They say that writing down your thoughts and feelings is supposed to
help heal the soul faster than time itself. I don't know why I had thought
that it might help then, but now I'm not so sure. In the mass of old
objects once used and broken by Dudley, I found the old school book I now
use as a journal. I began then, as soon as I found a pen, to write down the
hurt feelings, the pain, in hopes of finding peace and serenity. It never
came. I had written then, how I longed to see my parents with me, to know
they would always be there for me. That was then, now I know I have seen
more than any other sixteen-year-old boy should. I know that my parents
loved me, but the love I have for them won't bring them back from the dead.
I'm alone, truly alone now.
I know I have Hermione and Ron, but they don't understand the truth of being alone, even in a house filled with 'family'. Hermione has her parents, willing to take her on vacations, to do whatever she might want to do. A trip to the mall, or the zoo, anything that would make her happy; I'd be lucky to see the zoo again. Ron has a great family, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley do the best they can for him and his siblings. They may not have a lot of money, or the respect from other witches and wizards; but they have love and admiration for each other (even if Percy has been a prat). I'd be lucky to be questioned on how my day was. I'm not acknowledged as being alive, or part of the only family I have left. I know that the Weasleys would accept me into their home and part of their family, but I could not ask that of them. Another mouth to feed? I couldn't do that to them, as much as I know they would.
What caused me to pick up that dusty old journal, the pages slowly falling from the seam, the cover fraying with use? I'm not sure, what I know is that I haven't written in many years. The last entry was just before my eleventh birthday, telling of how I was sure to be forgotten again. That was the best birthday present I could have had; someone that acknowledged my existence, someone to be there for me if I needed to talk. I don't know if Hagrid understood what he had done for me, or what Professor Dumbledore had done by continuing to pursue my attendance at Hogwarts. They gave me the chance to feel accepted by others. Even then, I was accepted for something I had no memory of. It wasn't enough to be accepted as The-Boy-Who-Lived, I wanted more. I wanted to be accepted as Harry Potter, just a normal wizard like everyone else.
Was it too much to ask? Sometimes I think it was. I know that Ron and Hermione now see me as Just Harry, but then? I'm sure then, I was 'OH MY! It's Him! It's Harry Potter' to them. Sure I was astounded by the sudden attention, even a little afraid of it. I was forced to get used to something I never experienced in my whole life. That was, until I met Professor Snape, he amongst all the other Professors, had managed to treat me, with what seemed like little to no respect. Now I think back on the times he yelled at me, all the times when he made me feel like a fool, he was in his own way, getting me to strive to the best that I could be. He had in the first class pushed the notion (one I hated) out of my head. His eerie tone, his cold demeanor, had at the time made me angry. But the meaning behind the way he had said it, made me realize (not right away) that not everyone wanted to see me as a Hero. That in a sense, I wasn't. I was just the lucky baby who survived a dreadful accident. Maybe that's just how I want to see him now, as much as I hate him still, I believe that he was of some help (even if I still can't make a potion to save my life).
What do I have to claim as my own? I can't call getting the Seeker position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team my own. In any sense I have to thank Malfoy for that. If he had not of taken Neville's Rememberall, I would never have flown after him to gain it back. I would never have caught it just before Professor McGonagall's window, and she would not have asked me to play Seeker. My achievements in saving the school? No I can't even take all the credit for that. Hermione and Ron had always been there to help, as were others. Professor Dumbledore had told me, in his own way how to work the Mirror of Erised. I had Hermione to thank for the information on how to find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. During the TriWizard Tournament, I had only my flying skills to help me. Dobby, Hermione, and Ron had helped me through the other challenges. So what do I really have to call my own? A few books, a broom, a few robes, a few friends, but what does that add up to? I have nothing to look forward to returning home every summer, no family to welcome me back. And whom do I have to thank for that? Voldemort that's who. He took everyone, one by one from me.
Since the end of last year, I have spent many hours alone outside in the gardens weeding. Not because I was (believe it or not) forced to, but because it was one of the few places, I truly felt like I could think. I had and still do, have a lot to think about; a Prophecy that could claim my life, friends that could be in potential danger, and schooling; that's a lot for a sixteen-year-old. Why did it come down to Neville or I? It could have easily have been two other children, but it wasn't, and now I am the one, the chosen one by Voldemort, that in the end, has to kill him. Sixteen- years-old, and I have to think about murdering someone.
Some of you, who will read this, or have it read to you will not have known what had transpired in the Shrieking Shack back in my third year. I had the chance, to end this all. I could have ended Peter Pettrigrew's life for his betrayal against my family. I didn't. I chose to allow him to live, I stopped Sirius and Remus from taking his life. Why? I don't know anymore. If he had have died, if I had of allowed them to kill him, none of this would have happened. Sirius would still be alive, and Voldemort would still be dead. So was I in the right for saving Peter from death? Yet, here I am, being asked to kill the Dark Lord Voldemort because I have no other choice. But I do have another choice, not to fight. To leave, and not look back. What good would it do to remain here, to kill or be killed? If I failed what then? The Wizarding World would be right back to where it began. So if I left, I'd be known as a coward. If I stayed and failed, I'd be known as 'The-Boy-Who-Failed-the-Wizarding-World' what's the point? Leaving as a coward seems like a much better idea than dying and still being known as a failure.
I'd loose my friends either way. If I survived, it would only drive another wedge between Ron and I. Our friendship has through the 5 years that we've known each other, had many ups and downs. He would become jealous of me for the attention I gained. He would become so angry that we would stop talking to each other. In the end, we would forgive one another and start talking again. What Ron didn't know was that as much as he was jealous of me, I was jealous of him. He had the one thing I wanted most. The one thing I would give anything to have back. He had the family; I had the fame. If I could, I would switch places for one day with Ron, allow him to understand what it is truly like to be a 'Hero'. Perhaps then he would understand. Or maybe if he knew of what I must do, he might forget the jealousy he has for me.
In the end the only thing I could ever want more than life itself, would be to have my mum and dad back. To know I didn't have to be alone anymore. To know I wouldn't have to be alone when it came time to kill Voldemort. But then again, it all comes down to whether or not I can kill at all. It would be a waste of time to have my parents back again, if in the end they died anyway because I had failed. Bellatrix Lestrange told me last year in the Department of Mysteries, that 'You have to want to cause pain for the unforgivable curses to work.' So in the end, I have to want to kill Voldemort to actually kill him. I'm not the type of person to want to kill anyone. I don't think people understand that at all anymore.
I have stated myself I hope, thoroughly in this, my last entry. I don't know what else to say. To ask for forgiveness, to telling you over and over that nothing you could have said or done would change the fact that I have made up my mind. In this, I hope you find the truths of a boy who is fed up with watching people die. Mum, Dad, Cedric, Sirius, how many more people have to die before all this ends? How much more do I have to be put through before I am allowed to be normal? I'll never be normal. Not now, not ever. It's too late to be normal, at least here. Hogwarts is my home, the one place I feel comfortable. I just can't return there, not right now. I hope you'll understand that in my leaving, I have done the only thing I could think of.
I send my love to Hermione, Ron and the Weasley Family, and all those I'm leaving behind. So I say my final goodbyes and leave you to your world.
Harry James Potter
I know I have Hermione and Ron, but they don't understand the truth of being alone, even in a house filled with 'family'. Hermione has her parents, willing to take her on vacations, to do whatever she might want to do. A trip to the mall, or the zoo, anything that would make her happy; I'd be lucky to see the zoo again. Ron has a great family, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley do the best they can for him and his siblings. They may not have a lot of money, or the respect from other witches and wizards; but they have love and admiration for each other (even if Percy has been a prat). I'd be lucky to be questioned on how my day was. I'm not acknowledged as being alive, or part of the only family I have left. I know that the Weasleys would accept me into their home and part of their family, but I could not ask that of them. Another mouth to feed? I couldn't do that to them, as much as I know they would.
What caused me to pick up that dusty old journal, the pages slowly falling from the seam, the cover fraying with use? I'm not sure, what I know is that I haven't written in many years. The last entry was just before my eleventh birthday, telling of how I was sure to be forgotten again. That was the best birthday present I could have had; someone that acknowledged my existence, someone to be there for me if I needed to talk. I don't know if Hagrid understood what he had done for me, or what Professor Dumbledore had done by continuing to pursue my attendance at Hogwarts. They gave me the chance to feel accepted by others. Even then, I was accepted for something I had no memory of. It wasn't enough to be accepted as The-Boy-Who-Lived, I wanted more. I wanted to be accepted as Harry Potter, just a normal wizard like everyone else.
Was it too much to ask? Sometimes I think it was. I know that Ron and Hermione now see me as Just Harry, but then? I'm sure then, I was 'OH MY! It's Him! It's Harry Potter' to them. Sure I was astounded by the sudden attention, even a little afraid of it. I was forced to get used to something I never experienced in my whole life. That was, until I met Professor Snape, he amongst all the other Professors, had managed to treat me, with what seemed like little to no respect. Now I think back on the times he yelled at me, all the times when he made me feel like a fool, he was in his own way, getting me to strive to the best that I could be. He had in the first class pushed the notion (one I hated) out of my head. His eerie tone, his cold demeanor, had at the time made me angry. But the meaning behind the way he had said it, made me realize (not right away) that not everyone wanted to see me as a Hero. That in a sense, I wasn't. I was just the lucky baby who survived a dreadful accident. Maybe that's just how I want to see him now, as much as I hate him still, I believe that he was of some help (even if I still can't make a potion to save my life).
What do I have to claim as my own? I can't call getting the Seeker position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team my own. In any sense I have to thank Malfoy for that. If he had not of taken Neville's Rememberall, I would never have flown after him to gain it back. I would never have caught it just before Professor McGonagall's window, and she would not have asked me to play Seeker. My achievements in saving the school? No I can't even take all the credit for that. Hermione and Ron had always been there to help, as were others. Professor Dumbledore had told me, in his own way how to work the Mirror of Erised. I had Hermione to thank for the information on how to find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. During the TriWizard Tournament, I had only my flying skills to help me. Dobby, Hermione, and Ron had helped me through the other challenges. So what do I really have to call my own? A few books, a broom, a few robes, a few friends, but what does that add up to? I have nothing to look forward to returning home every summer, no family to welcome me back. And whom do I have to thank for that? Voldemort that's who. He took everyone, one by one from me.
Since the end of last year, I have spent many hours alone outside in the gardens weeding. Not because I was (believe it or not) forced to, but because it was one of the few places, I truly felt like I could think. I had and still do, have a lot to think about; a Prophecy that could claim my life, friends that could be in potential danger, and schooling; that's a lot for a sixteen-year-old. Why did it come down to Neville or I? It could have easily have been two other children, but it wasn't, and now I am the one, the chosen one by Voldemort, that in the end, has to kill him. Sixteen- years-old, and I have to think about murdering someone.
Some of you, who will read this, or have it read to you will not have known what had transpired in the Shrieking Shack back in my third year. I had the chance, to end this all. I could have ended Peter Pettrigrew's life for his betrayal against my family. I didn't. I chose to allow him to live, I stopped Sirius and Remus from taking his life. Why? I don't know anymore. If he had have died, if I had of allowed them to kill him, none of this would have happened. Sirius would still be alive, and Voldemort would still be dead. So was I in the right for saving Peter from death? Yet, here I am, being asked to kill the Dark Lord Voldemort because I have no other choice. But I do have another choice, not to fight. To leave, and not look back. What good would it do to remain here, to kill or be killed? If I failed what then? The Wizarding World would be right back to where it began. So if I left, I'd be known as a coward. If I stayed and failed, I'd be known as 'The-Boy-Who-Failed-the-Wizarding-World' what's the point? Leaving as a coward seems like a much better idea than dying and still being known as a failure.
I'd loose my friends either way. If I survived, it would only drive another wedge between Ron and I. Our friendship has through the 5 years that we've known each other, had many ups and downs. He would become jealous of me for the attention I gained. He would become so angry that we would stop talking to each other. In the end, we would forgive one another and start talking again. What Ron didn't know was that as much as he was jealous of me, I was jealous of him. He had the one thing I wanted most. The one thing I would give anything to have back. He had the family; I had the fame. If I could, I would switch places for one day with Ron, allow him to understand what it is truly like to be a 'Hero'. Perhaps then he would understand. Or maybe if he knew of what I must do, he might forget the jealousy he has for me.
In the end the only thing I could ever want more than life itself, would be to have my mum and dad back. To know I didn't have to be alone anymore. To know I wouldn't have to be alone when it came time to kill Voldemort. But then again, it all comes down to whether or not I can kill at all. It would be a waste of time to have my parents back again, if in the end they died anyway because I had failed. Bellatrix Lestrange told me last year in the Department of Mysteries, that 'You have to want to cause pain for the unforgivable curses to work.' So in the end, I have to want to kill Voldemort to actually kill him. I'm not the type of person to want to kill anyone. I don't think people understand that at all anymore.
I have stated myself I hope, thoroughly in this, my last entry. I don't know what else to say. To ask for forgiveness, to telling you over and over that nothing you could have said or done would change the fact that I have made up my mind. In this, I hope you find the truths of a boy who is fed up with watching people die. Mum, Dad, Cedric, Sirius, how many more people have to die before all this ends? How much more do I have to be put through before I am allowed to be normal? I'll never be normal. Not now, not ever. It's too late to be normal, at least here. Hogwarts is my home, the one place I feel comfortable. I just can't return there, not right now. I hope you'll understand that in my leaving, I have done the only thing I could think of.
I send my love to Hermione, Ron and the Weasley Family, and all those I'm leaving behind. So I say my final goodbyes and leave you to your world.
Harry James Potter