The True Story of Harry Potter

Can You Handle the Truth?

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The December air was cold and harsh, numbing yet awakening. As Draco Malfoy walked briskly toward the lake, he couldn’t help but reflect on how the winter weather was similar to the juxtaposition of feelings stirring deep within him. This had become routine for him, to end the day of classes with a walk around the lake. As he approached the lake, he had that familiar awareness that he was being watched; a prickling sensation rose from the back of his neck.

In the early weeks of school, it was disconcerting. These were dangerous times, and to be out alone could leave a person vulnerable to unimaginable dangers. Draco knew this; he was no fool. His stalker, however, was. It didn’t take long to ascertain the identity of the predator. It merely took the lack of colorful foliage and the gray days of winter to reveal the flame red hair that was always nearby. After a few weeks into this cat and mouse game, he realized who was keeping a watchful eye on Draco Malfoy, and then it was he who had control. He would only let her see what he wanted her to see.

Today, though, he was in no mood for her. Enough already. Being followed about for nearly three months, with no end in sight, had finally taken its toll on his patience. He was patient when he had time for games. He was no longer playing games. At sixteen, his life had taken some drastic turns that required attention. A little hero-worshiping girl with a juvenile sense of humor was not worthy of one minute of his time. He would end this spy game, and he would end it today.

Draco turned toward the water's edge bordered by the Forbidden Forest, in the opposite direction from his normal path. Following the shoreline, it was only minutes until he was out of her vision. He ducked behind a massive evergreen, listening for her footfalls. In the gloom of the December sun, he could see no shadows. He watched the pebble-covered ground patiently, waiting for a sound or a small stone kicked from its resting spot. She was quiet, but not stealth-like. She moved deliberately, carefully, but lacking grace. He had a feline manner that out-matched her best efforts in this game. He was the cat, and he was about to pounce on the mouse. As Draco took one step from behind the tree, wand ready, he was caught off guard by the look of knowing on her face. She faced him with an upturned chin, an arched eyebrow and a message flashing in her eyes, challenging him all the while her wand was ready.

“Well, well, well. What do you know? The littlest Weasley truly is a sneaky, cunning weasel herself,” Draco snarled in reaction to the sight in front of him.

“Just what are you playing at, Malfoy?” Ginny inquired in a very irritated tone.

“You’re one to talk. I’m not the one following people around for months on end. You need to explain yourself,” he replied as coolly as possible, so she wouldn’t see the ire rising in him. Is she delusional? What could she possibly mean by asking him what he was playing at? These Gryffindor cretins are nutters, the whole lot of them.

“You!" she sputtered. "You are the one who has suddenly changed their behavior. We all know a Runespoor can’t change its stripes. So out with it, what are you playing at?” she demanded, with a pink tinge spreading over her face.

“You’re mental,” he spat as he tried to sidestep her and make a dramatic exit.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Unexpected, unbelievable, and unacceptable were the words that entered his brain as his body became rigid. She did not just do that! At least it wasn’t the hideous Bat Bogey Hex she had hit him with at their last confrontation. Still, he would give as good as he got. She was in for it now.

“Well, I see at least that much hasn’t changed about you. Here you are, outwitted by me, but with that smug look on your face and the glint in your eyes. I can tell you think that you have the upper hand. Really, Malfoy.”She sighed exasperatedly. “Look, if you think you can have a civil conversation with me, then I will release you. Don’t think I’ll leave you with your wand, though, and I’ll put a Leg-Locker Curse on you if you try to leave, or if you prefer there’s always my specialty, the Bat Bogey Hex. So it’s up to you.”

Ginny sternly looked Draco in the eye and authoritatively spoke. “I want to know why you have become a loner, stopped taunting my brother, Harry and Hermione, and why you’ve stopped your bullying. I think you’re up to something worse than what you’ve been doing the past five years. I won’t sit back and watch you do it. So, Malfoy, you’re going to tell me exactly what it is that you are up to.”

“Mmmrphhhh,” was all he could get out, but his thoughts were running rampant like a rushing waterfall.

Bullying? Loner? Taunting? What sort of demented lies was she regurgitating?

“Finite Incantatum,” she practically whispered as she withdrew his wand.

“Weasley, I don’t know what skewed version of reality you live in,”he began as he lifted himself off the ground, brushing the dirt from his cloak, “but you couldn’t be further from the truth. I am not a bully, I do not taunt, and I am not a loner. I simply have chosen some solitude this year. I can think for myself, and that is simply what I am doing. Can you?” he queried with an arched eyebrow.

“Of course I can. Just answer the questions, Malfoy, so we can be done with it. Oh, and truthfully, I want the truth.”

“Can you handle the truth, Weasley?”

“Yes! Yes, just get on with it, and start at the beginning.”

“Fine. It was 1980, and my parents were expecting a new little bundle of joy –"

“Bat Bogey, Malfoy. Get on with it,” a frustrated Ginny interrupted.

“Right. I don’t know how this big, bad, bully Draco Malfoy bit got started, but it’s all wrong. I'll help you out here and tell you the true story of what happened when I first met your favorite boy wonder. I was in Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, alone. My parents were taking care of more pressing matters, and I was preparing to leave home for the first time. I was both excited and nervous. I’d never lived away from Malfoy Manor. I’d never known anyone outside my family…if you could say I even know them.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow in question.

“I was raised by house-elves, Weasley; my only companion was a house-elf. Regardless, I was going off to school, and I was going to finally have friends. Not elves. Friends. I was being fitted for my school robes when an odd boy whose clothes were too big entered; his glasses were broken and his hair untidy. Still, my stomach gave a lurch; here was my first chance at making a friend since he, too, was getting school robes for Hogwarts. I had no idea he was Harry Potter; his fringe covered his scar.”

Draco leaned gingerly against a tree. He couldn’t believe he was going to give her the satisfaction of knowing his memories, that she was bullying him into delving back in the past.

“I began with a greeting and polite conversation, in the same manner I had seen my parents make at all their social engagements. I tried to engage him in Quidditch talk, but he wouldn’t respond to me, just a 'no" or 'hmm' here and there. I tried small talk on sorting and houses; again he wouldn’t respond.” He slyly paused, searching her face for a reaction.

Ginny kept a poker face, but the twitching of her fingers around his wand told him she was not unaffected. He was back in control; he smirked at the thought as he resumed the tale.

“Then Hagrid appeared outside of the window, and I’d never seen anyone so big and wild. I pointed him out in wonderment. Potter finally decided to talk to me then. He proceeded to tell me how chummy he was with the Hogwarts’ gamekeeper. He became quite conceited, informing me that they were doing his school shopping together. So I simply inquired about his parents. He very curtly told me they were dead. I had no idea, so you can imagine how awkward that was.”

Her brown eyes softened for just a moment and a look of sadness, maybe empathy, passed through them. Of whom, though, was she thinking? Probably Potter; he scowled at the thought.

Draco continued. “I felt bad, and I even offered up my sorrow. I asked if they were wizards and tried to politely turn the conversation back to Hogwarts. I tried to converse with him again in the sociable manner that my parents used whenever speaking to others about Hogwarts, but he wouldn’t give me the time of day. When I asked his name, he left without a word or acknowledgement to my question.”

He saw the conflict of emotions register on her face, but none was discernable. Now, now was the moment he’d been waiting for.

“I left Diagon Alley that day crushed. I confided everything in Dobby, our house-elf. Dobby told me that there would be other students at Hogwarts and I would certainly meet friends. But that day would always haunt me, Weasley, because that was the first time I put myself out there and I was cruelly rejected. Are you sure you want to hear the rest? Are you sure you can handle to truth about Potter?”

******

TBC

A/N- I must give a little credit for the title and a line borrowed from the children's story, The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs by Jon Scieszka. The line from that story is "I don't know how this whole Big Bad Wolf thing got started, but it's all wrong."  I hope you enjoy this tongue and cheek version of the events from JKR's brilliant books!