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My name is Mandy. I am nothing special. I'm 30 years old, sitting in an abandoned warehouse in New York, surrounded by boxes and flattened cardboard, left behind by the man who used to own it. He used it as a storage area for his stall, his highly illegal stall I should point out. It sold knock off purses, wallets, and perfume. They caught him three months ago and I bought this place shortly after, but that is not the point.
The point is that I am sitting here, wasting my life. You would not think of me as anything special, yet I used to be something magical school, quite literally. You see I am a witch, and not only that, I was a brilliantly talented witch. So smart that I was put into Ravenclaw at the esteemed Hogwarts. A school where you went to, to show your talents and learn from the best, so you could succeed in the real world.
Although what they don't tell you is that sometimes life isn't that simple. Everyone in the wizarding world knows about the war. The return of Voldemort, yeah, I said his name. He is dead, what harm can it do? Everyone talks about the heroes, the order, the death toll, and Harry Potter yet no one really remembers the affect it had on people. The people who where stuck in that school when our 'Saviour' was gallivanting around.
Before Hogwarts, I grew up in a town outside Birmingham, England. My Mother was a witch and worked for the ministry while my Father was a muggle who was a Doctor. Both lost their lives in the war, yet no one remembers them. They get included in the 'death toll' and they get a memorial but no one remembers the people. Just the names, not the faces, just the numbers, and not their hearts.
I had a happy childhood. My parents where always around and I had many friends. I was never pre-warned that the day I left for my first year, the day I had to face the sorting hat and the day I sat down on the Ravenclaw dining table that I would see death, see pain and never be the same again.
Everything was shiny and new, everybody was so innocent and a small brunette was the hope of the wizarding world. He did not look special to me. I had always heard stories and imagine him to be a hero amongst Gods. Yet he sat on the Gryffindor side of the hall, looking tired, gaunt and scared. He was just like me, yet through the years he had to go through a lot more.
I suppose I should not be jealous. People kept trying to kill him; he did not have much luck at all. He always fought with the Snakes, got hurt, or went through terrible pain. I remember the day of the Triwizard tournament. He seemed happy when he went in, nearly comfortable, finally something he was good at I suppose. Yet, the look on his face could crush any man when he came out. So destroyed, distraught and desolate.
The Harry Potter I thought I knew had changed but I do not know why I am going on about him. This is about me after all, but I suppose sometimes I forget that. The whole world is after all about Harry Potter. I was brilliant in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was my favourite subject and I excelled in it. I aced every test and was top of my class in everything, yet I was in his shadow. He wasn't even that good. He never studied, did rubbish in his tests and his assignments were always late.
I was a casualty of being the wrong age. If I were older, I would of gotten the praise I deserved, or if I was younger, I could of proved that someone could actually top this student that went on the defeat the Dark Lord, but no. I was stuck in the same year as the almighty. At times, I understood why the Slytherins hated him, especially Draco Malfoy. He was good at what he knew, and he knew potions. He was obviously the best in the year. His natural talent shone through yet the know-it-all Granger topped him, only because she had no better ways to spend her time.
I keep saying this about me, and I talk about other people, but that is what life was like back then. If you were not a player in the main game, you where a shadow, invisible and non-existent. All the teachers knew Harry Potter so well; even Dumbledore was his best buddy, yet none of them paid attention to people like me, or to my fellow Ravenclaws. A hard working house full of people who would excel at anything they put their mind too. Our house was full of the minds of the future. We would one day be the people to change the world, yet Harry Potter decided to do that for us, put us in the shadow, just because he is the fearless Gryffindor. No one even gave us a chance, even if we tried to help, only his close friends could get near him. He was guarded day and night by people who would kill for him. He was so oblivious to people outside his little dream world, yet these are the people that got hurt the most.
I remember the final year leading up to the battle and that fatal day. It was hell, you either agreed with something you did not believe in or face punishment beyond your imagination.
Harry Potter killed Voldemort, right before my closing eyes.
When I was five I told my Mother that when I died an angel will bring me to heaven in a carriage and I'll sit on my throne with my charming prince and live happily ever after. The reality was far different.
You see, I may be in New York, but my body is still in a cemetery in Birmingham. Rotting away with no one to remember me. I am one of the forgotten, the people who tried to stay out of the way but where struck down in the crossfire. I was trying to help a first year. She was crying for her older brother and I led her across the room. I was Voldemorts last victim. The last body he ever destroyed, yet no one came to see if I was okay.
It is a weird feeling looking at yourself dead, but I had no time to contemplate it. I was too busy watching my parents die, holding each other.
After all this, I thought our saviour would care; yet, he only smiled with relief and embraced his friends and family. You see, you need to understand one thing about my sad mortal life story. Whatever happened, had nothing to do with Harry Potter, or at least he thought so, yet it had everything to do with him. I lived in a shadow, like the rest of the wizarding world. I was not remembered for being his last victim or even a single victim. My name, along with my parents, was put on a plaque and people put flowers beside it, yet no one came to my funeral. All my friends where dead. All dead helping people or trying to survive our last year at school.
I want to know what Harry Potter thinks of that.
I am Mandy Brocklehurst. I am 30 years old and I float where the wind takes me. I am a symbol of what everyone was during the war. A shadow of the world, fading day by day into oblivion and never to be remembered by a single soul.