A/N: Once again a bad attempt at a sad story. Oh well, please review.

Disclaimer: Everyone you recognize belongs to J.K Rowling.

Twenty Years Gone

The Castle was empty except for the footsteps that echoed throughout the halls and rooms. The footsteps were disturbing the peace, the silence. But even the sound could not drown out the memories that the person behind the footsteps was experiencing. He could hear the sound of students running to get to class, the sound of laughter, the sound of tears, the sound of conversation. They were the sounds of his childhood. He heard this all as if it was yesterday. But it had not been yesterday. It had been years ago. Now Hogwarts lay empty and forgotten.

The man paused at a window. The sky was a brilliant orange. It looked so happy. The sunset might have made any other man smile, but not this one. This one had stopped smiling a long time ago. The muscles in his mouth could produce nothing but a straight line. This didn't bother the man, as he never had anything to smile about.

He continued walking. More memories came back. This time of specific people. He saw Professor McGonagall yelling at a student for running in the halls. He saw Fred and George Weasley telling jokes, he saw Ginny Weasley staring at a black haired boy. The black haired boy was himself. He was laughing and joking with two people that he hadn't seen in twenty years, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. In his memory Hermione had just announced that she had to go to the library, and Ron was making fun of her. The man stared at the place he was imagining them. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to his carefree life.

But he knew the answer to that. Voldemort had come. They had the final battle, right hear at Hogwarts. As was expected good had triumphed over evil, but at a terrible price. Nothing good ever came without a price. This one had been exceptionally high. The lives of all his friends: Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnagan, Cho Chang, and many others, so many others. He had watched them all fall. He heard their screams, their pleads for help. He couldn't do anything, only watch. The Death Eaters fared the same way. They were not real soldiers. Most of them fled. Too scared to face death for the person they had sworn eternal alliance. Of those that did not flee none lived. It was just him and Voldemort. Screaming for his lost friends he found a way to defeat Voldemort. Then he had collapsed to die. But he hadn't died. He had lived. He didn't want to be alive; he had nothing to live for.

But that was twenty years ago. For the last twenty years he had traveled around, just wandering. He was still grieving. Long ago he had realized that the reason for his unhappiness was Voldemort. It was Voldemort that had destroyed his life twice. But their was nothing he could do to revenge himself, as Voldemort was dead.

The man kept walking, pausing every now and then to watch imaginary people walk by. To listen to their laughter that wasn't really there. He paused to dream about the life he had wanted, that he would never have, to dream about the day he would see his friends again.