I Never Really Saw Harry

I Never Really Saw Harry

I never really saw Harry.

I know that now...

I shared a dormitory with him for 7 years but I never really saw him. I should have known better.

When everyone else saw the façade of the hero, I should have seen passed it, I should have seen him, but I didn't. I didn't want to...

I was always blinded by who he was, the boy hero of the Wizarding World, it was all I saw from day one...

I grew up hearing stories about him, famous Harry Potter. I'll admit I was scared of him to start with, after all, what right did I have to talk to him? Why on magical earth would he want to be my friend? I suppose I never really gave him a chance.

Of course he wasn't what I expected, so quiet and skinny he hardly looked the part of the hero, but boy did he play it! He had to spend the year being so brave and then go and save the Philosopher's Stone at the end. I hadn't even known the stone was at Hogwarts! How on earth had he ever found out? He must have been so brave to risk his life like that I realised, thus cementing an opinion of him formed at age five... He was an honest to God hero! I was eleven, and then I still believed in heroes, in life...

He continued like this, every year pulling off amazing feats, escaping death by the skin of his teeth, and showing off some pretty potent magic in the process, like his frightening ability to talk to snakes...By the time we were in 4^th year he was a legend in his own right, not just because of You-Know-Who, but because of him, he was brave, friendly, spectacular at Quidditch, and everyone knew his stories, the Philosopher's Stone, the flying car, the Chamber of Secrets, they were the stories we told to enthral the1st years, no wonder they hero worshipped him, WHOOPS! I doubt he would have thanked me had he known I was to blame for that, now that think about it he always seemed to despise the attention, which was ironic considering how much he got.

But then came the Triwizard Tournament and its very memorable aftermath. I couldn't believe him, how could he be back? I should have known better, since when did Harry lie about stuff like that? I'd lived with the guy for 4 years but I didn't believe him. I expected him to play the hero, but turned my back on him when he did. You can't have it both ways, I should have believed him... He was doing what I wanted, but it took a whole lot of pushing on his part to get me, to get all of us to see the light, he should have left us to fry for that alone, but he didn't. He was always a better man than I was, the amount of times we turned our backs on him, 2^nd year, 4^th year, 5^th year, but he always forgave us, he didn't hold grudges. I don't know how he survived what we did to him.

5^th year was the first time I really saw his potential for greatness, once I accepted that he was telling the truth. I mean sure, I'd heard the stories, but seeing him in action was another thing. I mean, he could conjure a corporeal patronus in 3^rd year, a lot of adult wizards can't do that charm but he did it at thirteen! Thirteen! And by Fifteen he was teaching it, along with a bunch of other defence techniques to a group of teenagers, some of whom were older than him. It was times like that that you didn't doubt that he was the hero of the Wizarding World for a reason.

He seemed to be... set apart from the rest of us, better, stronger...something, I don't know what. But though I saw him everyday I know now that I didn't ever really see him. I only saw what I wanted to see, the hero. But he had so many masks, I realise that now, so many secrets, things that he hid from us, like that silencing charm on his bed curtains that he thought we didn't know about. That look he'd get in his eyes, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, come to think of it, it probably was. But, God help me, I actually wanted to be him, for once to be the hero. It was a stupid dream really, who on earth would want Harry's life? Now that I think about it, you could see in his eyes that even he didn't really want it...No sixteen year old should have ever had eyes that haunted looking....

He wasn't a part of my world, not really, not like Dean, Lavender and Pavarti, he always seemed to have so much more to think about than us, so much more mature than we were, I suppose he had to be to survive...It's really a miracle and a testament to his endurance that he survived as long as he did...While we were all studying for NEWTS I know now that he was training to fight, maybe even die. What seventeen year old should have to deal with that? Looking back it wasn't fair, his childhood was ripped from him by circumstances beyond his control, but I didn't see that then. I was young and stupid, I wanted to fight, to see what he'd seen. Perhaps fortunately I was never allowed to become involved...God, how naive I was.

It was like he existed in a place separate from the rest of us, untouchable, unbeatable, immortal... he never lost, survived things I could only ever dream of. A hero always wins, right? We took that for granted, it never even occurred to us that one day he might loose, one day he might not come back...

But Merlin he was Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived, The Boy Who Just Kept Bloody Surviving, so we thought that he would always come back. He was our hero, our saviour, and he'd done it before right? He'd do it again. I don't think any of us ever doubted that he would come back...

But he didn't, not that time... As the students were herded together for safety, huddled together in frightened clumps in the Great Hall waiting for the conclusion to the battle that would either doom or save us all, we didn't doubt for a second that he would return to us. Sure we were scared, but we just knew he'd come back, or thought we did, hell by then half the school thought he was immortal he'd survived that much!

Well he did come back, just not in the way that we expected.

For as long as I live I will never forget that scene... The doors to the Great Hall slammed open and suddenly the whole student body was on its feet ready to hear the latest exploits of our hero, as was our custom, as though this were all some kind of game! How foolish we were...

But Harry didn't come walking in, nor did the staff enter with expressions of relief on their faces that Harry had once again survived, cheated death against the odds. This time as we gazed upon the pale and drawn expressions on the faces of the faculty the older students began to realise, that maybe, just maybe, Harry's luck had finally run out.

As if we suddenly all came to this conclusion time seemed to freeze and we finally noticed the scene playing out around us, and saw the absence of that familiar twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes, the tear tracks on McGonagall's face, the droop to Flitwck's constantly smiling mouth and it finally dawned on us that something had gone very wrong...

Then, pushing through the crowd of staff, was a grim faced Snape, holding, awkwardly a heavy, robed burden. It took my brain a moment to process what I was seeing, but then a feeling of cold dread settled in my stomach, and I knew- HARRY.

It's strange to think how small he looked in Snape's arms, dwarfed by the Potions Master's size. It felt so wrong. He never seemed small. He had this presence around him... this aura, like Dumbledore. He seemed larger than life, in control, powerful, charismatic without effort, it was how he was able to lead the DA so effortlessly. You couldn't help but trust him, and believe that if he was there you were safe. He seemed to be a giant, filled with life and energy, not the still child like figure in Snape's arms.

Until then it had never dawned on me how young he was, several months younger than me in fact, he just seemed so much older. It was his eyes that did it, piercing haunted emerald green that could look right through you in a way I only ever saw Dumbledore achieve, other than him, like they could see everything about you... but now those eyes were closed, empty, devoid of life, and no one would ever see them open again...

He shouldn't have been there like that. I kept thinking that maybe this would be like all the other times, he would spend a week in the Hospital Wing and be fine. But deep down I knew that this wasn't the case, he was too still, unnaturally still, and the looks on the faces of the staff told me everything I needed to know. Harry would not be coming back this time.

The silence was suffocating, like no one could dare to draw breath until Harry did, and proved to everyone that he wasn't dead, but he was and he wouldn't be breathing again. I remember wondering, somewhat inappropriately, like everyone else around me, why on magical earth it was Snape carrying Harry's body, why not Dumbledore, or Hagrid? Their mutual animosity was well known, hell I'd watched it since 1^st year! But there was no mistaking the look on Snape's face, different parts shock, pain and devastation fought for dominance, had he perhaps cared more than we thought? If this was the case, then how much else didn't I know about Harry, a guy I'd spent the majority of the year living with since I was eleven. Maybe then, at last, I finally realised, I had never really known him at all...

Apparently noticing our gazes Snape stalked hurriedly through the Hall, Harry's still form clutched tightly to his chest, as though he were afraid to let him go. It was only then that it seemed like the sound switched back on, and suddenly from the Entrance Hall we could hear agonized sobbing, the Weasleys and whoever else had been there with him. Ron and Hermione had gone with Harry, as had Ginny and Neville, together till the end... It made it real, and suddenly the sky fell in, we all knew what it meant, even before Dumbledore told us. Voldemort was gone and our hero was dead, it was finally over. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. We were free, but at what cost?

Harry was dead, a young man would never see tomorrow, but our world celebrated. I couldn't help but be sickened with myself, with everyone as I read about fire works and national holidays in the Prophet whilst watching the Weasleys and Hemione sob. They were devastated, how could we be celebrating Harry's death? It dawned on me that they never knew him, like me most of them never really tried, the hero was an abstract concept to them, a mythical figure, not quite real. The whole thing might as well have been a fairytale the way it was being told, too bad it had never been a fairytale for those who had lived it...Harry never got the girl, though we all knew he loved her, he never got his happily ever after to make the hardships of his life worth the effort. We were the ones who profited from his victory, not him, he would ever know the peace his sacrifice had brought us, but I would not forget...

I didn't go to his funeral, considering what a farce it was I figured it was the least I could do. I may not have ever really seen Harry when he was alive, but I knew enough about him to know that he would have hated it. The press, the crowds, the publicity, couldn't we even bury him with dignity? Or like everything else about him, did it have to become a media circus? All they saw it as was a chance for some good ministry propaganda at his expense. We were, essentially, celebrating his death! How could we ever justify that?

Now as I sit with my grandchildren, in a way Harry will never get the chance to, I remember that incredible boy with emerald eyes I once knew who gave his life to save us from the darkness, and think that through me perhaps my grandchildren at least will remember the man as well as the legend. It is the least I can do for the boy I never really saw, I can't change the past, but maybe, just maybe I can stop the future from following the same pattern...

Author's Notes: What is with me and Harry death stories lately? Attack of the really depressing plot bunnies! Anyway I'd like your opinions on this weird little fic that kind of wrote itself, it'll only take a second to do and I'd be really grateful.

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