The real Harry Potter was born to a crack mother who died in child birth. 

He lived under the stairs because his aunt and uncle were ashamed of his true nature. 

Shunned by his family, he became an outcast of society.

 

Harry began smoking weed at age 12, when he found some in his uncle's garage.

Being stoned was the only thing that chased away his past resentments.

Resent at his cousin, for having a caring mother and father.

Resent at his mother, for overdosing, and abusing her body; and the blood that runs in Harry's own veins.

Resent at his father, for never being there.

Resent at his aunt and uncle, for placing him under the stairs, and never caring.

 

One puff, and it all blew away.

 

Harry inhaled the smoke, held it, and enjoyed the smoky swirls released from his lungs. 

 

Harry tried going to school, but soon found out it was not for him.

Dudley and his gang were always trying to set him up and pick on him.

Harry began to sell the weed that he smoked. 

It was the only way for him to afford to have the nice things that he wanted, since his aunt and uncle would never give him gifts or allowance. 

They preferred that he be clothed in rags, as if a symbol of his station in life. 

 

Harry got enough money to get his own apartment.

His aunt and uncle were not sad to see him go, telling him not to call if he needed assistance.

Harry became a bigger drug dealer, and began to try the hallucinogens that he sold.

He discovered that he could have a whole other life as a wizard, at a magical school called Hogwarts.

Harry soon found that he would have to use more, and different kinds of drugs, to maintain the fantasy.

In an effort to preserve the fantasy, he mixed up a deadly potion.

Forever residing in his fantasy world, he didn't notice the white coats carting him off to the asylum where he would live out his days of magic and mystery. 

- A short excerpt by Destiny Megan