Harry dashed through the school, flying past students and teachers. He ran up the stairs as quickly as he could. His breath shuddered in and out and sweat streamed up his eyes, mixing with the tears he had cried earlier. Finally, he reached his destination. In the tallest tower of the school, right below the high observation room, there was a smaller art gallery. He had been coming to the room in secret for years, because no one else ever came up there. The paintings were generally cheerful and were glad to have the company. Harry learned history and some obscure magic from the paintings.

His favorite painting was a small girl in a blue frock. She was the newest of the paintings, finished in 1912. Her name was Alicia. They used to talk for hours when Harry couldn’t sleep, but since he became fully deaf, conversations had become harder. With paintings it was harder to read lips, but he could gather the general idea. But Alicia wasn’t the only painting he talked to; there was Oscar the Alchemist (he knew some older charms), Zoraster the Pious (he knew history), and many others. The oldest painting was of Zoraster; he was painted in 430 B.C. They had all been in different parts of Hogwarts at various times, but now they were considered highly valuable and had been placed in the tower for “safe keeping.” None of the paintings fully agreed with this, but they had little choice.

Harry sat down under the one window and leaned up against the wall. “Hey, guys,” he whispered, not bothering to look up. He could feel their eyes on him. “I don’t really want to talk right now.” He dared a quick glance up; Alicia was writing on a desk in the painting next to hers, Oscar was brewing a potion, and Zoraster was flirting with the two girls in the painting across from him. Harry looked down at his palms and then rubbed his face.

I’m a fool, he thought. Do my friends even care for me? Or do they think that I’m the class clown and good for fun? Or do they not like me because of all the trouble I bring? How long have people laughed at me? But not only that…

“I’ve failed,” he whispered. “I’ve been weak. I mean, look at me! I cry the moment I learn something isn’t the way I thought it was. I’m supposed to be strong and be able to defeat Voldemort. I didn’t defeat him, my mother did. And I brought him back! Cedric died because of me.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to clean them off. “My hands are dirty, dirty with blood! Many people die because of me. My parents, Quirrel, Cedric, even the deaf school for Merlin’s sake! I don’t even have the courage to off myself.” Harry started picking at the calluses on his hand, causing them to bleed. “I’m a waste…a waste…”

A quick motion caught his eye. Harry looked up. Leaning against the wall was Professor Snape, looking somewhat irate, but also—human. “Well, Mr. Potter,” he said. “I think we’ll have another chat, won’t we?”

~ * ~ * ~

Snape sat across from him on the floor, muttering small healing charms on Harry’s hands. Once he had finished, Snape examined the palms to make sure they fully healed. He then withdrew his own hands. “Potter,” he said slowly and carefully. “Why do you believe you are a waste?”

Harry drew in a shuddering breath, but then looked into Snape’s onyx eyes. “I’m…I’m a waste because I’m not doing what I’m supposed to.” He shamefully looked at his hands. Snape reached under his chin and tilted his head up.

“How are you not doing what you’re supposed to? Do you have a task?” Harry looked down once more before replying.

“I’m to kill Voldemort,” he said sadly. Snape gazed at him coolly before speaking once more.

“It’s not your task alone. You have friends—”

“Friends!” screamed Harry. “Friends that laugh at me, friends that think I’m a dunce! How do they help me?” Harry tucked his knees under his chin and rocked back and forth. “They like my popularity,” said Harry mournfully. “If I had died that day…” Snape forced Harry to look at his face.

“You weren’t meant to die. What if you have a different task? What if you’re supposed to discover something? Maybe Voldemort isn’t your problem. But either way, you must survive! Why squander something as precious as life?” Snape paused, but then continued. “I was a Death Eater, Harry. A Death Eater! I was supposed to strive for immortality. I was supposed to counter death, to eat of it and come out stronger. But life doesn’t work like that. You can’t destroy a life and expect to get life in return. The only way to receive life is to live it to its fullest.”

“You’re the greatest example of that, aren’t you, Snape? Living holed up in you dungeon?” Harry said snidely.

Snape cocked his head to the side with a sighed. “I know I’m not the greatest role model, but the choices in my life are mine. How do you know that for me, living life to its fullest isn’t brewing potions that help people? Those dungeons allow me to think unobstructed. I have found my purpose. I hope you can find yours, Harry.”