The Prince's Tale

Something about me

I was born to be a journalist. Everybody knew it. From an early age I was scribbling on pieces of paper bits of information that I collected from my surroundings and that I found particularly intriguing. This keen interest in telling stories must have also derived from my incessant curiosity about others. Not everyone liked this kind of curiosity, but if journalists weren't curious, or as some like to put it, didn't butt their noses in other people's business, then there would be no journalists, there would be no news, and no stories. The only possible drawback of being a journalist is that you're always telling someone else's story, but never your own. Even when you try to write a story about yourself, it just somehow turns out to be someone else's.

That's what happened to me. Not many people I know who graduated from Hogwarts wanted to be journalists, but for me, my way forward was clear. Except that the Wizarding War broke out and I was left jobless and penniless. You see, I was born sometime before the First War officially broke out. There were always tensions, but no war was officially declared. I spent a rather privileged childhood in the Muggle countryside, got a successful education in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and by the time Harry Potter was in his first year of Hogwarts, I was long gone. I never got to meet the famous Harry Potter except through the troubles that followed his first public appearances. Everyone could only think of how this boy's life was in danger, and although I was curious to tell other people's stories, I was not interested in his. It was somehow so over-discussed that I simply felt that there was no story to tell. I could not comprehend how people were infatuated by the idea that he was the soul person who could defeat You Know Who. It sounded ridiculous. For goodness sake, couldn't they realize that they were piling expectation after expectations on a boy who was probably not capable of doing any of the things expected from him? The thought that our lives lay in the hands of a little boy, and that so many people were ready to sacrifice themselves for him seemed pretty pathetic to me. How did he survive? In my eyes, it was pure, darn luck.

So when at the time I was left for on my own to deal with the cruel, and cold world, the First Wizarding War was still taking place. My first years as a journalist I spent reporting in quiet village where local news was plentiful, and the salary enough for survival despite the lack of luxury. It is there that I saw the flying Ford Angelina years later, which occurred to me as rather unusual, and which I wasted no time in reporting. The next thing I knew it made it to the headlines, and I took that to be peak of a rather discreet career. Despite having made it to the headlines once, I made my way back to the quiet urban life until the Second Wizarding World broke out, and I was forced to go back to my previous job.

Here's how I came by it. At the time, I was broke, and in frantic need of an occupation. I was forced to move into a rural life and seek my fortune in a more crowded area, where jobs were plentiful and much easier to get. But I remained unemployed for several months, and by the time someone had an offer to make, I was close to desperate. So I jumped at the first opportunity I got, which was given to me by a former classmate who worked in the Ministry of Magic. Almost everyone I knew worked in the Ministry. If you weren't a salesman or a banker, then the Ministry was all you got, and it wasn't such a bad position either. Nor was I in any position to refuse the offer made. It didn't require being much in the Ministry, not exactly. The Ministry was in need of journalists these days more for public safety than their interest. I was called upon to investigate a seemingly suspicious staff member, whom I remembered vaguely from my days at Hogwarts, as Severus Snape, and I recall him being a slight figure, with sharp features and eyes that were like two black holes in which there was so much emptiness, so little life, that it felt like if you had looked into them you would be trapped into an abyss of coldness and regret. I remember him being strange, but quite unfathomable. If he had any talent, he did not show them, and the time I had been in Hogwarts, I remembered he was a bit of a joke, really, although quite harmless, and the thought that now he was deemed dangerous had made me want to laugh. 

So when I was offered the job to investigate upon him, I had willingly accepted. I was informed that he was believed to be a former Death Eater, and for some reason, returned a completely changed man. After the First Wizarding War, Death Eaters were sought out, but Dumbledore assured the Ministry that Snape was quite harmless, and that due to remorse of his past actions, he had changed sides. But the Ministry doubted this. Unless he was secretly connected to Dumbledore's past, Dumbledore didn't have a good reason to protect him.

So, I was set out to find out the reason. As I guessed, Professor Snape, as I was meant to address him now, did not change a bit, except that life in Hogwarts had given him a little bit more colour than when I first saw him, although in the dungeons, it was hard to achieve. I was not welcomed by the Hogwarts staff, and I was looked down upon as the spy (although I did my best to cover my position). 

Snape was the least of all hospitable. I thought if I was to perform successfully, then I could start by getting in closer terms with him, which was a very foolish step indeed. He looked at me coldly, smirked at me, and told me to go back right where I came from. Fearing unemployment I persisted, but could hardly get a word out of him that was not an insult or mockery. I tried every possible tactic, but Snape remained cold and distant. All I ever learned from him was that he held a serious grudge against Harry Potter. No wonder the Ministry suspected him.

My job at Hogwarts was a discreet one. I could not blend in with students, nor the staff, and I failed to make appearances at important or special events. It was as if I wasn't in Hogwarts at all. The only thing that kept me there was the salary that came in every three months at my deceitful dispatches in my attempt to feed the Ministry's suspicion. Everything I did was made to look that I was making significant progress. But of course, I wasn't, and I didn't for the next 10 years. I lived like a vermin and I felt every right to feel more bitter than Snape did.

At one period, I left. Not permanently, but I needed a break, and the Ministry had it granted. But then all of a sudden, the return of You Know Who had forced me to go back. His return let to a succession of events that I had absolutely no power of, and the next thing I knew, Dumbledore was dead, killed by none other than my Professor Snape. At that time (and I still recall it with shame) I was wolfing down a pie that the elves had made me in the kitchen, being the only ones who actually showed some kindness towards me. It was late when I left the little party, and I returned to the Dungeons to find Snape gone. That was no surprise to me, as Snape often went snooping about at nights. But then I suddenly realized that despite the eerie stillness in the dungeons, there was restlessness above me. Somehow at this time of the night, there was life. It wasn't meant to be.

Naturally, the school was a chaos. It did not take me a very long time to discover the news that Severus Snape had killed Albus Dumbledore, and that Snape was gone for good. To be honest, all I could do was fear that my job was at stake. It had been my job to keep an eye on him. My job to prove he was guilt less of any crimes, and now the criminal had committed murder...right under my nose. I was sure I was going to be fired. Well, without Snape, and I didn't have a job to be fired from anyway. But by mid August Snape was back and running, and by the time I dared to seek help, the Ministry was corrupted. Everything had crumbled right before my eyes, although I had remained blind to it, and my poor rural heart wished for nothing but peace and quiet and refuge from this depraved urban life. But again, I was jobless, and as it turned out, my own life was at stake. The Ministry was by far under the control of Death Eaters, who saw me as a threat, as I worked for the Ministry before it crumbled. They did not know my occupation, and they didn't care. Without further trial, they would have readily thrown me into a prison cell, despite my minuscule and quite insignificant role in the Ministry. And I repeat- they would have- if I hadn't been rescued by Severus Snape. What inclined Snape towards this generous gesture, I do not know, but right at that moment the prospect of facing a murderer alone was so frightening that even an empty cell seemed like an intriguing option. There, at least I was safely locked up. 

Therefore, I was under Snape's services, and it was I who wrote that article about his becoming a headmaster. I worked as a corrupted member of the Ministry simply because I had no choice, and they paid me...with my life. I never asked Snape for the reason he stuck up for me, nor was I going to. He still remained cold and distant, and now at power, most threatening than ever. 

Few months later, I was informed of Snape's death and the fall of You Know Who himself. Without thinking, I started rejoicing, thinking I was free, I'm free! Not realizing that the war had left me broke once more, and that I had lost the only companion I had in all these years.