So StraightDope got lots of Web time due to a wildly popular thread exploiting the humor of Dopers. I was driving home, and quite literally this idea popped into my head without any provocation. What would Harry Potter be like if it hadn’t been written by JK Rowling?
And so I’ll start us off, in homage to Fingolfin and his origin of the LotR thread, I’ll do Tolkien.
Harry Potter by JRR Tolkien
In a cupboard beneath a set of stairs lived a young boy…
Year Seven by George Orwell
He gazed up at the enormous face. Seven years it had taken him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark cloak. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two butterbear-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Voldemort.
Once a jolly wizard took the train to Hog-Warts,
Chatting with Ron and Her-moin-ee,
And he sang as he watched the scenery roll by the train,
“I’ll get Lord Voldemort - just wait and see!”
(all together now)
Bewitching Muggles, bewitching Muggles,
“I’ll get Lord Voldemort - just wait and see!”
Up came a Slytherin to make sarcastic re-e-marks,
Up came his cronies, one - two - three,
Wait till we meet you upon the field of Quidditch,
“Our Bludger’ll wallop you upon your knee!”
Bewitching Muggles, bewitching Muggles,
“I’ll get Lord Voldemort - just wait and see!”
Up jumped our Harry and waved his magic wand around,
Forcing Prof. Snape to hide in a tree,
"Lose 10 House points, Potter - and see me after potion class!
No-one believes how nasty he can be…
Bewitching Muggles, bewitching Muggles,
No-one believes how nasty he can be…
(with apologies to Andrew “Banjo” Paterson)
I liked the start of your Tolkien tale, but think it should be extended:
In a cupboard beneath a set of stairs lived a young boy.
Not a nasty dirty wet cupboard, nor yet a dry sandy bare cupboard: Harry’s cupboard was a suburban terraced cupboard and that means modest space.
It had a normally shaped door painted brown, which opened onto the hall with panelled walls and floors tiled and carpeted and lots of pegs for hats and coats.
The boy would have liked visitors, but had to make do with the occasional owl.
The Dursley family were quite well-to-do…
As written by Brian Jacques: Half the book is devoted to all the food cooked and eaten at Hogwarts. One quarter of the book is about the latest band of villains to besiege Hogwarts and the defender’s valiant resistance. The remaining quarter is about Harry and his friend’s quest to save Hogwart’s. They go on a trek through the mysterious and dangerous Dark Forest guided by an ancient cryptic riddle which leads them through six kinds of peril when they could have just taken the freeway if they’d only known.
I was sitting in the shadows, their Creator, making Voldemort and the Death Eaters appear and disappear at will. Voldemort gave me a withering look, because in reality, I had made the whole group assemble in a parking lot in Reading. It had been farmland once, but then got paved over and all the grassland was killed. So it goes.
With a flick of Voldemort’s wand, Cedric was dead. So it goes. By an incredible coincidence, Diggory’s rigid body landed near a discarded coffee cup which had once belonged to my son Mark. He’s mostly better now, but trash receptacles still remind him of his own confinement.
Harry spun and aimed his wand right at me. My continued manipulation of his world was doing nothing to help his anger management problems. He yelled, “Tell me I don’t have to put up with your crap for three more books!”
Chapter 1
She smiled at him as he looked into her eyes. He was about to say something when a faint tremor from the ground made him refocus his attention: they had come to this forest to watch the hatching of the Earth Dragons, an event that happens only once every decade. It was now ten years since the day they first met on this very spot, and she had planned this trip as a special celebration of their anniversary. Soon the majestic beasts would burst from the ground and take wing in their search for food. It was a beautiful sight, but an unwary spectator could easily end up a young hatchling’s first meal. Harry silently reminded himself that they were far enough away fro safe viewing, but still he was nervous. He’d always been uneasy in these situations, ever since the accident during his childhood with the Dursleys. Turning once more to his wife, however, he forgot his fear. Looking at her smile, he said “I love y-”
The hooting, squawking owl that had crashed through his window and flopped onto his bed woke Harry from the recurring dream he’d been having the past few months. He winced slightly as his muscled ached from the students/professors quidditch the previous day. Even with the students’ training, he was still able to pull off maneuvers on his broomstick that left them gasping for breath and struggling to keep their balance. Still, his body wasn’t what it once was, and the strain was leaving its mark. He looked wearily at the note tied to the owl’s leg. Who on earth could be contacting him at this hour? His new appointment as the youngest head professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts in the history of Hogwart’s had brought with it and almost endless stream of messenger owls from reporters and well-wishers, but so far they’d refrained from barging into his bedroom in the dead of night. His new faculty position had earned him almost as much noteriety as his unravelling of the secret of Voldemort a few years back, the one that ultimately led to the Dark Lord’s destruction. He thought back to that time with a touch of sadness; if only Dumbledore could see him now.
The owl began hooting even more urgently, snapping Harry’s attention back to the matter at hand. With an annoyed sigh, he untied the ribbon from the owl’s leg and opened the message. What he saw froze him to the core.
Chapter 2
The flying car from the Ministry of Magic was already at the front gates waiting for him by the time he got dressed and grabbed his wand. Nobody was inside, but that was as the note had said it would be. The car knew where to take him, he was simply to get inside. As he rode in silence, Harry thought over the contents of the message. It had been from the international affairs division of the Ministry. They said that they needed his assistance with regard to a possible murder at Durmstrang Academy. That news, while surprising, was not what kept Harry from tossing the letter aside until morning and going back to sleep.
What made him throw on his robes and rush to the ancient gates for the waiting car was the picture that had been included.
It was tucked away in the folds of his robe, but Harry had no need to look at it again; the horrific image was burned into his mind. He’d seen death before, but it wasn’t the sight of the dead student that had shocked Harry. It was what had been done with the student’s body: Harry had not been able to make out all the arcane symbols covering the boy, but if the markings that were visible were what he was afraid they were, then someone was attempting to unlock a chain of ancient secrets. A chain that led to a danger far greater than Voldemort had ever posed.
Dan Brown, “The Slytherin Cipher”
PERRY POTTER, ADOLESCENT ACOLYTE
by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby
STAN: So we’ve got this kid, but he’s a powerful wizard! He goes to a school for maladjusted teenaged wizards.
JACK: Is this like a team of kids? The school uniform can look like a union suit with yellow boots and shorts.
STAN: He’s a handsome kid–with a scar on his face! A scar the shape of a lightning bolt!
JACK: Okay, we can play off that and give him a steel mask. And medieval armor!
STAN: You’re making him too muscular. He’s supposed to be like twelve or thirteen and skinny. You’re making him look too much like a linebacker!
JACK: Kids like muscular heroes. You see kids with Captain America and the Hulk lunchboxes. You think any kid’s gonna want a linchbox with some skinny kid on it?
STAN: He’s got these two pals, Rod, a freckle-faced redhead, and Hermione, a girl with wild hair.
JACK: This Hermione, we can make her look like Raquel Welch, right?
STAN: No! No no no! She’s supposed to be like in junior high school! These are all little kids!
JACK: Okay. I’m gonna give this Rod kid goat hooves and a leather tunic, and Hermione can be a herald of Galactus with living hair. Is she blonde or a redhead?
STAN: Tell ya what, Jack, why don’t you draw this Kid Colt story up, and I’ll just run this Perry Potter idea by Sturdy Steve Ditko instead…
Potter on the grass alas.
Potter on the grass alas.
If it was not Potter on the grass alas what was it. Potter is not an otter otter. This was what was it. If an otter is not a Potter on a blotter. If and otter might be very well they might on the grass alas.
–Gertrude Stein
Hagrid’s cottage, at night
Filch: You’re goin’ to the dark forest, awful place that, the forest, awful dark, awful.
Draco: The forest? I thought… I mean… that was a joke, I thought that was a joke, that was, the forest, I mean… A joke, wasn’t it a joke? We used to… I mean… I thought…
Filch: Werewolves in the forest, awful place, dark, werewolves and worse, dark, in the forest, at night. Werewolves.
they stand looking at the forest, the wind blows
*Dear Ron,
I can’t believe it! I have twelve - TWELVE, Ron! - sisters, and they’ve all written to me, inviting me to live with them on this private island that my parents bought before You-Know-Who toasted them! I’m heading over today, and yes, I’ll send pictures!
Harry*
“This can’t be happening to me.”
The words spilled out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop himself. But the whole thing had been so completely unbelievable: the letters addressed to the Boy-Who-Lived-Under-the-Stairs, the perfectly tailored butler showing up at the Dursleys, the helicopter (!) ride to Promise Island…
And now, landing on the front lawn of the most magnificent mansion Harry had ever laid his eyes on, and seeing the banner bearing his name on it, and the twelve girls lined up to meet him for the first time–
What if all of this was just a dream where he’d wake up and find himself under the stairs again?
Harry Potter and the Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan
Book 12 of the series:
After finding out he’s a wizard, Harry Potter starts his first year at Hogwarts.
Chapter 1
Professor McGonagal smoothed her skirts while waiting for the students to arrive. She was wearing a black satin skirt and black silk blouse. The piping on the skirt was black lace and she wore a small pearl necklace. Her hat was black satin with a black grograin ribbon around the base. She sniffed as the door opened and the students entered the hall.
(pssst…you forgot the braid tugging…)
Childe Harold to the Dark Wizard Came
By Robert Browning
I.
My first thought was, he lied with every word,
That Slytherin monster, that wicked evil guy,
Who, with his wand, caused many then to die,
With its core feather plucked from the very bird,
Who’s screeching triumphant glory I have heard,
Whose feathers grace the very wand born by I.
II.
What else should he be set for, with his staff,
Of Death-eating wizards, so bold and bare,
Exposing villainous traits as few would dare,
And cackling patented “Dark Lords” laugh,
Would deem to be authors of my epitaph,
For my lightning scar and unkempt hair.
III.
If my friends’ counsel I should, then, abide,
I’d run back to Hogwarts, most hurriedly,
To dear Dumbledore; but I will not flee,
For in me I bear my dead father’s pride,
And protected by love, for which my mother died,
I’d rather stand tall, if a little angst-y.
IV.
For what, with my wizardly wondering,
What with my agony drawn through the years, my pain,
From living in cupboards, rears up again,
What obstreperous joy my success would bring,
If I, all alone, could defeat the thing,
That left on my forehead this lightning stain.
(Cutting to the end, as I am at work and on a break…)
XXXIII.
No fear? When fear was everywhere! So cold,
Dementors circling my crumpled peers,
The bush-like Hermione, and Ron, with his ears,
The first one smart, the other bold,
And Dumbledore, of course, so old,
All fallen beneath the Death-eaters’ jeers.
XXXIV.
There they stood, ranged along the gravesides, met,
To view the last of cursed Potter’s name,
To see me, ‘fore the spurt of greenest flame,
I saw them and I knew them all, and yet,
Dauntless, my wand to my finger tips leapt,
And I screamed, “Childe Harold to the Dark Wizard came!”
