A/N: Hey :) It's me again... can't remember who I am, can you? It's been a LONG time my friends. I've kinda grown up in the two years I haven't posted anything. I know, I know. It's awful, I know? But I've just been preoccupied with more important things: exams and the hassles of being a teenager. Okay. This fic is reeeeally different from anything I've wrote before and is an update of a little something I wrote in November. The previous version got a lot of interest but, for me, it wasn't going anyway. So with a little time and some TLC I've re-jigged it around. I do apologise if someone else has already captured this idea, but I've done my research and nobody seems to have to. The character's may seem a bit OOC, but it has to be like this for the story to click. H/Hr as always luvvies :)

Summary: Harry Potter isn't who we thought he was, is or is going to be. Infact, the books and films are just inaccurate biographical tall-stories of his life. Here's what it's like from Harry's POV.

Disclaimer: If I had wanted to claim Harry Potter for my own, I would have done it in the past two years of no writing. And bagged Malfoy for myself. Yummeh. And I don't own the Truman Show either.

Here it goes:

Prologue

Many celebrities write autobiographies and have films written about them. Most of them, in fact, get someone else to do it for them. But me? I'm different. I've always been different and the outsider. I didn't have that difficult rise to fame, lucky break or that make believe sob story. I was born into fame. Like Truman was born into the Truman Show. I had no choice in who I was, what I was or who I am today, in which, probably makes my tragic story even more juicy for authors and film directors to sink their grubby paws into.

7 books, 8 films and thousands of thousands of merchandise all in my name. A name and a story that has been changed. Sure, Voldemort had a personal vendetta and thirst for my blood to spill in his claws, and I did eventually and inevitably destroy him, but it's not what it think it is. It's not all swish, flicks and incantations. No. It's much more animalistic than that. It took years of blood, sweat and tears to relieve the public of an evil burden. And did I really want to do it all? Risk my own life for others? No. Because, even as "magical" as I am, I am a human man and humans are selfish and vicious.

I tip my hat to JK Rowling though. She did an excellent job of over-emphasising and ripping my story to shreds to create some fictional tale that has thousands of screaming girls, mothers and gay men drooling over me. I mean, the amount of fan mail is immense. NOT. I am not helpless. I am not twiggy and testosterone deficient. I am a human male with emotions hard to control, and mood swings large enough to push a kid down a slide with a single word. She did capture some things though. My name is Harry James Potter. My parents (Lily and James Potter) were killed by Voldemort and I was saved by my mother's love. My best friend is Hermione Jean Granger. I was sheltered by my Aunt and Uncle from a baby, and I had no idea the magic I was capable of until Hagrid came storming through my door on my 11th birthday.

Let me a few things straight though. My first kiss was not with Cho Chang, Dumbledore isn't all he's cracked up to be, and I am most certainly not in love with Ginny Weasley.

I was eleven when I made my first friends. Being a reject of today's society, didn't bag me much sympathy and friendship in the Muggle world; but apparently, being a freak in the Wizarding World attracts all kind of attraction – from random, usually-dignified thirty0-somethings flashing you their boobs, to children standing open-mouthed when they see you doing something normal, and exclaiming that "it's awesome!"

But when I boarded that Hogwarts' Express, I knew that being different was gonna open all kinds of gates I'd not even dreamt about before. Most children imagine what life would be like as something different, but I'm only human; and at that time I was an easily influenced little prepubescent boy. For Merlin's sake, I didn't even know what puberty was. Seeing Hermione Granger for the first time, was and still is, the most floor-hitting experience I had ever experienced. Seriously, I tripped over a Chocolate Frog wrapper Ron had thrown in his quest to eat every inanimate object created. I'd never seen a girl before, unless you count the vindictive bitches that ruined my life, and my "Aunt Petunia" - who both resembled nothing but the Devil's lair for me. She was a pretty girl and still is to this day. In some ways, I was kinda glad that she was "different" as well; as, if it wasn't for this, I wouldn't even have the joy of her friendship today.

And as for Ron, well he's just… he's not what he is supposed to be. JK always portrayed him as the supportive best friend that bagged the girl; but he really isn't. He was just in it for the fame. After the war, and after I'd helped him claw his way to the top of the social ladder, he swiftly packed his things, and gallivanted off to accept his place as a Keeper for the Chudley Cannons. Unfortunately, for no one except him and his giant inflatable ego, he was dropped when his stardom was lost, and is now working in some base-rate office block for the Ministry. What a shame! Karma of LEAVING me and Hermione, STRANDED in a forest with nowhere to go, and a slim-to-nothing chance of even surviving seems to come back around, doesn't it? And it's fabulous. Ron Weasley never was all he cracked up to be. He was a deceitful, sponging and irrational "man" (if you can even call him that).

Neville Longbottom was always counted as that extra character that just seemed to be there for the sheer comedy factor, but he was much more than that. He wasn't dumb, he wasn't the dopey one; he was the one that understood. To be honest, he was one of my best friends that stuck through me, thick and thin.

Ginny Weasley. Well… what can I say about Ginny Weasley apart from that she's a deluded bitch that ruined my love life and having any sense of normality. How she became my "wife" and "all time lover" was a kiss and tell. It was at Ron's eighteenth. Too much firewhiskey + a girl throwing herself over the ground I shit on = a little tipsy frisky business. I was drunk, okay? Next week, she ran to the papers, saying that I'd confessed my for her, and that we were engaged. Headlines ran past me, and I was bombarded with paparazzi more than I'd ever experienced before. And before I knew it, she was "pregnant with the Boy Who Lived". My arse. I know it all. She faked it all. I never did like her, but after one night of meaningless sex and comforting beyond belief, she claimed she was pregnant. It ruined my life. Nobody would employ me because I was "lying" about the allegations that I was the father. 9 moths later when she revealed she lied about it all was amazing. I felt like the weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Nobody wants to be tied down with a child and crazy bitch at 17. Nobody.

As for now I am living in Hogsmeade in a two-up-two-down typical townhouse opposite from Gringotts. I am a Professor of DADA at Hogwarts. Having a childhood wrecked by a selfish and torturous bastard has a few impacts on you – one of them making sure that no one else goes through what you did. There's only so many selfish acts a man can perform in his life before a guilt trip takes its toll.

Now I've got a few things straight, let's get on with my story. If you're expecting a lovely fluff filled story then turn away now. Sex, drugs and rock and roll for everyone. Good? Let's get on with MY story then. The REAL story. The REAL me.

A/N: Okay. Here's the deal-io. I'll leave this up for a week. And if you don't like it, then I'll take it down. Give me a review on the whole thing. Anything. I welcome any ideas. I do not intend to give off any JK bashing, as she created this marvellous story, and without her I wouldn't have this.

Gimme a break and a review. Virtual cookies for all.