They've got all sorts of names for him these days. At first it was just 'The Boy Who Lived' and a generation of witches and wizards, including me, grew up in awe of that name, knew the story off by heart. Harry Potter was a legend, never quite real until I met him on the train to Hogwarts. He was the hero, the 'The Boy Who Lived' up until our fifth year. Then the Daily Prophet and the Ministry called him 'The Boy Who Lied', when they were in denial about Voldemort's return (I still have trouble saying Voldemort, but I'm getting better). Then he was called 'The Chosen One' after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, then, when the Death Eaters took over he was 'Undesirable No 1' and after he defeated Voldemort once and for all there were all sorts of names for him, including my personal favourite 'The Boy Who Lived … Twice'. To most people he's a legend, to me he's my best mate.
The thing is, I've been jealous of Harry for most of my life. When I was a child, overshadowed by my brothers, I wanted to be this fairytale hero. I wanted people to whisper my name in awe, to make toasts to me, and yet Harry had already achieved all this when he was only one. Famous for something he couldn't even remember. When we became friends I was constantly referred to as 'Harry Potter's friend' and nothing more. It burned. It really, really burned, and he kept on outdoing himself. Youngest Quidditch player in a century, saving the stone from Quirrell, the Chamber of Secrets. On and on he went, being brilliant. I don't think Harry ever noticed, not because he wasn't a good friend, he was, and still is, the best friend a man could ask for, but because he hated the attention, the whispers following him wherever he went. I don't think he understood why anybody would want it. He was never a glory hunter, he did those things, saved those lives because those things needed doing and those lives needed saving.
I should have realised, right back in our first year when he stood in front of the Mirror of Erised and saw, not fame and glory as I saw, but his family gathered around him. In our second year when he looked at the Borrow with such longing, in our third when the Dementors forced him to remember the deaths of his parents. So many times it should of occurred to me that while I was desperately jealous of Harry for his fame he was jealous of me for having a family that loved me. It wasn't as if I was completely oblivious, I had heard, many times, the longing with which he spoke of his parents and his anger and burning desire for revenge, but it only really hit me after the war. Harry had gone to see Teddy. He sat there making coloured smoke with his wand and laughing when Teddy tried to catch it. He had this look on his face, one I'd never seen before, he looked completely and utterly content. It was so different from the look he normally had, the dark, hunted look that had stayed even after Voldemort had been defeated that at first I didn't believe it was the same man.
Then it hit me with the force of the Whomping Willow. That's Teddy. Harry's his godfather. Harry's got a family.
Harry's built up his own family over the years. There's Teddy of course, Hermione and me, and Ginny. Especially Ginny. Mum practically thinks of him as another son. There's also Hogwarts, the first place he ever really considered home. He still goes back there, sometimes. McGonagall invites him to give lectures on Defence Against the Dark Arts, but everyone knows that's just McGonagall letting her soft spot for Harry take the reins occasionally. Not that Harry doesn't enjoy teaching, he loves it, I know how much he enjoyed when we were in DA, but its Hogwarts itself that's the real lure for Harry.
To most of the world he's a legend, the perfect image of a fairytale hero, and in many ways he is. The guy first fought Voldemort when he was eleven and came out tops for Merlin's sake, but there's a large part of him that's still a small boy alone in a dark cupboard crying because nobody loves him, but me, mum, Ginny, Hermione and everybody else are working to change that. We're going to give him all the family he wants and more.
And me? Well I'm not sure what I'd see if I looked into the mirror of Erised now. In one way I've achieved my dream, people call me a hero even if I am still second best to Harry in the eyes of most of the world (but to be fair, everybody is), but I know that it doesn't mean everything to me any more and that I'm no longer the slightest bit jealous of Harry, 'The Chosen Boy Who Defeated Voldemort … Twice' or whatever they're calling him these days.