Forgotten

The first day of term had begun at last, and it was business as usual--or it would have been, if a rather remarkable boy had not just joined the ranks of students. The eleven-year-old did not look remarkable at all. He was skinny--perhaps even underfed. The muggle clothes he wore under his school robes were at least four sizes too large and his shoes were falling apart. He had knobby knees and his glasses were held together by tape. Obviously, some of the older students joked, he had not yet learned the Reparo charm.

Yet, judging by the way the throngs of students reacted to this small boy in the halls of Hogwarts castle, one could safely say that he was a bit of a celebrity. Even the portraits gossiped as he passed and a few suits of armor turned their heads in his direction. The little boy with bright green eyes that were full of wonder shied away from all the attention he was receiving. He nervously flattened his fringe.

More than a year later, the same boy could be seen navigating the halls of Hogwarts, even when he shouldn't have been. They were dangerous times after all, what with a basilisk on the loose and all.

Of course, as the boy made his way through the crowds, the crowds seemed to dissipate before him. Only a few rational people stood by him as the student body fled in fear.

Occurrences such as these happened many times throughout this boy's tenure at Hogwarts. Though they no longer feared he was the evil heir of Slytherin, many thought he was an attention-seeking little monster. Others gave him a wide berth in the hallways because he was supposedly a raving lunatic. The little boy's green eyes full of wonder became the young man's green eyes full of sadness. And worry. And fear.

One fateful day, the students stopped running in fright and started whispering excitedly--just as they had when he'd first entered Hogwarts. Was it true? Had this skinny seventeen-year-old with the untidy black hair and the cold green eyes really conquered the Dark Lord? Heads turned and students pointed openly as he made his way down the corridors that his feet knew so well. But as occupants of portraits ran to their neighbors to get better looks, the boy didn't bother to hide the lightning scar. He simply walked between his two best friends with his head held high.

Some may have thought this was a sign of some sort of pride in being so famous. Perhaps he wanted to see the waves he caused in the sea of students? Perhaps not. If one had dared to meet his gaze, one would have seen into his very soul. He was broken inside; he did not care anymore. This boy had lost too much and had had to shoulder too many burdens to care what his classmates thought of him. He didn't care if they thought he was the last crumple-horned snorkack.

So it went on into adulthood. The green-eyed man with the broken soul left the halls of Hogwarts. But sometimes he could be seen in Diagon Alley. One could always tell where he was in the crowded streets because half the people he passed would be turned to look in his direction. Not all, but half.

Many years, and at least three generations, passed, and the man could still be found walking among the other witches and wizards. But now, his name was no more than a part of bedtime stories, sharing the stage with the likes of Merlin and Dumbledore. Of course, he had been a hero of wizarding children's stories during the years when he himself had needed bedtime stories. Not that he had ever heard any. Yes, this old man had finally succeeded in becoming slightly unknown. He was rarely recognized on the street in his old age. A century had passed since the first head had turned at the sight of his eleven-year-old self, and many seemed to have forgotten him. Never having been one to crave attention, he didn't mind in the least bit.

Some days, however, if this old man with the knobby knees happened to be grocery shopping in Diagon Alley, and an unsuspecting young store clerk met his gaze, what could be found behind those round spectacles and startlingly green eyes? Possibly a breathtaking view of a broken soul, full of pain and loss nine decades old, but fresh as ever in this man's mind. Oh, the masses may not have remembered, but Harry Potter never forgot.