Werewolf's Howl

His father always called him Mini-Me. His mother called him Pumpkin. His godfather called him Little Bit. His daughter called him Daddy. Everybody else, years later, called him the Boy-Who-Lived. But his real name, the name his best friends and I always called him by, was Harry.

His father said his smile made him feel that all the secrecy and terror was worth it. His mother always said it warmed the cockles of her heart. His godfather said it made him feel like everything he'd ever done wrong was forgiven. His best friend, his girlfriend, and later his wife said that it gave her a feeling of safety. His daughter said it was like the sunshine breaking through the clouds. Everyone else had forgotten it because it came so seldom. I remembered it before it vanished and mourned its loss.

His father always said he would play Quidditch someday. His mother said he would be Head Boy. His godfather said he would be the most infamous prankster Hogwarts had ever seen. Everyone else said he would be a hero and a saviour. I knew he would have too much to live up to.

His father thought he would be popular. His mother thought he would be well liked but not as cocky as his father. His godfather thought he would be happy all the time. Everyone else thought he would be strong, silent, and brave, like the heroes in stories. I was certain he would be a scared little boy who wouldn't understand why he'd been thrust into the world he was.

His father was sure he would hate all Slytherins. His mother was sure he would be free from prejudice. His godfather was sure he would detest all non-Gryffindors: Ravenclaws for their stuffy intelligence, Hufflepuffs for their fluffiness, Slytherins for their evil. Everyone else was sure he would dislike any Death Eaters. I was sure he would have whatever prejudices he grew up exposed to.

His father said he was a cheerful baby. His mother said he was a beautiful baby. His godfather said he was a sweet baby grown up to be a responsible, burdened, thoughtful young man. His best friend/girlfriend/wife said he was an intelligent, brave young man who didn't always know how to best handle his emotions. His daughter said he was the best father in the world. Everyone else said he was a hero. I said he was going to cave in with all the pressure put on him.

His father received the gift of his first smile. His mother received the gift of his first laugh. His godfather received the gift of his first word: Padfoot (pronounced "Pafoo!"). His best friend-girlfriend-wife received the gift of his first hug--it seems silly that it had been sixteen years before he hugged anybody. Everyone else received the gift of his first realisation of the world he had been thrust into. I received the gift of his first year of Defence Against the Dark Arts that he actually enjoyed.

His father shared his pain of cutting his first tooth. His mother shared his pain of being cooped up inside for too long. His godfather shared his pain of losing his parents. His best friend shared his pain of seeing Cedric's murder. His best friend-girlfriend-wife shared his pain of losing his other best friend. His daughter shared his pain of the injury he sustained in a Quidditch match. Everyone else shared his pain of Voldemort's reign. I shared his pain on the loss of his godfather.

His father died on October 31, 1981, at 7:19 P.M. He is buried in a grave beneath a statue of a stag, with the headstone labelled date of birth, date of death, and the epithet: James Harry Potter. Loving Husband, Adored Father, Close Friend. He Loved His Family.

His mother died on October 31, 1981, at 7:21 P.M. She is buried in a grave beneath a statue of an angel, with the headstone labelled date of birth, date of death, and the epithet: Lily Evans Potter. Beloved Wife, Loving Mother, Kind Sister. She Died For Her Son.

His godfather died on June 21, 1996, at 9:45 P.M. His body was never found. He is remembered beneath a statue of an intelligent-looking dog, with the headstone labelled date of birth, date of death, and the epithet: Sirius Orion Black. Beloved Godfather, Best Friend. Cave Canum. Sirius always was a practical joker, and his initials were always something of a joke to us.

His best friend died on June 5, 1997, at 7:13 P.M., just before sunset. His grave lies beneath a simple headstone, which reads date of birth, date of death, and the epithet: Ronald Bilius Weasley. Favourite Brother, Beloved Son, Best Friend. Though lost to sight, to memory dear.

His wife is still alive. She looks sad and pale, old and yet still young, dying and yet still living. She sobs and weeps as she tries to speak.

His daughter, only seven years old, lives as well. She has not spoken in over a week. All fear for her future--will she recover or lock herself away in silence?

Everyone else--the Order, classmates, teammates, students he's taught, former teachers and current colleagues--stands around behind them, just looking sad and respectful. They don't really know what else to do.

And I--I stand closest of all, beside the family, for I am one of his family now. I stare at the cold, unfeeling statue of a boy free of pain or sorrow, which were the opposite of the things that characterised the boy it guards: a boy who lived in pain, who cried at night, who had so many feelings that he knew how to care for people. I stare sadly at the headstone beneath: date of birth, date of death, and the epithet: Harry James Potter. Devoted Husband, Loving Father. The Boy Who Lived. The Man Who Won.