Chapter 3 - Second Year
"To your left, you'll see a re-enactment of Harry Potter slaying the basilisk and saving the life of Ginny Weasley from the evil clutches of Lord Voldemort."
Yeah, right. If the great bloody snake hadn't been blinded by Fawks, I'd be a skeleton in the real chamber right now, rather than overseeing the construction of this stupid museum. The love of my life would like you all to know she is incredibly grateful for my accidental killing of the bloody great snake.
That I believe, well. There was a lot more to second year than that, but it is the big thing. Fred and George really outdid themselves acting as my bodyguards and shouting warnings like "Make way, seriously evil wizard coming through." It was embarrassing, and yet in a black-humor kind of way funny as well.
Oh, another myth to debunk. Ginny Weasley swears on her honor that she did NOT send that Valentines. She has no idea who really did, but everyone assumes it was her.
Personally, I think it was Fred and George trying to get both of us at one time. It would not be the last time either.
My thoughts on Second Year? I learned quite a bit that year. I learned that not all wizards are wise. See up until then all of the adult wizards I had known (Fred and George don't count) were very wise. Even Mr. Weasley, in his own charming fatherly way was very wise. Then I met Gileroy Lockheart. It renewed my faith that no matter how bad I was, there would always be someone worse than me. Good heavens what a complete git. The man was a total waste.
The Burrow. Yes, another happy summer, well part of it anyhow, spent with my surrogate family. I was frankly fascinated by The Burrow; even the most mundane thing was new and interesting. I was like a kid in a candy store.
I knew then that no matter what I'd never, ever give up on magic. I just had to live in a place like the Weasley's did. Ah yes, the famous Harry Potter, a young man thirsting for any sort of affection thrown into the ocean of caring. No matter how much Molly tries, she'll never really be my mum, but you can't blame her for trying.
Almost to the day three years later she'll let slip that I'm as good as one of her own. I've seen some of the correspondence between Molly and Albus. Trust me when I say this: Albus Dumbledore is the bravest man I know. Molly stopped just short (and I do mean just short) of telling Albus that if he didn't allow me to stay more often at the Burrow that she was going to hex him.
Molly can be scary like that. She can, in the same breath praise Ron, scold Fred and George, admire something Ginny does, tell Charley he needs to get serious and get married, tell Bill to do something about his image, shower me with affection, and tell Arthur that he's being daft. Through it all, every last person knows they are basking in the warmth of Molly's love.
Percy is another story entirely. It took many years for the wounds to heal, but they did. Percy so desperately wanted to be his own person that he lost sight that he already was. He was Head Boy, and his mother could not be prouder.
Things I truly feel bad about missing in my second year, by Harry Potter: The Sorting Ceremony; The Halloween Feast; Being So Wrapped up in Myself That I Missed the Pain Others Were in
Oh yes, poor Harry. So convinced that he was evil personified, that he missed out on the huge signs that there was a problem with Ginny Weasley. If I had opened my damned eyes, I could have spared her the grief and pain that she carries with her today.
But alas, I was twelve, and I knew EVERYTHING was about me. Because it always is, right? Everyone claimed it was. Ron told me so, and in a way he's right. Problems seem to gravitate to me like I'm the center of all things depressing or something. Perhaps that's really why I became an Auror. I figured if the world had planned on me being this massive magnet for problems, perhaps I should be ready for it.
I used to think Albus was off his nut when it came to the DADA teachers. Then I realized he was setting me up. Not on purpose mind, but each one of them taught me something about myself. Even Remus, though I learned more about him after Sirius died, but it was true.
Even Umbridge was a learning experience. That there is a phrase taken from a muggle psychologist. "Learning Experience." It means, you don't die but basically there are times you wish you did.
Hermione gave me a book once, and harped on me to read it. Well, ok, she gave me a LOT of books and harped on me to read them, but this one in particular. It was a year out of Hogwarts and I didn't understand it until after I read it completely. The book is Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzche. Now understand this, I don't agree with some of his concepts, however I have now read that book several times, and have in fact read most of his other works, though the later books are obvious the man was losing his grip on reality.
The concept that I took from him are that we are responsible only for our own actions, and that while many billions of people walk the earth only a rare few will make a distinct impact. What he got wrong was that these 'supermen' as he called them, are not molded by some higher force, they are molded by necessity.
Tom Riddle, for reasons unknown to me, found it necessary to become Voldemort. We really are not so unalike Tom and I. Hell; in the Chamber staring at one another we even looked a bit alike. It was to be the first time I faced a physical form of Voldemort, well sort of. It certainly would not be the last time.
So here we are standing in the Chamber of Secrets. Tom had more or less just informed me of who he was, and that he was basically killing Ginny so that he could live. Lovely, two Voldemorts, just what I needed.
Once again, I was fighting for the world and my life all at the same time. I'll not go into detail; everyone read about it or saw it in the cinema, so there's no point in retelling that same tale.
I will say this though, and you can all dwell on it while Mandy prepares to take us to the next phase of our little tour of my life. When I comforted Ginny after she woke up, I knew I was a dead man. I was going to smile and lead her out of the chamber so she could get to her brother. That my friend was the only truly selfless act I performed. There you go the reality behind the great hero.
I'm not bitter, I am a realist. I was going to die. It's as simple as that, and in that moment, all that mattered was getting her out of that cess pit and to safety.
Nietzche says in Toward a Genealogy of Morals, that "How much respect has a noble person for his enemies! And such respect is already a bridge of love. After all, he demands his enemies for himself, as his distinction; he can stand no enemy but one in whom there is nothing to be despised and much to be honored. Conversely, imagine "the enemy" as conceived by a man of ressentiment -- and here precisely is his deed, his creation: he has conceived "the evil enemy," "the evil one" - and indeed as the fundamental concept from which he then derives, as an after-image and counterinstance, a "good one" -- himself."
Well, let me illuminate something here. This proves that Nietzche is full of shite. I am pretty sure in a hundred years two more names will be added to the list of 'supermen' Tom Riddle and myself. I refer only to the Great War of good and evil. Tom was no doubt the basest person I knew, and knowing the people I knew, that's pretty bad. I am not, however, this noble spirit he writes about, I was a scared kid. Period. I am sure Tom has a place on that list. I do not, however having defeated him all those times makes it plain that the history written will see it another way.
"Thank you Mr. Potter, now, if you'll follow me we'll step over to the recreation of the cell in Azkaban that Harry's godfather Sirius Black was incarcerated in for twelve years."
"To your left, you'll see a re-enactment of Harry Potter slaying the basilisk and saving the life of Ginny Weasley from the evil clutches of Lord Voldemort."
Yeah, right. If the great bloody snake hadn't been blinded by Fawks, I'd be a skeleton in the real chamber right now, rather than overseeing the construction of this stupid museum. The love of my life would like you all to know she is incredibly grateful for my accidental killing of the bloody great snake.
That I believe, well. There was a lot more to second year than that, but it is the big thing. Fred and George really outdid themselves acting as my bodyguards and shouting warnings like "Make way, seriously evil wizard coming through." It was embarrassing, and yet in a black-humor kind of way funny as well.
Oh, another myth to debunk. Ginny Weasley swears on her honor that she did NOT send that Valentines. She has no idea who really did, but everyone assumes it was her.
Personally, I think it was Fred and George trying to get both of us at one time. It would not be the last time either.
My thoughts on Second Year? I learned quite a bit that year. I learned that not all wizards are wise. See up until then all of the adult wizards I had known (Fred and George don't count) were very wise. Even Mr. Weasley, in his own charming fatherly way was very wise. Then I met Gileroy Lockheart. It renewed my faith that no matter how bad I was, there would always be someone worse than me. Good heavens what a complete git. The man was a total waste.
The Burrow. Yes, another happy summer, well part of it anyhow, spent with my surrogate family. I was frankly fascinated by The Burrow; even the most mundane thing was new and interesting. I was like a kid in a candy store.
I knew then that no matter what I'd never, ever give up on magic. I just had to live in a place like the Weasley's did. Ah yes, the famous Harry Potter, a young man thirsting for any sort of affection thrown into the ocean of caring. No matter how much Molly tries, she'll never really be my mum, but you can't blame her for trying.
Almost to the day three years later she'll let slip that I'm as good as one of her own. I've seen some of the correspondence between Molly and Albus. Trust me when I say this: Albus Dumbledore is the bravest man I know. Molly stopped just short (and I do mean just short) of telling Albus that if he didn't allow me to stay more often at the Burrow that she was going to hex him.
Molly can be scary like that. She can, in the same breath praise Ron, scold Fred and George, admire something Ginny does, tell Charley he needs to get serious and get married, tell Bill to do something about his image, shower me with affection, and tell Arthur that he's being daft. Through it all, every last person knows they are basking in the warmth of Molly's love.
Percy is another story entirely. It took many years for the wounds to heal, but they did. Percy so desperately wanted to be his own person that he lost sight that he already was. He was Head Boy, and his mother could not be prouder.
Things I truly feel bad about missing in my second year, by Harry Potter: The Sorting Ceremony; The Halloween Feast; Being So Wrapped up in Myself That I Missed the Pain Others Were in
Oh yes, poor Harry. So convinced that he was evil personified, that he missed out on the huge signs that there was a problem with Ginny Weasley. If I had opened my damned eyes, I could have spared her the grief and pain that she carries with her today.
But alas, I was twelve, and I knew EVERYTHING was about me. Because it always is, right? Everyone claimed it was. Ron told me so, and in a way he's right. Problems seem to gravitate to me like I'm the center of all things depressing or something. Perhaps that's really why I became an Auror. I figured if the world had planned on me being this massive magnet for problems, perhaps I should be ready for it.
I used to think Albus was off his nut when it came to the DADA teachers. Then I realized he was setting me up. Not on purpose mind, but each one of them taught me something about myself. Even Remus, though I learned more about him after Sirius died, but it was true.
Even Umbridge was a learning experience. That there is a phrase taken from a muggle psychologist. "Learning Experience." It means, you don't die but basically there are times you wish you did.
Hermione gave me a book once, and harped on me to read it. Well, ok, she gave me a LOT of books and harped on me to read them, but this one in particular. It was a year out of Hogwarts and I didn't understand it until after I read it completely. The book is Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzche. Now understand this, I don't agree with some of his concepts, however I have now read that book several times, and have in fact read most of his other works, though the later books are obvious the man was losing his grip on reality.
The concept that I took from him are that we are responsible only for our own actions, and that while many billions of people walk the earth only a rare few will make a distinct impact. What he got wrong was that these 'supermen' as he called them, are not molded by some higher force, they are molded by necessity.
Tom Riddle, for reasons unknown to me, found it necessary to become Voldemort. We really are not so unalike Tom and I. Hell; in the Chamber staring at one another we even looked a bit alike. It was to be the first time I faced a physical form of Voldemort, well sort of. It certainly would not be the last time.
So here we are standing in the Chamber of Secrets. Tom had more or less just informed me of who he was, and that he was basically killing Ginny so that he could live. Lovely, two Voldemorts, just what I needed.
Once again, I was fighting for the world and my life all at the same time. I'll not go into detail; everyone read about it or saw it in the cinema, so there's no point in retelling that same tale.
I will say this though, and you can all dwell on it while Mandy prepares to take us to the next phase of our little tour of my life. When I comforted Ginny after she woke up, I knew I was a dead man. I was going to smile and lead her out of the chamber so she could get to her brother. That my friend was the only truly selfless act I performed. There you go the reality behind the great hero.
I'm not bitter, I am a realist. I was going to die. It's as simple as that, and in that moment, all that mattered was getting her out of that cess pit and to safety.
Nietzche says in Toward a Genealogy of Morals, that "How much respect has a noble person for his enemies! And such respect is already a bridge of love. After all, he demands his enemies for himself, as his distinction; he can stand no enemy but one in whom there is nothing to be despised and much to be honored. Conversely, imagine "the enemy" as conceived by a man of ressentiment -- and here precisely is his deed, his creation: he has conceived "the evil enemy," "the evil one" - and indeed as the fundamental concept from which he then derives, as an after-image and counterinstance, a "good one" -- himself."
Well, let me illuminate something here. This proves that Nietzche is full of shite. I am pretty sure in a hundred years two more names will be added to the list of 'supermen' Tom Riddle and myself. I refer only to the Great War of good and evil. Tom was no doubt the basest person I knew, and knowing the people I knew, that's pretty bad. I am not, however, this noble spirit he writes about, I was a scared kid. Period. I am sure Tom has a place on that list. I do not, however having defeated him all those times makes it plain that the history written will see it another way.
"Thank you Mr. Potter, now, if you'll follow me we'll step over to the recreation of the cell in Azkaban that Harry's godfather Sirius Black was incarcerated in for twelve years."