#3 - Harry: Normal
When I was younger, I had no friends. Therefore, I often resorted to reading. Mostly fantasies, where there was good and evil all clearly outlines, where the hero was handsome and brave and always knows the right thing to do, and can do it without hesitation or barely a thought, and they always get the girl. Villains, on the other hand, are quite a different breed. They're ugly, with greasy hair and bad teeth, they live on what is wrong and evil, and they never, ever get the girl.
I'm no hero.
First off, I'm not handsome, not remotely. I'm skinny, scrawny even, with funny knees, bad eyes, messy hair, clothes that don't fit right...you name it, I've got it. Second, I never know the right thing to do, not without Hermione or Dumbledore or Ron or Sirius standing over my shoulder and smiling, telling me what to do. Left on my own, I doubt I'd be half of what I am now. And as for getting the girl...well, you see how that's gone so far.
And the villain - Voldemort, I suppose - doesn't quite fit the other description himself. He's ugly, yes, but he's got no hair and his teeth are fine as far as I know, certainly he does what's wrong, but he's smart, damn it, very smart. Smarter that a 15-year-old boy who's been in the wizarding world for barely a third of his life.
Why am I the Boy Who Lived?
I'm sure other people's parents worked against Voldemort. Why did mine have to die? Others had the killing curse put on them, despite protests by themselves or others, why did I live? My parents were two of the most famous wizards ever, and I'm all that's left: a little boy with my father's hair and my mother's bright green eyes.
Sometimes, I almost wish I'd been killed by Voldemort. I've had enough chances, why couldn't I just go the way of so many others instead of having to live up to this heroic name? Then, there'd be no mare Slytherins plotting my demise, no more aspiring photographers, autograph hounds, journalists...I wouldn't be the boy who lived. I'd be the kid who died. Not quite the same ring to it, eh?
But then, I sort of remember what I am. I'm a sign to all those other wizards, a sign that Voldemort was once defeated, and yes, he is not all-powerful. A little baby defeated him once, and maybe, just maybe, it can be done again. And come to think of it, it was partly my doing, having him defeated all those other times. I was the one he couldn't touch, but I don't have that anymore, do I? Now, I'm the one with the wand he can't defeat...and yes, I can defeat him. Will defeat him again. I will, I swear. Just to say to the world that yes, I am important, I do matter.
Though sometimes, I wish I didn't.
Normalcy is something fame can't tolerate, yes?
A/N: Ah, Harry. Went a little dark there for a moment, didn't I? Well, You can't go through as much as Harry has without being a bit suicidal, can you? Maybe you can, I've never had a Dark Lord gunning for me yet. Not sure if I really like this one. Ah well.
I own nothing here, except perhaps my mind, and I wonder how much of that I have left. And the 3-foot inflatable penguin thanks all his wonderful fans (his name is Penguitor, by the way)
When I was younger, I had no friends. Therefore, I often resorted to reading. Mostly fantasies, where there was good and evil all clearly outlines, where the hero was handsome and brave and always knows the right thing to do, and can do it without hesitation or barely a thought, and they always get the girl. Villains, on the other hand, are quite a different breed. They're ugly, with greasy hair and bad teeth, they live on what is wrong and evil, and they never, ever get the girl.
I'm no hero.
First off, I'm not handsome, not remotely. I'm skinny, scrawny even, with funny knees, bad eyes, messy hair, clothes that don't fit right...you name it, I've got it. Second, I never know the right thing to do, not without Hermione or Dumbledore or Ron or Sirius standing over my shoulder and smiling, telling me what to do. Left on my own, I doubt I'd be half of what I am now. And as for getting the girl...well, you see how that's gone so far.
And the villain - Voldemort, I suppose - doesn't quite fit the other description himself. He's ugly, yes, but he's got no hair and his teeth are fine as far as I know, certainly he does what's wrong, but he's smart, damn it, very smart. Smarter that a 15-year-old boy who's been in the wizarding world for barely a third of his life.
Why am I the Boy Who Lived?
I'm sure other people's parents worked against Voldemort. Why did mine have to die? Others had the killing curse put on them, despite protests by themselves or others, why did I live? My parents were two of the most famous wizards ever, and I'm all that's left: a little boy with my father's hair and my mother's bright green eyes.
Sometimes, I almost wish I'd been killed by Voldemort. I've had enough chances, why couldn't I just go the way of so many others instead of having to live up to this heroic name? Then, there'd be no mare Slytherins plotting my demise, no more aspiring photographers, autograph hounds, journalists...I wouldn't be the boy who lived. I'd be the kid who died. Not quite the same ring to it, eh?
But then, I sort of remember what I am. I'm a sign to all those other wizards, a sign that Voldemort was once defeated, and yes, he is not all-powerful. A little baby defeated him once, and maybe, just maybe, it can be done again. And come to think of it, it was partly my doing, having him defeated all those other times. I was the one he couldn't touch, but I don't have that anymore, do I? Now, I'm the one with the wand he can't defeat...and yes, I can defeat him. Will defeat him again. I will, I swear. Just to say to the world that yes, I am important, I do matter.
Though sometimes, I wish I didn't.
Normalcy is something fame can't tolerate, yes?
A/N: Ah, Harry. Went a little dark there for a moment, didn't I? Well, You can't go through as much as Harry has without being a bit suicidal, can you? Maybe you can, I've never had a Dark Lord gunning for me yet. Not sure if I really like this one. Ah well.
I own nothing here, except perhaps my mind, and I wonder how much of that I have left. And the 3-foot inflatable penguin thanks all his wonderful fans (his name is Penguitor, by the way)