Harry potter and the boy who lived
Book 8 chapter 1
Sneak attack
Nine years after the death of Tom riddle and Beatrix Lestrange was when it finally hit me it's over. For as long as I could remember I had been running from lord voltemorts evil forces or should I say Tom riddles and now toughs forces where well… they where gone! I herded the final blast; I saw the greatness of good and evil crumble just like my childhood. Of course I never really had a childhood to begin with it had been stolen along with my sanity by Tom riddle the man who murdered my parents ,and tried so hard to murder me.
You want to know what's hilarious about the whole ordeal it is the simple fact that I alone am no better at magic no smarter no faster than any other wizard or witch. In fact I am 100% sure that if Dumbledore had wanted to he could have easily killed me at any time, and yet he died and I lived why? Why was I the boy who lived and not Neville Longbottom I say him because according to the prophecy he is the only other person who could be the boy who lived and yet he wasn't I was.
Yet as epic evil and heart wrenching as that last battle was it seems strange that when it was over all evidence of it seemed to vanish like the diadem of ravenclaw; for the final time. In truth I think I shouldn't have been chosen as the boy who lived; because I died more times inside then I can count. If you're a wizard you know my story as the greatest piece of history as the saving of a nation.
If you're a muggle you know this as the greatest piece of fiction known to man, but you know what's funny wizards and muggle alike think my life greatest moments most exciting events ended with voltemorts death. when in reality it was just a grim begging. Even I myself did not see it coming and to be honest I'm not entirely sure I'm out of danger yet, but seeing as I have just been fired from the aura office by my own brother in law Percy Wesley the new head wizard the minister of magic , and have yet to see a pressing threat today I will try to explain my story, my ordeal, my life; from the begging of the end.