Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.
Note: I wrote this right after seeing the Deathly Hallows Part II midnight showing (I'm only posting it now because I had to make a new account and you have to wait two days to post something) at around five am. This is my first fanfiction. I'm not sure if I should keep going with this (if I do, it will turn into a drarry fic). It might just be this. Depends on reviews and my mood and stuff.
And yes, I know how bad the summary is lol.
The stench of death hung heavily in the air, mixed together with blood and sweat. A cloud of dirt floated like a fog over the rubble, blinding the survivors. Bodies were littered all over the ground, along with broken bits of stone. Harry frowned at his surroundings, and dropped to his knees, running a hand through his hair, and cradling his head in his hands out of both exhaustion and sadness. This was all wrong. Everything was wrong. He wanted to cry, but he held back his tears, let out a sigh and stood, making his way toward the bridge that connected Hogwarts to the outside world. He didn't want to go back inside, didn't want to see everyone who had died fighting to protect him. He didn't want to know what handicaps people would suffer from now on because of him. All he wanted to do was walk, get away from all this, if only for a moment.
The fog of dirt that clung to him slowly dispersed the farther he got from the remains, the closer he got to the trees that surrounded Hogwarts. He was still in a state of shock. He knew he should be happy – he had killed Voldemort, after all. But at what cost, he wondered. Was it really worth all the lives that were taken? He made a grimace, and collapsed against a tree on the outer edges of the forest. What was the point of him now? He had served his purpose… His eyes found Hogwarts, examining the damage from afar. A few people rushed in and out of the castle, taking wounded students and staff that could possibly be saved. Harry bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn't cry - he couldn't cry. He had to be strong, had to be strong…
"Shouldn't you be happy, Potter?"
Harry flinched out of surprise at the sudden noise, but didn't look up. He could recognize that venomous voice anywhere. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he mumbled, sounding groggy and annoyed.
Draco didn't answer, and Harry was beginning to wonder if he had just left. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy sit, and he glanced over to see that Draco's eyes were also set on Hogwarts. "You got what you wanted, you killed him. It's done. So why are you out here?"
Harry rested his head against the tree, pondering a way to answer the question, not that he wanted to. Briefly, it struck him as odd that there was no sarcasm in Draco's question, only genuine curiousity, but he brushed the thought off after a moment's consideration; Draco had been affected by the war too. They all had. "They all died for me," he said slowly, scared he would start crying. He'd never hear the end of it, not with Malfoy. "All of them. I killed him…but they're all still dead." His voice cracked on 'dead', and he frowned, waiting for Malfoy to call him some rude name.
But no insult came. Draco stood, silver eyes still cast on Hogwarts. "Perhaps, Potter, that's because you're something worth dying for," he offered after a long silence, before making his way back toward the castle, leaving Harry behind to decipher the meaning of his words.