Who is this boy? The boy who lived. The one who is stared at everywhere he goes. Is it him, they say. Can it be, they ask each other. The brave Harry Potter. The courageous one who defeated the Dark Lord. There is no brave Harry Potter! He did nothing. He did not vanquish Voldemort. All that was a coincidence. His destiny some might say but he is no champion. What these people see of him is an untruth, an invention, a fabrication. A lie he never told.
Their night, his night. The night the Potters died. The night the world was set free. By Harry Potter. Who remembers nothing. Only the pain. Famous, celebrated throughout the world, for what? For having a scar? For his family having been slaughtered before he had time to know them. For his world having been shattered before he knew it to be whole. For being constantly in danger, for endangering the lives of his friends simply by being with them. Wonderful Harry Potter. He did not ask for this. He does not love the fame, the constant attention. Great Harry Potter. If he's so great, then why don't you leave him alone? Why is he cut off from everyone, from everything? By his past, by his present, by his future. I am not one of you, he thinks, watching the people go by. I am not one of you.
The excellent quidditch player, perhaps more believable than their fake hero. But what about a boy? A man. A wizard, a person? How can they see me as any less when they will not? When they do not want to.
Who is Harry Potter? I am not Harry Potter.
