The Scar
A/N: Just an odd little idea about why Harry dislikes showing his scar. I really hope you enjoy. If you don't, and think it's stupid...
I don't really care. Not my problem anyways.
{^_^} \/
Enjoy.
Harry despised his scar beyond the hatred Snape had for James Potter. It was always the center of attention, no matter what.
Having someone come up to you and saying that they've read about you in their history book while staring at your scar fixatedly only makes things really awkward.
It was really difficult trying to introduce yourself since most of the time the people were staring vacantly at the scar with their mouths open and sometimes drool coming out.
It does not really matter what Harry says as long as the people could look at the scar that was on Harry's forehead.
Seriously, Harry sometimes thought that the scar messed up his life more than the one that gave him it – and that was saying a lot.
It was really funny how people walked into buildings and open doors whenever his scar passed by.
It didn't help that all the girls were staring at his scar.
And to make things worse, did the stupid thing have to bleed every time he woke up from a bad dream?
All Aurors did to check for the validity of Harry Potter was to glance at his scar.
Harry, while contemplating life in his bed one day, realized that the scar could more than easily pick up more ladies than Harry Potter.
In fact, he decided that the Boy-Who-Lived should become the Boy-Who-Had-The-Scar. Note the capitalized 'The'.
Lord Voldemort, sitting in his armchair with Nagini hissing besides him, stared moodily into the fire. Damn that Potter boy! The only thing that people cared about nowadays was the scar of his. Not even after all the spectacular raids. He committed suicide in a sudden fit of depression, burning all his Horcruxes and taking the piece of soul Harry held with him, leaving behind one not-so-cryptic message – "DAMN YOU, POTTER!!!" – floating up in the air.
After Voldemort's defeat, Harry Potter now lived a scar-free existence. However, to his great consternation, people were still ogling him, walking into pits and dirty laundry water. This time, he was stared at the place where his scar (he hated the thing vigorously now) used to be.
Looking out over Hogwarts in the Headmaster's office, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Defeater-of-Lord-Voldemort, sighed. And they wondered why he always tried to cover his forehead.
A/N: I was bored, peoples. Jeez.