This prologue starts in the first book, when Harry is approaching the
Mirror of Erised for the first time.
DISCLAIMER: none of this belongs to me.
Harry stood, staring at the mirror. It was as high as the ceiling and had an ornate gold frame. Harry wiggled his toes in his fuzzy slippers as he admired the two clawed feet that supported the mirror.
There was an inscription on the top of it that read: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
There was no sound of Filch or the screaming book from the Restricted Section of the library. Harry stepped in front of the mirror expecting to see nothing because he was wearing his father's invisibility cloak.
Harry stepped in front of the mirror and had to hit himself to stop from screaming in surprise. The mirror not only showed his reflection, but the reflection of a whole crowd of people standing behind him.
Whirling around, Harry found that the old classroom was still deserted. Glancing back at the mirror, Harry knew the people it reflected weren't real.
There was a very pretty woman with dark red hair bright green eyes that looked strangely like Harry's. Standing next to her was a tall, thin man. He had untidy hair that was jet black. The man's wire rim glasses glinted.
And suddenly Harry realized that these people were his parents. This man and woman were James and Lily Potter! Glancing at the others around his parents, Harry noticed more pairs of green eyes and untidy, black haired heads.
Harry sank to the floor whispering, "Mom? Dad?" He sat there for the rest of the night. Every once in a while, he would reach up and try to touch his parents. He wanted them to be real. Harry didn't want them to be dead.It wasn't fair!
Harry sat there crying with tears running down his face. He was unaware of a man in the mirror who was standing in the very back of the crowd.
The man had pale, white skin. His lips were blood red. The man did not smile while the others all waved happily at Harry. His hands remained locked at his side. He stood unseen in the back, sulking, wishing he was not a member of the family.
But he was, and nothing could change it. It was the man's own fault that Harry lived, and it was his own fault that he was fleeing, barely alive, from Harry.
DISCLAIMER: none of this belongs to me.
Harry stood, staring at the mirror. It was as high as the ceiling and had an ornate gold frame. Harry wiggled his toes in his fuzzy slippers as he admired the two clawed feet that supported the mirror.
There was an inscription on the top of it that read: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
There was no sound of Filch or the screaming book from the Restricted Section of the library. Harry stepped in front of the mirror expecting to see nothing because he was wearing his father's invisibility cloak.
Harry stepped in front of the mirror and had to hit himself to stop from screaming in surprise. The mirror not only showed his reflection, but the reflection of a whole crowd of people standing behind him.
Whirling around, Harry found that the old classroom was still deserted. Glancing back at the mirror, Harry knew the people it reflected weren't real.
There was a very pretty woman with dark red hair bright green eyes that looked strangely like Harry's. Standing next to her was a tall, thin man. He had untidy hair that was jet black. The man's wire rim glasses glinted.
And suddenly Harry realized that these people were his parents. This man and woman were James and Lily Potter! Glancing at the others around his parents, Harry noticed more pairs of green eyes and untidy, black haired heads.
Harry sank to the floor whispering, "Mom? Dad?" He sat there for the rest of the night. Every once in a while, he would reach up and try to touch his parents. He wanted them to be real. Harry didn't want them to be dead.It wasn't fair!
Harry sat there crying with tears running down his face. He was unaware of a man in the mirror who was standing in the very back of the crowd.
The man had pale, white skin. His lips were blood red. The man did not smile while the others all waved happily at Harry. His hands remained locked at his side. He stood unseen in the back, sulking, wishing he was not a member of the family.
But he was, and nothing could change it. It was the man's own fault that Harry lived, and it was his own fault that he was fleeing, barely alive, from Harry.