Harry found himself wishing he'd kept the resurrection stone for just a little while longer. For a second, he even played with the idea of wandering back into the forest to search for it. He needed to talk to someone, and everyone he knew would be far too emotional, too attached. Harry yearned for a father. Someone he could trust. Someone who wouldn't judge him. Someone who understood what he'd lost.
Harry felt that, despite the physical resemblance, he and his dad had little in common. James had been loved, always. His parents had worshipped the very ground he walked on. At Hogwarts he was admired by everyone, envied by everyone. Harry had been despised for most of his youth. Even when he finally found some solace in friendship at Hogwarts, that didn't last. He was named Heir of Slytherin, hated for usurping Cedric's position as Hogwarts champion, loathed for spouting lies about Voldemort's return. He and James, it seemed to Harry, were polar opposites. Even Remus, whom Harry had confided in and respected so much, had known maternal love. Harry's hand darted to the scar on his forehead. A mark, as so often he had been told by Dumbledore, evidencing his mother's sacrifice: her complete devotion to her child. But try as he might, Harry simply could not recall any of this affection, and instead just heard Lily's horrific screams as a sharp green light stole her life from her.
No, Harry may have known love as a very young boy, and he may have men he could credit as paternal figures, but his real father was Sirius. Sirius was the one he could relate too. His parents' love had soon turned sour, just as Harry's had been ripped away. He had felt an outcast like Harry, rejected by his family. He had hated his cousins as much as Harry had once reviled Dudley. He too had found a friend who grew to be his brother, as Ron had for Harry.
Harry needed Sirius. He needed his godfather.
Subconsciously, his feet led him to where he had first encountered Sirius. The shrieking shack.
Draco hadn't a clue where he was going. He just put all of his trust in his feet, and prayed they took him somewhere safe. And, more importantly, somewhere solitary.
The second he stepped out of the Great Hall, a feeling of relief flooded over him and he finally permitted the tears that had been building up inside him to pour down. Shaking, he broke into a run. Nature called out to him, and he burst through the vast doors of the castle and into the morning air. A misty hue surrounded Hogwarts, and it was clear that despite the obvious jubilation at the Dark Lord's demise, the castle was in mourning. It had lost more than bricks that night; pupils, former students and professors alike had been slaughtered. Draco let the grief flow over him and bellowed a scream. He felt like he was under the Cruciatus Curse, and knew that the sensation would never go away. He would always be tortured. Tortured by the horrible things he had done; the people he'd betrayed; the friends he had lost.
For the second time that morning, a dreadful pang of guilt swept over Malfoy. Vincent Crabbe's body had been brushed to one side, piled high on the mound of Death Eaters' bodies which had been left to rot in the dungeons. Narcissa had struggled for the corpse of her sister, yet Crabbe had had nobody to fight for him. No one to save him. Draco knew, in his heart, that it was his fault. Both Crabbe and Goyle had followed him blindly. When Draco was branded with Voldemort's mark, it was inevitable that those two would follow suit. Crabbe was dead because of his childish stupidity.
Whilst these thoughts had been turning in his mind, Draco had wandered mindlessly over the grounds of Hogwarts. Most of the fires had now burnt out through lack of fuel, but the earth seemed still to burn below Draco's feet and appeared as though it had been covered in a thick layer of shadow. And all of a sudden Draco found himself being consumed by the shadow. He was falling, falling, falling…
A passageway. Thin and narrow and claustrophobic and just what Draco needed. Something to strangle him more than his thoughts.
Curiosity eventually led him to walk onwards, through the tunnel. It sloped down, then up, then down again. Until finally Draco found himself on a steady upward slope, which emerged into a dusty, wooden room. There was only one place he could be. The shrieking shack.