his heart and out of frustration he punched the mirror in front of him causing it to form a large crack and a sharp pain to fill throughout his hand jarring all the way down his arm. He looked at the damage noticing a large gash in his knuckle and watched the crimson liquid drop down from the cut in slight fascination. The blood was a reminder, a reminder of all the horrors he encountered and the horrors he had to face as well as all the deaths that were directly and indirectly by his own hands.

He was dirty, that was the only word he could use to describe himself. He was nothing but a tool meant to lead to the death of one of the most powerful and evil men alive and now his task was done and what was left was a broken man. He could barely sleep and he could barely eat the hauntings of the war fighting within his own mind. Every night he was forced to witness every death and every torture that happened during Voldemort's rise to power. He could remember vividly Quirrel disintegrating as he touched him, the feeling of the sword of Gryffindor sliding through the head of the basilisk, Sirius's short bout of freedom from the prison for a crime he did not commit and his laughing face as he fell to his death through the veil, Cedric's body falling lifelessly as Voldemort demanded his death and the vision of the monster rising from the cauldron, Dumbledore falling from the Astronomy Tower, all the countless tortures he bore witness to as he was forced to watch through his eyes, the final battle and the countless lives that were taken; Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin to name a few, Dobby dying in his arms, the death of Voldemort by his own hand and finally his very own death and resurrection.

The only reason he came back was because he needed to make sure that monster did not survive. He could not subject their world to that madman any longer and now the deed was done and with it his own sense of morality. Looking back through all the years he felt conflicted he could not place how much of him was actually him and how much of him was that corrupted fragment that was Tom Riddle that said man unknowingly forced into him as a baby. How much of his personality was really Harry and how much of what he knew was Tom. How many emotions and ties were truly his? All he knew was that he did not know where to go from here.

All his life he knew it would come down to him and Voldemort and now that was done and he did not expect to survive. He did not expect to find out that part of the monster was within him and he did not expect to face limbo and be given the chance to come back. All the people that sacrificed themselves did not get that chance and he felt that all those deaths were now his burden. All of them cut short and all of them incomplete with their time on this earth. Needless sacrifices for the ravings of a mad man and to protect their savior. All because said mad man wanted to believe in a prophecy that he did not know the extent of.

Harry was tired, lost and confused. He was glad he could free everyone but he did not think that of everyone he deserved to live. Everyone who had died had things worth living for they had lives and plans and dreams. He had a broken world since his parent's deaths. He grew up unloved and was thrust into a world where one minute he was revered and the next he was ostracized. He grew up knowing his only purpose was to end a war and did not have any plans after that fact. He was well and truly lost, broken and alone.

He jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of the bathroom door creaking open and turned and saw the old house elf that like this house was left to him by his late godfather, "Master forgive Kreacher but Kreacher wanted master to know that dinner is ready."

Harry grunted in response and turned to follow the old elf while quickly cleaning and healing his wound with a wave of his wand. The Elf was surprisingly loyal to him after the battle and refused to be released claiming that as the new Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black he would only serve Harry. Harry gave in and let the elf stay and found him to be of some assistance.

Thinking of lordships that was another thing entirely that was thrust upon him after the war. He now had the titles of Lord Black and Lord Potter and didn't know where to begin. The Goblins were not happy when he met with them in the bank and after several payments that barely put a dent in the massive vaults he was left with he was able to get back into their good graces.

He barely paid attention to the dingy house as he made his way down in the kitchen lost in his thoughts though he did freeze at the hallway that lead to the kitchens as well as the entrance and tried to push the memory of the Dumbledore Specter from his mind. Shaking his head he hurriedly caught up with Kreacher and sat down at the rough wooden table as the old elf levitated a bowl of stew over to him as well as a slice of bread. Harry stared down at the food moving the spoon around within the bowl not even moving it to his lips. The smell was making him slightly nauceous and he couldn't find the will within himself to eat.