When reading this it is important for you to realise that all events, conversations and objects used during this biography are completely real and really did happen. Myself, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger lived everything that you are about to read about in this seven part biography of my life. I know that some of this will seem impossible to those who are reading it, but that doesn't mean that it didn't happen- because it really did. My best friend Hermione wrote these books and she was with me every step of the way on our journey through what can only be described as absolute hell. She will be telling these stories from her perspective, along with some input from my other best friend- Ron Weasley. Other people will feature, but not to a large degree.
I have got to give a lot of credit to Hermione Granger for writing these stories down, for I know how difficult these memories are to relive. These are the moments that live so vividly in the memory that we often do not even touch the subjects involved in conversation. As a warning, many if not most of these memories are not happy ones. It must be remembered that we were living in difficult times, a time of war. Happiness did not come along often and when it did, it was often swept away very quickly afterwards.
At the time of writing this biography, I Harry James Potter am eighteen years of age. The war has finished and my life is just beginning to get back to normal. Well, as normal as it can be when you are the Boy-Who-Lived and The-Man-Who-Won.
In truth, my story begins when I was just one year old. Our tale begins on the 31st October 1981 to be exact. To this day, the story is legend. Lord Voldemort was hunting my parents, wishing to kill them and me, their young child. The reason he was hunting them is still largely unknown to the public, but will be revealed later in the stories to come. It is a tale for the ages, that's for sure.
On that fateful night, Voldemort found us- the fidelius charm that was protecting my parents was broken and they were killed. There was to be no fight. My mother was given the option to stand aside and let me die in favour of receiving mercy. She refused, choosing to stand and protect me instead, a decision that moments later led to her death. I will not divulge the reason that Voldemort's curse was unable to kill me, but it rebounded, ripping him from his body. He lived, but was barely alive. It would be thirteen years before he would come back in the flesh, to haunt our lives once more.
I was left with my mother's sister, Petunia, her husband Vernon and their son, Dudley. They hated me, and they hated magic. I was forced to live in the cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven, I had to cook all the food and do all the chores. I never knew anything of magic, or of my parents and my heritage. There are powerful reasons why it was decided I stay there, but that will come along at another time. I went to hell and back over and over again from the day I turned eleven years of age, all the way up until the end of the war.
But I guess now it is time to get our tale started- a tale of heartbreak, triumph, tragedy and much, much more.