20 years on, how I imagine the world looks to Harry Potter
That lightning-shaped scar on his forehead that we all shared hasn't hurt in years. But it still has tales to tell.
- Total Shares
The boy who lived is all grown-up. He walks with wisdom bowing down on his shoulders now. No longer a wide-eyed 11-year-old staring awestruck at the world of magic he was only just introduced to, or a hot-headed teenager magicking his survival out of the Dark Lord's hands year after year. He is now a father, a husband, and a watchful and calm wizard. His scar hasn't hurt in years, and he has never taken a life.
Today, 20 years since he was introduced to us, Harry Potter smiles at his Slytherin classmates. He had once learned, they are the "dark" ones. But Harry knows better now. A badge, the name of your family or faith, or your ancestors deeds do not decide who you are.
And anyone who judges others based on that is not courageous or chivalrous, even if they wear the badge of Gryffindor.
Today, Harry tilts his head with a smile at Draco Malfoy; Malfoy replies with a snide-devoid "Good morning". They now know what they were never taught as children. That not everyone from Gryffindor need be brave, not everyone from Slytherin sinister. That a talking hat, too, can be racist.
Knowing this, Harry had named his second child Severes.
Speaking of his children, Harry's daughter is now all grown up too, almost 10. Lily Luna Weasley Potter, named after Harry's mother and one of his closest friends. Two extraordinarily-gifted women, brave in their own ways.
Upon her birth, Harry had visited his long-estranged aunt, Petunia. Mrs Dursley, now well-aged, does not have a long neck.
That day, she had taken baby Lily in her arms and broken into tears. "I'm so sorry," she had whispered, then turned to Harry and repeated the same words. Harry had smiled. It wasn't easy; how do you forgive someone who fed you stale cheese and treated you like scum for 11 years, and then some? But how does it help to hate someone who was blinded by prejudice, and is now sorry?
Dudley now is a regular visitor at the Potters'. On Harry's children's birthdays, he makes sure they get 37 presents each.
The Boy Who Lives.
Presents! Harry stopped short and turned around, heading for Hermione's office. In there, the still bushy-haired Hermione was hovering over a pile of papers, narrating a speech to a suspended quill, swishing her wand with one hand, and holding a baby in another.
"Whose baby is that?" Harry asked, walking into her office. "Neville's," Hermione muttered absent-mindedly, "Could you watch her for while, please?" As Harry reached out to take the baby from her arms, he pulled Hermione in for tight, squishing hug.
"What was that for?" Hermione laughed, breaking away.
"For walking into our train compartment 20 years ago," Harry grinned. "And for sticking up for me, even when Ron left. Thanks." Hermione pushed him away, laughing and crying at the same time. Harry handed her a wrapped box and ran out of the office with the baby before Hermione could protest about the gift.
Walking back to his office, the baby fell asleep in his arms. Still holding her, Harry walked over to the big bay window facing east. Here, he could see the Muggle world. He had seen when the tower caught fire the other day, when the bomb exploded during that concert, when the madman opened fire at that gay club last year, and every time, now, when the Valley bleeds in the far east.
Harry watches, sends help when he can, as much he can. But deep down, he knows there's only so much even magic can do.
"There's a Voldemort in each of us, Minerva," Harry whispered to the sleeping baby in his arms. "I hope you grow up to see a world where we have learned to beat that darkness in us."
The boy who lived is a grown man now. One who loves Muggle coffee and enjoys cricket as much as Quidditch. One who has ditched prejudice. Harry Potter, now 20 years older than he was when you first heard about him.
His glasses are still round, but his jet black hair is beginning to grey.
That lightning-shaped scar on his forehead that we all shared hasn't hurt in years. But it still has tales to tell, lessons to teach. All is well.