No one understands.
I never meant to seem so big headed about being the hero. I know everyone was affected by him but it felt like I was affected the most. After learning of what he did to my parents it became essential for me to stop him.
It didn't become that important until I started school. Not because I didn't know before then but because I had to fight him year after year. I never stopped to think maybe it's not my job. Just leave it to the Ministry workers, they get paid for it. No…in my mind it was my destiny to defeat him. No one else was capable of doing it… just me.
It was the same every year until Cedric Diggory died. The guilt I felt was too much to bear – I should have saved him! But he died, and I couldn't do anything about it. It only got worse after that. Fifth year I lost my God Father to the very people I despised so much. Anger consumed my and only one thing was on my mind—revenge. I was no longer worried about my own safety; all I wanted to do was hurt those who hurt me. Listen to their screams as I inflicted twice as much pain on them. It never occurred to me that that was the same thing Voldemort did. I was turning into my enemy.
But I wouldn't—couldn't—become him. Yet…it seemed so easy to just give into the anger, get the revenge that I desired.
But I didn't. I fought the urge to give in entirely, one of the hardest battles of my life. Forever I will deal with the pressure to give up, give in.
But I can't, because I'm Harry Potter—The Boy Who Lived.
