Title: His Parents' Son

Author: Lady Sakura of the Fated

Genre: Angst

Warnings: None

Pairings: None

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. Those rights belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers (I think. ) I'm just borrowing Harry to express my feelings.

AN: This suddenly came up after I was reading another story and realized how much I hate it when Harry is compared to his parents, and so I started ranting about it, and decided to write a fanfic on it. Here's the result. Sorry it so short, but I didn't want it to be a long one shot. Just one that got my feelings across. Read and review! And I apologize in advance if it sucks. I wrote this in like 10 minutes at 3:00 in the morning.


Everyone always told him how wonderful his parents were and how he was so much like them.

Everyone always said that he had his mother's eyes, and his father's looks.

Everyone pitied him when his parents were mentioned. He could see it in their eyes.

Everyone liked to talk about his parents and their great deeds.

When he talked about killing himself, everyone told him not to let his parents sacrifice go in vain.

When he did something good, everyone always said that he got it from his parents.

When he did something bad, everyone told him to be good like his mother.

Even Quidditch wasn't his. He got his Seeker skills from his father.

When he pulled a prank, it was because he took after his father so much.

He had also figured out the real reason why Sirius took him and cared for him so much. Because he was James's son, and it was his duty to.

And every single time his parents were mentioned and he was compared to them, he just wanted to scream and rant and cry and break something.

Because he wanted to look like himself.

Because he hated the pity.

Because he didn't want to talk about his parents.

Because he wanted to be told to live because people loved him and wanted him to.

Because he wanted to do something good by himself.

Because…because;

He wanted to be just Harry.

Not James or Lilly.

He wanted to be acknowledged as his own person.

He wanted to be loved.

But no matter how hard he wished,

He couldn't let the screams rip from his throat.

He couldn't rant about how much he loathed being compared to his parents.

He couldn't let the tears that burned his eyes fall.

He couldn't break anything or hit anything.

And so, as Harry sat there, eyes glazed and suspiciously wet, listening to Flitwick exclaim how good his mother was at charms when she was at school, and that he most definitely inherited her powers in it, he screamed and ranted and cried and broke things in his head. His heart burned with the passion to release his feelings, and his head ached at the strain it took to hold them back. He wanted so desperately to finally let someone know how he felt, but he knew he couldn't.

Because he knew it would hurt them, and hurting people wasn't something his mother would do.

And so Harry kept silent, feelings forever hidden deep within his hurting heart, and smiled and thanked and nodded where it was necessary.

Because he was his parents' son, and it was expected of him to be

Just

Like

Them.