Hello all!
So I am both excited and nervous to share this fanfic for a couple of reasons. First is that this is my first Harry Potter fanfic I've written, and second is because this is a different style then I usually write. This is a more introspective fic on something that came to me quite suddenly as I started watching Half Blood Prince earlier today, and I wasn't able to continue watching until I had written this haha.
I hope you all enjoy!
His Name
With everything that had come at Harry, losses that hit him like a punch in the face at what felt like every turn, he made it a rule to always expect the worst. With every big thing that came he braced himself twice as hard for the next one, a never ending wave some days it felt like.
Amidst all that, the oceans of pain that pulled him under he had always expected the thing to put him over the edge of what he could handle in the moment to be yet another loss. Or a betrayal from someone he counted on their side.
He never predicted it to be a first year student saying his name.
Harry Potter.
All the boy had done was call out those two words, star stuck as he pointed and Harry had felt a level of panic wash over him he hadn't felt outside of dreams in months as all the first years in the halls had turned as one.
They always breathed it in such reverence, or spat it with such hatred, but never did they simply say it like it was a name. Like he was just another person.
His name was larger then life to many, the boy who had lived as a baby and then faced down Voldemort not once but twice to live again. The name of a hero, after all who else but one who had been able to fight before could take on "he who shall not be named".
They would call his name and with it lay the weight of their expectations across his shoulders for him to carry around like shackles that tightened around him ever passing moment. He could hear their whispers, his name floating through the halls as he passed as they judged his every step and the tightness over his chest only got worse.
Merlin he resented his name some days, a dull burning ache in his chest as he would push through the students and try not to look as thought he was fleeing them even though he was.
Harry Potter, boy who lived. Harry Potter, quiddish star. Harry Potter, traitor.
He hated himself for feeling like this, for dreading to hear the name his parents gave him. They had loved him and named him with hopes and dreams of a happy future for him, they had died for him.
Yet all he could think of some days was how much he wished he could have been born anybody but Harry Potter.