'I am sad to inform you that this year, one of out students will no longer be joining us.'
Headmaster Dumbledore was looking over at the sea of students, the usual twinkle in his eyes replaced by a single, sorrowfilled tear.
'Last year, this student was found to be severely abused by his relatives. He was depressed and frequently mutilated himself. He was drawn into himself and refused most contact. After the death of his godfather, and the withdrawel of the support of his two best friends, he attempted suicide. He was taken to St. Mungo's and shortly afterwards released. This summer, he again attempted suicide. This time he was not released and was put under Suicide Watch.
'This student was not only a boy. He was a shoulder to rest on for many. Even in his deep depression he would not withdraw his support as others have for him. Even when his very existance was frowned upon he held his head high. Even under hate and anger he did not bow. This boy was not defeated by powers over his head, but by powers he held in his own heart. This boy was willing to help anyone, and suffered under it.
'I always say that Love is the greatest magic of them all. And as all powers, it must be used correctly. Because if love is abused, it hurts more than any hatred ever could.
'This student did not take the easy way out. He took the only way out. The world did not allow him to die, so he would do it himself.
'Two night ago, at ten o'clock in the evening, this student took his own life. Not by use of a wand, or even a knife. He used that which was killing him already. Love had made him this way, and love helped him again. Using much wandless magic and a lot of will, this student ripped his own heart out, simply because the world would not let him die any other way.
'Simply because the world loved the shoulder he provided too much.'
He looked up, then, and saw many tear-filled eyes. But he was not yet finished, and he would continue.
'You did not see him as himself. You saw him as a target to bully, as a heart to talk to, but never as the boy that he was. And I must admit my own faults, for I failed to see in this boy anything but what I wanted to see. Hope.
'This boy knew no hope as we saw in him. This boy knew of nothing but pain. And yet he hid it in smiles and laughs, and provided thought and comfort whenever anyone asked.
'I ask of you to remember this boy. I ask of you to remember that, no matter how strong the shoulder is, it will always crumble under too much weight. And we put all our fears upon this boy's shoulders, and they could no longer carry what we would not.'
He swallowed softly before continuing.
'I ask of you to remember this boy. Not as what we saw him, but as who he was. He was not the Boy Who Lived. He was Harry Potter.'