A/N: Our story starts mid-way through Harry's fourth year, a couple of weeks prior to the First Task, and will be told in first-person throughout. We can assume canon compliance up until the first chapter, with things deviating more and more from the original plot as the tale progresses. All said and done, I hope for this story to be between 150k and 200k words, and cover all of Harry's final years at Hogwarts. It will focus primarily on his struggles against Voldemort, and the events, people, and relationships that go along with it. Our Harry has a sense of humour that is a little drier than in the books, and he is a little more cynical and world-weary than original Harry, but by-and-large, I have tried to keep pretty much true to original characterisations – i.e. Ron isn't going to become an evil toad starting in chapter 2. Where there is very little characterisation information available, I have taken the liberty to make up my own personalities (here's looking at you, Daphne).

I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to drop a review and a follow if you want to hear more.

This is the tale of Harry Potter, told by Harry Potter. If you want authenticity, then look no further. Many will try to tell you that they were there. That they saw what happened in this moment, or in that battle. But none will tell you as wholly or as true as The Boy Who Lived himself. It's been a hundred years to the day since he passed. As good a time as ever to unearth this precious tome, don't you think? Imagine my surprise when I stumbled across it, sifting through the ruins of Hogwarts Castle as I was, seeking to re-capture a bit of the magic and history. I've read it myself, of course. A dozen times or more, cover to cover. And I'll tell you, it's not at all like the histories have it. You're in for a fright – mark my words.

I can't release it all at once, of course. Got to build the suspense up. So, I'll drip feed you. A chapter or two a week. From now until the end. We can enjoy this ride together. And you'll have to tell me, when we're all said and done, just whose version you believe.

My name is Harry Potter.

No, that's not it… perhaps: I am Harry Potter.

That's it. That's better. More assertive. Hermione is always getting on me about being more assertive. She gets on me about a lot of things, really. Like keeping this journal. She says people might like to read about us some day, about our adventures.

Hah. As if.

Though I do find it sort of relaxing. Ron calls it "The Gospel According to Potter". I hope that doesn't catch on. Hermione suggested something more formal, like "The Annals of Harry Potter". I really hope that doesn't catch on. Ron laughed for fifteen minutes straight before we managed to calm him down and explain to him the difference. What that second little "n" meant. Spelling has never been his strong suit.

Sorry if it feels like I'm waffling on about them. I've already thrown out three opening pages that just devolved into what felt like a Eulogy for the pair of them.

They're not dead, I just haven't spoken to either of them in over two weeks.

I know, that doesn't sound like much. But trust me, if the eyes of the entire school were upon you, and you had this damned Triwizard Tournament hanging over your head, then you'd think two weeks with no mates was an eternity as well.

It's just so stupid. Ron can't seem to get it into his skull that I'm telling the truth about not putting my name in that Goblet. And every time I try to explain it to him, I get so flustered and angry at how unreasonable he's being, I can't get words out that are worth a damn, and so we just end up fighting. Hermione has it in her head that she mustn't take sides. And so, she's logicked her way into deciding to avoid us both.

It's a bloody nightmare, is what it is.

Ah, sod it. The cursing stays. I'm sure there'll be plenty more to get mad about before this whole saga is through. And besides, I'm on my last parchment, and the candle has nearly burned out. My eyes feel full of sand and I keep hiccupping every thirty seconds as an aftereffect of some over-exuberance in Charms today.

I'm as cross as an Erumpent who's just sat down on a family of Knarls. And just as likely to blow.

But.

And there's always a but when it comes to Harry Potter. You'll learn that, if you stick around long enough.

And this but is Hermione's. No, not like that. Although, whoever bought her those black jeans she's been sporting lately…

Pray for me, friend, when Hermione eventually proof-reads this. This journal may not end up with many chapters.

Jokes aside, the but is this: Hermione has nagged me to write this for months now, since the goings-on at the Quidditch world cup. My whole fourth year feels like one giant nag session so far, really. But I always sort of knew that her heart wasn't really in it. Or, at least, that she didn't expect me to actually do it. But now that things have changed, and she daren't talk to me – ugh, don't get me started again – she made me double- and triple-promise that if anything odd happened, anything new or different or noteworthy, that I begin writing at once. She, at least believes me, see. And thinks that there might be some hidden clues as to who put my name in the Goblet buried in the banality of my everyday life. I almost started up a shower log after I switched soaps a week back, but I didn't think she'd find it funny.

And besides, I didn't really think that anything of note really would happen. I thought I was safe. Or, at least as safe as I could be. That'll teach me for forgetting that I'm Harry bloody Potter. Something of note always happens.

So, the writing has begun. This time, I even made double sure that this book isn't going to write back.

I'll jump in right from the start. I'm not bothering with preamble. I'm going to assume you know my story to this point. That you've heard of me before. Everyone I've met up until this point seems to know my life better than I do, so why shouldn't you?

Very well then, The Gospel of Harry Potter's Annals, Chapter One: The Day it all Began.