The weight of these comparisons followed him to Hogwarts, where the Mirror of Erised revealed a painful truth. While his classmates saw their deepest desires reflected, Harry saw his parents. Not as motionless photographs, but as real people, looking at him with love and pride. He spent hours before the mirror, memorising their faces, trying to find traces of himself in them. "Do I look like him? Or her?" he wondered. The answer never came.
Hermione, with her sharp sensitivity, was the first to address it. One afternoon in the library, while Harry was reviewing an essay for Potions, she interrupted him: "Harry, I know everyone compares you to them, but you are so much more than their reflections." Though her words were comforting, Harry barely looked up. "You don’t understand, Hermione," he said quietly. "I don’t know who I am without them. If you take them away, what’s left of me?"
Not all memories were tender or inspiring. During a Quidditch match, Draco Malfoy yelled from the stands: "Potter, look at that! Your father must have left his arrogance as an inheritance!" The words cut through him like a knife. Later, in the changing room, while the Gryffindors celebrated, Harry remained silent, feeling the weight of a legacy he had never asked for.
His fifth year brought an even harsher truth. In a cruel act, Snape dragged him into the Pensieve and showed him a memory of his father humiliating him in front of other students. Harry watched James, young and arrogant, acting without thought for the consequences of his actions. Snape, with a coldness Harry had never seen before, said: "You have your father’s arrogance, Potter. And don’t get me started on how those Lily-like eyes of yours will never save you from what you are." That night, Harry locked himself in his dormitory, grappling with a painful reality: the perfect parents he had idealised were also human, flawed and full of mistakes.
Despite this, there were moments when the weight of the legacy felt lighter. Lupin, always calm, spoke of James with a mix of pride and sadness. "He was brave, yes, but also stubborn as a mule. But he never stopped fighting for what he believed was right." And when he spoke of Lily, his words were tinged with reverence: "She had a way of seeing the world... always searching for the best in people." These recollections gave Harry a glimpse of his parents’ humanity, a reminder that they weren’t just legends.
The breaking point came during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. A Death Eater confronted him with venom-laced words: "You’re just like them: brave to the point of stupidity. Lily died to protect you, and here you are, following in James’s footsteps towards a certain death." But instead of weakening him, those words gave him strength. If he had inherited anything from his parents, it was the ability to love and protect no matter the cost.
When he finally faced Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, the truth about who he was became clear. With the Resurrection Stone in hand, he saw his parents once more. James stood relaxed, a confident smile on his face, while Lily looked at him with such pure love that it almost made him step back. "You’re not just like us, Harry," James said. "You’re better."
Years later, as he watched Ginny playing with their son Albus, Harry reflected on what it meant to be a reflection of his parents. He finally understood that he didn’t need to be exactly like them, nor did he need to escape their shadow. He was a blend of their virtues and flaws, but also someone entirely unique. "I hope you find your own path too," he whispered, brushing his son’s hair. Because, in the end, the greatest legacy Lily and James had left him wasn’t his resemblance to them, but the freedom to be himself.