Prologue: Story Untold

My story? You ask me to tell it as if it were neat, orderly, reasonably confined to the space between two hard covers on one of your myriad bookshelves.

You say it should be disclosed to the world, that I have an obligation to record it, but even you must admit that I have paid enough debts, and not just my own. You argue that it is legendary, but flattery will get you nowhere with me and at any rate, a legend is not a legend until it ends. Perhaps you forget, my young friend, that even if I have abandoned your world, I have not yet died. Not enduringly, that is. You ask much in the telling of this tale and I fear even your swotty inquisitiveness is not nearly enough to prepare you for the whole truth.

The shards of truth you have patched together do not come close to the actual reality; they are data – cold, factual, safe for perusal and comforting to your analytical nature. The authentic tale in its entirety is less straightforward, less safe, and not remotely cold. At its core, it burns as ardently as I do.

If you persist in your aspiration to glimpse the flames that comprise my existence, then I will do my best to accommodate you, but only because you have asked so earnestly. Very well, perhaps also because it is you who is asking. You were always one of my very favourite students, Ms. Granger. And after all, my story started out with a life not dissimilar to your own, if many generations apart. I too was born not into a family of magic, but a family of learning and knowledge. Another lifetime, many lifetimes ago…