I do not own Harry Potter, in any way, shape, or form. I simply enjoy the series and wrote this purely for my own entertainment.

I Was Their Hero

So I was their hero.

Hah. Famous before I could walk. Famous before I could speak. Famous before I new what I was doing and the repercussions of it. For eleven years, stuffed out of the way; ignored, abused, starved, lied to, bullied, and a variety of other things that you wouldn't want to hear about, but happened to me anyway.

And then they came for me, and I was thrust into a world I knew nothing about. I was thrust onto a pedestal I didn't want and wasn't ready for. I was their savior. The fighter for the light.

When I was in my second year, I got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher(and have, every year since then), Gilderoy Lockhart. Bloody useless in everything but memory charms, obsessed with himself(mostly his smile), I have no sodding clue as to how he got the DADA position. His form of detention is making you help with his fan mail. I think I'd rather clean the whole school. With a tooth brush. But, he did actually say something to me that was worth something, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry.". I think. Because I wasn't really listening, and right after that he said something about how he loved it when his fans sent him personal items(He was holding up a pair of men's underwear).

Then, something happened, something big. I told the truth and I was told back that it was a lie. I was told that I was a raving lunatic, that I was a child, a mere boy who didn't understand anything.

They where right.

I was naïve. I saw the world as black and white. Right and wrong, good and evil, just and unjust. I could not see the shades of grey. I didn't understand that people had ulterior motives.

Then things got worse.

Something went wrong, I made a mistake, my pedestal crumbled because information that I needed was held back and because someone saw only the larger picture, only did things for the greater good.

Someone paid for my realization that I was naïve.

And someone paid for my mistake.

Heroes do not exist. Heroes were created by humans, an idol to look up to. Heroes are supposed to be perfect. The tragic hero: A rough childhood, at an orphanage, or on the streets, or where ever. Rising above it all, coming out stronger, better, refusing to be like them.

Them. The villain, the baddy, the opposing force. In fairy tales, it's always clear who the bad guy is. He or She is the one with the evil laugh, the ugly servants, the big dark castle, a poisoned apple, or whatever. It's never really that simple.

The big baddy can be your teacher, your friend, your neighbor, your classmate, your uncle, your aunt, anyone. It could even but you. And your enemy is never completely evil. They all believe in what they are doing and they all have reasons, too.

Someone once told me, "There is no such thing as good or evil; only power, and those to weak to seek it." They were wrong. The first part was right, "There is no such thing as good or evil;" but that last part was wrong. There is more than power. There is intention. And desire. And revenge.

My name is Harry Potter. Have you heard of me? I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. I've had at least six attempts on my life. One in my first year of life. Three in my first year at Hogwarts. Another in my second. A rather large one in my fourth. Finally, the most recent one in my fifth.

I am fifteen years of age, sixteen next week. My eyes are green and my hair is black and messy. Most people would expect me to say that red or gold was my favorite color, because they are my house colors, that my favorite animal was the griffin, or the phenoix. But they'd be wrong. My favorite color is green, my favorite animal is the python.

You see, what I show people is not what I am. I am no hero. I am no god. I am not perfect. I am not your savior. I am not their savior. I don't think I can save anything My name is not that Boy-Who-Lived. It is not, "one of the Golden Trio". it is not "Gryffindor Golden-boy".

My name is Harry.

Just Harry.