Harry Potter: HERO OF HOGWARTS!

Disclaimer: The following documents are open only to Triple A members of the Department of Mysteries and the acting Minister of Magic. Disclosure of the contents of these documents to any not within these specifications is punishable by imprisonment, exile, amputation, execution, and/or all of the above.

Preface by Hermione Granger

These papers contain the personal autobiography of Harry Potter, Chosen One, Boy-Who-Lived, Hero of Hogwarts, Savior of Wizarding Britain, and He-Who-Slew-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. As Head of the Department of Mysteries I have questioned the wisdom of releasing these documents to the world at large as they portray a very different Harry Potter from the one known to the public. Yet, insight into the mind of one of the greatest wizards of the 20th century is invaluable and so these records have been made open to a trusted few.

Of all the monikers, adulations, and undeserved honours that have been placed upon me, the one that most exemplifies my life is the story of how I got my first nickname: The-Boy-Who-Lived. For those unaware of the story, Voldemort, one of a long line of Dark Lords that pop up from time to time, decided to murder me based on the extremely trustworthy words of an alcoholic fortuneteller in the middle of a job interview, as overheard by his greasiest minion. Voldemort then quickly dispatched of my parents before being gruesomely exploded by the Power of Love*. And thus, I was credited with a great feat that I had little to do with, given a pretentious title, and left blissfully unaware of how badly all of it was going to bite me come to bite me in the ass.

*Actually an archaic ritual in which the ritualist imbues a subject with a protection from dark spells by choosing to die when an attacker spares the ritualist. Being highly situational it's understandable why some may be ignorant to its nature and simply attribute it to Love

Privet Drive. A place popular wizarding media would have you believe was a den of evil populated by wolves in sheep's clothing, where child abuse and dark Muggle rituals were rampant. In reality it was a slightly stuffy street populated by slightly stuffy people in a town of slightly stuffy traditions. In other words, quintessential suburban England.

Likewise, the Dursleys were nowhere near as bad as every book written on the subject (namely me) makes them out to be. They were snide and snobby and spoiled their child, but besides the odd chores they wanted to avoid me as much as I wanted to avoid them. Most importantly, like a small spider, they were more scared of me than I, them. Mainly, that was due to the Pineapple Incident.

You see, I was known as the scrawny weird kid back then, though anyone would be considered scrawny compared to the beached whale that was Dudley, and that reputation was made all the worse by the strange things that seemed to happen around me. Things like my hair growing back in a single day after being cut, or Uncle Vernon going bald when he took away my food, or the dean's hair turning blue when he yelled at me. After each incident I was punished by being spanked, locked in the cupboard and denied dining privileges. That was, of course, until the Pineapple Incident.

Honestly I don't even remember what caused it. Uncle Vernon was screaming at me for one thing or another while his face from vermillion to mauve, Aunt Petunia was ranting like a harpy and Dudley was giggling on the sidelines. That's when I felt it, that static cling feeling, like there's a lightning storm brewing directly over my head, that always precedes accidental magic and I braced myself for the inevitable hair shenanigans and following punishment. And then Uncle Vernon's head turned into a pineapple.

Not the hair or the body or even the neck changed a bit, just the head. One minute Uncle Vernon had a perfectly normal, if rotund and discolored, head and then it was a pineapple. For a full minute no one said anything, Uncle Vernon because he no longer had a mouth** and the rest of us because we'd never really thought of what to say when someone's head turns into a pineapple. Unfortunately for me, the silence wasn't going to last, I could already see Aunt Petunia's mouth opening up to continue her rant, and that was when I had my stroke of brilliance.

** Other incidents of pineappling have shown that subjects can still speak without their mouth, so it is likely that Vernon Dursley simply did not speak out of shock not inability.

This moment more than any other was what defined me and made me the man I am today (selfish, cowardly, and devious). Seeing Aunt Petunia about to recover from her tropical fruit induced catatonia, I seized the initiative. I stood up to my full height of 100 cm, fixed Aunt Petunia with my most intimidating stare (which wasn't that intimidating, but then no one's ever accused Petunia of having a spine) and said in a calm voice, "Shut up or I'll pineapple you."

Now obviously I had no idea how to pineapple someone***. I wasn't even sure what pineappling someone entailed or how I'd managed to pineapple Uncle Vernon in the first place. What I knew though, was that the bluff was working and no one was trying to punish me, so I continued, "I am going to my room. If anyone attempts to follow me, they will be pineappled."

***All attempts to reproduce the effects of pineappling on command have thus far failed. The Department of Mysteries has concluded that pineappling is an exclusively accidental magic phenomenon. For notes on our greater success in strawberrying, consult the Ministry Library Section 3B.

And then, cool as you please, I walked into the cupboard and without a backwards glance to the ashen-faced woman, the chubby boy, and the pineappled man, I closed the door and went to sleep.

That day I learned a few lessons. For one, I learned that pineappling is not permanent, since Uncle Vernon had regained his original head by the next day (though he still smells a bit fruity when nervous). I also learned that pineappling someone is a legitimate threat. Most significantly I learned to always maintain the illusion of control, especially when I had absolutely no idea of what was going on. If I'd known then how much trouble that particular lesson would get me into then I'd have unlearned it ASAP but as it was, I merely enjoyed my sleep and had the best pineapple-themed dream I'd had in years.