Harry Potter – The Muggle

By Caprigrrl

[Author's note: Mmmmm … I read this somewhere in a newspaper and I decided it was so good I would post it up on FF.net. It's not the original article. This is my versh.]

Disclaimer: Characters and concepts belong to J.K Rowling. Storyline belongs to the Malay Mail (a Malaysian national newspaper) I hope you guys don't mind me typing out my version of your article.]

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The train hissed to a trembling stop at the concrete station, the sliding commuter doors opening to unload the train's burden of tired, briefcase-bearing rush-hour racers. They stepped out into the city and waiting sunlight, blinking. The sun wasn't what they were used to after half-an-hour of artificial light.

One of these racers wore round, wire glasses. He's wearing a tweed jacket and carrying a bag full of printed document paper, and is talking briskly into a handphone. Behind his glasses hide tired eyes, staring at nothing but watches and clocks, wondering about nothing except being early or late, and mostly about time.

His name is Harry Potter. He is a Muggle.

Though his life in his youth was literally full of magic… dragons and wands, broomsticks and enchanted mirrors… it seemed all so long ago, left behind. You can experience something one day and lose the memory the next, and shuffle along the pace of life wondering about the life you have forgotten.

Harry wondered. But he only wondered whether he should buy or sell, what would be for dinner tonight, or if he looked good enough for the interview. He wondered if these caffeine-loaded energy drinks were killing him or not. He wondered, for a while, about owls… but lost the thought a minute later when the pager beeped.

After he had left Hogwarts, the Dark Lord had been defeated and beaten into the dust. The wizarding world settled into peace. Muggle-born wizards and witches returned to their non-magical atmosphere to raise families and to take a holiday, without having to worry about Ashwinders and Floo Powder. Some, perhaps the majority, decided to stay.

Harry returned to meet Paulette.

Paulette owned a coffee shop a block away from Harry's apartment. Out of all the girls Harry met, Paulette was the only one who didn't end up thinking him as some sort of geek. (Ginny Weasly, in her fifth year, had grown out of her first-year crush on Harry and was now miles away, in Ireland, helping Draco Malfoy spend off his inheritance money.) Paulette on the other hand, she was different. She had honey-coloured hair and green eyes with a tinge of blue, and both she and Harry married a year after they met.

Paulette was a Muggle and happened to like the way she was. They lived in a healthy suburban household in the normal way, with a kitchen scrubbed and polished and flowers stenciled on the tiles, a household that tossed out all concept of magic because it was associated with witchcraft. Paulette couldn't accept that. She made Harry, reluctantly, sell out all his books, leaving him to resort to old, dusty libraries… loaded with less magic than there is on the tip of a pixie's wing.

And that scar… a strange, possibly occult symbol on his forehead. Harry thought it was a quaint souvenir of his past, but Paulette managed to convince him it was all for the best that such a dark mark is removed. Harry was driven one day to the cosmetic surgeon's office where it vanished under layers of make-up… leaving a normal-shaped scar that vanished in a few days.

Harry's strangeness was quite an issue. Paulette would erupt into screaming fits whenever things started to float or whenever the chimney shot out sparks, or scowl whenever Harry brought home all sorts of particular stuff… strangely-flavoured beans for one, or enchanted oddities and toys for the children. The children in mind were Jack and Lucy Potter, who were blissfully ignorant about their father's magical background. To them he was just Dad. He went to work and fixed the sink, and was absolutely uncool and somewhat boring.

Jack, on one hand, went red with embarrassment when reminded his middle name was 'Hedwig'. And Lucy wanted a pony for Christmas… not a broomstick.

They both attended a school on the outskirts of London, a quite sophisticated boarding school that taught algebra, physics and biology… and not a single trace of 'Wingadium Leviosa'. Everything was orderly. The staircases kept intact like they had been for years. The portraits of ministers that hung in the classrooms did nothing but stare coldly down, unnerving few students, attracting little or no attention. Lucy's Hogwarts application lay with Jack's… wedged somewhere between piles of bills in one of the drawers, gathering dust.

The neighbors couldn't help but notice, as they peered from underneath sheer linen curtains, the strange oddities that hung about Harry's house. Why his Christmas lights were still hung up in the middle of June. Why these lights would move around once in a while, as if one their own… and how the pumpkins in the yard could grow so big, so fast… the result of an avid, skilled gardener, or was something more sinister lurking underneath the surface?

Whenever Harry would set off for work every morning, they would stare at him queerly and give him a wary, "Good morning, Mr. Potter." And whenever he would turn and smile and give a greeting back, they would look away, comment about the weather, and end the conversation.

Harry had lost contact with most of his friends. He couldn't remember what Dean Thomas looked like. He tried looking up Oliver Wood once and came up with thirteen different Olivers, and left it at that. Neville Longbottom told Harry he'd be studying medicinal plants in Borneo, but forgot to leave an address.

Ron and Hermione, though, remained faithful correspondents.

They were married and living somewhere in Miami. It was a world of glitz and glamour there. Ron had a major designer label running, and when he had time to spare he would spend it on sport.

"Quidditch?" he would say. "Pah. Nothing compared to a good round of golf."

Hermione taught and practiced reflexology, and everyone would compliment on her fantastic figure. She was an accomplished actress, starring in a few television movies, and when she wasn't instructing yoga and aerobics classes, she was taking care of the twins. She was much too busy for anything. And she only realized how strong and independent she was without a wand, time-turner and a pile of magic books, and how all that nonsense only held her back. He favourite comment on magic was a dignified toss of her head.

The bright afternoon sunlight now dances across the city sidewalk. Harry could walk faster than any car when it came to chasing a stalling taxi, and his face resembles the statue of a king when warding off psychos and homeless beggars, but when he gets home, his feet are sore and his wife was out with her pals, and the kids were playing video games a block away in at their friend's.

Sometimes, when he's lingering at the conference table, or waiting for the train, or shaving in front of the mirror, Harry would wonder.

Wonder, once, as if it happened long ago… whether it ever happened at all. McGonagall, Dumbledore and Hagrid… was it all just a dream? Had it ever happened, or was it just a whisper of magic long ago that will never happen again?

But as he sits and concentrates, mind burning trough the curtain of forgetfulness that comes with old age… he can hear a flutter of ancient feathers and a glimmer of torchlight… and yes, he still believes.

-THE END-

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[Author's note: Umm… you can review now. I don't deserve credit on the storyline.]