Harry's Fairy Tale

Harry's Fairy Tale

(Magic, Fairy Tales and Happy Ever After - Chapter 5 ½)

I'm going to tell you what you might call a fairy tale, but it's a real story, my life story ... so far.

Like all good fairy tales we have a struggle between good and evil. About thirty years ago adangerous dark wizard, calling himself Lord Voldemort, appeared in Britain. He had an intense hatred of Muggles, born of his hatred for the father who had rejected him, and his position drew him many supporters.

He played upon the natural fear and suspicion of the outside world and its influence that affected many of the pure blood wizards and witches. They became his loyal and terrifying Death Eaters.

At an ever increasing rate, his power and influence grew. Attacks against Muggle born witches and wizards escalated and also direct attacks against Muggles. Not all the so called 'acts of terrorism' in Britain at the time were the work of the IRA, although they didn't seem to mind claiming responsibility. Good for their reputation, I suppose.

The British Ministry of Magic, stifled by bureaucracy and corrupted from within, seemed powerless to do anything except damage control.

There was one small independent group who offered active resistance to the rising tide of Lord Voldemort's power, the Order of the Phoenix. My parents were both members of this group; in addition my mother was Muggle born, and thus a natural target for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But despite the danger and the steadily worsening situation, they decided to start a family.

Why? I have no idea. Yet another act of defiance perhaps?

Shortly before my birth the leader of their group, a powerful light wizard called Albus Dumbledore, was witness to a prophesy foretelling the Dark Lord's down-fall.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ..."

This first part of the prophecy was overheard by a Death Eater and relayed to Lord Voldemort himself. There were two baby boys born on the same day who fit the description.

Why did Voldemort come after me first?

Dumbledore had one idea, but I don't really believe it. Knowing what I now do about Lord Voldemort, my guess is he was after both of us; eliminate all possible threats while we were still babies, just like King Herod.

My parents went into hiding shortly after I was born, but one of my fathers' friends betrayed them. My parents died trying to protect me, and then, Voldemort tried to kill me. Something went wrong, the killing curse rebounded, and Voldemort was disembodied. Unfortunately, he was not destroyed, and he continued to exist, but only as an evil malevolent spirit.

You know this scar of mine?

That's where the Killing curse hit and rebounded, thereby fulfilling the second part of that damn prophecy.

"... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ..."

Voldemort may have been temporarily powerless, but that did not mean I was safe. His supporters were still out there, eager to take revenge on a small defenseless boy.

Dumbledore's brilliant solution was to put me in the custody of my mother's Muggle sister. Not one of his best ideas. My aunt and her husband hated magic, everything to do with magic, and by extension they hated me.

The best comparison I can give you for my childhood is to picture Cinderella, but sleeping under the stairs not in the fireplace and instead of two ugly stepsisters, just one very spoilt bully of a cousin. Although come to think of it he was as big as two average sized people.

You think it's not possible in this modern age for a child to be treated that badly?

Think again, it can happen, it did happen; that was my life for ten years. Ten years of being treated like a burden, a waste of space, a freak. Any time something freakish or weird happened I was punished. They tried to beat the magic out of me.

Sounds ridiculous, I know, and it sure as hell didn't work.

I never had any friends; my cousin Dudley made sure of that, although I suppose my freakishness didn't help.

Then on my eleventh birthday the wizarding world decided to reclaim me. I found out that magic was real; I was a wizard and it was time to begin my training.

It was a bit of a shock, I admit it.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which services Great Britain and Ireland, is one of the oldest and finest institutions of magical learning in the world and it was my home for seven years; the only real home I have ever had.

I can't begin to describe to you what it felt like to harness the magic within me. Finally I knew what I was and where I belonged. I really thought I had found a place where I wasn't alone in my freakishness. But it soon became apparent that I was still a freak, even among freaks.

I doubt you can even imagine what it's like to go from being insignificant and hated, to being famous, stared at and both idolized and hated. I was The Boy Who Lived, savior of the wizarding world, dreadfully unique and famous for something I could not even remember.

But it didn't stop there. No, at every turn I seemed to just stand out more and more. I was the youngest house Quidditch player in a century ... a Parselmouth, which is someone who can speak to snakes, which, of course, meant I must be the next dark lord in the making. I was also the youngest winner of the interschool tournament; a natural at wandless magic ... the list just grew every year. It was nice to have these abilities, but I hated being singled out for it.

I did make friends, good friends, people who were prepared to see beyond The Boy Who Lived. Hagrid, that's him there, the big guy at the back of the group photo, half-giant, he died in the final battle. He was my first friend in the wizarding world, my first friend ... ever.

This picture shows me with my two best friends, Ron and Hermione. Yes, same girl as in the photo on the desk. We had a ... very special friendship. It all started with fighting a troll in first year.

A troll? I don't know. Trouble just seems to find me.

This photo was Christmas 1995. Yes, you're right. Most of the people in that photo are Ron's family. He was the youngest boy in a large family, five older brothers and a younger sister. His dad and one of his brothers died in the final battle.

See the dark haired guy at the back? It's actually the same guy from this photo taken at my parents' wedding. Sirius was my father's best friend and my godfather.

That's what twelve years in prison will do to you. He was innocent, framed for murder. He died four months after that photo was taken.

I'd rather not talk about that now. Maybe another time.

When I returned to the magical world, as you have probably guessed, the big bad evil guy returned as well. One way or another, I had to face Voldemort and fight him again and again. First year and second year, I prevented his return to a proper body, then in fourth year he was finally reborn, in a manner of speaking, as a horrible gruesome travesty of a human body, but still a very powerful wizard, whose old supporters flocked back to him.

Yes, it was like something from a nightmare.

I was living with the knowledge that Voldemort saw me, a fifteen year old boy, as the biggest threat to his power and plans. People tended to die around me, including my beloved godfather. It was only after he died in my fifth year that I was told the prophecy in full and realized the full horror of being Harry Potter.

"... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ..."

Most senior high school students spend their time worrying about good exam grades, how the school sports team is going and their love life. I spent the last two years at school training to kill someone. It was that or be killed.

Don't shiver like that love, as you can see, I did survive.

At what cost? Well that's the million Galleon question, isn't it?

Eventually, with a lot of help from my friends and allies, I destroyed Lord Voldemort totally, and forever. I was seventeen years and eleven months old and I had fulfilled my destiny.

Where does one go from there?

Everybody else had plenty of ideas on the future path of the Boy Who Defeated Voldemort. Dumbledore's ideas didn't count anymore as he had died to ensure my success. That was probably a blessing. While I respected the man's ability; he was a manipulative old bastard.

The Ministry of Magic had their expectations and the British magical community was keen to tell me what it thought I should do next. Even my closest friends had their own ideas of how I should live the rest of my life.

No one bothered to really ask me what I wanted and frankly I had had enough of living my life to suit other people. Now I wanted to life my life on my own terms.

It quickly became clear that was going to be impossible if I stayed in wizarding Britain.

Don't get me wrong, I love being a wizard, the feeling of doing magic, of being magical. That is so much a part of me I could as soon stop breathing as stop the magic flowing. And I am truly grateful for the training I received, even though it was particularly skewed towards talents necessary to defeat dark wizards.

It was inevitable that I should continue to fight evil and darkness. There's no one better suited for it, if I say so myself - but I'll be damned before I will dance to someone else's tune, and end up persecuting innocent people because the Ministry can't see beyond it's own nose and jumps at shadows.

So I left.

Yes, just like that.

On my eighteenth birthday, I packed my bag, and took a flight to Australia. It was as far away as I could imagine.

My first job was in Melbourne. I did the publican of the local wizard pub a small favour regarding some heavies who were trying to muscle in on his business.

We have a great partnership going, if people are looking for my kind of help, they go to him. I think he knows who I really am, but he's never asked and I have never told him, and that suits us both.

Did I tell anyone where I was going?

Of course not! And I deliberately didn't write for a long time in case it might be traced.

Yes, I would like to write now. God knows I've tried, but I just don't know what to say.

Will I ever go back to Britain?

I don't know, maybe some day.

All I want right now is to live my life the way I choose, doing what I am good at, helping people, but at the end of each job walking away into the peace and quiet of being just an ordinary bloke, with a home and a family. That is my idea of Happy Ever After.

What do you reckon?

Will you be here for me? Maybe we can find happy ever after together?