Prologue: My name? No, his name.
I was going to start by telling you my name, then I realized that my name isn't important; it's a string of letters used for identification by society. We might as well be a string of numbers or lines of varying thickness—a bar code; I think it might be easier that way: the whole world like a store.
Back to the point, like I said: my name isn't important. I'm just another blank face roaming the hallways with no real goal except surviving until lunch and then to survive until it's time to go to bed.
I don't stand out; I'm just like everyone else. The same generic, uninterested look with a hint of sarcasm in my flat gray orbs. The only thing that really helps me stand out is my…well, I guess you could call it my social status but even that isn't so great since there are other high class brats here too.
I don't remember my name in some occasions... sometimes, I just don't want to.
Voldemort's war screwed a lot of people up; I'm one of them.
There is one name that I remember.
Harry Potter is his name.
You see, this isn't about me.
It is about Harry Potter.
Like it always has been.