Who am I?

Who am I? I must ask myself for I no longer know the answer.

I look at myself in the mirror, but I don't recognize the face anymore.

Who am I?

My hair and eyes proclaim my parentage for the whole world to see, but I'm more than the sum of their parts.

They see my hair and say, "You look just like your Dad."

They look at my eyes and say, "so much like Lily's."

They never comment about the scar. Nobody ever wonders how much I owe Voldemort. How much of what I am do I owe to him? He choose me as the one who would destroy him.

If he had attacked Neville that night, would I care about his return or would I be selfishly thinking of nothing beyond the next Quidditch match?

Who am I? Am I Harry Potter or am I "The Boy Who Lived"?

Is there a difference?

Every time I touch a broom they see my Dad in me, every time I cast a Charm they see my Mum in me, how long until they see Voldemort in me?

"Crucio!"

The word echo's about my mind. I tried to cast it, is this the start? Who will I be once the Prophecy is fulfilled?

In the month's since I heard it I keep having the same dream.

I'm not sure where I am; I want to say Hogwarts but I don't know why. Voldemort lies at my feet broken and bloody. His wand is broken, one half just a pile of ashes. Voldemort pulls himself to his knees the pain from doing so racks his whole body.

"Please Harry spare me. Show me mercy; my power is gone I'm beaten and no threat to you."

"You who are without mercy, now plead for it?" I ask. I slowly lift my wand to point it at Voldemort's face before speaking again. "I thought you where made of sterner stuff." As I stand there time seems to stop and I know that a decision must be made, the choice is mine. Who will I be, Killer or Slain, Cain or Able, Dark or Light.

I don't know if what I see is the future or just a dream of what could be, but deep down in my soul I know that the choice will come and that I must make it in cold blood.

Not in self-defense.

Not in the heat of battle.

I know it will be murder.

What choice will I make, I don't know. Is my honor and consciences worth the lives that he would take? I don't know.

They will use words like, "Downfall", "Defeated" and "Vanquished".

I will know the truth, I would be a cold-blooded killer; no better than him.

Who am I?

I don't know.

Until that day I will never know.

Until that day when I decide who I am: Killer or Slain.

The choice is mine but until that day I will keep looking in the mirror and asking myself who am I?

Perhaps it's best if that day never comes.

Perhaps it's best if the only answer I have is I don't know.

Perhaps it's best if a man never finds out how dark his soul is.