Harry Potter and the Unwelcome Surprise

It was 24 years ago this June that the world was introduced to the Harry Potter universe, through movies and a series of spectacular and thoroughly engaging books that explore magic and wizardry in a (largely) fun way.

According to Potter lore, there are 19 years between Harry's defeat of Lord Voldemort and the final events in the epilogue in “Deathly Hallows”. 19 years unaccounted for. So, in the spirit of exploration, of uncovering the untold stories that yet lie waiting to be penned by J.K. Rowling, I present that fateful day when Harry received an unwelcome surprise ...

“And do you Harry James Jebadiah Potter take this woman to be your awful, wedded wife?”

“Cor, Harry,” Ron piped up with a smirk on his face, “that’s a snorter of a middle name.”

But Harry wasn’t listening; he seemed to hear echoes of Tim Riddle taunting him in the underground cavern at Hogwarts. “Err, I think you mean lawful wedded wife, sir.”

“Quite right, quite right, slip of the tongue, ha ha.” The soon-to-be Mrs Potter smiled sweetly, but Ron took umbrage.

“’Ere mate, you sure you’re a real priest and all?”

“It’s all right Ron,” said Harry, “anyone can make a mistake. Yes, I do take her to be my … err, wife.”

“Well then, I declare you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

“Don’t you mean husband and wife?” Harry looked the priest in the eyes and then looked away, feeling that the wording really didn’t matter that much. And the guy did come cheap after all.

After a lifetime of a kiss, Harry broke away from Ginny, a scarlet blush staining both cheeks, spreading out to his neck and ears.

“Blimey mate,” said Ron, “you don’t hold back, do you?” His mind, for the moment, not recalling Harry’s previous embraces and stolen kisses with his sister.

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter — if I could trouble you for your signature in the register.”

“Oh yeah, the register — right.” Harry dutifully followed the priest into a vestibule where he mechanically signed a couple of documents before receiving what he took to be the marriage certificate. He thrust it hastily into his jacket pocket. “There. Now is there anything else ‘cos I’ve got a reception to attend to.”

“No, no, you go right ahead young man. You just go and enjoy yourself.”

It wasn’t until an hour into the reception that Harry remembered that Ginny hadn’t signed the marriage register. He thought it odd that nobody else had mentioned it at the time. Maybe that vicar wasn’t so legit after all.

He fished the paper from his pocket and squinted at it under the glaring lights, mindful that he had taken off his glasses sometime in between the champagne toast and the first dance. It had all become a blur since then.

“Here Ron, can you read what this marriage thing says?” He passed the paper to Ron who exploded with indignation.

“Blimey Harry — you’ve been had! This isn’t a marriage certificate … it’s a bleeding confidentiality agreement. It says it’s between you … and … and …”

“Oh, for goodness sake Ron, finish the sentence!” snapped Harry.

“Voldemort!” Ron had turned a ghastly shade of green, whilst Harry felt himself go sickly pale as the room starting to spin around him. He was aware of losing consciousness but just managed to catch Ron’s final words.

“So, he’s back then!”

Harry felt himself surfacing from a deep endless dream where he had been fighting off waves of demons, clad only in his underpants and clutching a giant wand like a staff.

He had not got to the stage where he could open his eyes yet – he felt that a few more minutes curled up in bed would shake of his drugged state – but it was a strangely familiar voice that suddenly made him sit up.

“I’m afraid that I’ve not been entirely truthful concerning Lord Voldemort,” the voice said.

Harry recognised it at once as belonging to Albus Dumbledore, his old headmaster at Hogwarts. He looked around but there was nobody else in the room, so Harry thought he must have caught the end of a bad dream … until the disembodied voice started talking again.

“Yes, Harry, my dear boy. I may not have been forthcoming about certain aspects of Tom Riddle’s life. It may come as a shock to you, Harry, to know that Tom Riddle had a twin brother, no less evil than Tom but far smarter when it came to dabbling in black magic. He didn’t split his soul and place the fragments into horcruxes. No! he pursued a different agenda that I’m afraid even I cannot fathom. But he has assumed the name of Lord Voldemort Senior and wants to meet with you … very soon.”

Crikey, thought Harry, there’s no end to this, as he fell into a swoon.

Had he fallen asleep again? He thought he must have because he was being roughly shaken by someone who was babbling at him and making no sense at all.

“Was’up?” Harry slurred his words, thinking he was speaking perfect standard English.

“Harry, you must wake up! I’ve got important news!”

“Is’t that u, Ron?” Harry mumbled and then snapped awake, reaching for his wand from the bedside table and casting it feverishly in all directions.

“’Ere watchit,” shouted Ron, going cross-eyed trying to track Harry’s wand as it seemed to be casting magic spells or Reiki symbols in the air. “It’s Voldemort, Harry – he can disapparate, just like house elves.”

Ron watched Harry for a few moments and sniggered as Harry’s head hit the pillow, narrowly missing the headboard. “You need to take it easy mate … you’ve gone all pale. Anyway, just came round to say, April Fool, and it looks like I gottcha good and proper.”

“You mean,” gasped Harry, “that Voldemort isn’t back? I can’t get the story right in my head. Perhaps it’s his twin brother we should be worrying about.”

“What are you talking about, Harry? He’s gawn. We saw him fold like a sack of potatoes as your spell hit him. He ain’t coming back – no way. And I don’t know where this twin brother stuff comes from. Look, you were celebrating way past midnight last night. Dunno where you put those butterbeers but, blimey, they’ve gawn to yer head.”

Harry thought for a while, dimly recalling something about his marriage to Ginny and then hearing Dumbledore talk in his head. He concluded that it had all been an unpleasant dream, triggered by a fear of something. Then he remembered his drinking party of the night before. “It was my stag party, wasn’t it?”

“Yea, that’s right,” Ron said and pointed at Harry, still lounging in bed, “and perhaps now’s the moment to remember that you’re getting married in a few hours. So, hop to it mate. Oh, and by the way, the priest is dirt cheap … but I’m sure everything will work out fine.”

Harry shivered; in his experience nothing worked out wonderfully well; there was always something to be wary of. And his wedding day was no exception. He had a sense of déjà vu. What was there about the priest that seemed familiar? And then he had visions of killing Lord Voldemort, over and over, as if he was playing in some fantasy video game. “Of course, he can come back,” Harry muttered to himself, “he never really dies.”

He was slipping back to sleep again; he could feel it, as if sleep was a nice cosy place. He wondered idly … what do you get when you cross April Fool’s Day with Groundhog Day?