Normal.
Throughout his life, that was all he wanted to be. To be like the other kids, to sneak cookies from the jar and skin his knee while playing football in the neighborhood.
But it seemed the harder he tried to be normal, the harder it was to be normal. He not only snuck cookies from the jar; he sometimes had to take whole meals during the times when the Dursley's would lock him up in his cupboard and not feed him. He couldn't skin his knee without getting the third degree: why he had gotten it, who he was with, had he done any funny business to get that skinned knee? And then they wouldn't believe him anyway, and he would be dragged by his ear to the cupboard and hear the bolt clang shut.
But there were also times that he almost felt normal; times that he almost felt like a regular boy. These times teased him like a cool breeze in the middle of July, or Dudley waving a cookie under his nose. One second, they seemed within reach… and then they'd be snatched away, vanished into thin air (or in the cookie's case, into Dudley's mouth).
But no matter what, he always maintained the hope that someday, someday he would be normal. Not acting normal or pretending to be normal… but to be normal. And he thought he had that chance when Hagrid showed up on the hut on the rocks out at sea. Finally, he was going to a place where there were others like him, others that wouldn't tease him or shove him in a trashcan or steal his lunch. But then he walked into The Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid and once he saw the stares, he knew he wouldn't be normal.
And he wasn't. Every time he met someone new, they would gawp and stare at him. After a while the novelty of the Boy-Who-Lived wore off, and those who were close to him treated him normally… but there were always the whispers, and the pointing, and the quick glances upwards to see his scar.
And he never could find normality. Every year he seemed to do something incredible; every year he did something that amazed students and teachers alike. Whether it be saving the Philosopher's Stone, or flying a hippogriff, or getting into the Triwizard Tournament, he always excelled, always shone- he hated being in the spotlight even worse than being beat up.
At least being beat up made him invisible.
And then Voldemort came back, and all thoughts of normality sprang from his mind. It seemed like someone else's daydream, something he could never reach- because he was always in the paper, always being mocked, always striking fear into the hearts of little first years.
It seemed that each new stage of abnormality was worse than the last.
And the teases kept coming. He felt slightly normal with Sirius. And then he was gone, vanished through a veil he doubted even Luna Lovegood would know where it came out.
He felt normality with Ron. And then the boy started snogging Lavender Brown all over the place, and he could barely hold a conversation with either Ron or Hermione anymore.
He felt normality with Ginny. The fact that he could have kept that normality haunted him every day until the war was over; her face crept into his dreams at night in between the nightmares and the screaming.
He felt normality at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Then Death Eaters attacked the celebration and he, Ron and Hermione had to leave without saying goodbye.
And then, he knew. Love wasn't the only difference he had with Voldemort. Whereas Harry craved normality, Tom Riddle craved supremacy and power.
He kept this in his mind all through the hunt for the horcruxes, all through the hours of research, all though his hunt for Voldemort.
It was in the front of his mind as he sent the killing curse hurtling from his wand, straight toward Voldemort's cold, black heart.
And then, he thought he just might have a shot at normal. Voldemort wasn't in his way anymore. The dark times would surely end now that the dark leader was gone. When he saw Ginny's beaming face coming toward him, and Ron and Hermione right on her heels, this only reinforced his hope…
And then, as the four teenagers emerged from the battlefield, numerous flashes exploded in their face and they were suddenly nose-to-nose with a horde of reporters.
And as he looked from his friends' stunned faces to the greedy photographers and reporters scrambling over one another for a quote, he knew.
Perhaps he would never be normal in the eyes of the world.
But, then, perhaps, maybe this was his normal.