Harry ran. He ran faster than he has ever run. He ran past the Weasley's who looked shocked and scared for him. He ran past Ron and Hermione, who looked equally bewildered. He could hear Hermione shouting after him, but he didn't stop. He had to get out of there, away from the fans, the admirers, away from the people he loved most, but caused to lose so much.
It was the morning after the final battle, and he had been lunged at all day; people constantly shaking his hands, and thanking him. Thanking him for what? Causing the loss of innocent lives, destroying Hogwarts? He would never forgive himself for that. Never.
He couldn't take it anymore. He had to get away, only for a bit, a week or so, just to chill. He would, of course, go back for Fred's funeral, and Remus', and Tonks', and Collin's, and probably Lavender's too. There was already talk of an assembly, to mourn the dead as a whole, and celebrate the beginning of a new era. He would go to that too. He knew he would be forced to make some sort of speech, or at least, say a few words. He would do that too. But for now, he had to run.
As soon as he was across the bridge, he looked back at the ruins of his home. Because Hogwarts was and is his one true home, where he lived for six years, where he fought, and loved, and lost. But now it was in ruins. He looked down, straight across the bridge, he saw the Weasley's staring at him, worried and confused. Ginny was looking as if she was going to start crying again. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her, comfort her, be the boyfriend he hasn't been able to be yet, the boyfriend she deserves. And he will do just that, but in time, after he has recovered. He turned again, and disapparated.
