Anything you recognise is copywright JK Rowling and the company which butchered her books into those movies. Enjoy.
Chapter One - A Plea
11th January 2007. Edinburgh.
Rush. The curious metal contraptions would offer you that particular noise as they shot forwards into their quotidian routine. Simple existence. He envied the simplicity of machines. Including the invisible one he was riding.
In between the busy boister no one noticed a materializing motorcycle. Like trickling water-drops, the vehicle and its rider trickled their way back into visibility. Like shadows they were – visible but unabsorbed by the tired Muggle eye.
He had one target today. One which he would never meet.
He damned the approachable bell tower, the Victorian façade of the Balmoral Hotel, on this bleak wet January night. Alright, this is it. Finally.
He parked the motorcycle, and surreptitiously drew out his wand, whispering protective charms. Nothing would happen to it. He had sworn so, back then. But now was not the time to dwell on this. He had to disappear into the dark, and finish this.
When the door crashed dangerously open a few seconds later, it presented a very expectant, very unsurprised, very calm and very resolved Joanne Kathleen Rowling.
'You're a bit late' she said. She received a glare.
'And I don't really know why you are here. I'm not canceling anything, the book will be published on the 21st of July. This year. Non-nego..'
'Please don't do this.' He leveled his eyes to hers, defeated, 'Ms. Rowling I'm begging you…'
'Harry stop!' Determined but remorseful, she commanded. 'I won't change my mind. You know this. You've tried for almost nine years to no end. I'm not asking you for your reasons anymore, I won't listen to your pleas.'
He had taken to admiring the marble bust of Hermes. She had already signed it.
'You know, I have concluded…' She caught his attention, 'That you are, Harry, as much a part of my imagination as you are real. If that makes any sense.' She added somewhat guiltily.
It was set. His entire story would be complete. Everyone would know. Everything.
'Harry?'
He was actually quite overwhelmed now. He let it show. Quivering lip, fidgeting hand. Heart-on-sleeve-Gryffindor to the end, eh?
'I really wish it was just that.'
'Just what Harry?' She asked.
'Paper. On ink.' He said longingly, a sad smile growing on his face, 'Imagine Ms. Rowling. Harry Potter actually being a conception, a simple idea, not tangible, imaginary. All that pain and suffering, all those deaths. Still effective, still beautifully written, but unreal. How I would love that.' He took to tracing Hermes' bust, and Rowling's signature, 'You know I really could not have asked for a better writer. I mean that, sincerely.'
She sighed, 'Thank you Harry. Sincerely.'
'Well there's nothing more I can do, it was a very pointless visit, in retrospect.' He conversationally noted, 'Congratulations.'
He turned to leave, and walked out briskly, ignored her call and apparated to the ground floor. He pushed the door open angrily and mounted his motorcycle.
A few months. The entire world would open the pages of that final book, and read. His tale would be complete. He was absolutely terrified.
