A/N Hi there everyone, this is my first fanfic. I've always enjoyed reading and writing, and recently have delved back into the FF universe which has inspired a number of ideas! I work full time in a high stress job so writing is very much a hobby, I can promise I do plan to finish this story (there is nothing worse than an unfinished fic) and already have it mapped out. I hope you enjoy - this is a Drarry fanfic (not PG) set after the events of Deathly Hallows, with some true to cannon. I do not own any of the characters in the story.

Chapter 1 – The Rain

Droplets fell heavily against the windows of the old London pub, water slowly seeping through the cracks in the window pane. The grey sky perfectly matched Harry's mood as his eyes followed the world outside as muggles went about their day, oblivious to the wizard who stared at them.

Even though Harry sat in the corner of the room he had his winter coat drawn tightly around him. Time had taught him that staying hidden was the best way to avoid being recognised, even in the muggle world. Within the dank room his most noticeable features – his green eyes and scar- were hidden from view with the only main source of light coming from the fireplace to his right which threw long shadows throughout the space.

Harry enjoyed this pub for several reasons, the first being that it had an old school charm. Old brick walls, a wooden fireplace and a jarrah bar made him feel comfortable in a way more modern buildings couldn't – they reminded him too much of the Ministry of Magic. The second reason that Harry loved the old building was the anonymity it offered as nobody would think to look for the Saviour of the Wizarding World in the dark, aged building.

Harry grimaced. "Saviour of the Wizarding World" – the words felt like a knife in his mind. Whilst strangers in the street still stared in awe, Harry didn't see the point in being called a saviour when he couldn't even save those he loved.

Sirius

Dobby

Remus and Tonks

Fred

Ginny

The last name caused Harry to shake himself violently and down the rest of his ale in a single gulp. There was no use dwelling on the past – he couldn't bring someone back from the dead, and after his adventures during the War wouldn't want to do so. The dead deserved to be left in peace – it was the living that continued to suffer.

Annoyed at himself for allowing his thoughts to turn to his dead friends and wife, Harry rubbed the long scar stretching from his right eyebrow to his lip in exasperation. The scar was a constant reminder of the worst night of his life even after living through the Battle of Hogwarts and was something he could never remove despite the best attempts of St Mungo's Healers. Both scars on his face were the result of dark magic, meaning they couldn't be removed even with magic. The disfigurement of his face – the right eye that was partially blind and right lip corner that pulled down slightly – didn't bother him as much as the pain of the damn thing, especially during the cold. Like his lightning bolt scar, the mark became irritated when remembering that night.

Finished with his drink, Harry stood quickly and turned to leave the pub, nodding to the barman as he went. He'd been coming here long enough to be recognised by the staff who had no problems with the quiet man who came in every Thursday, sitting in the same spot staring into the traffic of London. Some wondered who he was and what had happened to him to cause the horrible scar stretching his face and the accompanying deep pain within his eyes, but none dared ask and he wasn't forthcoming with the information.

Harry moved quickly along the crowded sidewalk; hood drawn against the rain and the stares that his face normally drew. The third reason he loved the pub was the proximity it had to his apartment, which was a quick ten-minute walk through the busy streets. His apartment was one of the only places he felt safe – hidden in the middle of London, it was the last place anyone from his old life would think to look for him. To the muggles around him, Harry was another time poor Londoner and this suited him just fine.

He reached his flat quickly, half running to escape the rain. After glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, a quick spell (he still carried his wand on the inside of his coat) unlocked the heavy second floor door and he slipped inside. Once he had reset his wards, Harry sagged heavily against the wall and glanced around.

The apartment that he owned was an older two-bedroom unit, with an open plan kitchen and living area separating the two bedrooms. The exposed brick walls and wooden floorboards reminded Harry of a bygone era. Bookcases stretched along the left side of the room framing the living area, where a comfortable couch and large television filled the space. A fireplace – closed to the floo network – ran along the right side of the room. A small, modern kitchen sat in the back corner and was filled with muggle appliances including a kettle and microwave. The living area and kitchen were separated by a small table with matching chairs, comfortable rugs positioned below them along the length of the floor to ward against the chill.

The door to the second bedroom was currently closed, but Harry would recognise that room blindfolded. The small room was where his godson Teddy slept when he was staying with Harry and was everything a little boy's room should be. A single bed with a blue hippogriff cover ran along the back wall, the only tidy thing in a room practically exploding with toys. Teddy was currently staying with his grandmother for a few weeks, leaving Harry alone in the house.

It was a small space and Harry could have afforded something much more opulent had he wanted, but it was all he needed, and it was home.

Pausing only to throw off his wet coat, he sagged onto the sofa and closed his eyes, pressing the palm of his hand roughly into his forehead so hard that the skin began to redden. When Teddy wasn't around, the loneliness of his life weighed heavily on him. If he pressed his hand hard enough, he could almost convince himself that the pain in his head outweighed the pain in his heart, but only if he focused hard.

His life hadn't always been this way. After the end of the War, despite the sadness at losing so many of his loved ones, he had been reasonably happy. He had married Ginny in the year following his defeat of Voldemort, and together they had moved into the heavily warded 12 Grimmauld Place and set to restoring the home to its former glory. He had entered auror training alongside Ron and surprised nobody by excelling in the field – after defeating Voldemort, he found that doors opened for him wherever he went. Sure, there were still rogue death eaters and pureblood fanatics who blamed Harry for the destruction of their master and world and came after him with their full force. None of their attacks had been successful however, and he and Ron had laughed about the attempts over beers at the Burrow.

Nobody had anticipated that the betrayal, when it came, could come so easily from within.

Harry squeezed his eyes closed. Stop thinking about it he reprimanded himself. He hadn't spoken to Ron and Hermione properly in over three years, since Ginny's funeral when Ron had broken his nose. He knew Ron and the remaining Weasley's blamed him for Ginny's death and couldn't find it within himself to fault them for coming to that conclusion – if Ginny had married someone else, she would still be alive after all. Indeed, if Harry had taken Malfoy's hand that fateful day in first year, he could have spared all of those he loved.

It was after Ginny's funeral that Harry, scarred in body and heart and having nothing left to stay for, had packed a small bag with only his most treasured belongings and left the wizarding world for what he hoped was for good. The only attachment that remained on a personal level was with Neville, who had steadfastly remained by his side despite Harry's many attempts at pushing him away.

It was Neville who had helped Harry repair his broken nose that day and helped pack his belongings without a word. It was Neville who had searched for apartments alongside Harry, never commenting on the flea infested hotel Harry had made his temporary home. He had also helped Harry pick the muggle furnishings for his small flat, babysat Teddy when Harry needed help and for his friendship Harry couldn't be more grateful. In a world of loneliness, he was the one friend Harry knew he could count on.

As Harry turned the television on (a muggle invention which he absolutely loved, and which kept Teddy distracted for hours) he let his mind wander aimlessly. Not thinking about the past, about happier times where Ginny would smile, and Ron would hug him freely is how he kept himself sane. If Harry thought about how every single person he loved had left him in one form or another, he knew he wouldn't be able to take it. So instead, Harry dozed off to muggle voices, trying hard to not think of anything at all.