My Father's Face

The problem with looking just like my father is that everyone expects me to act just like him, too.

Everyone always compares me to my father. I'm told I look just like him, though have my mother's eyes. Whenever someone meets me for the first time, their eyes inevitably flick upwards to my scar, and if they knew my parents, the first words out of their mouth (after they tell me what a great honor it is to meet me, of course) are "Oh you look so much like your father! But your eyes, you have your mother's eyes."

From the moment anyone meets me, I am Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, savior of the world, son of James Potter. I didn't survive that Killing Curse because of some prophecy, because I was powerful, or because of the fact that my father was James Potter, star Chaser, Auror Extraordinaire, and an arrogant, spoiled, prat. I survived because my mother loved me, because somehow she cast an ancient spell based on blood.

Everyone in the wizarding world thought they knew what I'd be like, and nothing I did could change their preconceptions.

Ron Weasley thought I'd be brave, noble, rich, and a bit full of myself. Sometime I wonder if he would have given me a second glance if not for my famous scar.

Hermione Granger never saw me as more than the Boy-Who-Lived, the famous savior she'd read about in so many books. She became friends with Ron and I because we were the only ones who could stand her.

Ginny Weasley fell in love with who she thought I was- the Boy-Who-Lived, a famous hero that would always save her from the monster. She loved an image of me, but that image was who I was.

Albus Dumbledore though I was a sweet young boy, pliable and easy to turn into the perfect Golden Boy, a weapon with which to destroy Voldemort. I killed the snakeface, Albus. But I'm still alive, and you're not- perhaps your plan was flawed.

Severus Snape assumed that because I was the Boy-Who-Lived, I would have led a pampered, happy childhood. He called me an arrogant brat, someone with no regards for anyone else. Were you any different, Severus? He called me attention seeking, as if I didn't despise the fame I had been burdened with.

Professor Lupin said I looked just like my father, but with my mother's eyes. He told me that he and my father had been great friends, that they had been mischief-makers, pranksters, the epitome of Gryffindor.

It was that moment when I realized that I was nothing like my father. He had had a wonderful, loving childhood, he was given everything he asked for, he was immensely popular, and he enjoyed every moment of it.

I was given nothing, was locked in cupboard, beaten, kicked, starved, worked like a slave. I was told my parents were horrible, irresponsible people, and that my parents died in a car crash. They had been drunk at the time.

I began to hate my father, for being so human, so cruel, everything I had fough my whole life against. But most of all, I hated for letting me down, for not being the image of perfection I wanted him to be.

Maybe that's how people felt about me, when they discovered I wasn't perfect.

Sirius Black never could differentiate between me and my father. In me, he saw only his best friend, returned to him by some strange twist of fate. But I am not my father. I am Harry. Not the Boy-Who-Lived, not James Potter's son, not the youngest seeker in a century. Just Harry. That is all I ever wanted to be.

There were other, of course- Death Eater's children who hated me because their parents told them to, children who worshipped me because of my name, people who feared me because I was a parslemouth, people who's opinions of me changed every year, depending on whether the Prophet said I was a hero, or insane, or evil.

One minute they hated me, calling me deranged lunatic, and the next they expect me to save them all, never mind I was only a child with average power, never mind that the only dueling spell I knew was Expelliarmous.

And I did save them. I dueled Lord Voldemort, and I killed him. Some considered me a hero, wanted to give me the Order of Merlin, make me Minister, turn me into some sort of figurehead.

Others thought I was evil, the next Dark Lord, and wanted to throw me in prison because I'd used Avada Kedavra, never mind that I'd used it on Voldemort. Surely someone with as much power as I had must be evil.

What of my friends, you wonder? Surely they stood my side, realized that I was still Harry? If you believe that, them you are a fool.

Ron turned against me, perhaps because I had used an Unforgivable, combined with the fact that no one recognized his role in the battle- not that he'd done much. He screamed at me, called me evil, even tried to have me arrested, but the public wouldn't stand for it.

Hermione believed too much in law and authority, never accepting that laws could be wrong, always believing every lie Dumbledore spoon-fed us.

Ginny married Dean Thomas, and I heard they're reasonably content. Not perfect happiness, but more than most of us get.

Sirius was dead, through my own foolishness, but I've learned to stop blaming myself for that. He made his choice a long time ago.

Dumbledore, too, was dead, killed by Snape himself, surprising everyone but me. I saw through the traitor long ago, but Dumbledore had thought he'd known best, and paid the price. Moony, tortured to death right in front of me. Voldemort was trying to make me talk. It would have worked on my father, but it didn't work on me.

Sometimes, sacrifices must be made.

Merlin, I hated Dumbledore so much when he said that, I thought him cold, cruel, uncaring. Now I understand, for didn't I sacrifice the only person I ever truly loved, to defeat him?

She was the only person who took me at face value, who saw me for the person I was becoming instead of the hero they made out to be. Some called her crazy, but she could see that which was hidden to the rest of us. She never did find her Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

I loved her because she saw me for who I am, not a clone of my father. Everyone expected me to do something rash, something stupid, because that's what my father would have done.

They never, in their wildest dreams, could have imagined I'd be capable of Dark Magic. I remember the look of betrayal in their eyes when I used Avada Kedavra on Tom Riddle, when they should have been beyond happy that he was dead.

Who cares if Aurors are allowed to use that spell, Harry Potter can't, he's James Potter's son, and the Potters have always been on the side of the light.

My name does not define who I am, and I am nothing like my father.

He would have basked in the glory, using his fame to get his way, letting his head grow larger and larger as people began to get sick of him, but said nothing, after all, he was the One-Who-Conquered-The-Dark-Lord, wasn't he?

I am nothing like my father, but the rest of the world doesn't see it that way. With Luna gone, I have no reason to stay here, and I still have my whole life ahead of me. I'm going to start over, to finally have a chance to just be me, not James Potter's son.

The night before she was captured and killed, Luna told me that I would find someone else someday. I told her no, that I would never leave her, but she told me it was Fate's will, and who are we to question that?

She knew I would have to choose between saving her and killing Voldemort, and I chose the second. Chose the destiny that had been forced upon me over the only one who I'd ever loved.

Maybe she'd right, maybe sometime I will find someone to love, but not to replace Luna. Never to replace Luna.

By the time you read this letter, I will be long gone, well on the way to beginning a new life, free of the expectations of the magical world. Don't expect me to come back, because I won't, and I wish you all the best.

Don't try to find me, you never will.

So I leave you with one final warning-

Never pin all your hopes on one person, for single people can be killed, and their spirits broken. Fight your own damn wars, don't steal a child's dreams and force him to fight for you.

Try not to let prejudice overrule common sense, and make sure to eat lots of chocolate. The world is far from perfect, but you'll just have to settle for good enough.

Never Forget,

Harry Potter.