I believe that someday, when I turn wrinkly and my skin starts to sag at all the wrong places, I will remember only one person when I hear the name "Harry"-- neither Harry Dresden nor Harry Truman, and not even Harry Shum Jr. Only one Harry ever mattered, matters and will matter to me: the scrawny bespectacled son of James and Lily, the famous half-blood, the boy who lived. Today, however painfully I had to do it, I wept for him for the last time.