Prologue
DUMBLEDORE: This small, sly, book, once Tom Marvolo's own,
Has, through malign influence, led astray
The young Miss Weasley, who knew not its will.
The book endeavoured, via mind control,
To raise again to power Voldemort,
As poor Tom Riddle deigns to call himself,
And to wreak terror 'mongst the muggle- born.
But Harry has, ignoring all my rules,
Saved us again and killed the dreaded beast
That Slytherin enchambered in the school.
What fell and dang'rous deeds engendered by
This book, the picture of integrity!
I hope no more of the Lord Voldemort's
Old school supplies encounter inn'cent hands.
LUCIUS MALFOY: As we all do. (Exeunt)
Act I Scene I
Harry Potter's bedroom
HARRY: Oh that my scar its throbbings would now cease,
For it doth add more pain to all my woe:
My Aunt Petunia, my dead mother's sister,
And Uncle Vernon, her revered spouse
Keep me enfettered, block the glorious sun
From my eyes' sight, nor can I feel the breeze
That blows from heaven, hast'ning my owl hence.
Where are my letters, my owl? My good friends,
Ron and Hermione, all the Weasleys,
Who treat me as near kin, as their own son,
Would fain have written. What could keep them else?
My mortal enemy, Lord Voldemort,
May have ensnared them, captured them for bait
For he has wished me ill all my born days
And when in swaddles, 'temping on my life,
He slew my parents. Faith, he would not pause
To use what means he could to find me dead.
But if he thus had captured my dear friends,
Fair Dumbledore, headmaster of the school,
By now hadst written or collected me.
Maybe 'tis worse, they hate me. All the world
Sees me as does the House of Slytherin,
An undeserving braggart, meritless,
Who weeps false tears for others' sympathy.
Can they have changed their minds, abandoned me?
My cousin Dudley, jesting with his friends,
Would oft feign friendship till the time was right,
Then, laughing, let me know 'twas no such thing.
My owl! Sweet Hedwig, give me straight that scroll,
Which thou hast carried through the days and nights.
Dear Hedwig, rest a moment, take some food,
Compose thyself, whiles I attend to this.
From Hermione, and Ron, and from the school:
A gift, a gift, the booklist for next year:
(reads)
"Discoverie of Witchcraft by R. Scott,
Historic Spells for Students, M. LaRue,
Demonologie by James the First"
These books and those from last year, and my wand,
My potion stuffs, my cauldron, and my robes.
My kit is packed; I only lack the books
That can be got at London presently.
(Exit)
DUMBLEDORE: This small, sly, book, once Tom Marvolo's own,
Has, through malign influence, led astray
The young Miss Weasley, who knew not its will.
The book endeavoured, via mind control,
To raise again to power Voldemort,
As poor Tom Riddle deigns to call himself,
And to wreak terror 'mongst the muggle- born.
But Harry has, ignoring all my rules,
Saved us again and killed the dreaded beast
That Slytherin enchambered in the school.
What fell and dang'rous deeds engendered by
This book, the picture of integrity!
I hope no more of the Lord Voldemort's
Old school supplies encounter inn'cent hands.
LUCIUS MALFOY: As we all do. (Exeunt)
Act I Scene I
Harry Potter's bedroom
HARRY: Oh that my scar its throbbings would now cease,
For it doth add more pain to all my woe:
My Aunt Petunia, my dead mother's sister,
And Uncle Vernon, her revered spouse
Keep me enfettered, block the glorious sun
From my eyes' sight, nor can I feel the breeze
That blows from heaven, hast'ning my owl hence.
Where are my letters, my owl? My good friends,
Ron and Hermione, all the Weasleys,
Who treat me as near kin, as their own son,
Would fain have written. What could keep them else?
My mortal enemy, Lord Voldemort,
May have ensnared them, captured them for bait
For he has wished me ill all my born days
And when in swaddles, 'temping on my life,
He slew my parents. Faith, he would not pause
To use what means he could to find me dead.
But if he thus had captured my dear friends,
Fair Dumbledore, headmaster of the school,
By now hadst written or collected me.
Maybe 'tis worse, they hate me. All the world
Sees me as does the House of Slytherin,
An undeserving braggart, meritless,
Who weeps false tears for others' sympathy.
Can they have changed their minds, abandoned me?
My cousin Dudley, jesting with his friends,
Would oft feign friendship till the time was right,
Then, laughing, let me know 'twas no such thing.
My owl! Sweet Hedwig, give me straight that scroll,
Which thou hast carried through the days and nights.
Dear Hedwig, rest a moment, take some food,
Compose thyself, whiles I attend to this.
From Hermione, and Ron, and from the school:
A gift, a gift, the booklist for next year:
(reads)
"Discoverie of Witchcraft by R. Scott,
Historic Spells for Students, M. LaRue,
Demonologie by James the First"
These books and those from last year, and my wand,
My potion stuffs, my cauldron, and my robes.
My kit is packed; I only lack the books
That can be got at London presently.
(Exit)