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He was staring at his reflection. A pallid face with dull jade eyes too full of pain and sorrow. Slim shoulders hidden under layers of clothing. Hands that were once strong enough to steer a dragon, but now could be broken with a tap. His stature has remained the same, too short and petite to be of much use to the light.
The Light. How ironic it was that they were the ones that left him in this state. They were the ones who forced him to submit. Who forced him to realize that no matter what he did the public was fickle. The debacle in the room of Death at the ministry proved that. However there are only so many mountains one can carry before collapsing. There is only so much time that a human can hold up the sky a Titan was struggling under. And that sky was crushing him. That sky was his undoing.
He picked up the razor he just finished shaving with. people would miss him true, but he would not miss the responsibilities. They would finally have to realize that they could no longer blame him or scorn him. That they needed a new scape goat. After all, he had defeated Voldemort. He had done what they demanded of him. He had done it and stood proud till his pillars were knocked out one by one. They lauded him on day then scorned him the next. They expected him to be able to fight anything and everything.
He was finally giving up. He made his choice. The razor touched the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. It was a soft touch at first. A soft gentle touch. He applied the slightest bit of pressure and stared transfixed as blood welled up and slowly, ever so slowly made it's way down his arm. He just stared. He then applied a bit more pressure, and the blood started dripping onto the sink. He felt no pain, though he knew logically that he should have.
He applied some more pressure, and this time also moved the razor. It immediately sunk into his flesh, and what was just a slight drop before turned into a continuous stream. It was mesmerizing. He took the razor away from his skin, and slowly let it fall from his fingers. His vision started to get spotty, and he swayed on his feet. The single constant thing before he passed out from blood loss was the enchanting red of his blood. The same as the eyes that stared at him beseechingly, lovingly from the light. The light where his parents stood with open arms.
"Welcome home son"