Disclaimer: Just like always, I don't own the characters, only the idea.


Beta by: ilovethedotgame


"What I See" by Penguin


When I look at him, I don't want to look away because he reminds me of someone I once knew, but at the same time, I want to look away and cry with sadness because that person is gone.

The hair, the face, the hands, and the nose...it's like looking at James, but with one difference: Lily's eyes.

Looking at Harry breaks my heart. Every time I see him I'm reminded of the friend whose death, in part, I caused. People tell me it's not my fault, that I couldn't have known Peter would betray them, but they're wrong. It is my fault. I suggested Peter as secret-keeper. I should have realized from the start that he was the traitor. I'm ashamed that I ever suspected Remus when the real rat was right under my nose.

Sometimes I lapse into a state of nostalgia and forget that Harry and James are two different people and that one is living and the other is dead.

Sometimes my mind melds them together as one person. But, then Harry says or does something to remind me that he is Harry, and not my best friend.

I compare them without meaning to.

James was a risk taker. The more risk, the greater the fun. I can't understand why Harry isn't like that.

James was so brilliant. He was born with an intelligence that few could match. It's not as though Harry's dumb, he just doesn't have the brains James did.

Harry is just not James.

Harry glances at me from across the table and I feel a wave of sorrow.

James Potter. My best mate.

We were the closest of friends. We were like brothers. No matter what I did wrong, he was there by my side, reassuring me and helping me through.

When I let Snape know of Remus's secret and almost got Snape killed, it was James who helped me to overcome my guilt and re-establish my friendship with Remus.

When I ran away from home, it was James that I ran to and it was James who took me in and who was there for me.

He was always putting other people's worries and troubles before his own, even at the end.

James was the best friend I'll ever have. No one can fill the gaping hole his death has left upon my soul and in my heart.

I tear my eyes away from Harry. I can't look into those eyes any longer.

Lily's eyes. They were so green that they made emeralds look dull.

Lily Evans Potter was like the sister I never had. I loved her like family. I considered James my brother, and when they were married, her my sister.

I can't even begin to count the amount of time I spent helping James think of ways to get her to go out with him. She was like a project; a project we spent nearly two years on.

She was so forgiving and trusting. She should have trusted less. But, it's too late for that now. Wishing won't bring back my friends.

I glance back at Harry, not able to look away for too long.

As I look at the boy whose parents were so near and dear to me, I would give anything, even my life, to have them back again, for Harry's sake. It's my fault that he never knew what wonderful people his parents were.

James and Lily were so proud of their baby boy. He was no less than perfect in their eyes. James was so pleased that Harry had inherited Lily's eyes. He always said that it was the first thing he noticed about Lily and was what first drew him to her.

They were broken-hearted when Dumbledore told them that the Voldemort was out to kill their precious child, their joy.

He wasn't meant to be an only child. He was supposed to have brothers and sisters. James grew up an only child and Lily with a hateful sister. They wanted Harry to have brother and sisters to love and who would love him.

But, none of that ever happened.

Once Voldemort set his sights on killing you, you didn't have much time. Lily and James hid for a year before Voldemort found them on Peter's information.

I was the first one at their house after the attack. I saw their bodies there, lying amongst the rubble of what had been their house.

I knelt beside James and held his hand. It was still warm, but growing cold. The only thing that kept me from breaking down in tears was the knowledge that this was not Lily and James. These bodies were merely the shells that my friends had inhabited on this Earth. James and Lily were in a better place that was free of war and violence.

But they're still gone.

And it's still my fault.

It doesn't matter what people say, I'll always see myself responsible.

A little boy grew up unloved, without his parents because I made a serious misjudgment in the character of one man.

It's my fault.

The proof sits before me in a fifteen-year old boy.

When I look at him, I don't want look away because he reminds me of someone I once knew, but at the same time, I want to look away and cry with sadness because that person is gone.


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