Cleaning up Hogwarts took time, but it was finally finished with the help of many hands, alive and deceased. All the ghosts felt the need to help, even though they really couldn't. They told people where things were supposed to be and it helped tremendously. Harry though, walked down into the dungeons. When he walked into the classroom, he let out a sigh. Even though he had been dead for more than a year, Harry still felt a stab of pain whenever his love was mentioned. He always wished, every night, that he could have done something to save him, but he didn't. Maybe it was survivors guilt like Hermione had said, but it was more than that. He had lost his family, his love and his life. He was empty inside...alone. Picking up the pen off the desk that Severus had failed Harry so many times with, sent a fresh bolt of pain through him. He felt fresh hot tears running down his face. Why? Why did Voldemort have to take his life? Harry placed the pen back in the exact same spot and walked into the professors quarters, where a large majestic painting was hanging on the wall. Inside the painting was a tall swallow skinned man with coal black eyes and a rather large pointed nose.
"Severus" Harry said quietly, wishing the painting was real.
"Harry." It said back coldly. Harry felt upset, the painting had no idea how much pain Harry was in. This painting did not know love and never would. Harry dispised this painting for it was nothing like Severus. Harry didn't say another word, but only stared at the painting. It looked at him menacingly. "What do you want Potter?" it asked harshly.
"Nothing." Harry said, turning and walking out of the room, magically locking it behind him, so that no one, not even McGonagall could get in. Harry never set foot in the room again for every time he did, the painting would be rude and not register him as Harry, the boy he loved, but as Harry, Jame's son that he loathed. Harry was alone again.
A/N: This is also after seeing Calvin Terrell, I was sad, so i wrote sad things...
mm3md