The Life and Lies of Harry Potter
The Beginning
It was in this strange household that Harry James Potter grew up. Otherwise known as ‘The Boy Who Lived’, and the ‘Chosen One’, he is credited with the defeat of Lord Voldermort, earning him Order of Merlin, First Class.
‘5 times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming Smile Award. I never imagined anyone could beat that!‘ Babbles Gilderoy Lockhart discontentedly as I interview him in his St. Mungo’s Ward.
‘Doesn’t he deserve that award!’ I exclaim.
‘Well he is handsome after all,’ Lockhart says, relaxing. ‘I thought him once. He was the best-looking pupil in that class. Very good looking, too good looking…’
I leave a dense Lockhart to figure out his sexual orientation and make haste for the door, where on my quest to find worthier candidates I meet one Arabella Figg. She invites me into her house and admits to having spent some ‘Alone time’. I cast a glance at the vibrator on the mantelpiece and prefer not to question.
‘He was a charming boy,’ she says,’ Always keen on listening to stories about my cats.’
When she proved to be no less fucked up that Lockhart, I silently stun her and proceed to comb her house for nuggets of information I could actually use. Apart from empty bottles of lubricant, and several sex tapes, my search unearthed more than one could expect from a Chocolate Frog Card and I left the house with a stack of her diaries. Oh, and Arabella if you’re conspiring to seek your revenge please take into account that I know all of your deepest darkest secrets, thank you very much.
‘5 times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming Smile Award. I never imagined anyone could beat that!‘ Babbles Gilderoy Lockhart discontentedly as I interview him in his St. Mungo’s Ward.
‘Doesn’t he deserve that award!’ I exclaim.
‘Well he is handsome after all,’ Lockhart says, relaxing. ‘I thought him once. He was the best-looking pupil in that class. Very good looking, too good looking…’
I leave a dense Lockhart to figure out his sexual orientation and make haste for the door, where on my quest to find worthier candidates I meet one Arabella Figg. She invites me into her house and admits to having spent some ‘Alone time’. I cast a glance at the vibrator on the mantelpiece and prefer not to question.
‘He was a charming boy,’ she says,’ Always keen on listening to stories about my cats.’
When she proved to be no less fucked up that Lockhart, I silently stun her and proceed to comb her house for nuggets of information I could actually use. Apart from empty bottles of lubricant, and several sex tapes, my search unearthed more than one could expect from a Chocolate Frog Card and I left the house with a stack of her diaries. Oh, and Arabella if you’re conspiring to seek your revenge please take into account that I know all of your deepest darkest secrets, thank you very much.