Harry X The Floor [Floorwarts]

Epilogue

Love wasn't always easy. In fact, most of the time it wasn't. 

It was awkward, it was jittery, it was sacrifice. 

And yet, to live without it is the greatest offence one could inflict upon oneself.

To live without love is to merely survive.

Growing up, Harry, on occasion, would wonder if love even existed.

He'd ponder, if in fact, his aunt, uncle and cousin were simply faking it with each other, which meant that by the time Harry came along, they didn't have the energy to fake it for another.

As he grew older, Harry realized these thoughts for what they were; the rambling thoughts of a lonely child. Oftentimes, maybe sometimes, Harry would dwell on his past and all those long years.

That said, he found solace with the knowledge that he'd never be alone again.

Not with her.

Ever since that fateful day, Harry had not spent a single day or night away from his floor. His main floor, that is.

Harry had succeeded in becoming the youngest and longest standing Hogwarts headmaster, after the old man had an unfortunate accident with a sherbet lemon. The ministry ruled it an accident but Harry knew better. 

Harry chuckled/guffawed, with an air of self-satisfaction as he recalled the day he'd ended the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Voldemort and the war along with them.

Popping a sherbet lemon into his eagerly awaiting cavern of a mouth, Harry slowly allowed himself to sink to the floor of the headmaster's office. 

As he rejoiced with his second favourite floor, he felt his head turning in the direction of Dumbledore's painting. He smirked and thanked the man for showing him the way. 

Albus Dumbledore often said to his students (and others) "Light can be found even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light," it was something he'd heard from a love long lost. 

Harry did not have the pleasure of hearing this and thus, did not turn on the light.

As for the floor? The floor was a floor but akin to almost everything in the great castle, it had some sembelance of consciousness, even if it was only in Harry's head. 

Why should that mean it's not real?

Love was icky and love was tricky (but damn was it good for a qui-), but damn, was it worth it.