Chapter 6
The seed of doubt has been planted and by now it was bearing fruit. The whole of England was questioning their government and what it stood for. Everyone knew who Harry Potter was , knew his titles and what it stood for. Everyone, except the death eaters, loved and adored the boy, for he saved them all. If not for him the war wouldn't have ended.
So how could the ministry do that to him? How could they send him there?! If they sent him to that place, the golden boy, then what would they do to them? Especially borns and halfbloods . Because the also sent a pureblood to Azkaban for nothing. What did that mean for them?!
But when they found out that it was the headmaster who sent him there the went nuts. Because Dumbledore may have been a powerful wizard with many titles, beloved by the public but Harry? A hero who lost parents to the war he helped stop, a war which took their precious people, a war horrible then the won the headmaster fought in. For Voldemort knew no bounds. He knew no love , had no mercy. May you be a pureblood, a halfbloods or a muggle born it was all the same to him. He didn't care, he just took and took and took until there was nothing left, not even the bones of the poor soul.
So when there came a mere infant with Rosy cheeks and bright,emerald,green eyes they were hooked. The child was mere 15 months old and had lost his entire world. But in the end he was the one who saved them. Not the headmaster. He did nothing. Didn't dare show his face in the war. Just sat on the sidelines.
So who were the public gonna side with? A puppet master who they trusted or a child who lost everything saving them? His parents, his godparents and uncles and aunts. Who suffered even after that? Who still, to day continues to suffer at the hands of his relatives?
Well the answer was obvious, wasn't it? After all, humans need someone to adore and someone to blame, and who else better to love then the one who saved them and their family.
.
.
.
Harry hated a lot of things in his young life. Be it attention, loud noises, his relatives or ripper the dog. But the scar on his forehead he loved.
Well, at least in the beginning.
It was the one thing that only he had, that others couldn't take. It was something he got the day his parents died and so he felt that it was a connection to them, to his dead parents.
Even though aunt petunia hated it he loved it. Everytime he looked in the mirror the scar was what he looked at. He thought it made him special, and not the bad special, the one that made his uncle beat him and lock him in the cupboard.
He thought the scar was cool.
But that was before he learned. Learned it's true origins. Before he learned everything.
Now he hated it. It was what set him apart, how others knew to find him. One glance at it and they knew who he was.
The lighting bolt scar that he oh so adored before had turned into a symbol tying him to something he hadn't wanted. Hadn't chosen. They choose it for him. And he had to fulfill it no matter what, because that was what was expected of him. So no, no longer did he stare at it in fondness.
But now the truth was out and everyone was defending him and it felt like a weight was lifted off him. He could suddenly breathe without it weighing down on him. And now he wouldn't have to return there to suffer again. Or at least he hoped so. He had Sirius now, and he was learning to trust him, slowly but surely. Maybe things will be better now.
Maybe.