Prologue: Happy O'Brien
Happy O’Brien was a regular fellow on the outside. He had a nine to five job, working in a publisher’s firm, ‘Neirbo Publications’, an ex-wife and three kids in their twenties and early thirties. He did not seem particularly intelligent, particularly lucky or particularly capable in any way. He wasn’t even particularly good looking. Happy O’Brien was the kind of person you wouldn’t think to look twice at.
That was, unless you knew that this entire image was only a facade. Truth was, he owned that publishing firm, and every book it printed, not to mention at least 51% of every other publishing company in the world. He came up with ideas, and payed authors of all ways, shapes and forms to produce books out of them. He was the man who owned approximately 8.2% of the world literary market, was the original cause for approximately 68% of the English-speaking world’s best-sellers, and employed approximately 76% of the world’s full time novelists and 44% of the world’s literary critics. Truth was, Happy O’Brien was a book-writing, literature-studying, story-producing genius of a billionaire bureaucrat.
Today, Happy felt his ingenuity soar particularly high, his mind work particularly cleverly, and his inspiration lift beyond the realms of the usual muses. The market had been steady for a while, running well and efficiently. But today he decided it was time for a world-wide hit. It was time for the world to get a taste of what modern literature really could be, it was time for a series that people of all ages and all countries could read and love and buy, theorise about, talk about and write corny AU fan fiction about. It was time for a new idea that would rock the world’s literature for years to come.
He pondered this for seven days, and pondered in his dreams for seven nights. He even pondered on his way to and from work, while he ate, talked to people or attended international conferences. Finally, on the twenty-fourth hour of the seventh day, he leapt to his feet, his heart beating frantically.
“I’ve got it!” he cried to everyone else in the restaurant he happened to be sitting in at the time. “I am truly a genius!” he added. “You just wait, world “ you just wait. For soon you will be whacked “ hard “ in the face, by a new idea, a new series. A NEW SENSATION!”
With that, he sped out of the restaurant and ran the whole twelve blocks to his office at Neirbo Publications, his fingers itching for a pen, for the buttons of a telephone and for the keys on his personal laptop.
The world wouldn’t know what hit it.
Chapter One: Little Baby Potter and the Hut Out at Sea
Barely an hour later, Happy had a crack team of anonymous authors assembled, as well as his personal assistant, Mr Jackie van de Geissen.
“Happy!” exclaimed Jackie, as soon as he arrived, still wearing green and white striped pyjamas (of course, he knew how important these occasions were and hurried to the scene, post haste). “For what stroke of genius have we been summoned?” The anonymous authors looked curious.
“I,” pronounced Happy, “have been pondering now for seven days and seven nights, and I have, in my miraculous way, come up with an idea that will take the world by storm!”
“Is it a bird?” whispered one author, a tall, boring looking woman wearing dark glasses.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Is it a plane?” whispered another, a short, boring looking fellow also wearing dark glasses.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Is it Superman?” whispered a third anonymous author, an old fellow wearing dark glasses.
“No!” snapped Happy. “All those things have already swept the world, you nitwits! I’m talking about,” he explained, immediately switching his tone to one of creativity and wonder, “Harry Potter.”
Confused glances were swapped all over the room.
“Who’s Harry Potter?” asked one of the anonymous authors, a young-ish woman wearing dark glasses.
“Harry Potter,” Happy told them, “is a wondrous character. He is eleven, and a wizard, with magical powers. But,” he said mysteriously, “he doesn’t even know!”
There was a collective gasp in the room, followed by whispers of, “He doesn’t know?”, “How ingenious!” and “How could he not notice?” Happy smirked at them all.
“See, he can’t use his magic properly yet, because he hasn’t been taught.”
“But then what will the story be about?” asked another anonymous author, a middle-aged woman with pale blue eyes.
“It will be set in a school, where Harry Potter will be learning magic! He will be retrieved from his horrible relatives’ house by a half-giant!”
“A giant?” asked the same anonymous author with the pale blue eyes. “Perhaps it should be something a little less threatening.” Happy glanced at the woman for a moment. She was dressed extravagantly, and something about her just seemed so… independent and identifiable. A name tag was stuck on her purple jacket that read, ‘Lola Hackinberrykinson’. She was like none of the anonymous authors in the room. In fact…
“Wait a minute,” said Jackie suspiciously, “you’re not an anonymous author at all!”
“Yes I am!” the woman argued. Not only did she look different, but Happy noticed that she spoke with a distinct accent!
“Yppah’s Dictionary,” which he also owned, he explained, “defines ‘anonymous’ as ‘unnamed or unidentified’ or ‘without individuality’! Get out of my office!”
When the woman had left, Happy turned to the true anonymous authors.
“Now, my real anonymous authors,” he addressed them, “it is time for us all to bring Harry Potter to life!”
“To the ‘Story, Character, Plot and Theme Construction Room’!” cried Jackie spiritedly, and Happy led the way from his office into a large, white room with a round table in the centre. The table was like no other round table in the world, because, of course, it had a head, which was where Happy sat. In the centre of the table was a large piece of butcher’s paper, marked ‘Agenda’. Jackie retrieved this as the anonymous authors took their places around the round table.
“So,” said Happy, “what’s first on the agenda?” Jackie consulted the paper.
“Well, Mr O’Brien, it seems the first item is to decide upon the title of the book, and the author…”
“Ah!” exclaimed Happy passionately. “Of course. Suggestions, anyone?” All the anonymous authors raised their hands. “Yes?” he asked one.
“How about, ‘Harry Potter’?” There was a pause while everyone pondered this interesting suggestion.
“Too short, and much too vague,” said Happy at last.
“How about ‘Harry James Potter’?” suggested one of the authors.
“No, no! Still too vague! And where on Earth did you get ‘James’ from? Terrible!”
“Harry Potter’s First Experience of Magic?” asked an author.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and the School of Magic?”
“Better, but NO!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and the Bird?”
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and the Plane?”
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and Superman?”
“NO!” snapped Happy, “I know you’re anonymous authors with no identities, but some originality, please!”
“Harry Potter and the Mask of Machallatepi?”
“No!” snapped Happy, “the title will be three feet long! Too much originality!”
“Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone?” Happy paused to ponder this.
“Perfect,” Happy remarked jovially. “Have a 5% raise.”
“Shouldn’t we make it something that can cater to the more easily confused?” asked an author. “Such as ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone’?”
When they had gotten rid of this obviously not anonymous author, Happy brought up the topic of an author for the book.
“How about Roald Dahl?” suggested an author.
“Too cliché…” answered Happy, and he was sure he’d used it before anyway.
“How about Olivia Bird?”
“No!” snapped Happy.
“How about Ronald Plane?”
“No!” snapped Happy.
“How about Superman?”
“NO!” snapped Happy. “Someone new, someone with impact, someone very… British.”
“How about J.K. Rowling?” suggested an author.
“Perfect!” shouted Happy in triumph. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”
Happy, Jackie and the anonymous authors worked long and hard, for eighty days and eighty nights, until finally, they had a first draft ready for chapter one…
Chapter One: The Explosion Out at Sea and the Little Baby Potter
Once upon a time in England, there was a small family of three, the Potters. The father’s name was James, the mother’s name was Lily, and the little baby’s name was Harry Potter. They were a happy little family who all lived together in a happy little house called the Potter Mansion.
The Potter Mansion was located way out in the middle of the sea, barely visible from the shore. This was because Mr. and Mrs. Potter were both very magical, and didn’t want any normal people to see when they magically lit the fire or tidied the house. Harry Potter was very magical too, but he couldn’t use his magic yet, because he didn’t know how.
The Potters had lots of friends. Some of their best family friends were Sirius Black, who was a brother to James, Remus Lupin, who was a wolf but was still really nice, and Peter Pettigrew, who was somewhat nondescript, but very nice all the same. Also, they were great friends with Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the magical school they had all gone to and Martin Malovski Saint Clair, a friend of Lily’s from when she was much younger and did not know that she was a witch.
They led a happy life, of course, because they were both very clever, very good-looking and very nice, but there was one problem. There was a war going on. An evil wizard named Lord Voldemort was violently trying to take over with his army of minions called the Knights of Walpurgis. Lots of good wizards and witches, like the Potters, were getting killed all the time.
One day, Voldemort decided he wanted to kill the Potters.
“I want to kill the Potters,” he told his right-hand man, Pyrites.
“Oh?” said Pyrites.
Somehow, the news got out that Voldemort wanted the Potters dead, and they decided they had better cast a spell on their house so no one would be able to find it if they had never been there before. This meant that only a selection of people would ever be able to visit them, and therefore no one would be able to kill them unless their most trusted friends should turn against them.
Unfortunately, not long after this spell was cast, Lily’s childhood friend, Martin Malovski Saint Clair, decided that, since he was a muggle, maybe he should start trying to make sure he didn’t get killed. He would not be able to defend himself. So, he sought out Voldemort, who Lily and James had told him about, and offered to tell him where the Potters were in exchange for the promise that he wouldn’t be killed. Voldemort jumped at the idea, and soon went after the Potters.
“Ha!” he said when he reached their house, and saw them inside. “They think they’re safe! Little do they know they’ve been betrayed!”
“Yeah,” said Pyrites, who was there too. The Potters, however, heard Voldemort say this, and James told Lily to run with their little baby Harry while he tried to fight Voldemort off. Lily soon realised the negative side of living on a small island.
Since it was two against one and Voldemort was the most powerful, most evil person in hundreds and hundreds of years, he killed James instantly, and soon had found Lily too.
“Go away, Lily!” he exclaimed. “I know this baby is my secret son, but I must kill him!”
“No!” shouted Lily, so Voldemort killed her.
Now, when Voldemort tried to kill Harry something very weird happened. Instead of the little, defenceless baby dying easily, Voldemort exploded instead, into nothing more than vapour!
“Damn,” said Pyrites, and walked outside. “What a rip-off. I’m going to turn that muggle into a rat.”
Back from the shore, the Potters’ closest neighbour, Hugh Bert Granger, saw an explosion way out at sea.
“Look, an explosion, way out at sea!” he shouted. “I’m gonna go and check it out, darling.”
“Okay,” said his wife, rocking a little baby of her own.
When Hugh Bert went out to sea, he saw an image of total devastation.
“Wow,” he said, and walked inside to discover two dead bodies and a little baby with a scar on his forehead.
“Yeah, wow,” said Pyrites.
“Who are you?” asked Hugh Bert. “Did you kill these people?”
“No,” said Pyrites.
“Maybe we should get this little baby to another family member or something,” said Hugh, picking up the little baby, “or maybe I should raise him as my own, along with our little baby daughter, Hermione. Gosh, his little nose looks just like Hermione’s little nose!”
“No!” shouted a half-giant voice from outside. When Hugh Bert and Pyrites went outside, they saw a half-giant.
“Why not?” asked Hugh Bert.
“Because I am here to collect that little baby, that’s why,” said the giant.
“Okay,” said Hugh Bert, giving the little baby to the strange giant. “I will go home then.”
“Okay,” said the giant. “By the way, my name is Hagrid.”
“Okay,” said Hugh Bert, and sailed home.
As soon as the last line had been written, they posted the first chapter off to the publishers. Naturally (especially considering that Happy O’Brien owned the publishing company), they soon received a very polite, enthusiastic note saying that they would be more than happy to print the series, and eagerly awaited the completion of the first book.
Over the next several years, Happy, Jackie and the anonymous authors worked hard on ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’, and, on a warm, peaceful summer’s eve, they were finally reaching the end of a fun, fast, furious, but gentle and child-friendly adventure.
Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down with everyone else to catch the train.
“What a year,” said Harry. “I can’t believe Professor Squirrel has been evil all along.”
“I know,” said Ron, “I can’t believe Snape has been good all along. I can’t!”
“I know,” agreed Hermione, “I can’t believe it either. I also can’t believe that Neville, Crabbe, Goyle and Ron somehow managed to pass on to our second year.”
“Hermione,” said Ron, “you should stop being so mean now. No one deserves to be compared to Goyle.”
“You’re right,” said Hermione. “Sorry Crabbe, sorry Neville.”
“That’s okay,” said Crabbe and Neville.
“Yes, I can’t believe how busy my history is,” remarked Harry. “I can’t… I simply can’t believe it. I came so close to dying when I was only a little baby, and again this year. Not to mention, my little nose looks suspiciously like your little nose, Hermione.”
“Nevertheless, I’m glad you’re alive, Harry,” said Ron.
“Thanks, Ron,” said Harry. “You all have a good summer, alright?”
“Alright,” said Ron and Hermione.
At that moment, the train stopped.
“And you too, Harry,” said Hermione doubtfully. “Have a nice summer.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, “I think I will. See you next year.”
“Yeah,” said Ron, “maybe sooner than you think.”
And on that note, they all went home.
THE END
It was published only weeks after its completion, and soon everyone everywhere were singing the praises of ‘J.K. Rowling’, author of Harry Potter.
On Harry Potter’s eleventh birthday, more is changing than just his young age. His life is turning around. With the arrival of a suspicious giant, the young boy-wizard, Harry, takes a trip to the magic side, a break from his normal, lonely life.
But there’s always a catch!
‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ is a thrilling, yet child-friendly tale of a young boy’s adventure into a world outside his simple comfort zones. With the help of a big, bushy half-giant, a red-headed semi-giant with a rat, a bushy non-giant with a big brain and an old man with a beard, Harry conquers problems even the most remarkable of young boys have never faced.
Thanks to newly acclaimed author, J.K. Rowling, Harry’s adventures will provide endless entertainment for the whole family!