Maybe it’s that I saw The Prisoner of Azkaban twice this weekend or that I’m reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix to the kids for the fourth or fifth time, but after going to sleep thinking about starting a blog about being a liberal capitalist, I woke with a start this morning from the following dream, which tied the whole advocacy thing I was thinking about with the fiction I’ve been submersed in for several years…..
Lord Voldemort, disguised as an innocent wizard, has sued Harry Potter for having horribly burned his face when a spell went tragically wrong. Peter Pettigrew, known as “Wormtail” and the wizard who betrayed Harry’s parents, pushes Voldemort around in a wheel chair. Voldemort always has his face heavily bandanged—it all feels like an I Love Lucy episode where a shyster is pulling a scam, claiming he hurt his neck on the dance floor to win the club from Ricky Ricardo.
If he loses the case, Harry will be expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I am Harry Potter’s lawyer.
Voldemort’s initial testimony takes place while his head is enclosed in a jack-in-the-box’s head that teeters horribly on his shoulders. I accuse Voldemort of being He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which he is, but he claims he isn’t the feared wizard, just embarrassed at the extensive damage caused by Harry’s wand. The court accepts this argument, allowing him to continue disguised this way, because that’s the kind of eccentric thing wizards do in all the books.
Of course, if I can prove Voldemort is Voldemort, I’ll win the case and Harry will be free to return to school. So, I devise a clever ruse involving appearing at Voldemort’s home to catch him in the act of being himself. Harry, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and I knock on the door and execute a complex misdirection to demonstrate that the reason Voldemort always has his face covered is that anyone would recognize his snakelike face if he were to go out in public undisguised.
We prevail, Voldemort is caught red-handed and we capture the whole thing using a DV camera, a handy muggle bit of magic that amazes all, including Voldemort, with its high-resolution images. But, Voldemort, angry that his deception has been uncovered, rises and in his coldest, snakiest voice pronounces the Avada Kedavra curse that kills instantly, flourishing his wand and sending a blast of green light at my chest.
The curse bounces off me harmlessly. Voldemort is dumbfounded.
“You fool,” I say to him boldly. “You can’t kill me with the Avada Kedavra, I’m a lawyer!”
That was my dream.