But One Excuse

But One Excuse
by The Eighth Weasley

* * *

I have but one excuse: I loved him too much.

The first time I saw him after leaving him with his relatives was at the Sorting Ceremony, where he was merely another first year out of three dozen being led to their imminent dooms. He was immediately obvious to me, though, because of James' hair and Lily's eyes. I saw both of them there, embodied in a small, slightly undernourished boy whose eyes showed equal parts fright and excitement.

As I watched the new students straggle forward, try the Hat on, and collapse, relieved, into their new seats, I tried to remember only the good things about Harry's past: his father growing up and maturing; Lily softening from a headstrong young woman into a loving mother; the two of them starting to find stability in the darkness.

But all I could remember was a harsh voice in a dim room, speaking of the downfall of the Dark Lord, and my sudden hope and terrible joy when the scar showed on Harry's forehead, marking him as the Chosen One. We would be freed of Voldemort, some day, and I was happy.

The hat called out, "Gryffindor!"; Harry took his rightful place; and I pushed Sybil's voice out of my ears and stood to welcome the school.

As the years passed and he conquered one obstacle after another, all I could remember whenever I looked at his face--whether it was tired, exultant, terrified, or hopeful--all I could hear in my head, all I could see, was Sybil's prophecy and the scar on Harry's forehead that marked him. It was a terrible thought, but also a joyous one, as Harry was special, and how could I not love him for such? Yet the prophecy was so much to carry.

That he had to murder or be murdered, that for all his days he would be different? I would not tell him that; it was far too much of a burden for a young man, much less a child.

And a child with no parents: the Muggles provided for him, but they did not care for him. They did not love him. I saw it my duty to provide Harry with an appropriate father figure, and to a degree I succeeded: Whenever Harry was in trouble, whenever he really needed someone, he did not go to me. That is what teenagers do to their parents. They keep things from them.

That was my mistake: I tried too hard to be his father, and so he rebelled against me. Perhaps if I had only been his Headmaster, he would have come to me when he needed to.

But he didn't, and because I fell into the same trap of all parents, believing him to trust me, I didn't realise that what he needed wasn't a father. Sirius was fulfilling the ideal role of trustworthy adult, not I.

And so Harry went to Sirius; and Sirius was reckless, doing what he loved best; and so Harry lost his godfather and I lost his trust.

I didn't see it; I couldn't see it.

I have but one excuse: I loved him too much.

~fin~