You’re a Writer, Harry

“You’re a writer, Harry.”
“I’m a… WHAT?!
“A writer, Harry.”
“I’m a writer?”
“Yes Harry, you’re a writer.”
“But I’m just Harry.”
“Well, just Harry, you’re a writer. Did you ever write anything? An idea just popped into your head?”
“There is that time I wrote with crayons all over the living room wall.”
“See, the boy’s abnormal.”
“Quiet down, Dursely. The boy has a gift.”
“He’ll die in a car crash like his parents.”
“Car crash? You told me my parents were blown up.”
“Blown up? Why did you tell Harry that?”
“We had to say something. We told him he was a wizard.”
“A wizard? It’s an outrage! It’s a scandal!”
“My parents weren’t slain be a dark wizard?”
“No, of course not. Your father James was writing while driving and ran off the road while validating on November 30th. We all commend him, but don’t write and drive.”
“I’m not a wizard?”
“He’ll not be going.”
“And a Blocker like you is gonna stop him, Vernon.”
“A Blocker?”
“Non-writing folk. I bet Petunia there has trouble with a sick
note for school.”
“I thought I could do magic.”
“Well, writing is magic, sort of. I mean you have to edit, and
work hard, and all that.”
“I live under the stairs and I’m underfed.”
“Yeah about that. Most writers in New York or London would consider that luxury.”
“He’s going to have a honest profession.”
“Like what, Dursley?”
“Something practical, like a Astronaut or Formula One driver.”
“And leave all those stories inside him? Not bloody likely.”
“He can write part time!”
“Of course he will. Harry can you make coffee?”
“Yes. Uncle Vernon makes me do so every morning.”
“Well, there’s something to be said for that.”
“Is that so I can stay up all night working on stories?”
“Well, sure. There’s that. And it’s likely to be source of income for a while.”
“Uncle Vernon, I’m not sure I want to go. Hagrid doesn’t even look like he’s shaved in weeks. Is he a hipster?”
“I can’t be expected to shave during Movember!”
“Your Uncle Vernon and me have very mixed feelings about this, but if you do go, you’ll have to take the cats with you.”
“‘And I’, Aunt Petunia.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s ‘Uncle Vernon and I have very mixed feelings about this’.”
“That’s a good writer. How many cats Harry?”
“Eight, Hagrid.”
“Sounds reasonable. There’s only one thing that outnumbers Boy Writers with cats at Hogwash’s School of Poetry and Prose.”
“What’s that?”
“Girl Writers with cats.”
“Girls? Let’s go. If we leave we can make it before my bedtime.”
“Bedtime? For a writer? It’s an outrage, it is.”
“The child is 11!”
“So he is. We’ll make it 2am. Where’s your laptop?”
“I don’t have a laptop.”
“Desktop, iPad, smartphone?”
“None of those. Just a notebook.”
“The son of James and Lily Potter without a laptop? We’ll pick
them up on the way. Any book ideas Harry?”
“I have one about a bunch of Sparkly Vampires that are forced to fight to the death every year as a tribute to the Dark Lord of
the fiery mountain.”
“It’s more of a plot than most of us have. Well get in the sidecar, Professor McGonagall will return for the cats.”
“So there’s no magic?”
“Of course there is, but we can’t be letting them know that. How do you think we keep the cats fed?”
“Internet trolls and literary critics, Harry. We turn them into mice.”
“And there’s enough to keep the cats happy?”
“There are no end of them. But it’s dark magic and dark wizards you need to watch out for.”
“There is?”
“Who do you think got Firefly cancelled?”
“So can I use magic to write a story?”
“Well, you can try. You can also try praying, waiting for the writing fairies, and sacrificing a goat. Then sit down and write.”
“Hagrid, why did you pull over?”
“It’s a sprint, Harry. Now quiet.”
“But I don’t understand.”
“I’m writing for ten minutes, and remember what I said about mice? Mr. Darcy is mighty hungry.”
“He’s got three heads.”
“Of course he does. Now feed him a mouse.”
“This mouse looks like Harold Bloom.”
“Odd coincidence that.”
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