A/N: This story was written for the Golden Snitch forum's Prompt of the Day challenge. points should go to Horned Serpent house of Ilvermorny.

Prompt (emotion): drained

Word Count (not including A/N): 843

Harry Potter was slumped against the wall, or what was left of the wall, of the Great Hall in Hogwarts. He surveyed the casualties of the Battle of Hogwarts. There were so many–many, many more than Harry ever meant there to be. In fact, no one was supposed to die for him, in his ideal world.

Harry surveyed the weeping, wailing family members of the dead and the quietly celebrating members of the light side. Almost everyone expected him to be doing one of these too, but he wasn't. The urge to cry had been stamped out of him by the Dursleys long ago. He felt sadness, deep sadness, at the deaths of his friends, family, and allies, but he wouldn't or couldn't cry over them. And though Voldemort was dead and gone, he wouldn't be celebrating either, because of the cost. The cost of all of the wonderful, heroic people who died for him, Harry. That tally was meant to be 0.

Harry Potter did feel sad, and a little ecstatic, but those were heavily overshadowed by the overwhelming drained feeling. Harry was drained of emotion; perhaps it was a protective instinct and he would feel the full blow of his emotions later. He was drained of happiness; all he had known for the last 10 months was danger, fear, and uncertainty. He was also drained of purpose; all his life, Voldemort was always the common enemy, the thing his life had been pledged to defeating since he was one years old. He had been living and fighting to rid the world of that evil, and now that it was gone, what was he supposed to do? Maybe he didn't have to do anything, or maybe he wouldn't do anything, and just waste the rest of his life away.

So Harry sat, drained, against the crumbling wall of Hogwarts, feeling and thinking nothing.

He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the grimy, blood-stained faces of Ron and Hermione. Ron had placed his left hand on Harry's shoulder, while his right was clasped in Hermione's left. Harry glanced at their hands and gave them a ghost of a smile. They both looked relieved. No one asked if everyone was okay, because they all knew no one was. The war would leave scars, deep ones, but they had each other to get through it.

Without speaking, his best friends led Harry to the Weasley family, all who were bent over a stretcher. When Harry approached, Charlie and Mrs. Weasley turned. Harry looked down, preparing himself for an onslaught of blame and anger. After all, this war was fought because of him. But the onslaught never came.

Harry found himself wrapped in a bear hug and his shirt being saturated by Mrs. Weasley's tears. "What–" he started, but he was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley's sobs.

"You brave, brave boy." She whispered. "You've saved us all. Don't deny it." And she went back to mourning Fred with her family. Harry stayed for a minute to pay his respects, but the guilt overtook him and he walked away. He passed Lupin and Tonks, pausing to hold their limp hands and apologize. He automatically made his way up to Gryffindor tower, and surveyed the casting a long look at the remains of the fireplace and the hearth he and his friends had sat by, plotting in their former school years, he made his way to the remnants of his dormitory. There was his former bed,the hangings burnt. And Harry sat.

After around twenty minutes, there were fast footsteps on the stairway. Harry stood, the instincts ingrained in him in the last 10 months kicking in, newly-repaired wand at the ready, anticipating an attack or someone fleeing from bad news. And there, standing in the doorway, was Ginny Weasley.

The sight of her mangled mane of fiery red hair, her brown eyes, sparkling even after the battle, her stance indicating her refusal to go down without a fight, even now, with the loss of her brother. The sight gave harry life, purpose, happiness, and he didn't feel so drained anymore.

"Ginny," he breathed, and his wand fell from his hand as he made his way towards her. In a second, he was holding her, and all was right in the world. He felt a wetness on his shirt and saw that she was crying. "What's wrong?" He pleaded softly.

"You were dead," she whispered, and the words broke his heart. "You made me think you were dead. And, and I didn't know what to do and, and then you were gone and–"

"Shhh," Harry consoled her. "I'm here, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying with you, right here, and we can be together now that this will all be over."

"You promise?" She tilted her head up to look straight at his eyes, her gaze fierce but her voice sounding very small.

"I promise," Harry vowed without breaking eye contact, and sealed the promise with a kiss.