The Phoenix Chronicles: The Goblet of Fire
Chapter 1: Introductions
My name is Harry Phoenix and while I can't think of any particular reason as to why you should care as to who I am or that I exist, I am nonetheless writing this to save the last bits of sanity I have left and to miraculously convince myself that my life has purpose beyond what I've been told to believe, but I'm getting ahead of myself. My "destiny" isn't where my story begins, though it does set much of it into motion. Again, I'm getting ahead of myself but you'll understand my ramblings all in good time.
I'm sixteen years old and in the short amount of time I've lived, I haven't accomplished anything that I would feel proud of if I were to die the next day. I don't have too many hobbies and even less friends. The only really interesting thing about me is that I happen to lead an unusual life. By all means, I'm not suggesting that leading a "normal" life is uninteresting, I am merely stating that the life I possess is not one you'd come across as easily as the letter 'e'. For one thing, I'm a wizard, though in that particular aspect I'm not alone. Perhaps if I started this manifesto by telling you that I have the power to control the very air of which you breathe, you would understand why my life is such a commodity.
You see, I'm what my mentor calls an Elemental, or a being specially attuned with one or more of the classical elements: earth, air, fire, or water. What this definition plucked straight from a six hundred year old man's mouth means is that with varying degrees of thought and will (sometimes a word or two is required), my mind can harness the ability to create fires and winds of ranging strengths, force rivers to flood, or piece together bits of sand to form the stone from which they originated. I'm not restricted to these particular acts of elemental magic but I'm not invincible. For example, I can't force the oxygen molecules in water to become so numerous that, in essence, I'm able to breathe underwater; a fact that I'm painfully aware of from personal experience.
Other than being a wizard and Elemental, I was the only apprentice in history to Nicolas Flamel. You thought I was kidding when I said a six hundred year old man right? In your defense, he was closer to seven hundred but when you're that old, who's counting? Anyways, I'm sure you've heard of him or rather, his legend. Most people believe that he never succeeded in his quest to create the Philosopher's Stone and gain immortality. Well, if you've believed everything I've told you up to this point, I wouldn't start questioning the validity of my statements now; no matter how outrageous. So like I was saying, Flamel was the mentor I mentioned earlier and until recently, he was the one who instructed me in all the mystical ways that dazzle the mind.
The very last thing you should know about me is that I'm a twin to a very famous wizard. The reason he's famous is a bit of a joke but not too many people know the actuality of the events that led to his fame and my death. You see, my true name is Harry Potter but to the world, I'm just the dead brother of the Boy Who Lived. As to not confuse you with a load of information all at once, I have to back track this story all the way to my birth in Godric's Hollow.
My brother and I were born into a time where a homicidal maniac who fashioned himself Lord Voldemort ran amok throughout the wizarding world gathering followers called Death Eaters. It was Voldemort's belief that those who were not wizards (Muggles) or wizards born into Muggle families (Muggleborns) were a waste of life and sought their destruction. His followers joined the ranks with either the same belief of Muggles or out of fear that Voldemort would gain control of the wizarding world and murder those who opposed his cause. By showing loyal service, they believed they were granting themselves salvation in a new world order where Voldemort occupied the throne.
Voldemort had set out to kill all the enemies who had defied him in an attempt to show the wizarding world that he was not to be crossed. High on his list of opponents was Lily and James Potter, who had battled the Dark Lord on three separate occasions and lived to tell the tale. This made them a dangerous liability so Voldemort attacked the Potter home. He struck when James Potter was working at the ministry and had some of his Death Eaters stage an assault on the public as a diversion. Lily Potter was home with her twin sons when Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow.
No one is fully sure what happened after Voldemort disarmed Lily but to the wizarding world's knowledge, I was killed that night and Henry defeated the Dark Lord by deflecting the curse upon its caster, though to your knowledge I'm not dead. After all, how many dead guys do you know that can tell a story of a life that could've happened but never did because it was extinguished fifteen years earlier? My guess would be not many but that just shows you how much of an amazing cover-up James and Lily Potter pulled the night they faked my death to abandon me. 'Cause really, who needs two sons when they can have the one who brought them fame and fortune? If you can't sense my sarcasm, I fear for your sensibility.
Because I was asked by my ancient mentor to remove all emotional attachments from my story, I've had to draft several versions of this narrative, which only proves my unreliability as a narrator. So please, forgive me for resorting to such tactics as this story holds a lot of anger that I've tried to tone down but haven't always been successful in doing. I've tried to keep the tone as un-angsty as I can, but given the background of this manuscript, sometimes it's needed. And with that said, let's move forward with my tale.
Once James and Lily Potter came to the realization that their oldest son had defeated the wizard who had plagued the world for thirteen years with hideous murders and senseless terrorism, they felt they could no longer care for their youngest son who lay in a coma after the attack. They believed that in raising the Boy Who Lived, the responsibility would be so great that caring for two children would be impossible. So what are these perfect parents to do with an extra child to spare? Why, send him to live with distant relatives and tell the world he died of course!
I was sent to live with my horrible Muggle family who despised magic but didn't have any choice but to take me in as, god forbid, what would the neighbors think if they didn't? As I was left on their doorstep with a letter explaining the tragic circumstances, James and Lily played the grieving parents of the last victim of the Dark Lord. Time moved on and before you knew it, six years had passed. Though my relatives were decent enough towards me to not warrant Child Protective Services a visit, they nonetheless regarded my existence with contempt and scorn. So, being the generous people that they were, my family decided to send me away to a foreign boarding school rather than deal with my displays of accidental magic, which was completely fine with me. At the time, I had no idea I was a wizard and the accidental magic I spawned was referred to as "funny business" or "freakish tricks", but soon came the time for my true enlightenment.
The majority of my time spent at the school was truly an isolating experience. Because most of the students already spoke French, I was at a disadvantage to make friends because of the language barrier. I had to take beginner's classes which kept me in separate classes so I rarely spent any time with children my own age. Because I was so alone, I started to notice the odd things that would happen around me; my hair growing back overnight after a haircut, lights turning on after I wished to not be in the dark of my room anymore, the radishes I was served for lunch disappearing when I refused to eat them. These things brought me to the conclusion that I wasn't like other people. I started to practice and eventually learned how to make these things happen at will instead of by accident. With all the time I had spent by myself, the school officials had labeled me as anti-social with a possible personality disorder and wanted to send me to a school that specialized in the psychiatric needs of its students.
Of course I didn't fully understand what this meant being a child and all, but I didn't like the sound of it or the looks the teachers would give me when they thought I wasn't looking. I knew by the tone of their voices that the place they wanted to send me was bad news so I wanted no part of it. I waited one night for everyone to go to sleep before I sneaked out of the school and into the inner city of Paris. For a few weeks, I lived in the park and down by the food market, where I would make myself invisible and steal the things that I needed to survive. I thought I had a pretty decent system going until I got caught.
I had been in a store trying to decide if I wanted the black hooded sweatshirt or the long sleeved green jacket. I eventually stopped trying to decide between the two and grabbed them both.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
The voice came was so close from behind me that I jumped. When I turned around, I saw an old man dressed in a weird looking trench coat. I was certain that I had been unseen so I waited to make sure he was talking to me, wondering how in the world he could see me.
"I can see you." Well thanks for clearing that up.
As soon as those words left his mouth, I ran out of the store and sought refuge in the park. There was an old building that had been used for maintenance supplies but was now abandoned. I had cleaned it up a bit and had taken the things I needed to make a comfortable living. It got cold out there from time to time but it was nothing a few extra blankets couldn't handle. Once I made it inside my humble abode, I heard the voice again.
"You didn't have to run you know." Again, I jumped. I looked in shock at the man in the funny looking trench coat sitting on a chair I borrowed from the cafe down the block and silently questioned how someone so old could have beaten me here and furthermore, how did he even know where I was running to?
"I've been watching you for quite some time young man," he said.
"W-who are y-you?" I stammered out, frightened that I was in trouble for stealing.
"I'm a friend," he replied kindly with a smile.
"Wha-what do you want?"
"I want to help you."
"I don't need anyone's help!" I said indignantly, as I crossed my arms.
I stared him down until he got up from where he had been sitting and patted me on the shoulder before he reassured me that if I ever needed help, that I could go to him. As he left, I saw a paper card fall on the cafe chair like a feather dropping from the sky. When I looked behind me, the man was gone. I went through the door and couldn't see him anywhere. I ran back into the abandoned building and barricaded the door as best as I could, positive that I had just seen a ghost. Of course a blocked door wouldn't help against a ghost attack but try telling that to a scared seven years-old.
I stayed in my little fortress until the next day. I had looked at the card, which read what I assumed to be the man's name and a Paris address but I dismissed it as something the wind must have blown in because ghosts didn't leave business cards with people they haunted. I went on my day-to-day business, keeping my eyes out for any more trouble that wanted to come my way.
Eventually I settled back into my routine before I saw the man again. He was walking around in the park with a women who was just as old as he was. By this time, the weather had gotten colder so not too many people bothered to walk around in the park. I ran back to my safe haven and started gathering up the things I could carry as I planned on getting as far away from this park as necessary. I had dismissed the man as a one-time fear induced hallucination but now that he was back and he had brought company, this meant it wasn't part of my overactive imagination and real trouble had found me. Before I made it out the door, I heard the woman talking.
"No Nicolas, you can't just apparate in there! You'll scare that poor boy! Just knock on the door, go on! But not too loud."
I had been listening with my ear up against the door and let me tell you, it's not a very pleasant experience to have someone knock while you're like that. I bolted away from the door with a groan.
"Hello? Young man? My name is Mrs. Flamel. You're not in any trouble. Can you please open the door?"
I hesitated but she sounded nice enough so I opened it just enough to stick my face out, figuring the sooner I answered, the sooner they'd leave.
"Oh, my husband didn't tell me what a handsome young man you were!" She was wearing a similar looking trench coat that the man had on, only hers was white instead of gray. Her hair was as white as her coat and tied into a loose bun at the back of her head. She reminded me of one of the neighbors the Dursleys used to send me to while they went to run errands. The man was standing next to her, looking the same as he did the first day I saw him except now he wore a black cap on his head. I remember thinking to myself that these were probably the oldest people I had ever seen yet they acted much younger and less fragile than the other elderly people I usually saw.
"Hello again," the man said with that same friendly smile. I couldn't sense anything off about them so I opened the door a little wider. "How are you doing?"
"Fine thanks."
"No need to be frightened dear. We mean you no harm," Mrs. Flamel said.
"What do you want?" I asked suspiciously.
"To let you know that you aren't alone," she responded. "What's your name?"
"Harry," I said slowly, still a little suspicious. "And what do you mean I'm not alone?"
"We know you can make things happen because we're just like you."
And there you have it. That's how the wonderful world of magic was introduced to me. Obviously the conversation didn't stop there but why bother with the formalities. I'm sure you'd rather get to the juicy details of my life after this revelation. I went to live with the Flamels as they couldn't sleep well with the fact that "the poor dear" was out by himself in the cold. I told them what happened with the Dursleys and Mr. Flamel promised to go see them to inquire about my custody.
Once he got there, the Dursleys were quite upset about the amount of time it took for him to come take Harry away for his training. They politely told him that regardless of what they agreed to when they took me in, they wouldn't be a part of any more freakish-ness and good riddance! As he had no idea what the Dursleys were complaining about, Mr. Flamel continued to interrogate them for as much information as he could before he placed a memory charm on my wretched Muggle family to make them believe that I had run away from the house directly. They thought they would tell the neighbors I was being sent to a lovely foreign school instead of reporting me as missing. Then they wouldn't be in trouble for the neglect they had treated me with and no one would ever be looking for me. When he came back to Paris, Mr. Flamel had quite the story that changed my life forever.
The Dursleys reported that the morning they found me on their door step, they received a letter explaining that the Potters had been killed by Lord Voldemort and that I was the only surviving member of the family. It explained that I would be retrieved when it was safe for me to begin my training with Albus Dumbledore as Voldemort wasn't truly vanquished. From Mr. Flamel's interpretation of these events, Dumbledore and the Potters placed me here but we didn't know the exact reason. After all, if they could keep my brother, why not me too? And why tell people I was dead? None of it made any sense and all we could do was speculate. We couldn't ask because then that would put me in the position to be sent back to the Dursleys. I was then given to options: either confront the family that turned me away or stay with the Flamels.
I was hurt that my family had abandoned me while keeping my brother, as if saying that I wasn't good enough because I wasn't the Boy Who Lived. I eventually grew angry with them but that wasn't the reason I stayed with the Flamels. It was because for the first time in my life, I felt safe and cared for. They became the family that I never knew I had missed until I found one.
Meanwhile, I was entering my sixth year at the Academy. Over the years, I excelled in my magical studies and I thought that everything would fall into place. I wasn't that lucky. Less than six years after I created a family, it was torn apart when Mrs. Flamel died. Two years later, her husband followed her and I was left with the greatest amount of anger I have ever felt for someone and I placed the blame on Dumbledore.