Through My Father's Eyes

Through My Father's Eyes

Whitefeather

I never heard stories of my father when I was younger.

I was always told I shouldn't worry about the past--that my father was gone, and that was that. I was living my life in a world that my father had left long ago; the one he had abandoned me in before my birth, leaving me to be raised in an orphanage with my mother's maiden name.

I grew up at Hogwarts, and while I was there I saw the way that the professors watched me. I purposely ignored their calls and the confusion on their faces when I walked away. I purposely ignored the calculations they did whenever they spoke to me. I purposely ignored the way that every adult seemed to see something within me that I didn't see within myself.

It took only four years of being at Hogwarts to learn to hate the father I had never heard a word about. Researching the years preceding and following my birth was fruitless; he had truly been nothing more than a man who used my mother and abandoned her for his own, more favorable life somewhere away from us. He didn't even have the bravery to help her when she was dying giving birth to me.

The transfiguration professor was the hardest to get by. He would watch me as though I was mad day after day, and one day went as far as to ask me if I knew the truth about my family history. I threw his hand off of mine and stated, quite clearly for a fifteen-year-old child, that I didn't want to talk about that man. He released me quick as though I were a poisonous serpent, and stared at me as though I had just told him the secrets of the universe.

The adults seemed to watch me more after that, and all of them had different reactions. My defense and charms professors seemed to stare at me with a dulled hatred, while my potions professor seemed to carry pity. No one seemed to know what to make of my views, so I didn't think of it. After all, a Slytherin could not have let his guard down; no matter the reason.

I was isolated, and as much as the whispers didn't bother me on a daily basis, over time it began to break me down inside.

After graduation, I left Hogwarts and traveled around the world in search of anything that would give me a purpose. That would get me away from the things that I knew not to be what I truly wanted.

I changed, both mentally and physically, over the next few years. People I'd met along the way began to follow what I was doing--getting lost in the world while trying to find its darkest secrets. By the time I returned to Hogwarts years later, I had people that I was connected through all over the world. This seemed to scare the professors that had once stared at me, as well as all those that had once trued to get close to me.

Years and years passed by as though they were but moments in a day. Times changed--when I went into a bar later in these moments, under the guise of glamour, I overheard some people in the corner discussing how they knew 'that boy' from 'his' Hogwarts years, and how 'I didn't trust him even then, despite everything'.

The price for my body went up beyond millions of galleons as time went on. The problem was that no one knew exactly who they were searching for. Even I never did.

The only day that I can reflect in those dark years, even to this day, was the day that the Daily Prophet made its largest announcement in its history. The war would be over. The one person who could end the war was returning to the front line to do so. The man who had years ago killed a Dark Lord by himself.

I will admit that I was, then, a bit afraid. His powers were legend; he was considered the greatest wizard ever to have lived.

All in all, the final years of the war went fast. Time didn't matter. Everyone knew that it would come down to the final battle between the two of us, and whoever won that confrontation would have control of our world once more.

It took three years from the time he began his search for the two of us to meet. Not surprisingly, we met in the ruins of what once was Hogwarts--the one place we had both considered our true home at one point.

When he raised his wand towards me, I simply stared. My search was over, and there was no point in continuing any longer--my life had been a lie built around those unspoken words. I saw everything in the eyes of the man about to kill me that I had been searching for; everything was written in the brilliant green eyes that stared with disbelief into the matching ones that I had carried with me all along.