"Are you alright, mate?" Neville asked Harry as they brushed past each other in the stairwell, Neville entering Gryffindor tower after obviously having been awake all night, and Harry leaving it after sleeping for a few hours. Just over 24 hours ago, Harry had defeated the most terrible wizard in all the world. He'd spent the rest of that day consoling families in their grief and shaking a multitude of hands. Everybody wanted to see him and talk to him, and thank him for what he'd done. Finally he'd been able to escape the crowds and eventually even Ron and Hermione, and he'd made his way up to his bed in Gryffindor tower, where he'd collapsed in exhaustion and slept a mercifully dreamless sleep.

I'm in shock, Harry thought. "I'm fine. It was good to sleep," Harry said, and continued on his way.

Harry knew he was in shock. It was a distinctive feeling, like all of his emotions were being hidden from him by a thick rubber curtain, and he could feel them vibrating in the distance, but only little bits of them were coming through. He was grateful for the distance, but he feared what would happen when the shock wore off and his emotions were fully with him. It was that fear that kept him moving through his lingering exhaustion.

The first thing he did that morning was return the bloody Elder Wand to where it belonged in the White Tomb. He wept at seeing Dumbledore's body even though it wasn't a fresh grief, for Dumbledore had made Harry feel safe and hopeful for so many years, and he desperately needed that comfort now. In a flash of surreal clarity, Harry realized that the reason for his tears was that now his presence made others feel safe and hopeful, while he himself felt anxious and alone, and this dissonance was difficult to bear. For a moment he cried silently over Dumbledore's tomb, mourning the loss of the only person who could have taken the burden of responsibility from him. But he didn't let himself cry for long. "People need me," he told himself, so he took some deep breaths and calmed his heart, dried his eyes, and covered Dumbledore's tomb once more. Then he went back up to the school to see what needed to be done.

He spent most of that day working to levitate stones out of the passageways and courtyards, relishing the sweat and achiness that accompanied the difficult labor. At dinner time, Hermione found him clearing the third floor corridor that had been forbidden in their first year at Hogwarts.

"Harry," she said, "it's dinner time, come have some food."

He nodded.

"Ron's at the Burrow," Hermione went on, filling the silence between them as they walked down through the castle. "All the Weasleys are there, mourning Fred." She glanced over at him. Harry already knew. Ginny had found him earlier in the day to tell him she was going home, and that he should come join them as soon as he could. At the moment, he didn't think he could bear to see them in their grief, not when he was the cause of it. He saw Fred being blown to the ground, buried under fragments of stone. He saw Fred being blown to the ground. And again. And again. His face, still bearing the ghost of his last laugh. He saw Fred -

"Fred's funeral is in a week." Hermione's voice broke the cycle. "After that I'm going to Australia to bring back Mum and Dad. I can't wait to see them again."

Harry heard a hitch in her voice at those last words.

She sighed. "We're not children anymore," she said.

Harry nodded. There was no going back, no undoing the things they'd done, no unseeing the things they'd seen. Harry saw Remus's face, relaxed, but wrong somehow. Harry knew what death did to a face. There was no going back.

They ate dinner in the kitchens. Most of the house elves were there, along with several of the professors, a handful of volunteers, and a dozen Ministry workers brought in to assist with rebuilding the school. Most of the people present for the battle had left for their homes, taking comfort in being among family. There was very little talk, and what conversation they had was of little consequence. Being among the wreckage of the castle reminded each one of their insignificance and vulnerability, and the mood was reflective and somber.

Harry left dinner quickly and went straight to bed. He was thankful that his exhaustion allowed him to fall asleep almost immediately, and when he awoke the next morning he felt more connected to the world around him. He supposed that was the shock beginning to wear off a little. It had now been over two days since he had vanquished Tom Riddle, and although it wasn't his wand that technically cast the fatal spell, he acknowledged that Riddle had died at his hand, and that he was responsible for the death of another man. Although, he reflected, he was responsible for the deaths of a great many men, women, and children. He saw Colin Creevey's body, sprawled in the grass. Yes, he was even responsible for the deaths of children. At this thought, Harry felt a strong urge to break something. Anger rose up in him, but he could not think of anybody who deserved that anger to be directed at but himself, so he strode viciously through the castle's halls, half way between shouting and tears. It was in this state that Hermione found him.

"Harry," she said, then stopped when she saw his face. "Are you alright?"

No, Harry thought, of course I'm not alright. How could I bloody well be alright? He wanted to shout at her, frustrated that she would ask such a question. But he saw the concern in her eyes and knew that she had good intentions, so he took a deep breath and answered, "No. But I don't know how I could be."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Hermione asked tentatively. Harry saw deep shadows under her eyes and a tension around her mouth that told him she was both exhausted and on the verge of tears.

"No, but thank you Hermione. I really do appreciate it," Harry said. "Actually I feel a little better."

And it was true. The anger he had been feeling had been replaced with empathy and concern for Hermione.

"I don't think we should stay here anymore," he said suddenly.

"Oh good," Hermione said with relief. "I can't stand it anymore. But I didn't want to leave you here alone."

"Where do you want to go?"

"I was thinking of the Burrow," she said. "I want to be there for Ron, and maybe I can help Mrs. Weasley around the house so she doesn't have to worry as much."

Harry felt a burning shame. Harry should be strong enough to go comfort Ginny, but even the idea of going to the Burrow made him feel anxious and ill. "I don't think I can go there," he said. "It's too much. Actually I don't know where to go."

Hermione caught his eyes. "It's okay, I understand. How about Grimmauld Place?"

Harry thought for a moment, but the memory of Sirius falling through the veil came to his mind, and he shook his head.

Hermione was silent for a moment. "How about you travel? That way you'll only have to think of yourself, and you can go places you haven't been before. I have a feeling you want to be alone."

The idea felt right to Harry. He didn't want to be around people when his emotions finally caught up to him. He might worry them or say something hurtful to somebody he loved. "That's a brilliant idea," he said. "But you won't be too worried to let me be on my own?" After all, they'd hardly been apart in seven years.

"I know you can take care of yourself, and… I don't think you're a danger to yourself. Am I right?" Hermione asked. She looked even more serious now, and just a hint of uncertainty pulled at her eyebrows.

Harry considered. It was a non-trivial question. "I'm not going to hurt myself," he answered, and then decided to be fully truthful. "But I'm also not sure that I'll ever be okay."

Hermione pulled him into a hug. "It will take time, but I do think you're going to be alright some day," she said. "You have a resilient soul."

Harry wondered if even the most resilient soul could be broken beyond repair, but he put that thought aside and focused his mind on preparing for his departure.