Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

But even then, Harry decided that he would make something of himself. He taught himself how to write code online and worked every day to be proficient at it. He worked as an online freelancer from his own computer, and while it was slow at first, over years of work, he was able to save up to go to an average university to get a bachelor's degree. That was the agreement with his mother, he would give her his father's money, but anything he made by himself wouldn't be touched.

Of course, when Harrold graduated school with impressive grades and went to his planned university to study Mathematics, he expected his mother to practically stay out of his life for a while. The woman practically ignored him all his life in favour of his brother, and while he grew used to it, she slowly started to feel like a stranger to him.

The silver lining was the fact that he loved his brother more than life himself. He did his best to tutor him, to take care of him, but the boy would never have a normal life, and he knew it. It was hard to relate to him, but it didn't make Harrold love him any less.

Imagine his surprise to see his mother and sibling for his graduation. He had planned to pursue a master's degree, or even a Doctorate one day, being very passionate about the field of Mathematics. He had kept working odd jobs, including his freelancing programming job, and saved up enough to continue his education. Everything was looking well, even if he had to fight his way to get where he was, it was worth it.

All that hope was dashed immediately when his mother told him of the staggering amount of debt she had to pay for her expenses. He always wondered where she got the money to continue, but the worst part was the fact that she didn't even seem to care about it until it was too late. She bought expensive clothes, and bought a new car a couple of years back, without even thinking about the repercussions of her actions.

Harrold could understand being miserable doing nothing but taking care of her son day in and out, but that was just too much. She needed help to repay her debt and what could he do but help his mother and his brother? The young man abandoned his dreams and moved back home. He practically drained his bank account to pay his mother's debt and settled on taking a job from a friend of his, at a school, as a math teacher.

It was a nice job, cosy, with a few perks. He needed the flexibility to take care of his brother. Their mother had run away barely a month after begging for his help, and honestly, Harrold was just exhausted. Five years later, Nathan died in his sleep. He had too many health complications, and Harrold was alone in the world with practically no purpose.

He could have chosen to come back to university, but he simply didn't have the passion he once did. Oh, he was practically as well-read as your average university Professor, choosing to sharpen his mind during the previous few years. But he was grieving and had chosen to take his time to deal with it. He grew to love his school and love his students.

Outside of his job, Harrold didn't really have anything else to do. He didn't have any friends, and practically never had a girlfriend, since he was always too busy with Nathan to even entertain the thought. The problem with having two parents that practically ignored your existence was the fact that you simply never learn to develop any sort of social skills or emotional intelligence in any way.

Oh, Harrold was an awkward child when he was younger, but he simply didn't know how to communicate with people. Even then, he was too busy, either taking care of his brother or working, to notice this glaring issue. It was at university that he noticed how lonely he truly was without being constantly busy. But he had no idea how to even make friends, and so his cycle of loneliness continued until his adulthood.

Harrold's only companions were his books. He felt alive when he was reading. He learnt of joy, loss, sadness, sorrow, anger, and love from his books. It was so easy to lose himself in a book, to give himself to the illusion of life, and yet forget to live. It was easier, and less painful, to lose himself in a fantasy instead of facing the fact that he had lived an empty life. In many ways, just because something was fake, it didn't make it any less true, any less beautiful and powerful.

And so, Harrold spent another few years as a teacher, living more in his tales and stories than outside, choosing not to be hurt like he had been when his brother died. Because to Harrold, Nathan was everything. He was his purpose. He sacrificed his childhood so that his brother would have one, he sacrificed his future just to take care of him. He never experienced his father's pride, nor his mother's life for his sake, and yet Nathan still died with a slight smile on his face, leaving Harrold alone in the world.

It was when Harrold was in his thirties that he was diagnosed with a brain tumour. It was inoperable, and he had months to live. He didn't want to live the rest of his remaining life strapped to a machine and had no one to live with. It was sad; Harrold's brain was his pride, the only thing he had left, and it was killing him. It was irony at its finest.

In another life, Harrold Smith could have changed the world, but it was not this world, and so he went gently into that goodnight. His passing wasn't noticed by a single human being, except his students that are. No one mourned his passing for more than a day. He was forgotten in the annals of history. His song has ended, and yet his melody lingered on.

Harry Potter sat up suddenly when he realized what just happened. He remembered the other man, the other life, the other Harry. Were they the same person at heart? Was he Harry Potter or Harrold Smith? Was there any difference, really? They had practically the same personality accentuated by the same emotional awkwardness. They were both scholars who were ignored by their families, and forced the grow up quickly and in solitude. Even their names were similar.

The only difference now was the fact that Harry now had more knowledge and information about the world. Oh, that and the magic thing that is.

Because Harrold Smith knew about Harry Potter, about the Chosen One, the young wizard that would sacrifice his life for the greater good to fight the man who killed his parents, the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was a children's tale in Smith's world, and yet it did explain all the oddness that surrounded young Harry.

It explained the fear in the eyes of his aunt whenever he looked at him, it explained why he was called a freak by the magic hating muggles – and what an odd and slightly insulting word that was – that he called her relatives. But most of all, it could explain how he just banished Dudley away without touching him.

It was too good, it fit too perfectly for it to be anything else. Harry didn't know whether or not to be angry that his life was a children's book, which actually showed how difficult things were about to be for the young man. Possessed teachers, giant snakes that would kill with a gaze, and giant soul sucking demons sent warning bells to him.

And yet, Harry couldn't help but be excited by the prospect of going to Hogwarts and learning magic there. No matter what the dangers were, he was still a scholar at heart, reincarnation or not. As for Voldemort, he would be handled with caution, now that he understood the danger he presented.

It would be daunting, playing the game between Dumbledore and Voldemort, where he was barely more than a pawn, but for the chance to learn something as exciting as magic, he would do it without complaining. Well, he might complain slightly. He might even make friends there, with another wizard or witch.

And if he was to be a wizard, Harry will damn well be the wizard the world had ever seen. His life as Harrold Smith was a disappointment, empty, having achieved nothing with his existence. No, Harry Potter will rise from Harrold Smith's ashes to achieve greatness. For he refused to be no one again.

Harry got up from the bed he was sleeping on, thoughts filled with purpose. He looked around and saw that he was in the infirmary. There was a mirror right next to him, and the young boy decided to see the extent of his injuries. There was a slight bruise on his left cheek, but it didn't look serious. It was then that he noticed the distinct lack of a scar on his forehead, and all his plans went to hell in a second.

The young boy couldn't help but mutter, "Oh, fuck."