Reflections

The boy who looked back at him was familiar and yet so very different. He was not the boy who lived; there was a smile that went right to his eyes and no scar to remind him of the past. That boy stood with a mother and a father. The bright green eyes he had seen so many times before and the messy black hair he had come to know and love, but not on himself, stared back at him. They were happy, smiling and waving back at him. But it was just a reflection. Not real, not true. He could not make it true no matter how many nights he spent in front of it staring, wishing and hoping. He remembered Ron's reflection. His had come true. He was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. He had won the cup, he was head boy and he had Hermione. He had not told Harry to begin with, but she was part of his reflection too. He now had everything he had wanted. A true reflection. Harry had nothing.

He left the mirror and returned to his dormitory. It was comforting to know that he had his father's old cloak around him, it made him feel safer somehow. He wished he could wear it forever and escape unnoticed to his reflection. But he could not.

Harry envied Ron. He would have given anything to have all he ever wanted. Ron had got his happy ending: Quidditch, love and a family. Harry had none of these things. Umbridge and the prophecy had made sure of that. He could not play Quidditch any more, and if he were to survive he would have to become a murderer. He longed to be the boy in the mirror, the one with the family who was safe. He wanted to make his parents proud of him, wished he could speak to them just once, just to know. He didn't want to be famous Harry Potter any more he wanted to be normal, he wanted to be the boy in the mirror. The one who was not the boy who lived.

Harry had not noticed where his feet had carried him and he found himself in the entrance hall. The rest of the world was right there in front of him just outside the doors. He wanted to turn and leave, run and never stop running. He walked to the oak front doors and felt the cold handle against his palms. It was ancient, as old as the school and he wondered how many others had felt like he did now; too scared to leave but frightened to stay with just himself for company. He was not sure exactly how long he had stood there, but he felt friendly warmth around him from the cloak and decided it was best to stay put. After all, he knew it would be morning soon and even he knew running away was best in the dark.

He wanted to run away from Hogwarts because he could not bear to spend the rest of his days there staring into his reflection and thinking what if. What if Wormtail had not betrayed his parents, what if Voldemort had not wanted them killed in the first place. But he knew nothing ever came of what if's. So he wandered back to his dormitory, to wait for the others to wake up and go down for breakfast.