Harry Potter was Born at a Very Young Age

Jack Christensen

High School Student

January/February 2026

The wind rustled Harry’s hair as he stood on the balcony. The night was cold and dark, and the stars and moon cast tall shadows behind him. The massive stone archway gaped wide in the dark, as it watched over Harry.

The figure on the other side of the balcony was one Harry recognized: Professor McGonagall, who taught some random class. Also she could turn into a cat. Or maybe that was Dumbledore but it didn't matter right then.

“I remember you,” said Harry, who remembered who had recommended that he play Quidditch. “You are the reason I lost so many pairs of glasses,”

“Ah yes, Harry Potter. The boy who was born at a very young age,” McGonagall said menacingly, flaunting her magic stick at Harry. He returned the gesture. They waved their magic sticks at each other for a total of three minutes (to the second) in dead silence, until a Hippogriff flew overhead, dropping Hagrid down who landed perfectly on McGonagall’s magic stick, instantly snapping it.

“You’re a wiz-” Hagrid disappeared in a puff of magic (or glitter) and a cartoon magic sound effect. McGonagall crossed her arms.

“I need to break your glasses, young man,” she said to Harry, “I’m going for a record.”

Harry shook his head. “You’ve done that one too many times for my liking,”

McGonagall broke into an evil laugh. She laughed so hard she collapsed on the ground and continued laughing until she passed out. Harry ran to grab a glass of water, and splashed it on her. As soon as he did this, nothing happened. Harry poked her in the shin very hard with his magic stick and McGonagall awoke again. She coughed hard, stood up, and held a finger up to tell Harry to be quiet as she took a moment to suck in air. Then, she turned around, and removed her hat-plus-wig combo, revealing Voldemort on the back of her head.

“Ah, Harry Potter, the boy who was Born Very Young” he muttered evilly. McGonagall resumed hacking her lungs out.

“Where are you breathing from?” Harry asked, “Seeing as McGonagall is using her lungs and all,” (he added Britishly).

“Don’t worry about that, Harry Potter the Boy who was Born Very Young,” said Voldemort.

“We are not on a full name basis,” Harry retorted. McGonagall managed to stop coughing long enough to tell Harry that he should never switch to contacts so her record would never be broken, and then died from laughing too hard (RIP McGonagall, I knew her not)(she also had a few brain tumors).

“Don’t worry, Harry Potter the Boy who was Born Very Young, I’m not here to fight you. In fact, I’m here to help you.” Voldemort said cheerfully and also evilly. Because of the way Harry’s brain worked, he didn’t bother to consider there to be any ulterior motives, and instead went immediately to trusting Voldemort completely.

“Ok,” Harry said. There was silence for a moment.

“Ok? That’s all you have to say?” Voldemort asked, “You aren’t going to argue or anything?” Harry shook his head.

The door to Dumbledore’s office was rather grand. It was a light blue hue of wood from somewhere magical probably, and it was probably painted with child labor. On it was a sign that said “Dumbledoor” that was probably made with a store-bought labelmaker. Harry looked up at Voldemort, and Voldemort looked down at Harry.

“Why do I get a strange feeling…?” Harry wondered out loud (he was not very good at using his head).

“Harry, let me tell you something,” Voldemort started. “I… am your father.”

“Ah, so that’s what it was,” Harry said, not considering that this brings up some very weird questions as to what his family tree is like.

“Anyway,” Voldemort said, turning his head 180 degrees so that he was facing the front,

“It’s Volden’ time,” (he readied himself to Vold all over the place)

Harry tried to use his pathetic leg to kick down the Dumbledoor, but he couldn’t so instead he just opened it, took the bolts out, and closed it again. Then, as soon as he touched it, it fell over. Harry felt a wave of immense wonder and accomplishment at his raw strength, that he could bash in such a strong and fortified door. Voldemort continued to prepare to Vort all over the place.

“Ah, I’ve been expecting you,” said Dumbledore.

“You have?” asked Harry.

“Why yes, you opened my door, came in, and took the hinges off!” Dumbledore chuckled in that weird old man chuckle wizards do sometimes. He closed the book he was reading, but Harry noticed from across the room that the title of the book was “How to Be Evil”. He gasped.

“You’ve been practicing the Dark Arts!!” he exclaimed. Dumbledore did that old man chuckle again.

“I’m afraid not, son. There has been no black paint involved. Or any dark shades, for that matter,” he muttered rather loudly as he turned around and pulled a curtain off of a massive canvas that stood behind him. However, the paint was still wet, and the curtain dragged along the canvas, smearing the paint of the maybe-beautiful-but-probably-not painting and ruining the expensive fabric of the curtain forever. Dumbledore was correct in color though, he had only used pastels.

“I have been studying the Light Arts,” he said evilly. Voldemort gasped, interrupting his concentration. He would not be Volding all over the place for the time being.

“Now, begone, before I sic my bird on you,” Dumbledore threatened. “And replace the Dumbledoor on your way out. That lead paint killed like 17 students, I don’t want to have to make a new door and use the same shade of paint with lead in it,”

“We are not scared of you,” Harry said. He thought lead had a wonderful taste (he was delusional as lead has no taste). He licked the door threateningly, and savoured the feeling of the heavy metals traveling from his tongue to his brain and resting there with their brethren.

Dumbledore walked to the corner of the room, where he had a covered birdcage. Harry readied his magic stick, and waved it in a figure-eight. Voldemort prepared to Vold all over the place for real this time.

In one quick motion, Dumbledore yanked the cover off the birdcage, opened the door, grabbed the bird violently, and threw it at Harry. Fortunately, Dumbledore’s wife had pregnancy cravings (when she was still alive) for specifically phoenix tenders, so Dumbledore had replaced his fire bird with a pigeon. This pigeon flew over and stole like maybe one or two locks of Harry’s hair and returned to Dumbledore, accidentally dropping the hair down his robe. Dumbledore immediately started to feel an itching sensation on his back, and he tried to scratch it but his frail old man arms could not reach, and he was out of child laborers who used to do the job before the

With Dumbledore incapacitated, and Voldemort trying to Vold, Harry tried to think of a safe, sanitary, and easy way to eliminate Dumbledore. Dumbledore was a secret admirer of the French Revolution, and while he kept this a secret, he had memorabilia in his office. Harry observed the full-sized guillotine that was up against the wall on the other end of the room.

Harry pointed his magic stick at the guillotine. His mind strained to remember the magic word that he had been taught oh so long ago (yesterday’s class). It finally occurred to him, but when he said it out loud it did nothing. He then remembered that the first thing he learned from Dumbledore was to believe in himself. So he thought about himself, and because of his conceit the magic that was being intentionally difficult for comedic effect decided to end the poorly written joke early and cooperate.

Harry lifted up the guillotine, and aligned it with Dumbledore. Scratching his chin, he used the magic to trigger the blade. Fortunately for Dumbledore, nothing happened, because despite having glasses Harry had the worst depth perception known to man. He moved the guillotine closer to Dumbledore, accidentally bumping him closer to the really old window that was being replaced at the time and was only covered by a tarp. Dumbledore was still struggling with the hair in his robe.

“Please just end the torment!!” He exclaimed, as he writhed and prepared to take his robe off, hoping the hair would go with it.

“Ok” said Harry, who activated the guillotine and fortunately didn’t miss this time. Dumbledore’s head flew 3 feet in the air as his body fell out the window with the tarp, and then his head landed in the cauldron that he’d filled with Red Bull the night prior while he was plotting against the various children of Hogwarts and Harry specifically (it was a late night).

Just then, Voldemort finished casting his Vold spell and exclaimed, “It’s Volden’ time!!!” and [❤proceed]ed to Vold all over the place (meaning he exploded his corporal form into a grey matter that flew everywhere). The Vold that was all over did absolutely nothing to anybody, and probably would have not helped in fighting Dumbledore in the end anyway.

Moments later, the Vold matter reformed into McGonagall’s corpse, which is kind of morbid so it’s a good thing that Voldemort is going to fall out of a window in a second. Now Voldemort was standing behind Dumbledore’s desk where he’d reformed, and just then Harry remembered that Voldemort had tried to kill him for the past few years, and seeing as he was a minor that was illegal. Now, Voldemort approached the “How to Be Evil” book that lay on Dumbledore’s desk.

“No! You were my father!” Harry called, showing he does not understand what the word father meant (he thought it was more along the lines of uncle). Voldemort laughed, snatching the book. Harry furrowed his brow. The magic in the story, still cooperating because it was tired of being in the story, used the pigeon as a blunt force weapon to push Voldemort out of the window. Immediately after this, magic stopped being a relevant plot device and ceased to exist for the time being. Voldemort screamed like a girl as he fell to his supposed death.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, then went back to bed. Meanwhile, outside, they were installing the “new” mattresses in one of the houses (the old springs were giving people in Hufflepuff tetanus). This meant that the entirety of the Hufflepuff house had to sleep outside. Not a single one woke up from the commotion.

Dumbledore’s tower was located in the dead center of the Quidditch field, so that he always had the best view during the games. This meant that all of the Hufflepuff house was outside in the cold night and Dumbledore “did not have the budget” to give them blankets, and they were prohibited from making fire which would have been safer in this circumstance (remember that for later). Voldemort descended from the tower rapidly, thanks to the laws of physics. Directly below him was a mattress with a child on top of it. Due to the freezing temperatures, as soon as Voldemort made contact with the child, they shattered and Voldemort landed safely on the mattress. Little did he know then, but this would be the greatest moment of his career, as he had just shattered Hermione Granger, who had just that day been demoted to Hufflepuff via an executive order from Dumbledore. Looking back in the book he now had obtained, Voldemort realized his best option would be to go back in time and kill Harry’s parents so that he was never born. The magic returned from obsoleteness just to send him back in time, so that he could make a time loop where, every year, on the same day, he would read the book of evil and due to his dementia he would think of a wonderful new plan to go back in time and kill Harry’s parents before he was born. In each iteration of the loop, Harry lived happily ever after. Hogwarts went under criminal investigation because for once a death happened through something that wasn’t magic, and they found major cases of criminal negligence (like the fire from earlier) and also many, many, many health and safety violations. In the end the school was shut down, not that they could teach magic anymore anyway since the magic from Hogwarts had moved on with its life, and was now pursuing passions such as stamp collecting and bird watching. The biggest loss in this story is that Voldemort time-traveled in McGonagall’s body, so there will never be a gravestone that reads, “Here lies McGone-agall, died laughing about glasses”