Written: Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Music: Coheed and Cambria - The Crowing
Read and Review, please.
Like Father, Like Son?
Summary: Harry reflects on his constant comparisons to his father.
Author's Note: This is as much a response to many fics I've seen where every action of Harry and/or someone closely associated with him is met with a teary-eyed "Just like James [and his friends]..." as it is a legitimate fic. In this fic, Harry has noticed this, and he's thinking about it. This is, of course, a one-shot, written from Harry's point of view.
My name is Harry Potter, and I am bound and gagged by perceptions and memories.
I am sixteen years old. I am five feet, three inches tall, and skinny. Completely abnormal for someone of my age. But then, I'm an abnormal child. Or an abnormal adolescent. I have pale, drawn skin and untidy black hair. I am the spitting image of my father, James Potter, except for my eyes. Vivid, bright, almost lumious green eyes. They are my mother's eyes. Or so everyone says. They say "You look just like your father, but with your mother's eyes!" They say this with tears forming in their eyes, or with a wistful sigh.
I am the Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Perhaps I should say "was". I was banned from Quidditch last year by that horrid shrew Umbridge. I wonder if Dumbledore, in all his omnipotent munificence [How bitter they are, these words. He didn't, and doesn't, know what he's doing], will see fit to restore my position, if only so that I will feel better towards him and his plans.
My father was tall, handsome, well-built. Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Prefect, Head Boy, brilliant student. The only difference between the two of us in appearance is the fact this his eyes were blue, and mine are green. That and our build. Ten years of malnourishment and emotional abuse can cause you to wither a bit. My father had enormous magical power, becoming an unregistered Animagus in fifth year, along with his friends Sirius Black [Sirius!], Remus Lupin, and the vile piece of filth known as Petter Pettigrew. He was a known Slytherin-hater, famous prankster, and swollen-headed git. He was noble, courageous, loyal, egotistical, compassionate, and attention seeking.
On the outside, I am basically a double of my father. On the inside, I am not so. Despite what much of the wizarding world believed last year, and what some still do, I do not go looking for attention. I am not egotistical, or at least I don't think so. I am not as noble as my father, having attempted to cast the Cruciatus Curse on that bitch Bellatrix Lestrange as a fifteen-year-old. I also do not harass other students, despite my opinions of them, for no reason other than for amusement.
People are often blinded by the superficial similarities between us, such our hair and our dislike for rules. They also notice the deeper resemblances, such as our courage and our desire to protect the ones we love. But my father and I are not the same person, and despite the similarities between us, I am not a replacement for my father in the hearts of those who miss him. Though some of my actions alone or with my friends may be reminiscent of him, my father and I are also far different from one another. This does not mean that I hate him or reject him, but I have my own identity as Harry Potter, not "James's son" or "James Reincarnated".
It seems to be a great hobby lately to compare and contrast the earlier generation with this one. It is a great lesson and a great wisdom to learn from the past. It is also foolishness to assume that the past repeats exactly and indefinitely. Though the broad cycles of history do repeat, the people, the pawns, are all very different. Though the repetition of the rise of the Dark has happened many times, from Grindelwald to Voldemort to Voldemort again, never have these people been the same as their predecessor. In the same way, though my action with Ron might bring back memories of James and Sirius, it is less from us being doubles of previous generation than from the traits and actions that draw some people together.
I love and cherish the memory of my father, but I am not him, and will not be defined by him.
My name is Harry Potter.
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