Anthology of Stories From the Life of Harry Potter, a harry potter fanfic

Anthology of Stories From the Life of Harry Potter

Preface to the fourth edition

The life of Mr. Potter has been dissected, inspected, it's search for fact often misdirected, common knowledge neglected and only the most influential points of Harry's life selected for any biography. This edition of The Anthology of Stories From the Life of Harry Potter endeavors, as in previous versions of the text, to provide the public with a clearer understanding of the man who defeated the Dark Lord Voldermort, so many years before. Hopefully this edition will provide meaningful insight to the reader about how one of today's greatest and least understood individuals stood up for what is right, and did the impossible.

Section I:

Baggy Old Cloths & Broken Glasses

Ever since leaving privet drive to go to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter virtually never spoke of his earlier life. Even in interviews much later in life, the doors to his childhood have always resulted in Mr. Potter changing the topic, or laughing off the question in some manner. The few facts the wizarding world tends to remember is Mr. Potter slept in a cupboard rather than a bedroom - his bouts of accidental magic, and the manner of his entering the magical world with the assistance of Mr. R. Hagrid.

But this leaves the average wizard with an appreciable gap in the forming years of Mr. Potter. To remedy this, some texts have referenced, or even included things such as his primary grades, which they note, are average. Luckily, several people who knew Mr.Potter as a child were interviewed by WWPP, and we bring you one of these interviews to shed a bit of life on the character of Mr. Potter.

Our first interviewer is Edward Custos, a former Surrey Police officer.

The first time I remember meeting Harry it was sometime in the summer. I was new on the force, and had been assigned the graveyard shift. Part of the assignment was to inspect the park in Little Whinging. It had been dark for several hours when I pulled my cruiser up to the park. As I did every day, I pulled the big flashlight off of the seat next to me, and headed out to take a walk around the park. It was quiet, and I enjoyed the light summer breeze which fluttered through the night, making the trees talk. And just when I was convinced that I alone was enjoying the night, a voice came clearly from my right.

"Peaceful, isn't it?" It asked. Jumping, I twirled my flashlight toward it, and a figure came into my sight. My first sight was of the young face, eyes blinking at the light, grinning from juvenile stupidity and the my jump of fright. And attached to that face was an obviously skinny, short kid. He was covered in the clothing so baggy I couldn't imagine the size of a person needed to fill them. I opened my mouth to speak, but the kid, grin and all, disappeared into the night, dashing lightly and quickly between the park trees. His disappearing act, I supposed, was well supported by his wild black hair, and the dark colored cloths.

I didn't get it then. But Harry liked his pranks. Much more wary of the park now, I managed to catch sight of him every now and then. He'd appear, as nonchalant as if it was perfectly normal to be alone in the park at three in the morning. Once or twice I thought I saw him other places too, running along the streets of Little Whinging, dodging into an alleyway at night. Once or twice I tried to make chase, but each time I ended up panting, out of breath, in the middle of some dark silent place that yielded no indication that he'd been there. And slowly, I just accepted it.

As I did, I found myself drawn into longer and longer conversations with him, to the point that he would accompany me as I made my rounds in the park. He never mentioned why he was there at night, and I gave up asking, as it seemed to just cause him to melt away into the night. So we discussed anything else. They were peculiar conversations, which often ended in trailing offs and silence. His presence at the park was intermittent - everyday for a week or month, then gone the next day, for a few days or weeks at a time.

By the time Harry was in fifth grade however, I came to my own understandings about Harry. His parents, so I understand it, were fooled by his ability to fake sickness to perfection. Harry would sleep the day away pretending, then when his parents slept, he'd head outside to the park. He was a bright kid, and the way I understand it, he managed to keep his grades up despite his numerous absences. I couldn't exactly understand why he wore such baggy cloths, until the day he let slip they were his cousin's. Poor parents, I assumed and an Aunt and Uncle of reasonable wealth. It matched perfectly Harry's occasional bit of envy, or perhaps disgust when mentioning the numerous presents his cousin received. But as time went on, the baggy cloths appeared less and less. Harry grudgingly admitted it was only the result of a needle, thread, scissors, and a lot of time. The first set looked downright awful of odd seams and edges, but the next ones came out well enough.

Harry, as I mentioned earlier, enjoyed his pranks. Normally, I would have taken my job as a law officer more seriously, but Harry's pranks were harmless enough that I never managed to convince myself I should turn him in. Traffic cones in the road, or the middle of intersections. Moving parking tickets from one windshield to another. And while he would never admit to doing it, or how he did it, he managed to turn my patrol car around while I took a walk around the park. All I know is he couldn't have driven the car - it's virtually impossible to hotwire a cruiser. I never directly helped, but I wasn't as reserved when it came to teaching young Harry those tricks everyone should know, such as how to pick a lock or tie a good slipknot. After all, somebody has to make sure our youth are corrupted at least a little. It's job security, ya know?

Mr. Custos interview should illustrate several things to the careful reader. First is Harry's ability to sneak about, and his experience with doing so before reaching Hogwarts. Another note is that Harry is perfectly content with being alone at night, unusual for anyone, but particularly children. While Harry is skinny, he is often described to be in excellent physical shape, as noted by his ability to outrun Mr. Custos. His dodging of discussion of life with the Dursleys has already fully formed. Note that Mr. Custos has no problem believing that Harry "Faked Sickness" to skip school. What this should illustrate, is the alarming frequency that Harry was locked in his cupboard by the Dursleys. It also shows his ability to make others believe this story. Furthermore, it puts into question Harry's status as an average student - If he managed to perform average in school despite his frequent absences, he must have been a fairly excellent student when he was one.

Section II

Three Up... Two Across

If one inspects the calendar between the 31st of July and September first, they would quickly note that there are 31 days of August between them. This means Harry Potter had exactly thirty one days to learn about the wizarding world before falling into it headfirst. Given what we know about Harry, it seems less and less likely that Harry sat in his room at Privet Drive the entire time. The following story has been constructed from several sources: A diary recovered from his personal affects, several reliable witnesses, and a vast array of suspicion and rumor.

Harry potter arrived at the Leaky Cauldron in a plain but new looking black wizard's robe. The same could be said for his hat, which was slightly oversized and managed to cover his forehead, and scar. Given his height, the brim of the hat almost hid his face completely. It was a the sight of a neat, orderly, grim faced young wizard entering Diagon Alley. It was a far sight from the baggy cloths wearing, grinning scar showing kid who'd enter the Alley just a fortnight before. It worked too. Nobody in the leaky cauldron paid more than a passing glance to the young wizard passing by.

Harry had only vague ideas about what he should get in Diagon alley. Harry had been run from shop to shop previously by Hagrid, now he figured he'd wander about and check things out one by one. He slipped first into a cauldron shop, but it appeared fairly limited - and Hagrid had already made him buy a pewter cauldron, so there was no point getting another. Right nearby, Harry entered an astronomy shop. Passing by charts of the moon and the motions of Jupiter, as well as the giant glass model of the solar system, Harry found a small box on the back shelf. Harry looked over it, considered it, and then finally, sighing, left the box on the shelf. On the one hand, a magical video camera looked cool, but it cost almost as much as his wand had, and Harry wasn't going to spend 5 galleons on something he'd probably never get to using. Sighing, he left the shop

So Harry went, going from one shop to the next. Finally, Harry entered a small bookshop, completely unlike the one he'd visited earlier. A narrow staircase led into the shop, marked only by the sign Ulibri Bennet's Used Books. Harry descended the steps, and ducking through the short door, entered a mess. Old books in various states lay everywhere, on the floor, half filling shelves, in boxes. The proprietor was haggling with a customer at the counter. Harry browsed titles for a long while, before giving up yet again, and heading for the door. His trip was going fairly poorly. Harry didn't know what the heck an animagus was, and he wasn't about to buy a book on it. And honestly, he didn't need the 1924 edition of who's who in wizarding politics.

Harry was passing out the door to the steps when the proprietor spoke up. "Say it isn't so!" Slightly surprised, Harry turned to the man. "All this," the man said, his arm waving to the masses of books, "And you can't find nothing to your liking! Say it ain't so!"

Harry shrugged at the man, replying "I don't really know enough for most of the stuff here, or it's way to old."

"hmm, hmm" the man said playing with his robe with one hand. "Well I think I know of a thing or two that would interest you. Now where would it be?" he held his finger up, as if to point, eyes scanning back and forth over the room. "Ah yes!" he cried excitably. "This way, good sir, this way!"

They made their way down an aisle, jumped over a low wall of books, and the man pulled a book off the shelf. "Basic Magic to Make Life Easier" The proprietor said, gleefully. "A book everyone should read! Outlines all sorts of spells to do things like" He paused, thumbing through the book "Fold cloths, heating spells, cooling spells, magic wind spells, summoning spells, note copying spells..." He trailed off suggestively, looking at Harry. Half an hour and 3 galleons, 12 sickles lighter, Harry walked out of the Ulibri Bennet's with five tattered books. Besides the first book, Harry had been talked into a book on magical customs, one on ministry operations. Another book, What You Really Need To Know To Brew, was a must have for anyone taking a potions course. Supposedly. Harry had been skeptical, but when the man had dropped the price to three sickles, Harry had amused him, mostly just to get him to shut up about it. The last book was on basic dueling knowledge - "Forms, customs, spells, shields, mental defense and evasive maneuvers!" Harry was pretty sure it would be the first book opened of the lot.

Figuring he had enough books for the moment - honestly, he hadn't finished flipping through the school books, let alone understanding them - he passed up on flourish and Blots, heading further down the alley. Finally Harry entered a shop filled with different silvery metal objects. There were weird things like mirrors with shadows in the background labeled foe glasses. There were odd things that whirred, complete with various numbers, dials and settings. Not knowing what they were, and not wanting to bother the annoyed looking witch behind the counter, Harry skittered off down the alley. He passed through a parchment and quill shop, a candle shop, and then a packed, colorfull store full of wizarding games. There were all colors and sizes of gobstones, piles of cards for a game with exploding cards. There was a row of various chess sets, it's pieces in an uproar, all yelling at customers to buy them, and challenging other sets to fights.

Next door, the sign proudly declared, was Gambol & Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. Harry was almost overwhelmed by the sheer variety of things which exploded, vanished, talked, flew about or changed form. Quiddich supplies, some buzzword for broomsticks, apparently, was well worth the visit. Harry was sure that Uncle Vernon had never owned a car which could go from zero to sixty in 4 seconds - but apparently that was standard, Harry thought, as he inspected a Cleansweep 6. He passed from shop to shop, and by the time Harry left the Apothecary with a fresh supply of newt eyes and lacewings it was getting dark. Harry was down to a handful of galleons; he considered passing by Gringott's, but exhaustion won over. Readjusting the books under one arm, and a bag with a number of brightly colored boxes sticking out, Harry flipped off his pointed hat and melted into muggle London.

For a long time stories of this trip to Diagon Alley were discounted, due to the lack of strong evidence. It was not until Ulibri Bennet came forward with his story that fact began to filter out the fiction. We'll save the sensational stories of Mr. Potter buying stacks of very rare and highly advanced magical books for rags like the Daily Prophet. And we'll leave the crazy tails of him spending thousands of Galleons on a seven keyed trunk with magically expanding compartments to the Quibbler.

Section III

Magic Carpets all got punctures, have they?

The sunlight of September glittered for the first time through the window into number four. The light hit a big calendar on the wall, where today's date had been vigorously circled in red marker. Harry had been awake since five, and was checking down the list of required items he needed for Hogwarts, again and again. He had put on his best resign pair of jeans, he'd change into his robe on the train. Sure that everything was in order, Harry alternated between pacing around the room and diving into the trunk to pull out a book. He could never focus long though, and soon enough he was back to pacing about the room. He couldn't be expected to know that much, could he? Hagrid had said there were plenty of muggleborns who hadn't ever heard or magic either.

Idly rechecking Hedwig's cage, Harry's mind ran through spectacular and terrible fantasies. He had spent almost all his waking hours looking through the textbooks. He'd brewed one of the beginner potions - called smoking water - which when added to water produced a vast amount of greenish smoke. Harry had managed to successfully get the lumos charm to work, but couldn't manage to get the levitation charm. Harry was sure he was pronouncing the darn spell wrong. What sort of spell took eight syllables to say, anyway?

Harry shook his head and paced the floor again. He really should have picked up that book, Hogwarts, A History that he'd seen a number of copies of. Harry grimaced. No, the last thing he needed was more books. The trunk weighted a ton as it was. The stupid trunk was just one reason Harry wanted to get that levitation charm. How much cooler would he look, calmly walking to the train, pushing a floating trunk, as opposed to dragging it behind him? Not wanting to wake the Dursleys, Harry left his trunk at the top of the stairs and went downstairs for some breakfast. Dudley was going to some hospital today to get his tail removed. Harry grinned at the thought.

When Mr. Potter arrived at Hogwarts, he had achieved a very rough idea about magic. Many texts like to include the popular questioning of Mr. Potter by then Professor S. Snape. It should be noted that the questioning was done under duress, and furthermore, the questions were on fairly obscure materials. It can be noted further that Mr. Potter has always tried to fade into obscurity. Which is exactly what Mr. Potter attempted upon reaching Hogwarts. Needless to say, Mr. Potter was never destined for a quiet life in the background.