A Reason to Live

The day my life changed inevitably was the day I finally let go of my childish prejudices towards the dark and all those who practiced it. Who was I to say that they were evil? Who decided the line between light and dark? Was it the corrupt government where anybody with enough money could buy their way out of a murder charge, or maybe it was the all-consuming Leader of the Light who only cared about solidifying his influence and forgot about the individual?

I was so scared when I went back to the Dursley's that summer. They have never treated me as a member of the family and I have never considered the house a home. I guess that was when it happened. The all powerful blood protections failed and I was once again alone. I was alone, without the oh-so-powerful headmaster there to protect me.

I knew it would not end well if I stayed where I was, so I snuck out. I the great and courageous Boy-Who-Lived ran away. Do you realize what it was like to be me? I am just 15 years of age, a month from 16 and I was constantly under surveillance and under attack before I could say stupefy. That night started the final stretch from the Boy-Who-Lived to what you have here.

I am not the same person. I never could be ever again. With every step I took towards my destiny, my heart tore and bled. I was not a boy whose innocence could be seen through the eyes, no I was a boy who could not even stand up straight for the burdens had become to heavy to bear.

But I haven't really told you anything yet. You might have seen a part of my soul, but you have come here to hear a story. A story about a boy, who loved and lost, but in the end survived.

The story starts not at the beginning because you all know that story or at least you think you do. What if I tell you that James Potter was not the glorified Auror who died for his family? What if I tell you he was a bully who tormented those weaker than him based upon the prejudices exemplified by the society we live in, would you believe me? Gryffindor and Slytherin, two houses raised to be proud but a mutual hatred shrouded any dignity they could have had.

Dignity is all we wizards have at the end of the day. There will always be someone who is more powerful than you, life in its very essence is not fair and we cannot expect it to be. We imitate the dance of death with others, because we are truly afraid of dying. We empathize with others because we know just what they fear. Death is not the next great adventure, the will to live is inherent and it what makes us get up in the morning. It is what gives a woman the extra power to lift a vehicle off her dying child; it is what saved a child from an unstoppable curse. The Will to Live is the greatest magic of all. It requires sacrifice, love, and above all determination.

I was the Golden Boy of Gryffindor. I embodied all the characteristics of the courageous lion, but they forgot that I was a snake in lion's clothing.

But I have lost everything. All of you do not realize just who and what I am. I am an orphan, my parents gone, my godfather recently deceased; I never even knew my family. Yet you think that I know love. The first sign of affection I have ever had was from my best friend's mother, a simple hug upon which I froze. So you see the reasons you give me to fight for the one's I love are false. Because those people are gone and my friends have left me when I pushed them away.

They thought I was Dark in the end. I guess through all the six years where I spent most of them fighting for them, dying for them, were not enough for them to believe in me. Yes I learned forbidden magic. Come on! I killed at age 11, I fought a Basillisk at age 12, I was ready to kill again at 13, and saw a friend die at 14. Then age 15 was the hardest year of my life where the last of my family was stripped away to leave me barren. I lived in a barren wasteland of fear and regret as pain washed over me. I felt each curse the dark lord through which tore apart each of my barriers. The barriers around my heart and soul broke with each shout of the Cruciatus curse. Forgive the smudges from the rain, for it is only the rain which has escaped through my heart.

You must forgive my lack of focus. I alluded before that I was not the same, what I meant to tell you was I am alone again. This grey expanse of wall before me is drenched with the screams of many. Their tears and blood have seeped through the stones to forever haunt my eyes. It is for them, the innocent, who the entire wizarding world condemned without understanding. Yes, there are those who are evil and should not be shown mercy. No I am talking about those that their story was ignored. Like Sirius, and many others whose innocence meant implicating those in higher power. Like Voldemort said in my first year power is not good or evil. It is the corruption which is prevalent in our society.

Do I have the courage to live again, without these grey walls about me? Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the recognition that there is something greater. Yes I am afraid of living, but there is so much pain. You see the eyes of a broken child that stands straight before the red eyes of evil, and oh such defiance even as their death approaches. What happened to me? I used to be like them. What happened to my arrogance to think that I was better than such evil before me?

I do not have the innocence that cloaked me before, but the knowledge that with great power comes great responsibility, and there are those who have shirked their responsibilities. Individual lives are important. My wand can't save everyone, but I can still protect those I love with one wand. Too bad those I love do not want me anymore.

I am the Boy-Who-Lived. My title, unofficial though it is, can still bring hope to those in need. I will fight for them, for those children who I do not want to be hurt like I was. To be left with uncaring relatives is the worst sort of damnation. I do not know if I am strong enough though. My body shrinks with each passing day, my breathing becomes labored, and my world has shrunk to the wall before me and this beautiful never-out quill resting gently in my hand. Maybe I can get someone else to write for me. I must laugh at that thought. They who condemned me, (who are they to do that?), give me, the traitor a scribe? Well, if they want the story they will.

My friends, maybe they can understand me a bit better now. I hope I have explained a little of the unexplainable which envelops my life. I am not invincible as you found out, but maybe I can be real to you and them.

Perhaps I can join the dead once I am done with my task. What a dream, a beautiful ideal, optimistic dream. For unless someone comes up to me a gives me a reason; that dream may soon become a reality.