Control
Take a deep breath, smile, or at least smirk, in the face of danger. It's who he is, right? Arrogant, reckless, rushing headlong into peril for 'the greater good'. He is in control of his own destiny, not some dark lord. This is what the world would see; that is all he would allow the world to see. Hide away the insecure eleven-year-old longing for acceptance and protection, the twelve-year-old learning how quickly people will turn if he doesn't fit their idolized version of himself, the thirteen-year-old with dashed hopes, the broken and grieving fourteen-year-old, the angry fifteen-year-old, the lost sixteen-year-old.
The hero, golden-boy, destined-savior-with-too-many-names; chosen before birth and branded as a baby. That is the life he was condemned to for the crime of surviving. For defying death, he lost his life. Survived to save-die to save, self-preservation isn't allowed for saviors, for freaks. Follow the leaders of the light, trust them, when they don't trust him. He has choices, keep repeating that until it is true. It is his own life to live or lose, to save. So that when he falls before Voldemort's wand he will be remembered as the boy he was and not the savior they made him be.