Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
This is a small drabble about how Harry felt after the war.
Not Harry
Not Harry, never Harry only The-boy-who-lived, that's what they call me, the people who don't know me.
At first it was cool that everyone knew my name, and maybe, maybe when I die people will mourn, mourn for me. But they won't mourn for me, they'll mourn for The-boy-who-lived, not Harry, never Harry.
I came to realize that even if people knew my name it didn't mean they knew me, didn't mean they cared, their sadness would mean very little compared to my friends and with that came the realization of what they wanted of me.
So, I did everything they wanted, I saved their lives and now they have forgotten me, they pushed me aside after I stopped it, stopped him. No they didn't push aside The-boy-who-lived they pushed aside Harry, the only time they ever met him and they pushed him aside, like he was nothing.
Only The-boy-who-lived not Harry, never Harry
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A little strange,
Jessica.