My Mask
believe it or not I do not own hp.
Hiding, I do it all the time. Learning the hard way I discovered that no one wants to see the true face of others - only a socially acceptable mask that can't be seen through. It is seen to be a strength by others to never loose control of the mask that is worn until you become the mask.
My mask haunts me. It drains me and breaks me until I no longer feel human. Each smile I make, each day I present my mask to the world, each time I laugh, joke, eat, talk I feel the mask cracking, warping and solidifying once more. Becoming something new. Soon even I won't be able to recognise myself anymore. And it is with this discovery I hypothesis that I am weak, unable to hold up this world expectations of me.
First it was Hedwig, then it was Tonks, Moody, Colin, Remus and Dobby. However, the death I can't forget is of a man who has never professed to care, who went out of his way to display his contempt but, after all that, he died for someone like me. No, not for me but for my mother, the woman he loved for longer than the number of years I have been alive. His mask stayed in place, just like mine,for many years and through much hardship. Over time his mask also changed - it became a warped armour for a tired and emotionally exhausted man. In his last moments he showed me a memory, just one, that in its way was a catalyst to the total destruction of my trust.
That man, I always imagined him to to be the ideal image of a grandfather. He was loving, kind and caring, he taught me, laughed with me and I imagined that he cared for me just as I did him. But all along he was conditioning me to die. He didn't love me, didn't care. It was he, a dead man, who is the strongest, because even after death his mask has not broken and still manages to play people like they are marionettes. So, I will go and, just like I was trained, I will die. It will not take long and knowing the enemies desperation for my death they will not take the time to make my death too painful. And like grandfather, like Albus, I will go honourably to my death and my mask will die with me, not leaving or betraying me. After my death, however, my mask will live in the hearts of those left behind. Just like Albus I will be strong. My death will write grief and pain into others, permanently etching my deeds into the lives of those left living.
My name is Harry Potter. I will be dead but I will be strong.