The war felt like it had lasted an entire lifetime, though Harry figured it couldn’t have lasted more than a handful of hours. But to be fair, he<span style="font-style: italic">had</span>died halfway through.<br/>His hands still shaky from the battle, Harry had made a decision to avoid the Great Hall. He knew that the survivors had gathered there, some in better shape than others; he himself had spend half an hour buried in the arms of friends, all crying with relief, happiness and grief. Yet, in the end, Harry had felt restless among the rubbles of the castle, and had instead set out to wander the halls in search for wounded.<br/>Every now and then Harry passed other members of the Order, nodding a quiet gesture acknowledging their presence, but never speaking, and for the better part of his walk, Harry was alone. He felt mentally exhausted and his muscles ached with the sudden lack of adrenaline, yet enjoying the strange calm that settled around the castle. For once, he allowed his body a rest, taking a seat on a stone windowsill, enjoying chilled breeze that entered through the cracked glass behind him.