To us, the number 17 as an age, has no significance, but to others, it may as well be the most important part of their who, would be the others. We are all human, correct? Yes, we are, but there is a world, beyond ours, of humans, with ablities, coexisting among us. Seventeen, this was a very important day for especially one boy part of that world. The boy who lived, lived to be 17. Now, there are some of you in the world, who read this, and know exactly who it is, I speak of. There are those of you that, know this person exists. Stop here. If you continue to read on, you will never be the same again. You must wonder, who am I? I am to be named.
Harry woke up, with a sudden jolt. His heart was pounding and suddenly a crack was heard in his room. Kingsley Shacklebolt used his eyes to roam over Harry's dazed face. He suddenly laughed. Harry's eyelids split apart, with the sound, and came to realize it was the day he came of age.
"Kingsley, What are you doing here?" Shacklebolt's face turned serious.
"Harry... its your 17th... the trace... I need to get you to Dumbledore."
Harry's scar started to throb, his heart jerked with a jolt, and Kingsley's face, adopted the image of Voldemort's. No. Kingsley did not look like Voldemort, he was him. Harry blacked out.
