Harry was covered in dirt. He hadn't even noticed the thick layer of grime covering his face, neck, hands, and patches on his chest. His shirt was in tatters, barely clinging on to his thin frame. As he peeled it off, he realized with a pang that he could count all of his ribs. He stepped into the shower in the bathroom off of the boys dormitory. Almost unbearably hot water ran down his face and chest. God. He just wanted to scrub it all away. But no matter how many layers of skin he peeled off with the washcloth from Hermione's bag, he couldn't forget them. No matter how hard he tried, he didn't want to. All of the people that had sacrificed their lives for him, all of their names, their faces, were carved into his mind. And then there were more, people that he didn't know, that died for him, just so that he could live. In the end, though, he'd had to kill himself anyways. It broke the little bit of his heart that he had left to see all of the tear stained faces in the hallways, following him in Hogsmead, Diagon Ally, everywhere. He couldn't face them yet. He wasn't ready to go down stairs.

When Harry finally got out of the shower, his skin bright pink from scrubbing, he saw a set of flannel pyjamas set out on his bed for him. He didn't see anyone else in the dormitory. Perhaps one of the house elves? He put them on and got into bed. He pulled the blanket over his head and tried to block out his thoughts, but something was bothering him. That's when he realized that the pyjamas didn't smell like the house elf smell of lemons and disinfectant, they smelled like something else. They smelled like Ginny.

"Harry! You need to get up!"

Harry moaned and curled into a tighter ball.

"Come on, you've got to! Mum says she'll hex me if I don't get you down for breakfast again."

Harry cracked open his eyes for what felt like the first time in days. Bright light shone in through the window by his bed, making him wince. "What time is it?" He croaked.

"Um..." Ron checked his watch. "11:52 am."

"What day?"

"Monday."

"Shite. I've been asleep for 2 days?! Why didn't someone wake me?!" He sat up in bed angrily.

"Well, we tried to, but you would yell at us to get out everytime... You really don't remember?" Ron scratched his neck like an embarrassed 10 year old.

Harry stood up and stretched. "No. I think it was just because I was so tired..." He trailed off. Ron didn't say anything, but he knew it was more than that. "How is everyone?"

"Alright." Ron didn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Ron, I can handle it. Just tell me."

"Well, don't worry, but George hasn't been eating. He just sits in the Room of Requirement and stares at the wall..."

"And everyone else?"

"They're coping."

Harry wandered down the halls of Hogwarts, taking the longest route possible to get to the Great Hall. He didn't think he could sit for an entire meal with the family who's lives he had just ruined without breaking down and crying like a baby. So, as a solution, he decided to walk it off. He climbed over yet another pile of stone when he stopped. The hallway that was in front of him was...untouched. Everything was exactly as it should be. Harry didn't think that any part of Hogwarts had survived the utter destruction from the battle. Each painting was hung perfectly straight. If Harry looked closer, he could see tiny figures made out of oil paints scrambling around inside of them. He could make out a red cross on one of their robes. He looked at all of the paintings. There were more of them that had red crosses. They were tending to the wounded inside of the paintings. Harry cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, excuse me?"

One of the larger medics turned towards him with a start. "What do you want, dearie? We've a right time trying to keep all of these lads alive, we don't need another one to look after."

" Oh, it's not that, I'm fine, I was just wondering if you were."

" If I were wot?" She had a heavy Cockney accent.

" Um, fine, that is."

" Well, even if we weren't, there wouldn't be anything much you could do about it."

" Isn't there some sort of spell that can help you, I dont know, reincarnate or something?"

" There is, but tha's just to create us, see. You can' heal us or anything fancy."

" Oh."

" I'd have figured you'd know this, seeing as you're the Chosen One and all."

" Yeah, well, I don't, and I don't need a reminder anyways."

" A reminder 'bout what?"

" That I'm the Chosen One!" Harry said, slightly exasperated.

" There ain't no need to go broadcasting it about!"

Harry sighed and began to walk away, ignoring the shouts of annoyance from the medic. Just then, a movement in one of the doorways caught his eye. He paused and took his wand from his back pocket. He cautiously approached the door, wand at the ready, when a tiny, frail figure jumped in front of him.

" Master Potter! Please forgive Winky, she wasn't trying to hide anything, but Master Weasley told Winky not to tell Master Potter and Winky is so, so sorry-"

"Winky, stop, it's okay!"

Winky began mumbling hysterically. "Winky knew she shouldn't have done it, Master Weasley was not to be trusted, she knew it, she knew it, it was all his fault-" Harry grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly.

"Winky, I'm not mad! Just-Just tell me which Weasley is Master Weasley!" He had to say the last part very forcefully.

" The one with the red hair..." Winky murmured miserably.

" Could you be a bit more descriptive than that?