When I say Rowling is a terrible author…

I got sick again. My motivation was already inconsistent lately and I have to say, being sick isn’t helping with it.

So I figured I’d do a low-effort post.

The thing I’ve sort of noticed is that whenever I say that Rowling is a terrible author, people seem to assume that I mean this on a moral level or something. And it’s like, no, I mean that on a very technical level. Does Rowling know how to string words together intelligibly? Yes — although there were a few sentences here and there that made me go “the hell is this even trying to say?”

But, to be fair, that could’ve been just a me problem.

Moreover, I watched and enjoyed Gossip Girl and none of the characters in it were “moral”. I read and mostly enjoyed Killing Stalking, and that webtoon is about a serial killer and his stalker. The “morality” of a work of fiction really isn’t that big of a concern for me. Because at the end of it, the only real criticism of fiction is if it’s well-written or not.

And Harry Potter just, frankly, isn’t.

I’ll use Chapter One of Book One as an example because if you’re going to trash something, you might as well start with the beginning of it. And did it ever set the tone for how bad the rest of it was going to be.

I wasn’t going to use quotes but, to be honest, I’m sick, I spent the entire night shivering with fever, and I didn’t sleep at all so I’m too tired to do this intelligibly. If I want to use quotes, I’ll use quotes. This will repeat much of the stuff I’ve already written previously but, hey, as I say, repetition is a part of learning so let’s go~.

As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn’t help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes – the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren’t young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak!

He’d forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker’s. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn’t know why, but they made him uneasy. This lot were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn’t see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

‘The Potters, that’s right, that’s what I heard – ’

‘ – yes, their son, Harry – ’

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o’clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

‘Sorry,’ he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak.

‘Oh yes, everyone’s celebrating, all right,’ she said impatiently. ‘You’d think they’d be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something’s going on. It was on their news.’ She jerked her head back at the Dursleys’ dark living-room window. ‘I heard it. Flocks of owls … shooting stars … Well, they’re not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something.’

‘I know that,’ said Professor McGonagall irritably. ‘But that’s no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours.’

Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.

Notice that Vernon automatically apologised to someone he knocked into. ❤

The first problem is that the wizards and wizarding world don’t feel like an organic part of Rowling’s harebrained world-building and imagination. Instead, it feels as if the wizards and wizarding world popped into existence on the very same Tuesday that this story starts.

Because:

one) either wizards regularly mingle in the muggle world, at which point Vernon’s reaction should’ve been more “again with those freaks” instead of “look at those freaks”.

two) if they don’t regularly mingle in the muggle world then why are they doing all of this gossiping in the muggle world instead of the very few wizarding areas that they have on the particular Tuesday that this harebrained story starts?

The reason why wizards are doing all of their gossiping in the muggle world is literally because Rowling wanted to show that Wizards Are a Thing and then couldn’t be bothered to put any more thought into it.

When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts . . .

At half past eight, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. ‘Little tyke,’ chortled Mr Dursley as he left the house.

The Dursleys are honestly really cute actually. ❤

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Dursley didn’t realise what he had seen – then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive . . .

In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you’d have thought he’d just popped out of the ground.

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, ‘The owls are nothing to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone’s saying? About why he’s disappeared? About what finally stopped him?’

‘What they’re saying,’ she pressed on, ‘is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric’s Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they’re – dead.’

Professor McGonagall’s voice trembled as she went on. ‘That’s not all. They’re saying he tried to kill the Potters’ son, Harry. But – he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they’re saying that when he couldn’t kill Harry Potter, Voldemort’s power somehow broke – and that’s why he’s gone.’

‘Hagrid’s late. I suppose it was he who told you I’d be here, by the way?’

‘Yes,’ said Professor McGonagall.

‘Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir,’ said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. ‘Young Sirius Black lent it me. I’ve got him, sir.’

‘No, sir – house was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin’ around. He fell asleep as we was flyin’ over Bristol.’

The second problem is that Tommy’s First Great Fuck-up happened on the night of Monday 31.10.1981. This Tuesday happens from morning till the night of 1.11.1981. (I’m going with canon dates this time.) The most widely accepted time for the night to start is 9 pm. Which would make it about twelve to thirteen hours between Monday night and Tuesday morning.

“Everyone says,” Minerva says when she’s been skulking about Privet Drive since eight, and yet owls are still flying around all day on Tuesday… why?

Minerva has been waiting in Privet Drive since eight o’clock instead of accosting Dumbles at Hogwarts… why?

“Everyone says,” Minerva says when the Potter House was being swarmed by muggles, not wizards, so how the hell did wizards come up with any of this stuff within twelve to thirteen hours?

Why didn’t wizards swarm the Potter House so they could get their grubby hands all over Harry? Or what, they magically know everything that happened on Monday night and yet none of them bothered to go get the traumatised one-year-old?

How did Hagrid get to the Potter House without magic or a flying motorbike? Why hadn’t Sirius already apparated there and away with Harry before Hagrid was anywhere near the place? Why did Sirius fly there with his motorbike instead of apparating? Just so he could conveniently loan his flying motorbike to Hagrid instead of Hagrid using the same means of transportation that he used to get to the Potter House in the first place?

Why did it take Hagrid an entire day to get to Privet Drive with Harry? Like, this is at least twenty-four hours after the initial collapse?

Why are school teachers and a groundskeeper doing this jaunt anyway instead of, say, aurors?

‘It’s – it’s true?’ faltered Professor McGonagall. ‘After all he’s done … all the people he’s killed … he couldn’t kill a little boy? It’s just astounding … of all the things to stop him … but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?’

Notice ‘a little boy’, implying that Tommy apparently has not murdered or tried to murder any other little boy than Harry, which is contradicted in Chapter Four by Hagrid.

‘. . . an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age – the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts . . .’

Kind of implying that Tommy had a hobby of murdering entire families.

Of course, it’s totally possible that Tommy didn’t try to kill any other kids because evidently even genocidal dark lords have standards?

Chapter One also starts that good old narrative dissonance I mentioned throughout the books.

Albus Dumbledore didn’t seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome.

And yet here he is, imposing himself anyway.

Access to other people who don’t want you there isn’t a human right. Just saying.

‘You’d think they’d be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something’s going on. It was on their news.’ She jerked her head back at the Dursleys’ dark living-room window. ‘I heard it. Flocks of owls … shooting stars … Well, they’re not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something.’

Bolded by yours truly and said by Minerva.

‘You don’t mean – you can’t mean the people who live here?’ cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. ‘Dumbledore – you can’t. I’ve been watching them all day. You couldn’t find two people who are less like us. And they’ve got this son – I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!’

‘These people will never understand him! He’ll be famous – a legend – I wouldn’t be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in future – there will be books written about Harry – every child in our world will know his name!’

‘Shhh!’ hissed Professor McGonagall. ‘You’ll wake the Muggles!’

‘S – s – sorry,’ sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. ‘But I c – c – can’t stand it – Lily an’ James dead – an’ poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles – ’

‘Yes, yes, it’s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be found,’ Professor McGonagall whispered . . .

For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid’s shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to have gone out.

Perfectly casual contempt for muggles by the so-called heroes of this tale. Perfectly casual contempt that went completely unaddressed and was justified by Rowling making sure to describe the Dursleys as vile as possible. To the point that absolutely no one cared when Hagrid attacked (and almost murdered!) a terrified eleven-year-old muggle boy for something his dad said.

I’ll reiterate: these characters do not know a single thing about the Dursleys at this point. To these characters, Dursleys are just “the muggles”. They’re actually having a full minute of silence because Harry is left with his muggle relatives.

Then there was, of course, less consequential stuff such as:

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, ‘I should have known.’

‘How did you know it was me?’ she asked.

‘My dear Professor, I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly.’

Dumbles is the headmaster. Minerva is a professor. They’ve been colleagues and presumably friends for years. Minerva demonstrates her animagus form to third-years as per Book Three. And yet Dumbles supposedly doesn’t know Minerva’s animagus form… why?

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street.

Dumbles walks to the end of the street to apparate and Minerva skulks to who the hell knows where instead of them just — apparating back to Hogwarts together?

Like, this. This is what I mean when I say that Rowling is a terrible author. This woman couldn’t even keep her own bloody themes consistent and yet people think she’s a great or at least an average author?

Please. Be serious.

These books utterly collapse if you put even the slightest bit of thought or strain on them.

I also want to do this updateable list of canon vs fanon but, eeeeh, I think that would be kind of short because reading Harry Potter posts from other people gives me psychical damage. I’m thinking about a post on “the appearance of depth” too. But we’ll see.

---

Why did I keep writing Monday as Wednesday? Because it would’ve been Wednesday in the real-world calendar? Anyway, I fixed it.

Epilogue – Nineteen Years Later

Well. We’re finally here. The last chapter of this absolutely travesty of a series. It’s been a long and arduous journey. Like, really long and arduous.

The chapter itself is (thankfully) pretty short so I’ll just ramble on for the last time.

First) I finished my chapter coda series last week! I was going to wait until I’d read the epilogue before writing and posting the fics but then I realised that I seriously couldn’t care less about the epilogue, ha ha. It’s just the dung on top of seven books of stupid. The second last coda was for Draco & Neville and the last coda was for Ron/Ginny. I figured since I started Book Seven with a Ron/Ginny coda, it’s only fitting if I end it with one. And I managed to make Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny’s canon selves miserable! Good job, me.

Lost and Found and End if anyone is interested. Comments would be absolutely wonderful. ❤

Although I feel as if I ended up punishing Ginny the most in those Ron/Ginny codas which is odd. I don’t actually mind her character; she’s largely inoffensive since she’s barely there. But I am offended on her behalf that Rowling saddled her with Harry “I Have Mother Issues” Potter.

Well, I guess if I manage to write those other Ron/Ginny fics I’ll make her happy eventually.

This also means that I’m now at liberty to start writing those long(er) fics for Harry Potter.

….. *feels existential dread increase*

I mean. I’m totally excited.

Second) Out of curiosity I went to check the Harry Potter tag again. The general tag this time because I wanted to know if the fandom is still alive. There were, indeed, recent posts and rather predictably, I suppose, most of it was shipping nonsense. From a quick glance, I saw Draco/Harry and Voldemort/Harry and Marauders nonsense.

And the thing is, this is kind of a personal pet peeve. Like, I don’t care about Voldemort/Harry, I have zero interest in it, I don’t think about it or look content for it. But you know those ships where it’s really obvious that the shipper is just using the other character as a self-insert? Those annoy me. If you’re using one or two of the characters as nothing but self-inserts then you might as well write an actual original character or character/reader.

I mean, I’ve mentioned this before but even the Ron/Ginny tag was mostly full of OOC paper doll porn. And it’s like, I like Ron/Ginny. I don’t want to read about some oc frauds wearing their skins. You know?

Like, people really need to come up with more interesting stuff to write about than self-insert ships. I’m just saying.

But well, good for them for still being fans. I don’t think anyone should be bullied out of liking something just because the author is “problematic”.

Third) So, in honour of the last chapter, I thought I’d explain something I haven’t explained before. Occasionally I’ve used the term ‘psychoclass’ during these posts. Psychoclass is basically the psychological evolution of the human mind and consciousness, and it directly correlates with modes of childrearing.

For all that I have derided the wizards in Harry Potters as an extremely low psychoclass, they’re not actually that low. You see, the lowest psychoclasses eat, murder, mutilate and sexually abuse their own children. And if you think I’m kidding about the eating, I’m not.

So for all that most of Rowling’s characters are frankly awful, at the very least they did not systematically murder, mutilate or abuse their own children.

Really makes you think how they all became utterly awful then but I still suspect it’s the magic.

And I guess that’s all I had on mind for now?

The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple . . .

As an apple?

A rudimentary internet search reveals that golden apples are an element in fairy tales. There is also an apple called golden delicious but… I don’t know, it doesn’t look very golden to me.

. . . and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road towards the great, sooty station . . .

Rowling.

It’s the King’s Cross station. It’s not “sooty”. In fact, it looks rather like this:

Pictured above

Like, it’s attached to that weird alien-looking overgrowth.

Moreover, according to the internet, Britain banned all steam traffic on 12 August 1968. Although some locomotives were used until the 1980s.

Which is to say, before these dumb books take place.

. . . the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air.

It’s the first of September? Like, I very much doubt it’s so cold that their breaths are fuming? Do you know how cold it needs to be before you can see your breath?

. . . and the red-headed girl trailed tearfully behind her brothers, clutching her father’s arm.

‘It won’t be long, and you’ll be going too,’ Harry told her.

‘Two years,’ sniffed Lily. ‘I want to go now!’

So… Harry marries a girl who is the exact copy of his mother and pseudo-mother. And then they have a girl who is the exact copy of her mother?

Like… what kind of weird incestuous hell is this?

Albus’s voice drifted back to Harry over the surrounding clamour; his sons had resumed the argument they had started in the car.

‘I won’t! I won’t be in Slytherin!’

‘James, give it a rest!’ said Ginny.

‘I only said he might be,’ said James, grinning at his younger brother. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that. He might be in Slyth — ’

But James caught his mother’s eye and fell silent.

Okay, I’m going to drop this here and talk about this in a minute.

The five Potters approached the barrier. With a slightly cocky look over his shoulder at his younger brother, James took the trolley from his mother and broke into a run.

But seriously, the Potter Family is giving me all sorts of disgust and psychical damage.

‘Not every day,’ said Albus quickly. ‘James says most people only get letters from home about once a month.’

Unless you’re Draco Malfoy. Then the only possible reason you could get letters from your parents is if you want to make Boy Wonders miserable with envy. *massive eye roll*

‘And you don’t want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts,’ Harry put in.

Then, Harry, riddle me this: what have you told your sons about Hogwarts?

Like, do the wizarding parents seriously not talk to their kids about the school?

Side by side, they pushed the second trolley forwards, gathering speed. As they reached the barrier, Albus winced, but no collision came.

Albus.

Are you a fucking witch or not?

Also, your harebrained older brother is *checks potterwikia* two years older than you. Meaning that you morons have done this trip two times already.

Quit. it. with. the. wincing.

Moreover, Albus Severus, James Sirius, Lily Luna? Like, did Ginny seriously just pop out those kids and then have absolutely no say in their names or anything else?

Besides, I’m sorry but I just find it extremely weird that Harry named his kids after the love triangle from hell? Like, the only way you could get me to write about these kids is if I was writing some horror incestuous love triangle where James/Lily/Severus love triangle repeats itself in Harry’s kids.

…..and honestly, that sounds kind of hilarious. Maybe I should do it?

‘We’ll find them,’ said Ginny reassuringly.

You know, honestly speaking, Ginny was barely a presence throughout these books but it’s as if whatever little personality she had was completely scrubbed out in this epilogue and now she’s just the Mother™.

But the vapour was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody’s faces.

The vapour is not that dense. Shut up and get on with it.

Harry thought he heard Percy discoursing loudly on broomstick regulations, and was quite glad of the excuse not to stop and say hello …

So even “nineteen years later” Harry seriously hasn’t grown the fuck up?

Also, what about Ginny? What if she wants to say hello to her brother?

Okay, no. Blood pressure is rising. This is the last chapter. Moving on. Moving. on.

‘Parked all right, then?’ Ron asked Harry. ‘I did. Hermione didn’t believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I’d have to Confund the examiner.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Hermione, ‘I had complete faith in you.’

What a tremendously splendid marriage.

‘As a matter of fact, I did Confund him,’ Ron whispered to Harry, as together they lifted Albus’s trunk and owl on to the train. ‘I only forgot to look in the wing mirror, and let’s face it, I can use a Supersensory Charm for that.’

Oh, look. We’re still treating muggles like complete trash and now it’s coming from the aurors. Isn’t it just wunderfull that we wasted seven books on this?

‘If you’re not in Gryffindor, we’ll disinherit you,’ said Ron, ‘but no pressure.’

It’s supposedly a joke but isn’t it so wunderfull that the adults in these books are still doing house discrimination nineteen years later, and the fandom is still so fucking pressed by an offhand comment from an eleven-year-old?

‘He doesn’t mean it,’ said Hermione and Ginny, but Ron was no longer paying attention.

HEE. HERMIONE AND GINNY. RON/GINNY PROOFS IN THE LAST CHAPTER DETECTED. ❤

Hey, I need to get them where I can.

Draco Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son, a dark coat buttoned up to his throat.

DRACO! ❤

HE HAS A WIFE!

I don’t care what harebrained things Rowling epitextually said because that woman seriously did not learn to stop digging herself into a deeper hole. Draco gets to keep his wife (and hairline).

His hair was receding somewhat, which emphasised the pointed chin.

Even in the very last chapter, Rowling needs to be relentlessly petty towards her own characters.

The new boy resembled Draco as much as Albus resembled Harry.

Ew. Gross. Boy Wonder clones everywhere.

Draco caught sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny staring at him, nodded curtly and turned away again.

HE HAS LEARNED HOW TO DEAL WITH THE PSYCHOTIC WEIRDOES.

Good for you, Draco. ❤

‘So that’s little Scorpius,’ said Ron under his breath. ‘Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother’s brains.’

Ew. Gross. Hermione clones.

‘Ron, for heaven’s sake,’ said Hermione, half-stern, half-amused. ‘Don’t try to turn them against each other before they’ve even started school!’

You know, I honestly hate it when these books make me agree with Hermione.

‘You’re right, sorry,’ said Ron, but unable to help himself, he added, ‘don’t get too friendly with him, though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pure-blood.’

Ron.

You’re a pureblood?

I guess he just really wants to obliterate the magical genes in his line of the family?

‘Teddy’s back there,’ he said breathlessly, pointing back over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam. ‘Just seen him! And guess what he’s doing? Snogging Victoire!‘

Teddy.

The Nymphadora/Lupin spawn?

I mean….. if this is nineteen years later, shouldn’t he have already graduated?

Is this again one of those instances where tee hee hee~ math is so hard~?

‘Our Teddy! Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing –’

Honestly speaking, I have no fucking clue who Victoire is and I seriously couldn’t care less either.

‘You interrupted them?’ said Ginny. ‘You are so like Ron –’

Ron/Ginny proofs or nah?

‘– and he said he’d come to see her off! And then he told me to go away. He’s snogging her!’ James added, as though worried he had not made himself clear.

So… Teddy isn’t even going to Hogwarts?

…..cousin Victoire is seventeen or closer to seventeen than not, right?

‘Oh, it would be lovely if they got married!’ whispered Lily ecstatically. ‘Teddy would really be part of the family then!’

Oh, sorry. I just experienced a moment of extreme revulsion.

‘He already comes round for dinner about four times a week,’ said Harry. ‘Why don’t we just invite him to live with us and have done with it?’

Well, at least Harry is doing this part of godfathering better than Lupin or Sirius.

‘Don’t forget to give Neville our love!’ Ginny told James as she hugged him.

No, seriously. What is this generic Mother™ dialogue?

‘Outside, yeah, but at school he’s Professor Longbottom, isn’t he? I can’t walk into Herbology and give him love …’

Frankly, that would be illegal.

Also, I just… what is up with these kids who had absolutely horrid school lives just getting stuck at Hogwarts?

It’s okay, Neville. I’m going to give you a better profession when I write that Ron/Ginny fic.

Shaking his head at his mother’s foolishness, he vented his feelings by aiming a kick at Albus.

You really can tell that James 2.0 (or is it already 3.0?) is a Potter spawn.

‘See you later, Al. Watch out for the Thestrals.’

‘I thought they were invisible? You said they were invisible!‘

ALBUS. ARE YOU A FUCKING WITCH OR NOT?

‘Thestrals are nothing to worry about,’ Harry told Albus. ‘They’re gentle things, there’s nothing scary about them. Anyway, you won’t be going up to school in the carriages, you’ll be going in the boats.’

Like, I don’t know. I’m getting all sorts of psychical damage from this Potter Family.

‘Bye, Al,’ said Harry, as his son hugged him. ‘Don’t forget Hagrid’s invited you to tea next Friday.’

Isn’t it, like, about time for Hagrid to die?

‘Don’t duel anyone ’til you’ve learned how.’

‘What if I’m in Slytherin?’

The whisper was for his father alone, and Harry knew that only the moment of departure could have forced Albus to reveal how great and sincere that fear was.

Harry crouched down so that Albus’s face was slightly above his own. Alone of Harry’s three children, Albus had inherited Lily’s eyes.

‘Albus Severus,’ Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Ginny could hear, and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Rose, who was now on the train, ‘you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew.’

‘But just say – ’

‘ – then Slytherin house will have gained an excellent student, won’t it? It doesn’t matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you’ll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account.’

Even in her very last chapter, Rowling still utterly fails.

Like, this is basically the culmination of this stupid series. This is the culmination of the “theme” that it’s not your school houses that matter but your choices.

But.

One) Sorry, we already did some funny house discrimination because ah ha ha ha.

Two) If Harry and Ginny had done their fucking jobs as adults and parents then it would not even occur to Harry 2.0 to be afraid of being sorted into Slytherin.

Three) “But if it bothers you so much, you can still choose some other house than Slytherin.” :3

*takes a deep breath*

Well, whatever.

What else can you expect after seven books of failure.

He had never told any of his children that before, and he saw the wonder in Albus’s face when he said it.

Why the hell not? Isn’t that kind of an important detail to tell everyone?

Students were hanging from the windows nearest them. A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned towards Harry.

‘Why are they all staring?’ demanded Albus, as he and Rose craned round to look at the other students.

‘Don’t let it worry you,’ said Ron. ‘It’s me. I’m extremely famous.’

Oh my fucking god.

ALBUS.

DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT GROW UP IN A BLOODY WIZARDING FAMILY?

And this kid? This is the kid that fandom latched onto for that Draco/Harry ship 2.0?

Like, people seriously need better taste and self-respect.

The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son’s thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling, and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him …

Did you happen to feel this for James 2.0/3.0 or just Harry 2.0?

‘He’ll be all right,’ murmured Ginny.

Oh, Ginny, shut up with the generic Mother™ lines.

I mean, she seriously was reduced into this mother-shaped void of personality.

As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absent-mindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.

And even in the last chapter Harry doesn’t even touch her. *wheezes*

‘I know he will.’

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.

…..I can’t even bother.

Okay, okay. *dredges up some motivation*

First) If that’s all that these stupid books and this stupid world amounted to, Rowling seriously did not need seven books for that.

Second) Harry’s scar is not representative of the wizarding world and it’s… *gestures vaguely* chaos meter. The scar was only representative of Harry and Tommy, no one else.

Third) Rowling literally did not write any of this in a way that this ending would be like, “aww, all’s well that end’s well :3”.

House discrimination is still ongoing. Treating muggles like trash (now by aurors!) is still ongoing. Magical creatures are still dregs of the society. The purebloods are still systematically dying out but hey, let’s joke about it because ah ha ha ha Granddad Weasley wants him some muggle grandchildren. :3

So basically, you got one of the most self-absorbed endings from our titular nitwit and absolutely nothing changed from Book One to Book Seven.

Here’s advice that no one asked for: have some self-respect.

Edit I Almost Forgot:

studies show that Harry Potter readers are more tolerant

Oh, I have no doubt that they are.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-five.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

---

That said, I guess it’s time to start writing those Harry Potter fics. It’s okay. I can do it. *tries to psych myself up*

Chapter Thirty-six – The Flaw in the Plan

The flaw being that everyone and everything is stupid?

Well, a couple of things again.

First) I wonder if I can manifest another Ron/Ginny fan from the universe if I complain and think about it hard enough? Universe! Gimme!

Well, I guess not.

Haha, her crazy pixel eyes still amuse me.

Though, there is one person who has commented on my Ron/Ginny fics, which is of course nice. A girl craves comments on her silly fics, okay! But I’m not exactly sure if he (or she?) is an actual Ron/Ginny fan or if he’s treating the ship just as Ron/Hermione 2.0? Which is… I mean, as much as it amuses me that Ron basically reacts in the same way to Hermione and Ginny dating, they’re also entirely different dynamics?

There are a couple of bookmarks on my Ron/Ginny fics too but that’s still fewer than a handful of people. And it’s like, this fandom has bestiality, other incest (for example, Malfoycest and Blackcest), Voldemort/Harry, Severus/Harry, Severus/Draco, etc. but I’m the only Ron/Ginny fan? Really?

Second) So I’m trying to write this fic that has Ron/Ginny shenanigans, and Aunt Muriel and Draco shenanigans with a dash of making fun of Harry, and I started thinking. In all the Harry/Draco fics I’ve read, the authors never write Draco as friends with characters like Aunt Muriel, Rita Skeeter, or even Dolores, and let’s face it, Draco would have an absolute blast listening to them mock other people. But then again, in most Harry/Draco fics, Draco barely has any friends of his own. At most, he’s allowed to befriend the trio of nitwits.

And it’s like… I really need to get over my writer’s block and start flooding the Draco tag with fics about the actual Draco.

I mean, Draco is super social? He’s the kid who immediately initiated a conversation with a boy he didn’t know or recognise, a boy who was unkempt and too thin, and dressed in too big muggle clothes. Like, Draco would totally have a complete horde of friends? If Rowling didn’t hate him, that is, and it absolutely baffles me that the fan fic authors who write about him seem to hate him too?

Third) If I think about it, haven’t all the Malfoys lost their wands by now? Lucius lost his “stick” on the Night of Seven Potters and Stupidity, Draco lost his to Harry (because of course), and Narcissa’s was lost in the fiendfyre? So… is that supposed to be symbolic? You know, Rowling getting in a little bit of emasculation before the grand finale? Why must she be so relentlessly weird?

Fourth) I was thinking about my disgust towards child Lily some more and I realised it was the Nymphadora-ness of it all. I mean, Rowling really isn’t particularly good at writing female characters (which is not to say that her male characters are any better).

Fifth) From Book One:

‘Brown, Lavender’ became the first new Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron’s twin brothers catcalling.

Here are the fandom’s favourite Weasley Twins catcalling an eleven-year-old girl.

I mean, sure, catcalling basically means just whistling. But as a word it has sexual connotations, most often for sexual harassment.

And I think that’s all I can remember for now.

He was lying face down on the ground again.

Can you stay there?

And wait, did he seriously fall forward when Tommy blasted him with an avada kedavra?

Every inch of him ached, and the place where the Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch.

You know, as a kind reminder: these morons play with actual iron balls during quidditch. So this might as well be a quidditch injury for all its worth.

He did not stir, but remained exactly where he had fallen, with his left arm bent out at an awkward angle and his mouth gaping.

So exactly as your regular expression then?

‘My Lord … my Lord …’

It was Bellatrix’s voice, and she spoke as if to a lover.

Yeah.

Like, Nagini is there. Nagini is a cursed woman. She had the dubious honour of housing one fragment of Tommy’s shoddy soul. Tommy is actually fond of her. IT WRITES ITSELF AND NO ONE DID THE OBVIOUS.

I WANT MY HALF-SNAKE LOVE CHILDREN, DAMMIT.

Bellatrix alone remained behind, kneeling beside Voldemort.

A house-elf. *sotto voce*

The Death Eaters had been huddled round Voldemort, who seemed to have fallen to the ground. Something had happened when he had hit Harry with the Killing Curse. Had Voldemort, too, collapsed? It seemed like it. And both of them had fallen briefly unconscious and both of them had now returned …

So wait.

The deformed baby Tommy was actually Tommy?

…..why isn’t he mist then?

Oh my god, HOW MANY TIMES IS THIS MORON GOING TO MAKE THIS SAME MISTAKE? LIKE, RIGHT AFTER THIS HE GOES ON TO KILL HIMSELF ON HARRY. YET FUCKING AGAIN.

Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze, it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid might twitch.

Don’t give me hope, Harry, you have no idea how much I want to see your useless, moronic arse dead.

‘You,’ said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. ‘Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.’

No, he did not.

Narcissa is too graceful to be treated like a common house-elf.

Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time noting, small comfort though it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan …

And yet the stupid enormous loser is doing nothing about it himself? Like, ARE YOU WITCHES OR NOT? CAST A SPELL AT HIM?

‘Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?’

The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.

‘Yes,’ he breathed back.

He felt the hand on his chest contract; her nails pierced him. Then it was withdrawn. She had sat up.

‘He is dead!’ Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.

Okay, on the one hand it’s like, well, isn’t it such a mighty coincidence that Harry ended up saving Draco?

And on the other hand it’s like, imagine if Harry had said no. What would Narcissa have done then?

As an aside, Draco was probably hanging out on the marble staircase because he was trying to get back to his parents in the previous chapter. You know, when Ron totally heroically punched him in the face under the invisibility cloak.

And now they shouted, now they yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, and through his eyelids Harry saw bursts of red and silver light shoot into the air in celebration.

ARE YOU WITCHES OR NOT?

AND WHAT IF THEY HAD DECIDED TO DESECRATE HIS CORPSE? WHAT THEN?

Still feigning death on the ground, he understood. Narcissa knew that the only way she would be permitted to enter Hogwarts, and find her son, was as part of the conquering army. She no longer cared whether Voldemort won.

Like, I very much doubt that she ever cared?

Besides, Harry, what did you think she would do? Say you’re alive? Help you? Attack everyone around her without a wand?

I mean, I just kind of don’t get what he’s trying to say? But it might be because it’s late, ha ha.

‘You see?’ screeched Voldemort over the tumult. ‘Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!’

Harry had been expecting it: knew his body would not be allowed to remain unsullied upon the Forest floor, it must be subjected to humiliation to prove Voldemort’s victory. He was lifted into the air, and it took all his determination to remain limp, yet the pain he expected did not come. He was thrown once, twice, three times into the air: his glasses flew off and he felt his wand slide a little beneath his robes, but he kept himself floppy and lifeless, and when he fell to the ground for the last time the clearing echoed with jeers and shrieks of laughter.

One) Tommy is genuinely speaking so pathetic I can’t with him.

Two) Why isn’t the stupendous Boy Wonder feeling pain? Like, is he now immune to all the unforgivables?

I feel psychical pain.

‘You carry him,’ Voldemort said. ‘He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses – put on the glasses – he must be recognisable.’

Oh. I almost forgot.

These two went to school together. They were on a first-name basis. LIKE, ROWLING, WHY CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING WITH ANYTHING YOU WRITE, YOU UTTER HACK?

Harry could feel Hagrid’s arms trembling with the force of his heaving sobs, great tears splashed down upon him as Hagrid cradled Harry in his arms, and Harry did not dare, by movement or word, to intimate to Hagrid that all was not, yet, lost.

You know, I just honestly can’t stand Hagrid.

‘BANE!’

Hagrid’s unexpected bellow nearly forced Harry’s eyes open. ‘Happy now, are yeh, that yeh didn’ fight, yeh cowardly bunch o’ nags? Are yeh happy Harry Potter’s – d – dead …?’

Well, I was happy. For all of the two seconds that it lasted.

Besides, why should the centaurs fight for people who call the only human-friendly centaur a horse?

Like, the sheer fucking entitlement these people have.

Some of the Death Eaters called insults at the centaurs as they left them behind.

Are they calling them horses by any chance? You know, just asking.

And now a chill settled over them where they stood, and Harry heard the rasping breath of the Dementors that patrolled the outer trees. They would not affect him now. The fact of his own survival burned inside him, a talisman against them, as though his father’s stag kept guardian in his heart.

Oh, the precious little Boy Wonder is just immune to everything now.

‘Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.’

Ha ha! He’s hilarious.

‘The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters.’

HALF? AND I ONLY GOT, WHAT, FOUR NAMES?

‘My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished.’

WHAT DEATH EATERS? YOU KILLED THEM ALL YOURSELF.

‘Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family.’

Don’t give me hope, Tommy, you enormous loser. You couldn’t even get a measly loser brat killed.

‘. . . and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.’

You know, I’m actually curious what kind of world it would be?

Now Harry opened his eyes a fraction, and saw Voldemort striding in front of them, wearing the great snake Nagini around his shoulders, who was now free of her enchanted cage. But Harry had no possibility of extracting the wand concealed under his robes without being noticed by the Death Eaters who marched on either side of them through the slowly lightening darkness …

You know what would’ve helped with that? Killing her when you were still under the invisibility cloak.

Besides, as of year whatever Nagini has been a cursed woman. Does that mean that Neville sullied his soul when he killed her?

But it’s okay because now Neville is a real man!

‘Harry,’ sobbed Hagrid. ‘Oh, Harry … Harry …’

Any moment, the people for whom he had tried to die would see him, lying apparently dead, in Hagrid’s arms.

‘NO!’

The scream was the more terrible because he had never expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound.

Oh my god, it’s the last chapter. Can we just move on already?

He heard another woman laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix gloried in McGonagall’s despair.

Gods forbid women have hobbies.

‘No!’

‘No!’

‘Harry! HARRY!’

Ron, Hermione and Ginny’s voices were worse than McGonagall’s; Harry wanted nothing more than to call back, yet he made himself lie silent, and their cries acted like a trigger, the crowd of survivors took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eaters, until –

So that’s it? That’s all the reaction his best friends and his One True Love get? I mean, you can’t even tell which is which?

‘SILENCE!’ cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all. ‘It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!’

It’s too bad he’s becoming funny right before he dies.

‘Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!’

Eeeeh… He isn’t exactly wrong. *sotto voce*

‘He beat you!’ yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.

You know, Ron, I know you’re very loyal and all that but, like, exactly when?

So anyway.

‘He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds,’ said Voldemort, and there was relish in his voice for the lie, ‘killed while trying to save himself – ’

But Voldemort broke off: Harry heard a scuffle and a shout, then another bang, a flash of light and a grunt of pain; he opened his eyes an infinitesimal amount. Someone had broken free of the crowd and charged at Voldemort: Harry saw the figure hit the ground, Disarmed, Voldemort throwing the challenger’s wand aside and laughing.

‘And who is this?’ he said, in his soft snake’s hiss. ‘Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?’

Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh.

‘It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?’

*raises eyebrows*

So Neville, who wasn’t even close at all to Harry, gets more of a reaction than his best friends or One True Love?

‘But you are a pure-blood, aren’t you, my brave boy?’ Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled in fists.

‘You show spirit, and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.’

LIKE. HE LITERALLY DOESN’T EVEN VALUE THOSE TRAITS IN HIS FOLLOWERS. BECAUSE ALL HE WANTS IS FOR THEM TO BE KOWTOWED HOUSE-ELVES.

‘I’ll join you when hell freezes over,’ said Neville. ‘Dumbledore’s Army!’ he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort’s silencing charms seemed unable to hold.

Oh, Neville.

Please. Cease with the Dumbledore.

‘Very well,’ said Voldemort, and Harry heard more danger in the silkiness of his voice than in the most powerful curse. ‘If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head,’ he said quietly, ‘be it.’

Still watching through his lashes, Harry saw Voldemort wave his wand. Seconds later, out of one of the castle’s shattered windows, something that looked like a misshapen bird flew through the half – light and landed in Voldemort’s hand. He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and it dangled, empty and ragged: the Sorting Hat.

‘There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School,’ said Voldemort. ‘There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone, won’t they, Neville Longbottom?’

OH MY GOD, TOMMY. THAT WAS THE MOMENT TO KILL HIM, NOT RE-SORT HIM.

ALSO, ROWLING, YOU ENORMOUS FUCKING HACK, SLYTHERIN IS NOT SYNONYMOUS WITH DEATH EATER.

‘There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School,’ said Voldemort. ‘There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone, won’t they, Neville Longbottom?’

I mean, all the problems in this world started with this stupid hat and the stupid sorting ceremony which determines that good people are sorted into Gryffindor and bad people into Slytherin and then everyone wonders why there’s so much resentment and bad blood, and here is the villain, the character you’re supposed to disagree with, saying that let’s abolish the houses.

TRUTH IN THE MOUTHS OF VILLAINS. HOW VERY SUBVERSIVE OF YOU, ROWLING.

NEVER MIND THAT EVEN IN HER SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER THAT WOMAN SERIOUSLY CAN’T KEEP HER OWN FUCKING THEMES STRAIGHT.

No, wait. I will rephrase that: she can’t keep the fucking themes she’s pretending to write straight but does she ever keep the themes she shows absolutely rigid.

Okay, whatever.

We’re almost done.

‘Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me,’ said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames.

Screams split the dawn, and Neville was aflame, rooted to the spot, unable to move, and Harry could not bear it: he must act –

Okay.

Why are we suddenly doing a wizarding equivalent of necklacing?

Besides, what on earth did Neville do to Rowling? I mean, she’s just heaping the torture on him in this book? No other character in these books has been tortured as much as Neville in Book Seven?

But it’s okay. Because now he’s a real man.

They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted towards the castle, uttering loud war cries.

Not the centaurs, right?

Well, let’s put Rowling’s themes this way: the only good muggle or a mudblood might be a dead muggle or a mudblood for the death eaters, but the only good muggle/mudblood/magical creature is completely and utterly subservient to the “good wizards”.

At the same time, Grawp came lumbering round the side of the castle and yelled, ‘HAGGER!’ His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort’s giants: they ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake.

In one swift, fluid motion Neville broke free of the Body – Bind Curse upon him; the flaming Hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle –

Did it hit him in the head too or how did he even think of doing this?

And ah ha ha ha, Rowling’s wizards are so great. Instead of rabbits, they randomly pull out swords from hats.

The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd, or the sounds of the clashing giants, or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, and Voldemort’s mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground at his feet –

How did that go again… wait, wait, it’s coming back to me:

‘That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I would not have it ripped apart on my account.’

I know this is practically impossible for Rowling but did she by any chance think of this little bit at all when she decided to make Nagini an actual woman?

Hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry cast a Shield Charm between Neville and Voldemort before the latter could raise his wand.

Good for you, Harry. Sometimes you do exhibit protagonist tendencies.

The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was fleeing the giants’ stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from who knew where; Harry saw great winged creatures soaring around the heads of Voldemort’s giants, Thestrals and Buckbeak the Hippogriff scratching at their eyes while Grawp punched and pummelled them; and now the wizards, defenders of Hogwarts and Voldemort’s Death Eaters alike, were being forced back into the castle.

Like, this is so stupid I can’t even feel anything.

Harry was shooting jinxes and curses at any Death Eater he could see, and they crumpled, not knowing what or who had hit them, and their bodies were trampled by the retreating crowd.

Did these deaths damage Harry’s soul? Oh wait, Quirrell’s death didn’t damage it either.

Still hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry was buffeted into the Entrance Hall: he was searching for Voldemort and saw him across the room, firing spells from his wand as he backed into the Great Hall, still screaming instructions to his followers as he sent curses flying left and right; Harry cast more Shield Charms, and Voldemort’s would-be victims, Seamus Finnigan and Hannah Abbott, darted past him into the Great Hall where they joined the fight already flourishing inside it.

So wait a second.

The avada kedavra can now be blocked by a shield charm?

…..and Lily didn’t think of doing that instead of using her body?

They seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight, along with the shopkeepers and homeowners of Hogsmeade.

“Homeowners of Hogsmeade”.

Like, all ten of them?

The centaurs Bane, Ronan and Magorian . . .

WHO THE HELL IS MAGORIAN?

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the Entrance Hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleavers, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: ‘Fight! Fight! Fight for my master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!’

Well. At least he’s yelling Regulus’ name and not Harry’s?

They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shins of Death Eaters, their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere Harry looked Death Eaters were folding under sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves, or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde.

You know… at this point it’s like, what else can you expect from Rowling?

Harry saw Yaxley slammed to the floor by George and Lee Jordan, saw Dolohov fall with a scream at Flitwick’s hands, saw Walden Macnair thrown across the room by Hagrid, hit the stone wall opposite and slide unconscious to the ground. He saw Ron and Neville bringing down Fenrir Greyback, Aberforth Stunning Rookwood, Arthur and Percy flooring Thicknesse, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy running through the crowd, not even attempting to fight, screaming for their son.

One) Awww, for Lucius and Narcissa.

Two) As for the rest of it:

Voldemort was now duelling McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley all at once, and there was cold hatred in his face as they wove and ducked around him, unable to finish him –

Really?

The Master of Ingenius Dark Powers can’t even get an old hag or an obese old man killed? I mean, even Slughorn “I Waddle Everywhere”?

Don’t blame me, that’s how Rowling has literally been depicting him even in this book. It’s like a running joke.

Bellatrix was still fighting too, fifty yards away from Voldemort, and like her master she duelled three at once: Hermione, Ginny and Luna, all battling their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them . . .

Bellatrix is equal… to three inexperienced school girls?

Are we almost at the end?

. . . and Harry’s attention was diverted as a Killing Curse shot so close to Ginny that she missed death by an inch –

He changed course, running at Bellatrix rather than Voldemort, but before he had gone a few steps he was knocked sideways.

Oh, look. Harry might not even think of comforting Ginny after the death of her brother but he does care.

And he still doesn’t actually get to do anything about it like usual.

Aspiring authors, the characterisation of your characters isn’t just dependent on what they think or feel. It’s what you let them actually do narratively.

As it stands, Harry has basically done absolutely nothing for Ginny.

‘NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!’

Mrs Weasley threw off her cloak as she ran, freeing her arms. Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of her new challenger.

‘OUT OF MY WAY!’ shouted Mrs Weasley to the three girls, and with a swipe of her wand she began to duel. Harry watched with terror and elation as Molly Weasley’s wand slashed and twirled, and Bellatrix Lestrange’s smile faltered, and became a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, the floor around the witches’ feet became hot and cracked; both women were fighting to kill.

Also,

Jets of light flew from both wands, the floor around the witches’ feet became hot and cracked; both women were fighting to kill.

why?

For the love of gods, why is it utterly impossible for Rowling to — Okay, never mind. I’m fine. We’re fine. We’re. almost. at. the. end.

‘No!’ Mrs Weasley cried, as a few students ran forwards, trying to come to her aid. ‘Get back! Get back! She is mine!’

Why?

Because she almost killed your daughter?

I mean? Shouldn’t she be discharging this energy at Fred’s killer? You know, the kid who actually died? And didn’t really get any other mention?

Hundreds of people now lined the walls, watching the two fights, Voldemort and his three opponents, Bellatrix and Molly, and Harry stood, invisible, torn between both, wanting to attack and yet to protect, unable to be sure that he would not hit the innocent.

‘What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?’ taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly’s curses danced around her. ‘When Mummy’s gone the same way as Freddie?’

Well… To be totally honest, they’d probably be better off.

I mean.

‘You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!’ screamed Mrs Weasley.

Like… did I totally miss something or when did Bellatrix ever touch any of the Weasley litter?

Or was Bellatrix supposed to kill off Fred but Rowling just totally forgot she didn’t actually write that?

Bellatrix laughed, the same exhilarated laugh her cousin Sirius had given as he toppled backwards through the veil, and suddenly Harry knew what was going to happen before it did.

Molly’s curse soared beneath Bellatrix’s outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

So was it the unforgivable spell?

And then this fandom is so fucking pressed about Draco’s failed crucio.

Bellatrix’s gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge: for the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared, and Voldemort screamed.

Oh, look. He cares about Bellatrix as much as Harry does about Ginny.

Harry felt as though he turned in slow motion; he saw McGonagall, Kingsley and Slughorn blasted backwards, flailing and writhing through the air, as Voldemort’s fury at the fall of his last, best lieutenant exploded with the force of a bomb. Voldemort raised his wand and directed it at Molly Weasley.

Yes please.

Also, “his last, best lieutenant”? Like, c’mon. Let’s be real. The only semi-competent death eater was Bartemius Jr.

‘Protego!’ roared Harry, and the Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the hall, and Voldemort stared around for the source as Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak at last.

So now you can thwart the avada kedavra with protego?

Aaaand Lily didn’t think of doing that instead of using her body… why?

Well, I guess it’s because she was a mudblood~. Magic just does not come naturally to them~.

Also, I almost totally forgot: Harry didn’t get to do a single whit for Ginny but he did get to protect Molly. Is this more Harry/Molly proofs? You may discuss.

The yell of shock, the cheers, the screams on every side of ‘Harry!’ ‘HE’S ALIVE!’ were stifled at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and began, at the same moment, to circle each other.

‘I don’t want anyone else to try to help,’ Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried like a trumpet call. ‘It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.’

Voldemort hissed.

For the love of gods, Tommy, it’s almost the end. Try to scrape up some dignity from the shoddy fragment of your soul.

‘Potter doesn’t mean that,’ he said, his red eyes wide. ‘That isn’t how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?’

‘Nobody,’ said Harry simply. ‘There are no more Horcruxes. It’s just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good …’

Oh my god.

LIKE, WHEN YOU PUT THEM SUCCESSIVELY LIKE THAT. THEN YEAH, TOMMY MIGHT HAVE SPLINTERED HIS SOUL TO KEEP HIMSELF ALIVE BUT HARRY HAS REPEATEDLY GOT OTHER PEOPLE KILLED TO KEEP HIMSELF ALIVE.

‘One of us?’ jeered Voldemort, and his whole body was taut and his red eyes stared, a snake that was about to strike. ‘You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?’

Oh, Tommy.

Sometimes you do spit out the truth.

‘Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?’ asked Harry. They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and for Harry no face existed but Voldemort’s. ‘Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn’t defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?’

Harry.

Like, listen.

Listen.

It’s literally called Rowling ex machina.

You have not survived for your wit or brawn or merit. Literally, the only reason why you’ve survived is because Tommy is a fucking brainless moron and Rowling ex machina.

‘Accidents!’ screamed Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and the watching crowd was frozen as if petrified, and of the hundreds in the Hall, nobody seemed to breathe but they two. ‘Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and snivelled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!’

Like, right before the end. He’s spitting out the truth.

What do you even call this writing? I seriously have no words for how bad it is?

‘You won’t be killing anyone else tonight,’ said Harry as they circled, and stared into each other’s eyes, green into red. ‘You won’t be able to kill any of them, ever again. Don’t you get it? I was ready to die to stop you hurting these people – ’

Oh my god.

Please, please, let’s stop with the Jesus allegory. Like, right now.

‘ – I meant to, and that’s what did it. I’ve done what my mother did. They’re protected from you. Haven’t you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can’t torture them. You can’t touch them. You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?’

Okay.

How does that explain you before this book and how does that explain you in this chapter?

‘Yes, I dare,’ said Harry, ‘I know things you don’t know, Tom Riddle.’

FINALLY. AFTER SEVEN BLOODY BOOKS OF BLOODY “LORD VOLDEMORT”.

‘Is it love again?’ said Voldemort, his snake’s face jeering, ‘Dumbledore’s favourite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the Tower and breaking like an old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter – and nobody seems to love you enough to run forwards this time, and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?’

…..you know, considering Dumbles’ concept of “love”….. I’m actually starting to think of what the fuck did he do to Tommy?

Also, I approve of calling Lily a cockroach.

I mean…

‘Just one thing,’ said Harry, and still they circled each other, wrapped in each other, held apart by nothing but the last secret.

‘If it is not love that will save you this time,’ said Voldemort, ‘you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?’

‘I believe both,’ said Harry, and he saw shock flit across the snake-like face, though it was instantly dispelled; Voldemort began to laugh, and the sound was more frightening than his screams; humourless and insane, it echoed around the silent Hall.

CAN THE BOTH OF YOU PLEASE DIE ALREADY? LIKE, NOW?

‘You think you know more magic than I do?’ he said. ‘Than I, than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?’

‘Oh, he dreamed of it,’ said Harry, ‘but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you’ve done.’

LIKE, NOW.

‘You mean he was weak!’ screamed Voldemort. ‘Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!’

‘No, he was cleverer than you,’ said Harry, ‘a better wizard, a better man.’

LIKE, ANY SECOND NOW.

‘I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!’

‘You thought you did,’ said Harry, ‘but you were wrong.’

OH MY GOD, THEY ARE KILLING ME.

‘Yes, Dumbledore’s dead,’ said Harry calmly, ‘but you didn’t have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant.’

JUST.

‘Severus Snape wasn’t yours,’ said Harry. ‘Snape was Dumbledore’s, Dumbledore’s from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realised it, because of the thing you can’t understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?’

This is what death feels like.

Voldemort did not answer. They continued to circle each other like wolves about to tear each other apart.

WOULDN’T THAT BE THE DAY.

‘Snape’s Patronus was a doe,’ said Harry, ‘the same as my mother’s, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realised,’ he said, as he saw Voldemort’s nostrils flare, ‘he asked you to spare her life, didn’t he?’

AND HE’S STILL YAPPING AWAY.

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE DIE ALREADY?

‘He desired her, that was all,’ sneered Voldemort, ‘but when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him –’

Now I need a fic where Tommy unsuccessfully and obliviously tries to set Severus up with various women.

‘Of course he told you that,’ said Harry, ‘but he was Dumbledore’s spy from the moment you threatened her, and he’s been working against you ever since! Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!’

‘It matters not!’ shrieked Voldemort . . .

Yes, I agree. Now get to the killing part already.

‘It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore’s, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape’s supposed great love! Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand!

‘Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy – I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore’s last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!’

Goddammit, Tommy.

‘Yeah, it did,’ said Harry. ‘You’re right. But before you try to kill me, I’d advise you to think about what you’ve done … think, and try for some remorse, Riddle …’

‘What is this?’

Of all the things that Harry had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had shocked Voldemort like this. Harry saw his pupils contract to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten.

‘It’s your one last chance,’ said Harry, ‘it’s all you’ve got left … I’ve seen what you’ll be otherwise … be a man … try … try for some remorse …’

Oh my god, just fucking kill me already.

‘Yes, I dare,’ said Harry, ‘because Dumbledore’s last plan hasn’t backfired on me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle.’

Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand and Harry gripped Draco’s very tightly. The moment, he knew, was seconds away.

Oh, right. Harry still has his grubby hands all over Draco’s wand.

‘Aren’t you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, the wand’s last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!’

‘You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard … the Elder Wand recognised a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realising exactly what he had done, or that the world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance …’

I’m, like, seriously dying right now.

‘The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.’

Oh.

And Harry the moron “won” Draco’s wand.

For books obsessed with death, they sure make you long for it.

‘But what does it matter?’ he said softly. ‘Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: we duel on skill alone … and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy …’

‘But you’re too late,’ said Harry. ‘You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him.’

I genuinely hope this woman will never write again.

‘So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?’ whispered Harry. ‘Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does … I am the true master of the Elder Wand.’

I hate everything.

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them, as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he, too, yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand:

‘Avada Kedavra!’

‘Expelliarmus!’

The bang was like a cannon-blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake-like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.

No, like, it’s actually psychically painful.

The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered towards him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him.

Okay, fine.

Then Ginny, Neville and Luna were there . . .

And Ginny’s seriously in the same category as Neville and Luna.

You know, I’m saying this with utmost honesty: Rowling should’ve just skipped the romance. Seriously.

. . . and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last –

Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their saviour and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter, as the morning drew on, that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary Minister for Magic …

I seriously don’t have good enough pictures to really depict what I’m feeling right now.

They moved Voldemort’s body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey and fifty others who had died fighting him.

GIVE ME NAMES. I COULDN’T CARE LESS ABOUT FRED, NYMPHADORA, LUPIN, OR DOBBY 2.0.

McGonagall had replaced the house tables, but nobody was sitting according to house any more: all were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves, and Firenze lay recovering in a corner, and Grawp peered in through a smashed window, and people were throwing food into his laughing mouth.

You know. “Everyone” except the Slytherins.

After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry found himself sitting on a bench beside Luna.

‘I’d want some peace and quiet, if it were me,’ she said.

‘I’d love some,’ he replied.

‘I’ll distract them all,’ she said. ‘Use your Cloak.’

And before he could say a word she had cried, ‘Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!’ and pointed out of the window. Everyone who heard looked around, and Harry slid the Cloak up over himself, and got to his feet.

Oh my fucking god, seriously? Seriously?

Even at the very last second. Rowling literally couldn’t let Ginny do anything. To actually show how she’s “Harry’s greatest source of comfort”.

And like, that’s a great idea, that’s fucking fantastic, disappearing without a word when the last time he did that he came back seemingly dead.

I seriously can’t with this fucking brat.

He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder: there would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk.

Oh my god.

Like, I can’t.

I seriously can’t.

This is one of the most hideous romance subplots I’ve ever read.

ONE) SHE LOST HER FUCKING BROTHER, YOU SELF-CENTRED BRAT.

TWO) YOU JUST DISAPPEARED WITHOUT A WORD AND CAME BACK SEEMINGLY DEAD, YOU SELF-CENTRED BRAT.

THREE) THAT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR ONE TRUE LOVE, YOU SELF-CENTRED BRAT.

I’ll never write this pairing. I’ll never write a positive word about this pairing.

I will take my Ron/Ginny to my grave.

He saw Neville, the sword of Gryffindor lying beside his plate as he ate, surrounded by a knot of fervent admirers.

Along the aisle between the tables he walked, and he spotted the three Malfoys, huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there, but nobody was paying them any attention.

The only characters I care about. ❤

Everywhere he looked he saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the two whose company he craved most.

‘It’s me,’ he muttered, crouching down between them. ‘Will you come with me?’

They stood up at once, and together he, Ron and Hermione left the Great Hall.

For the love of fucking gods.

But Ginny for sure is his “greatest source of comfort”.

Somewhere in the distance they could hear Peeves zooming through the corridors singing a victory song of his own composition:

We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter’s the One,
And Voldy’s gone mouldy, so now let’s have fun!

‘Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn’t it?’ said Ron, pushing open a door to let Harry and Hermione through.

Rowling. Just stop. Questioning your stupid narrative. In your stupid narrative.

Happiness would come, Harry thought, but at the moment it was muffled by exhaustion, and the pain of losing Fred and Lupin and Tonks pierced him like a physical wound every few steps.

WHAT DO YOU THINK GINNY FEELS, YOU.

*takes a deep breath*

Okay. We’re almost done.

It’s fine.

It’s whatever.

But first he owed an explanation to Ron and Hermione, who had stuck with him for so long, and who deserved the truth.

Unlike that Ginny whom you can just pick up and toss away every damn time you please?

I’m genuinely asking this: how on earth are there any Harry/Ginny shippers?

Painstakingly, he recounted what he had seen in the Pensieve and what had happened in the Forest, and they had not even begun to express all their shock and amazement . . .

You know, Ron, isn’t the more pertinent question why Harry didn’t even think of comforting Ginny or joining the Weasleys when their brother and son died?

Is he an honorary Weasley or not?

But it was applause. All around the walls, the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were giving him a standing ovation; they waved their hats and in some cases their wigs, they reached through their frames to grip each other’s hands; they danced up and down on the chairs in which they had been painted; Dilys Derwent sobbed unashamedly, Dexter Fortescue was waving his ear-trumpet; and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high, reedy voice, ‘And let it be noted that Slytherin house played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!’

Nah, Phineas. Severus was an honorary Gryffindor according to Dumbles. :3

But Harry had eyes only for the man who stood in the largest portrait directly behind the Headmaster’s chair. Tears were sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles into the long silver beard, and the pride and the gratitude emanating from him filled Harry with the same balm as phoenix song.

Oh my fucking god, I’m literally dying.

At last, Harry held up his hands, and the portraits fell respectfully silent, beaming and mopping their eyes and waiting eagerly for him to speak.

Can I sue Rowling for attempted murder?

He directed his words at Dumbledore, however, and chose them with enormous care. Exhausted and bleary-eyed though he was, he must make one last effort, seeking one last piece of advice.

HE IS LITERALLY DEAD.

EVEN THE DEATH EATERS AREN’T THIS FANATIC AND PATHETIC.

‘The thing that was hidden in the Snitch,’ he began, ‘I dropped it in the Forest. I don’t know exactly where, but I’m not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?’

HE IS FUCKING DEAD.

Oh my god.

If I die after finishing these stupid books, someone sue Rowling for me.

‘My dear boy, I do,’ said Dumbledore, while his fellow pictures looked confused and curious. ‘A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?’

I want out.

“Let’s leave the dangerous magical artefact in the forest where any dumb idiot or animal can pick it up”.

‘I’m going to keep Ignotus’s present, though,’ said Harry, and Dumbledore beamed.

‘But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!’

I’m going to burn that cloak. In all the fics.

Harry held up the Elder Wand, and Ron and Hermione looked at it with a reverence that, even in his befuddled and sleep-deprived state, Harry did not like to see.

I know this is utterly impossible for Rowling but riddle me this: if magic is all about the wand, then why do these morons practise wandless magic?

He rummaged in the pouch hung around his neck, and pulled out the two halves of holly still, just, connected by the finest thread of phoenix feather. Hermione had said that they could not be repaired, that the damage was too severe. All he knew was that if this did not work, nothing would.

He laid the broken wand upon the Headmaster’s desk, touched it with the very tip of the Elder Wand and said, ‘Reparo.’

As his wand resealed, red sparks flew out of its end. Harry knew that he had succeeded. He picked up the holly and phoenix wand, and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, as though wand and hand were rejoicing at their reunion.

??

You know, why didn’t the stupid brat just make Ollivander fix it? He crafted it? I guess? So why couldn’t he just as well fix it too?

Oh, but that would actually require Rowling to use her own bloody world-building instead of tossing deus ex machinas in every which way.

‘I’m putting the Elder Wand,’ he told Dumbledore, who was watching him with enormous affection and admiration, ‘back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.’

Then.

How would that have worked with Dumbles? Who literally forced Severus to kill him, Draco or no Draco?

‘Are you sure?’ said Ron. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.

‘I think Harry’s right,’ said Hermione quietly.

You know, it doesn’t make it any less stupid but I can understand why impressionable Harry Potter fans came up with “Ron the Death Eater”.

‘That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,’ said Harry. ‘And quite honestly,’ he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, ‘I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.’

. . . thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there . . .

Well. At least he didn’t think of getting Ginny to make him a sandwich.

Also,

‘I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.’

So he’s going to become an auror! :3

And on that happy slave labour note. That’s that.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-five.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

---

I stayed up way too late for this stupid chapter.

Chapter Thirty-five – King’s Cross

You know, sometimes I try to read Harry Potter posts from other people, get to the point where the post says something that’s 100 per cent wrong, and then I’m just, okay and I’m off!

Which, of course, might sound totally hypocritical because someone might read these posts of mine and think that I’m absolutely insane.

But a couple of things. I was checking some of my old posts and noticed this:

– the waitress screamed and ran for the door – Harry sent another Stunning Spell at the Death Eater with the twisted face who had tied up Ron, but the spell missed, rebounded on the window and hit the waitress, who collapsed in front of the door.

Rebounded on the window.

Rebounded.

Why?

How the hell does a spell rebound on glass when all other missed spells blast stone apart? Like. Consistency. Is that really too much to ask for? Did it literally rebound just because Rowling has an inexplicable hard-on for fictionally abusing muggles and living beings?

Secondly, Ginny.

How exactly did Ginny join the quidditch team? I mean, I know the reason why Rowling wanted Ginny on the quidditch team was so she could beat Cho not once but twice™! Because… that sure is development between Ginny and the titular nitwit.

But Ron didn’t apply for the team until he got a broom or a better broom? Soooo… what broom did Ginny use?

If I haven’t mentioned it, I genuinely despise these books. They’re like my nemesis. They’re like anti-fiction, they’re so badly written.

Like, Rowling seems to operate almost solely on “what do I need in this exact second?” instead of, oh I don’t know, consistency and logic. So she adds these things without thinking of the implications of any of them through — like the fancy stalker map in Book Three (I MEAN, WHAT EXACTLY DOES IT SAY ABOUT FRED AND GEORGE THAT THEY DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER WHIPPING THAT THING OUT WHEN THEIR LITTLE SISTER WAS TAKEN TO THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS? RON WAS DESPERATE ENOUGH TO THINK THAT GILDEROY WAS LEGIT) — and then she basically never utilises them properly or tosses them out as soon as they run out of use. For another example, the truth potions. The pensieves. Neither of those is an actual logical part of the world-building.

Because — and I repeat as I tend to do because some people have the attention span and memory of goldfish (or they never engaged with the original sources in the first place) — how do you frame anyone in a world that has truth potions and viewable memories?

Like. Harry Potters are anti-fiction. That’s the only way I can put it.

You know, the other day someone I know asked “What does it say that you’re the only one of us who doesn’t like Harry Potter?”

And I was like, “I don’t know, that I have taste and self-respect?”

And imagine actually being that concerned with majority opinion. Besides, when I like dumb stuff at least I recognise and admit that it’s dumb stuff. For example, The Art of Magic. The graphics are awful, the voice acting is awful, the story is average, and I’m still fond of that dumb game.

Like, please. Please. Stop equating your intelligence, morality or worth as a person or whatever with the media or things you like or don’t like. They’re not shorthands. They don’t mean anything. Your ~opinions~ on some contrived mass-hypnosis social media pressure internet issues or hype don’t mean anything. You know what actually means anything?

Cattle die,

kinsmen die,

you yourself will die,

but I know one thing that never dies,

the deeds of a dead man’s life.

— paraphrased from memory

And even then nobody is going to remember you, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand years from now on.

It is all very well while there are those who remember and mourn the dead, but soon they too pass away; the descendants only know of him by hearsay, so they are hardly likely to grieve over his death. Finally, all ceremonies for him cease, no one any longer knows who he was or even his name, and only the grasses of each passing spring grow there to move the sensitive to pity; at length even the graveyard pine that sobbed in stormy winds is cut for firewood before its thousand years are up, the ancient mound is levelled by the plough, and the place becomes a field. The last trace of the grave itself has finally disappeared.

— Yoshida Kenko, Essays in Idleness

Okay. Let’s see if I can do this chapter tonight. I mean, how long can a chapter about Dumbles’ post-mortem gaslighting be? Also, I’ll be away for the entire day tomorrow and I’m not sure if I’ll have the energy or interest to do this over the weekend so… Let’s make a brave attempt at it.

He lay face down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.

Oh, Harry, that’s because you’re very dim.

Also, King’s Cross station? I mean, Rowling literally couldn’t even make Harry’s — whatever the Burrow? Like, heaven? Limbo? Well, I guess limbo would make sense since Hogwarts is the purgatory.

You know, I should re-read Lovely Complex.

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore, he had a sense of a touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.

Genuine question: how does that work?

Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked.

Oh my god, why?

ALSO, DUMBLES IS THERE. THIS WAS ALL ARRANGED BY DUMBLES. IS THIS NAKEDNESS PART OF THAT PLAN?

Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly.

Harry, please. I’m sure you’ve been naked before. Stop being intrigued about it.

Oh, like in Book Four when we just had to spend a chapter reading about Harry playing in a bath.

He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes.

HARRY, SERIOUSLY. CAN YOU BE A BIT FASTER WITH THE UPTAKE? TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE HERE.

Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small, soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful.

Wasn’t this, like, the deformed baby version of Tommy?

For the first time, he wished he were clothed.

Why?

Why do the sounds of deformed baby Tommy make you wish you were clothed?

No.

No.

I don’t want to know. Moving on.

Barely had the wish formed in his head, than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and pulled them on: they were soft, clean and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared, just like that, the moment he had wanted them …

You know, you would think that Harry would be used to this, considering he gets everything he doesn’t even know he wants.

Was he in some great Room of Requirement?

Does this support or undermine my hypothesis that Hogwarts is the purgatory?

No, wait. King’s Cross.

IS THAT WHY ROWLING CHOSE THE KING’S CROSS STATION? SO SHE COULD IMPLY THAT HARRY IS KING AND HE’S CARRYING THE CROSS AND– *brain implodes with disgust at the thought*

He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.

He was afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he did not want to approach it. Nevertheless, he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed him.

‘You cannot help.’

He spun round. Albus Dumbledore was walking towards him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.

‘Then … I’m dead too?’

‘Ah,’ said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. ‘That is the question, isn’t it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.’

‘But …’ Harry raised his hand instinctively towards the lightning scar. It did not seem to be there. ‘But I should have died – I didn’t defend myself! I meant to let him kill me!’

‘And that,’ said Dumbledore, ‘will, I think, have made all the difference.’

WONDERFUL ADVICE, ROWLING: IF YOU LET YOUR ENEMIES KILL YOU, YOU WILL LIVE.

*takes a deep hissing breath*

Happiness seemed to radiate from Dumbledore like light, like fire: Harry had never seen the man so utterly, so palpably content.

DUMBLES. STEP AWAY FROM THE UNDERAGE BOY.

‘Explain,’ said Harry.

‘But you already know,’ said Dumbledore. He twiddled his thumbs together.

OH MY FUCKING GOD, DUMBLES. EVERY SINGLE TIME. EVEN AFTER SEVEN BLOODY BOOKS OF NOTHING.

‘Oh, yes!’ said Dumbledore. ‘Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry.’

So in other words, it’s worse than before?

Harry glanced over his shoulder, to where the small, maimed creature trembled under the chair.

‘What is that, Professor?’

‘Something that is beyond either of our help,’ said Dumbledore.

‘But if Voldemort used the Killing Curse,’ Harry started again, ‘and nobody died for me this time – how can I be alive?’

Oh my god, Harry, who cares?

Then the answer rose to his lips easily, without effort.

my fancy artistic rendition

‘He took my blood,’ said Harry.

‘Precisely!’ said Dumbledore. ‘He took your blood and rebuilt his living body with it! Your blood in his veins, Harry, Lily’s protection inside both of you! He tethered you to life while he lives!’

‘I live … while he lives? But I thought … I thought it was the other way round! I thought we both had to die? Or is it the same thing?’

You know… this is honestly such an absolutely stupid plotline since Harry isn’t even Tommy’s little reincarnation or changeling. Like, these two are literal strangers who had nothing to do with each other.

This made more sense in Ni no Kuni, I’m just saying.

He was distracted by the whimpering and thumping of the agonised creature behind them and glanced back at it yet again.

‘Are you sure we can’t do anything?’

‘There is no help possible.’

‘Then explain … more,’ said Harry, and Dumbledore smiled.

Well, isn’t it just so wunderfull that even in death, Dumbles is teaching Harry literally not to have any empathy?

‘You were the seventh Horcrux, Harry, the Horcrux he never meant to make. He had rendered his soul so unstable that it broke apart when he committed those acts of unspeakable evil, the murder of your parents, the attempted killing of a child. But what escaped from that room was even less than he knew. He left more than his body behind. He left part of himself latched to you, the would-be victim who had survived.’

“Those acts of unspeakable evil”. “The murder of your parents”. “The attempted killing of a child”.

Was Tommy or was he not supposed to be a genocidal maniac who had been murdering since his teenage years?

WHY DO I NOT HAVE A PICTURE FOR PURE RAGE?

‘And his knowledge remained woefully incomplete, Harry! That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children’s tales, of love, loyalty and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped.’

Oh my god.

One) Nobody, least of all Rowling, gives a bloody damn about the house-elves.

Two) The “importance of children’s tales” was literally introduced only in this travesty of a book. Besides, Hermione certainly didn’t understand it either. *sotto voce* Is she the next Dark Lady? Wouldn’t surprise me.

Three) Aside from the Dursleys and the Malfoys, love literally hasn’t been a theme in these atrocious books.

Four) Neither has loyalty.

Five) And you can certainly forget about the innocence.

I WILL PULL OUT THE LIST IF I HAVE TO.

‘He took your blood believing it would strengthen him. He took into his body a tiny part of the enchantment your mother laid upon you when she died for you. His body keeps her sacrifice alive, and while that enchantment survives, so do you and so does Voldemort’s one last hope for himself.’

‘And you knew this? You knew – all along?’

‘I guessed. But my guesses have, usually, been good,’ said Dumbledore happily, and they sat in silence for what seemed like a long time, while the creature behind them continued to whimper and tremble.

‘There’s more,’ said Harry. ‘There’s more to it. Why did my wand break the wand he borrowed?’

This is what death feels like.

That Harry, always asking the pertinent questions.

‘What you must understand, Harry, is that you and Lord Voldemort have journeyed together into realms of magic hitherto unknown and untested.’

I AM SERIOUSLY DYING AS I READ THIS DUMB CHAPTER.

REALMS OF HITHERTO UNKNOWN AND UNTESTED MAGIC?

THIS BRAT’S SPELL COUNT IS THIRTY-FIVE. AND MOST OF IT IS BLOODY ELEMENTARY SCHOOL MAGIC.

*insert a picture of pure rage*

‘Without meaning to, as you now know, Lord Voldemort doubled the bond between you when he returned to a human form. A part of his soul was still attached to yours, and, thinking to strengthen himself, he took a part of your mother’s sacrifice into himself. If he could only have understood the precise and terrible power of that sacrifice, he would not, perhaps, have dared to touch your blood … but then, if he had been able to understand, he could not be Lord Voldemort, and might never have murdered at all.’

LIKE. IF IT’S LITERALLY JUST BLOOD MAGIC, BECAUSE ALL IT SEEMS TO NEED IS THE MATERIAL POSSESSION OF LILY’S BLOOD AND NOT LOVE, THEN YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT TOMMY NEVER LOOKED INTO BLOOD MAGIC?

*insert a picture of pure rage*

‘Having ensured this two-fold connection, having wrapped your destinies together more securely than ever two wizards were joined in history, Voldemort proceeded to attack you with a wand that shared a core with yours. And now something very strange happened, as we know. The cores reacted in a way that Lord Voldemort, who never knew that your wand was twin of his, had never expected.’

So. Are these books the tragic love story of Tommy and Harry? You may discuss.

I MEAN. ASIDE FROM BEING TOTAL STRANGERS, THESE TWO MORONS LITERALLY DID NOT EVEN HAVE ANY RELATIONSHIP. LIKE, ROWLING COULD’VE AT LEAST GIVEN THAT BLOODY DIARY TO HARRY AND HAVE HIM BEFRIEND TOMMY’S GHOST FOR THIS STUPIDITY TO MEAN SOMETHING.

‘He was more afraid than you were that night, Harry. You had accepted, even embraced, the possibility of death, something Lord Voldemort has never been able to do. Your courage won, your wand overpowered his.’

*feels sheer agonising death*

‘And in doing so, something happened between those wands, something that echoed the relationship between their masters.’

What bloody relationship?

‘I believe that your wand imbibed some of the power and qualities of Voldemort’s wand that night, which is to say that it contained a little of Voldemort himself. So your wand recognised him when he pursued you, recognised a man who was both kin and mortal enemy, and it regurgitated some of his own magic against him, magic much more powerful than anything Lucius’s wand had ever performed. Your wand now contained the power of your enormous courage and of Voldemort’s own deadly skill: what chance did that poor stick of Lucius Malfoy’s stand?’

WHAT NIGHT? THE NIGHT OF IMPROBABLE AND STUPID PLANS IN BOOK FOUR? OR THE NIGHT OF SEVEN POTTERS AND STUPIDITY IN THIS BOOK?

‘But if my wand was so powerful, how come Hermione was able to break it?’ asked Harry.

Harry.

Like, listen.

Listen.

WHO CARES?

‘My dear boy, its remarkable effects were directed only at Voldemort, who had tampered so ill-advisedly with the deepest laws of magic.’

WHAT LAWS?

ROWLING LITERALLY HASN’T EXPLAINED A SINGLE “LAW” IN THESE STUPID BOOKS.

Just.

I want to rip these books apart.

‘Only towards him was that wand abnormally powerful. Otherwise it was a wand like any other … though a good one, I am sure,’ Dumbledore finished kindly.

Well, isn’t that such a wunderfull coincidence.

Harry sat in thought for a long time, or perhaps seconds.

Did it hurt?

‘He failed to kill you with my wand,’ Dumbledore corrected Harry. ‘I think we can agree that you are not dead – though, of course,’ he added, as if fearing he had been discourteous, ‘I do not minimise your sufferings, which I am sure were severe.’

I am going to kill this character. In all the fics.

‘I feel great at the moment, though,’ said Harry, looking down at his clean, unblemished hands. ‘Where are we, exactly?’

‘Well, I was going to ask you that,’ said Dumbledore, looking around. ‘Where would you say that we are?’

I genuinely speaking despise these two to the core of my soul.

Until Dumbledore had asked, Harry had not known. Now, however, he found that he had an answer ready to give.

my fancy artistic rendition

‘It looks,’ he said slowly, ‘like King’s Cross station. Except a lot cleaner, and empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see.’

‘My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party.’

You know, just… seriously, what does it say about Harry that his whatever isn’t even the Burrow but a public train station?

Harry had no idea what this meant; Dumbledore was being infuriating.

You’re just now realising that?

Well, I guess better late than never.

‘Can you forgive me?’ he said. ‘Can you forgive me for not trusting you? For not telling you? Harry, I only feared that you would fail as I had failed. I only dreaded that you would make my mistakes. I crave your pardon, Harry. I have known, for some time now, that you are the better man.’

Well, I guess we can’t blame Dumbles too much because the deathly hollows literally didn’t exist until this dumb book.

‘Master of death, Harry, master of Death! Was I better, ultimately, than Voldemort?’

‘Of course you were,’ said Harry. ‘Of course – how can you ask that? You never killed if you could avoid it!’

‘True, true,’ said Dumbledore, and he was like a child seeking reassurance.

Okay.

*mentally checks out*

‘Not the way he did,’ said Harry. After all his anger at Dumbledore, how odd it was to sit here, beneath the high vaulted ceiling, and defend Dumbledore from himself. ‘Hallows, not Horcruxes.’

‘Hallows,’ murmured Dumbledore, ‘not Horcruxes. Precisely.’

There was a pause. The creature behind them whimpered, but Harry no longer looked round.

Well, isn’t that wunderfull. Absolutely nothing about Harry changed and Dumbles still taught him total non-empathy.

But hey, at least Harry is so full of love because his mum died.

‘ – were the three brothers of the tale,’ said Dumbledore, nodding. ‘Oh yes, I think so. Whether they met Death on a lonely road … I think it more likely that the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death’s own Hallows seems to me the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.’

Okay.

Then where has all the brilliant dangerous innovation of the wizarding world gone to? Could it be, dare I say it, because they’re becoming increasingly muggle?

‘You. You have guessed, I know, why the Cloak was in my possession on the night your parents died. James had showed it to me just a few days previously. It explained much of his undetected wrongdoing at school! I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I asked to borrow it, to examine it. I had long since given up my dream of uniting the Hallows, but I could not resist, could not help taking a closer look … It was a Cloak the likes of which I had never seen, immensely old, perfect in every respect … and then your father died, and I had two Hallows at last, all to myself!’

His tone was unbearably bitter.

And totally coincidentally. He asked for it right when Tommy was hunting them. You know, instead of afterwards?

‘The Cloak wouldn’t have helped them survive, though,’ Harry said quickly. ‘Voldemort knew where my mum and dad were. The Cloak couldn’t have made them curse-proof.’

Okay.

You know what, I’m just so completely done with this brat. Like, I was already so done with Harry after the sectumsempra incident but he’s literally draining away even all the neutral feelings I might’ve felt for him.

Besides. If the death-evading cloak could evade death, then how would Harry know whether it would’ve made them curse-proof or not? It’s not like anyone even tested it out?

‘So you’d given up looking for the Hallows when you saw the Cloak?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Dumbledore faintly. It seemed that he forced himself to meet Harry’s eyes. ‘You know what happened. You know. You cannot despise me more than I despise myself.’

‘But I don’t despise you –’

‘Then you should,’ said Dumbledore. He drew a deep breath. ‘You know the secret of my sister’s ill-health, what those Muggles did, what she became.’

Well, actually. We don’t.

Because for all that Rowling really loves fictionally abusing muggles and all living beings in her books, she really left that Ariana stuff utterly vague.

I mean, what Severus went through was explicit right until the implication that James exposed him in front of the entire castle.

Oh.

But Ariana was a girl.

‘I resented it, Harry.’

Dumbledore stated it baldly, coldly. He was looking, now, over the top of Harry’s head, into the distance.

??

If they’re sitting side by side, why is he staring over Harry’s head instead of forward?

‘I was gifted, I was brilliant. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shine. I wanted glory.’

Dumbles, I can with absolute honesty say that none of that is my impression of you at all.

‘Do not misunderstand me,’ he said, and pain crossed the face so that he looked ancient again. ‘I loved them. I loved my parents, I loved my brother and my sister, but I was selfish, Harry, more selfish than you, who are a remarkably selfless person, could possibly imagine.’

Literally, who?

I mean, Harry, “I don’t put up with other people’s emotions or crying”? “I care more about an inanimate object than almost eviscerating someone to death”? That Harry?

Well, I mean. If you compare to Dumbles. Then I guess the only way from absolute nadir is up?

‘So that, when my mother died, and I was left the responsibility of a damaged sister and a wayward brother, I returned to my village in anger and bitterness. Trapped and wasted, I thought! And then, of course, he came …’

You know, Dumbles, I just literally couldn’t care less.

‘Grindelwald. You cannot imagine how his ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed me. Muggles forced into subservience. We wizards triumphant. Grindelwald and I, the glorious young leaders of the revolution.’

‘Oh, I had a few scruples. I assuaged my conscience with empty words. It would all be for the greater good, and any harm done would be repaid a hundredfold in benefits for wizards. Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes. If the plans we were making came to fruition, all my dreams would come true.’

And even here, the old creep is refusing to take any sort of responsibility for his own actions.

His ideas.

How convenient.

‘And at the heart of our schemes, the Deathly Hallows! How they fascinated him, how they fascinated both of us! The unbeatable wand, the weapon that would lead us to power! The Resurrection Stone – to him, though I pretended not to know it, it meant an army of Inferi! To me, I confess, it meant the return of my parents, and the lifting of all responsibility from my shoulders.’

Uh-huh.

‘And then … you know what happened. Reality returned, in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me. I did not want to hear that I could not set forth to seek Hallows with a fragile and unstable sister in tow.’

This. Is probably the most honest thing that Dumbles has ever said. And of course Rowling undermined it beforehand by making Harry dislike Aberforth.

‘The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being. And Ariana … after all my mother’s care and caution … lay dead upon the floor.’

How convenient that it was again Grindelwald.

Also, Dumbles~. Never occurred to you to explain this to your little brother so he wouldn’t go on blaming himself for his beloved little sister’s death?

I despise this character to the core of my soul.

Dumbledore gave a little gasp, and began to cry in earnest. Harry reached out, and was glad to find that he could touch him: he gripped his arm tightly, and Dumbledore gradually regained control.

‘Well, Grindelwald fled, as anyone but I could have predicted. He vanished, with his plans for seizing power, and his schemes for Muggle torture, and his dreams of the Deathly Hallows, dreams in which I had encouraged him and helped him. He ran, while I was left to bury my sister and learn to live with my guilt, and my terrible grief, the price of my shame.’

‘Years passed. There were rumours about him. They said he had procured a wand of immense power. I, meanwhile, was offered the post of Minister for Magic, not once, but several times. Naturally, I refused. I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.’

‘But you’d have been better, much better, than Fudge or Scrimgeour!’ burst out Harry.

Harry.

Just fucking die again and stay dead.

‘Would I?’ asked Dumbledore heavily. ‘I am not so sure. I had proven, as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation. It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it.’

So instead, I became the headmaster of the most vulnerable members of society and spent my time much better grooming them to my brainless cult of pawns. :3

‘Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.’

Literally, who?

‘I was safer at Hogwarts. I think I was a good teacher –’

YOU LITERALLY WERE NOT.

TOMMY. SEVERUS. HAGRID. DRACO. SLYTHERINS. HERMIONE. NEVILLE. JAMES. SIRIUS. PETER. GRYFFINDORS. QUIRRELL. GINNY. TOMMY’S DIARY. THE BASILISK. BARTEMIUS JR. GIANT MAN-EATING SPIDERS. GIANTS. HARRY. THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT OF STUPIDITY AND CHILD MURDER. DOLORES.

NEED I GO ON, YOU USELESS OLD CREEP?

‘You were the best –’

Harry, seriously. Just fucking die again and stay dead.

‘Oh, not death,’ said Dumbledore, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. ‘Not what he could do to me magically. I knew that we were evenly matched, perhaps that I was a shade more skilful.’

I. Despise this character. So much.

‘It was the truth I feared. You see, I never knew which of us, in that last, horrific fight, had actually cast the curse that killed my sister.’

AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN THINK OF TELLING THIS TO YOUR LITTLE BROTHER WHO BLAMED HIMSELF?

‘You may call me cowardly: you would be right.’

EITHER DUMBLES IS THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL OR HE’S A USELESS SACK OF DUNG. THERE ARE NO OTHER OPTIONS.

‘Harry, I dreaded beyond all things the knowledge that it had been I who brought about her death, not merely through my arrogance and stupidity, but that I actually struck the blow that snuffed out her life.’

AND YOU STILL DIDN’T THINK TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOUR LITTLE BROTHER WHO WAS BLAMING HIMSELF?

‘I think he knew it, I think he knew what frightened me. I delayed meeting him until, finally, it would have been too shameful to resist any longer. People were dying and he seemed unstoppable, and I had to do what I could.’

AND LIKE ALWAYS, MILLION YEARS TOO LATE AND IT’S ALL ABOUT HIM.

Harry did not ask whether Dumbledore had ever found out who struck Ariana dead. He did not want to know, and even less did he want Dumbledore to have to tell him.

I despise this brat too.

At last he knew what Dumbledore would have seen when he looked in the Mirror of Erised, and why Dumbledore had been so understanding of the fascination it had exercised over Harry.

NO, YOU DON’T, HARRY. YOU ARE SO CONSISTENTLY WRONG ABOUT ALL THE CHARACTERS IN THESE BOOKS THAT I DON’T BELIEVE A WORD YOU SAY ABOUT ANYONE.

They sat in silence for a long time, and the whimperings of the creature behind them barely disturbed Harry any more.

For the love of gods, Rowling, just stop already.

At last he said, ‘Grindelwald tried to stop Voldemort going after the wand. He lied, you know, pretended he had never had it.’

Dumbledore nodded, looking down at his lap, tears still glittering on the crooked nose.

‘They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard. I hope that it is true. I would like to think he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends … to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow …’

‘… or maybe from breaking into your tomb?’ suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.

So wait. This totally nonexistent character literally had more character development than Sirius and Harry?

That’s. Sure something.

After another short pause, Harry said, ‘You tried to use the Resurrection Stone.’

Dumbledore nodded.

‘When I discovered it, after all those years, buried in the abandoned home of the Gaunts . . .’

Like, I cannot even explain how stupid these horcruxes are.

“Oh, Tommy didn’t want the philosopher’s stone because he didn’t want to rely on objects.” :3 So instead, he put pieces of his shoddy soul into objects and left them in the wilderness where anyone could find them. :3

‘When I discovered it, after all those years, buried in the abandoned home of the Gaunts, the Hallow I had craved most of all – though in my youth I had wanted it for very different reasons – I lost my head, Harry. I quite forgot that it was now a Horcrux, that the ring was sure to carry a curse. I picked it up, and I put it on, and for a second I imagined that I was about to see Ariana, and my mother, and my father, and to tell them how very, very sorry I was …’

Wait.

“Though in my youth I had wanted it for very different reasons.”

Didn’t you just finish telling us how very much you wanted to use it to bring your parents back? But now you wanted to use it to see your sister and parents?

Even in death this man is full of shite.

‘Maybe a man in a million could unite the Hallows, Harry. I was fit only to possess the meanest of them, the least extraordinary. I was fit to own the Elder Wand, and not to boast of it, and not to kill with it. I was permitted to tame and to use it, because I took it, not for gain, but to save others from it.’

You know, as aggravating as it was to read about every single character polishing Dumbles’ knob, it’s actually more aggravating when he does it himself.

‘But the Cloak, I took out of vain curiosity, and so it could never have worked for me as it works for you, its true owner. The stone I would have used in an attempt to drag back those who are at peace, rather than to enable my self-sacrifice, as you did. You are the worthy possessor of the Hallows.’

Literally, who?

Dumbledore patted Harry’s hand, and Harry looked up at the old man and smiled; he could not help himself. How could he remain angry with Dumbledore now?

Harry is utterly beyond help.

‘Why did you have to make it so difficult?’

Dumbledore’s smile was tremulous.

‘I am afraid I counted on Miss Granger to slow you up, Harry. I was afraid that your hot head might dominate your good heart. I was scared that, if presented outright with the facts about those tempting objects, you might seize the Hallows as I did, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. If you laid hands on them, I wanted you to possess them safely. You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying.’

??

I mean, what does Hermione have to do with anything? Aside from being an unthinking idiot?

‘And Voldemort never knew about the Hallows?’

‘I do not think so, because he did not recognise the Resurrection Stone he turned into a Horcrux. But even if he had known about them, Harry, I doubt that he would have been interested in any except the first. He would not think that he needed the Cloak, and, as for the stone, whom would he want to bring back from the dead? He fears the dead. He does not love.’

‘But you expected him to go after the wand?’

‘I have been sure that he would try, ever since your wand beat Voldemort’s in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. At first, he was afraid that you had conquered him by superior skill.’

I mean, c’mon. Please. Even Tommy can’t be that stupid.

‘For him, the Elder Wand has become an obsession to rival his obsession with you. He believes that the Elder Wand removes his last weakness and makes him truly invincible. Poor Severus …’

So after all this blah de blah de blah, me me me, oh Harry you’re so wunderfull, Severus is a literal afterthought of “poor Severus”?

I’m going to write all the fics and murder this old creep.

‘If you planned your death with Snape, you meant him to end up with the Elder Wand, didn’t you?’

‘I admit that was my intention,’ said Dumbledore, ‘but it did not work as I intended, did it?’

So what does that mean? That he planned for Severus to defend himself with the unbeatable wand? Or he planned for Tommy to murder Severus for the unbeatable wand?

‘I’ve got to go back, haven’t I?’

‘That is up to you.’

‘But you want me to go back?’

Harry.

You are genuinely the most useless protagonist ever to disgrace the world of literature.

‘I think,’ said Dumbledore, ‘that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does.’

What does that even mean?

Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and choked in the shadow beneath the distant chair.

‘Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.’

Well, that’s that then because Harry has certainly never pitied the living.

‘By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say goodbye for the present.’

Oh, yeah. Then it’s just Harry and Hermione and Hagrid who do all the maiming. :3

‘Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?’

I sincerely despise the inside of this brat’s head.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-five.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Thirty-four – The Forest Again

The forest! Again! And I almost felt its absence.

Buuuut! Guess what! Someone left kudos on most of my Ron & Ginny and Ron/Ginny fics. So I think they might have been a Ron/Ginny fan? Sadly, they didn’t want to chat. ( ´•︵•` )

Also, I didn’t quite finish this book this year but I guess it can’t be helped. It would’ve been funny, though, if I’d managed to read the epilogue today but, alas.

Oh! I’ve been meaning to say this for a while but I always forgot. So I managed to convert that html file of bookmarks and notes on Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone into a pdf file. The pdf file is shareable but. Adobe cuts the page somewhere in Chapter Five. However, the whole thing is viewable on Kindle which allows importing pdf files and is free. Or at least was when I got it. It still looks awful, though, because it’s just this huge list with the bookmarks on the left side and my notes on the right side, the first ones on the bottom and the last ones at the top. I also cuss a lot in the notes because, well, I wasn’t going to share it. But since I figured out how to do it, I figured might as well then. I did this colour-code system but obviously the colour codes don’t show so I also ended up doing this tagging system which is pretty useless on Kindle, I think. Of course, if anyone is interested in reading it, it can always be re-converted into a html file?

But anyhow, here: Book One Bookmarks and Notes Edited

For some reason, I feel stupidly shy about sharing that, ha ha. I guess I need to add that to the review too.

Well, at least Harry finally dies in this chapter! That ought to cheer me up! Unless, of course, it tops as the stupidest thing I’ve read in these books so far.

Lying with his face pressed into the dusty carpet . . .

Really, Harry?

. . . of the office where he had once thought he was learning the secrets of victory . . .

Well, that really goes to show what you know.

. . . Harry understood at last that he was not supposed to survive.

And yet incomprehensibly you do.

Will the wonders ever cease.

His job was to walk calmly into Death’s welcoming arms.

I wish.

Along the way, he was to dispose of Voldemort’s remaining links to life . . .

Wouldn’t that be the day.

Did Harry even destroy any horcruxes in this book? I think the only horcrux that this moron destroyed was the diary before Rowling had even thought of writing horcruxes?

Ron took care of the locket. Vincent unwittingly took care of the diadem. Ron took care of the cup. Neville took care of the snake? Dumbles took care of the ring.

So the only horcruxes that Harry destroyed were the diary and getting himself killed.

Okay then.

Also, speaking of Dumbles:

‘I … was a fool. Sorely tempted …’

Obviously, the fool was talking about Ariana, I guess.

I mean, I almost felt the bond between them.

. . . so that when at last he flung himself across Voldemort’s path, and did not raise a wand to defend himself, the end would be clean, and the job that ought to have been done in Godric’s Hollow would be finished: neither would live, neither could survive.

*sighs*

Don’t give me hope, Harry.

He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. How strange that in his dread of death, it pumped all the harder, valiantly keeping him alive. But it would have to stop, and soon. Its beats were numbered. How many would there be time for, as he rose and walked through the castle for the last time, out into the grounds and into the Forest?

Oh my god with the overdramatics.

Terror washed over him as he lay on the floor, with that funeral drum pounding inside him. Would it hurt to die?

Well, I don’t know. You got pretty close in Book One and Two. Did those times hurt?

It was over, he knew it, and all that was left was the thing itself: dying.

And yet here you are, still just going on and on and on.

If he could only have died on that summer’s night when he had left number four, Privet Drive for the last time, when the noble phoenix feather wand had saved him!

Don’t remind me.

If he could only have died like Hedwig, so quickly he would not have known it had happened!

And then someone could’ve exploded your body afterwards. Like, right in front of Tommy’s face.

Or if he could have launched himself in front of a wand to save someone he loved … he envied even his parents’ deaths now.

He’s starting to remind me of Bella.

Besides, Harry~ Your dad didn’t even have a wand when Tommy just blasted him out of the way like so much rubbish.

Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart?

Because you had the whole wizarding world do it for you?

Dumbledore’s betrayal was almost nothing. Of course there had been a bigger plan; Harry had simply been too foolish to see it, he realised that now. He had never questioned his own assumption that Dumbledore wanted him alive. Now he saw that his lifespan had always been determined by how long it took to eliminate all the Horcruxes. Dumbledore had passed the job of destroying them to him, and obediently he had continued to chip away at the bonds tying not only Voldemort, but himself, to life! How neat, how elegant, not to waste any more lives, but to give the dangerous task to the boy who had already been marked for slaughter, and whose death would not be a calamity, but another blow against Voldemort.

Just wait until we get to Dumbles post-mortem gaslighting.

The images of Fred, Lupin and Tonks lying dead in the Great Hall forced their way back into his mind’s eye, and for a moment he could hardly breathe . . .

*sighs contentedly*

I mean.

But Dumbledore had overestimated him.

Tell me about it, Harry.

Like rain on a cold window, these thoughts pattered against the hard surface of the incontrovertible truth, which was that he must die. I must die. It must end.

AND YOU CAN GET ON IT ANY TIME YOU PLEASE.

Like, now. Preferably.

You know what Harry should’ve done? Captured Tommy and handed him over to the department of mysteries.

Ron and Hermione seemed a long way away, in a far-off country; he felt as though he had parted from them long ago. There would be no goodbyes and no explanations, he was determined of that.

Great idea. That’s going to make them feel tremendously better.

This was a journey they could not take together, and the attempts they would make to stop him would waste valuable time.

And yet here you are, not dying and wasting my valuable time.

He looked down at the battered gold watch he had received on his seventeenth birthday.

You know, I actually made a note of this in those Book One bookmarks and notes but why are Weasley watches gold anyway?

He felt ghostly striding through it alone, as if he had already died.

Harry, please. Less melodramatics and more dying.

Then Neville nearly walked into him. He was one half of a pair that was carrying a body in from the grounds. Harry glanced down, and felt another dull blow to his stomach: Colin Creevey, though under-age, must have sneaked back just as Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had done. He was tiny in death.

Hee. And now Dobby 2.0 is dead too!

‘You know what? I can manage him alone, Neville,’ said Oliver Wood, and he heaved Colin over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried him into the Great Hall.

Look at that. The worst team captain ever is here too.

Neville leaned against the doorframe for a moment and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked like an old man. Then he set off down the steps again into the darkness to recover more bodies.

And yet Rowling named only, like, a handful of dead people. She’s such a tease.

How many characters died? Sociopath Twin 1.0, Lupin, Nymphadora, Colin… I can’t remember anyone else?

Bellatrix? Vincent.

People were moving around, trying to comfort each other, drinking, kneeling beside the dead, but he could not see any of the people he loved, no hint of Hermione, Ron, Ginny or any of the other Weasleys, no Luna.

Aww, look. He’s including Ginny in that too. It’s to cry for.

He felt he would have given all the time remaining to him for just one last look at them . . .

*raises eyebrows*

You had your chance, Harry, and you literally preferred to take a dip in Severus’ memories?

But he pulled himself together again: this was crucial, he must be like Dumbledore, keep a cool head, make sure there were back-ups, others to carry on. Dumbledore had died knowing that three people still knew about the Horcruxes; now Neville would take Harry’s place: there would still be three in the secret.

Harry.

Dumbles literally did not explain anything to anyone.

Harry swung the Cloak back over himself and walked on. Someone else was moving not far away, stooping over another prone figure on the ground. He was feet away from her when he realised it was Ginny.

Feet away? Ha ha ha.

Let’s see what Harry had to say about Draco Malfoy in Book One, shall we:

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him. Malfoy had seen the dragon.

And here’s what he had to say about Severus Snape while he was on the other side of the grounds, also in Book One:

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry’s victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognised the figure’s prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the Forest while everyone else was at dinner – what was going on?

I just feel the true love.

He stopped in his tracks. She was crouching over a girl who was whispering for her mother.

‘It’s all right,’ Ginny was saying. ‘It’s OK. We’re going to get you inside.’

‘But I want to go home,’ whispered the girl. ‘I don’t want to fight any more!’

‘I know,’ said Ginny, and her voice broke. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

Characterisation! For Ginny! Which is more than FIERCE™!

Also, nameless girl, why did you stay behind then?

And oh my god, someone please tell me that Harry isn’t actually going to walk into everyone before he croaks?

But he was home. Hogwarts was the first and best home he had known. He and Voldemort and Snape, the abandoned boys, had all found home here …

Yeah, Harry. That’s really the problem, isn’t it?

Ginny was kneeling beside the injured girl now, holding her hand.

You know, there were those moments when Ginny defended Neville and some such(?), and I guess she sort of defended Luna too after calling her Loony, and she did comfort Ron several times… Okay, never mind, I guess this just feels weird because she literally doesn’t do this around Harry?

Hagrid’s hut loomed out of the darkness. There were no lights, no sound of Fang scrabbling at the door, his bark booming in welcome. All those visits to Hagrid, and the gleam of the copper kettle on the fire, and rock cakes and giant grubs, and his great, bearded face, and Ron vomiting slugs, and Hermione helping him save Norbert …

Ah, yes. All those wunderfull memories.

It was not, after all, so easy to die.

Yes. I can see that. It’s taking pages.

The long game was ended, the Snitch had been caught, it was time to leave the air …

Oh my god. Even in this brat’s last moments, he’s going on about quidditch.

The Snitch. His nerveless fingers fumbled for a moment with the pouch at his neck and he pulled it out.

I open at the close.

Breathing fast and hard, he stared down at it. Now that he wanted time to move as slowly as possible, it seemed to have sped up, and understanding was coming so fast it seemed to have bypassed thought.

And again, Harry understood, without having to think.

Yes. Divine intervention coming in…

Also, again. Rowling just literally plants these thoughts in this kid’s head because gods forbid he actually works for anything.

You know, if Harry had practised using that empty thing he calls a head, these books might’ve been quite different.

He knew it had happened, because he heard slight movements around him that suggested frail bodies shifting their footing on the earthy, twig-strewn ground that marked the outer edge of the Forest.

Why, though?

They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that. They resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary, so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. Less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they moved towards him, and on each face there was the same loving smile.

Oh my god, can we just — get to the dying part of this chapter already?

James was exactly the same height as Harry.

So he’s a short midget?

Sirius was tall and handsome, and younger by far than Harry had seen him in life. He loped with an easy grace, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

Oh my god, Harry, is this really the time to remind people how very handsome your godfather is?

Lupin was younger too, and much less shabby, and his hair was thicker and darker. He looked happy to be back in this familiar place, scene of so many adolescent wanderings.

*raises eyebrows*

So he’s happy to be rid of Nymphadora?

Lily’s smile was widest of all. She pushed her long hair back as she drew close to him, and her green eyes, so like his, searched his face hungrily as though she would never be able to look at him enough.

Oh, yeah. I almost totally care.

‘You’ve been so brave.’

He could not speak. His eyes feasted on her, and he thought that he would like to stand and look at her forever, and that would be enough.

‘You are nearly there,’ said James. ‘Very close. We are … so proud of you.’

You’re literally the worst parents ever.

Well, okay. That’s not quite true. Some parents eat their own children.

‘I didn’t want you to die,’ Harry said. These words came without his volition. ‘Any of you. I’m sorry – ’

He addressed Lupin more than any of them, beseeching him.

‘ – right after you’d had your son … Remus, I’m sorry – ’

Okay? Why is he addressing Lupin in particular instead of his godfather?

‘I am sorry too,’ said Lupin. ‘Sorry I will never know him … but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand. I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.’

Oh, yeah. He’ll totally understand why both of his parents are dead.

Harry looked at his mother.

‘Stay close to me,’ he said quietly.

Like, I don’t know. All I’m thinking about is his latent issues about his mum and Molly when it comes to Ginny.

And he set off. The Dementors’ chill did not overcome him; he passed through it with his companions, and they acted like Patronuses to him . . .

Isn’t that a wonder.

His body and mind felt oddly disconnected now, his limbs working without conscious instruction, as if he were passenger, not driver, in the body he was about to leave.

So in other words, nothing has changed?

The dead who walked beside him through the Forest were much more real to him now than the living back at the castle: Ron, Hermione, Ginny and all the others were the ones who felt like ghosts as he stumbled and slipped towards the end of his life, towards Voldemort …

And we’re back to AND GINNY TOO.

Two figures emerged from behind a nearby tree: their wands flared, and Harry saw Yaxley and Dolohov peering into the darkness, directly at the place Harry, his mother and father and Sirius and Lupin stood. Apparently they could not see anything.

Wait.

Just wait.

Don’t tell me that the reason why Tommy is so insistent about murdering this brat himself is because of Rowling’s harebrained idea that he must murder Harry to kill the horcrux? Even though, you know, there was no such clause with the other horcruxes?

And oh my god, don’t tell me that’s the divine intervention? The “get out of death” free card?

Okay then.

I’m… fine.

Whatever. We’re almost done with these books.

‘That headcase Hagrid kept a whole bunch of stuff in here,’ said Dolohov, glancing over his shoulder.

Oh, Dolohov. I’m not quite sure which of the interchangeable death eaters you are but I’ll give you all the good things in the world.

They had travelled on mere minutes when Harry saw light ahead, and Yaxley and Dolohov stepped out into a clearing that Harry knew had been the place where the monstrous Aragog had once lived. The remnants of his vast web were there still, but the swarm of descendants he had spawned had been driven out by the Death Eaters, to fight for their cause.

Really?

I mean, really?

A fire burned in the middle of the clearing, and its flickering light fell over a crowd of completely silent, watchful Death Eaters. Some of them were still masked and hooded, others showed their faces.

ARE THOSE MASKS JUST FOR DECORATION?

What am I asking, of course they are.

He saw Lucius Malfoy, who looked defeated and terrified, and Narcissa, whose eyes were sunken and full of apprehension.

Aww. I would much rather be reading about the Malfoys.

No, wait. I take that back. This is Rowling. If she had actually written the Malfoys, she would’ve ruined them like everything else in these dumb books.

Bellatrix had spoken: she sat closest to Voldemort, dishevelled, her face a little bloody but otherwise unharmed.

Voldemort raised his hand to silence her, and she did not speak another word, but eyed him in worshipful fascination.

House-elves. *sotto voce*

His hands were sweating as he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it beneath his robes, with his wand.

Ha ha ha, it would’ve been the funniest thing ever if it was the invisibility cloak that saved Harry. You know, like in films it’s always a book that stops a bullet?

Because that’s totally realistic. Bullets rip through muscle, sinew and bone but not paper.

‘I was, it seems … mistaken,’ said Voldemort.

Oh, Tommy.

That’s because you’re an idiot.

Then a voice yelled –

‘HARRY! NO!’

He turned: Hagrid was bound and trussed, tied to a tree nearby. His massive body shook the branches overhead as he struggled, desperate.

‘NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT’RE YEH – ?’

This fool really couldn’t be eaten by his pet spiders, huh?

‘QUIET!’ shouted Rowle, and with a flick of his wand Hagrid was silenced.

Rowle gets all the good things too.

Although, to be totally honest, all of these fools are completely interchangeable. But I guess I can practise that thing of making these characters mine.

Bellatrix, who had leapt to her feet, was looking eagerly from Voldemort to Harry, her breast heaving.

Her BREAST? As in singular?

The image in my mind right now is utterly weird and kind of disturbing.

Harry could feel his wand against his chest, but he made no attempt to draw it. He knew that the snake was too well protected, knew that if he managed to point the wand at Nagini, fifty curses would hit him first.

That’s why you could’ve done it while you had that nifty invisibility cloak on.

Even in his last moments, this moron is still an absolute moron.

And still, Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.

He doesn’t have lips?

What does that look like?

. . . and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his —

You know, considering that Harry basically never thinks of Ginny, it is inexplicably indeed.

Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear –

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

OH MY GOD YES.

And of course Rowling took it back like she took back everything else.

You know what books didn’t take it back? Bartimaeus Sequence by Jonathan Stroud. I should really re-read those books. Because I have very faint memories that they were basically superior Harry Potters but, granted, the bar isn’t very high.

Oh, and if it hasn’t become clear, I don’t like Harry. The brat is insufferable.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-five.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

---

Happy New Year to everyone. ❤

They don’t use Dark Magic, though

‘They couldn’t keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,’ said Lupin. ‘A werewolf is only a danger to people.’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night.’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards.’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘… you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me –’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘It served him right,’ he sneered. ‘Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to … hoping he could get us expelled …’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘Sirius thought it would be – er – amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree – trunk with a long stick, and he’d be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it – if he’d got as far as this house, he’d have met a fully grown werewolf – but your father, who’d heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life … Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden to tell anybody by Dumbledore, but from that time on he knew what I was …’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘This’ll liven you up, Padfoot,’ said James quietly. ‘Look who it is …’

Sirius’s head turned. He became very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit.

‘Excellent,’ he said softly. ‘Snivellus.’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘All right, Snivellus?’ said James loudly.

Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, ‘Expelliarmus!’

Snape’s wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘Impedimenta!’ he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet halfway through a dive towards his own fallen wand.

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘Wash out your mouth,’ said James coldly. ‘Scourgify!’

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him –

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘Well,’ said James, appearing to deliberate the point, ‘it’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean …’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘I will if you go out with me, Evans,’ said James quickly. ‘Go on … go out with me and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch towards his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

James whirled about: a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside-down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants.

Many people in the small crowd cheered; Sirius, James and Wormtail roared with laughter.

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile . . .

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘Certainly,’ said James and he jerked his wand upwards; Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, ‘Petrificus Totalus!’ and Snape keeled over again, rigid as a board.

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

‘Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,’ said James earnestly.

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside-down in the air.

‘Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny . . .’

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

‘But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev.’

∞

Bonus:

High above them, floating along in mid-air, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent, and Harry recognised one of them – Mr Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs Roberts upside-down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers; she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

‘That’s sick,’ Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. ‘That is really sick …’

---

Lily’s character is a complete clown and Rowling is full of shite. I could do this with all the books, starting from that special moment when Hagrid attacked and almost killed a terrified eleven-year-old muggle boy for something his dad said.

Like, the sheer disgusting gall to tell the victim of James’ relentless torture that he’s being ungrateful.

Lily goes to the list of murderable characters. I’m going to make her life miserable in that Rewrite!AU.

Chapter Thirty-three – The Prince’s Tale

You know, I just — honestly don’t care. Like, this is basically the worst place to put in Severus’ Totally Important Backstory.

Oh my god, Rowling has the worst pacing in the world.

Well, okay, maybe that’s not quite true. In Slam Dunk, there was this one match that got interrupted with something like a twenty-episode flashback. It was memorable because I thought it was so funny.

Also, if I think about it, Cho is probably from Hong Kong?

Moreover, winter solstice went by and it’s already Yule tomorrow. So, you know, happy Yule! But oh my god, I haven’t really achieved any of the goals I set out for myself this year.

Harry remained kneeling at Snape’s side, simply staring down at him . . .

Why, though?

Voldemort’s voice reverberated from the walls and floor, and Harry realised that he was talking to Hogwarts and to all the surrounding area, that the residents of Hogsmeade and all those still fighting in the castle would hear him as clearly as if he stood beside them, his breath on the back of their necks, a death blow away.

You know what that means, people? It means that Dufftown, which is a muggle town close to Hogwarts according to potterwikia, can hear these fools just as well.

I would much rather be reading their reactions to this sudden voice.

‘You have fought,’ said the high, cold voice, ‘valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery.’

Do you?

Is Tommy brave? I mean, his enormous loserdom and stupidity kind of distract me from all the other traits he might have?

‘Yet you have sustained heavy losses.’

Have they?

Because so far only Fred has died and good riddance.

‘If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one.’

YES, PLEASE.

‘I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.’

DO NOT RUIN IT FOR ME, TOMMY. I WANT TOTAL SCORCHED EARTH.

Besides, you killed all of your magical followers, you moron?

‘Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat, immediately.’

What troops? You killed them.

‘I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself.’

ONE. YOU LOSERS HAVE KILLED EXACTLY ONE CHARACTER AND HE HAS A TWIN ANYWAY.

‘This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me.’

THIS LOSER IS ALL TALK.

Harry gathered up the Invisibility Cloak, then looked down at Snape. He did not know what to feel, except shock at the way Snape had been killed, and the reason for which it had been done …

Harry.

Just…

Go. Drown yourself in the lake. I am extremely tired of reading about your harebrained thoughts and inactivity and stupidity and narcissism and everything else, okay?

They crawled back through the tunnel, none of them talking, and Harry wondered whether Ron and Hermione could still hear Voldemort ringing in their heads, as he could.

That’s because he literally is in your head.

A lone clog, the size of a small boat, lay abandoned in front of them. There was no other sign of Grawp or of his attacker.

Oh my god, the giant wears clogs.

Rowling, stop ruining things for me.

The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other’s necks.

??

Why not just say they’re hugging each other?

Firenze was amongst the injured; his flank poured blood and he shook where he lay, unable to stand.

Oh, Firenze. You’re risking your life for people who call you a horse.

The dead lay in a row in the middle of the hall.

I WANT TO KNOW WHO ALL DIED SO I CAN GLOAT.

I mean!

Harry could not see Fred’s body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs Weasley was lying across Fred’s chest, her body shaking, Mr Weasley stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks.

. . . Mrs Weasley was lying across Fred’s chest, her body shaking . . .

I mean… *wheezes*

I’m not laughing.

Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her.

Well, there’s finally Ginny. And Harry isn’t even thinking of hugging her. Which… I mean, considering that Ginny isn’t allowed to have any emotional reactions around Harry aside from slight trembles in her voice or jealousy over twelve-year-old veela girls…

I’m dying.

Ron joined Bill, Fleur and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron’s shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

AND NYMPHADORA AND LUPIN ARE DEAD TOO! FIVE DOWN AND MILLION MORE TO GO!

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backwards from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him.

Noooo, Harry. I want to know who else died. It cheers me up so in this abyss of stupidity and hypocrisy.

He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died …

Harry.

That was your “greatest source of comfort”. Crying about losing her brother. And you couldn’t even think of comforting her?

HOW DOES HARRY/GINNY HAVE ANY SHIPPERS? LIKE, FOR REAL? DID THEY JUST CONJURE AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT SHIP OUT OF THIN AIR?

He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Lupin, Tonks … he yearned not to feel … he wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him …

Oh my god, Rowling, I don’t care about this kid’s melodrama.

Harry ran without stopping, clutching the crystal flask of Snape’s last thoughts, and he did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office.

‘Password?’

‘Dumbledore!’ said Harry without thinking, because it was he whom he yearned to see, and to his surprise the gargoyle slid aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind.

Okay.

You know what, it’s late. These books are almost over. Whatever.

The stone Pensieve lay in the cabinet where it had always been: Harry heaved it on to the desk and poured Snape’s memories into the wide basin with its runic markings around the edge. To escape into someone else’s head would be a blessed relief … nothing that even Snape had left him could be worse than his own thoughts. The memories swirled, silver-white and strange, and without hesitating, with a feeling of reckless abandonment, as though this would assuage his torturing grief, Harry dived.

Like… I honestly don’t think I can stomach this?

One) This stupid brat didn’t even think about comforting his One True Love! about the loss of her brother.

Two) Instead, he randomly decides to take a dip in Severus’ memories. Because Rowling just really, really wanted to write that Totally Important Backstory because it was so important.

Three) This is James’ dimwitted rotten apple, once again invading Severus’ memories even if Severus did at least give them to Harry this time. But it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice, did he?

He fell headlong into sunlight, and his feet found warm ground.

Come to think of it, why is the ground warm in a memory?

Two girls were swinging backwards and forwards, and a skinny boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes.

Does Severus really have to watch them from behind a clump of bushes like a stalker?

His black hair was overlong and his clothes were so mismatched that it looked deliberate: too-short jeans, a shabby, overlarge coat that might have belonged to a grown man, an odd smock-like shirt.

This.

This right here.

This is basically Harry from Chapter Five, Book One. And who started a perfectly polite conversation with this boy? Draco Malfoy. And who got nothing but absolute shite for it? Draco Malfoy.

And no, I will never forget nor forgive.

Harry moved closer to the boy. Snape looked no more than nine or ten years old, sallow, small, stringy. There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the younger of the two girls swinging higher and higher than her sister.

Yeah, that “undisguised greed” is probably the reason why people who already disliked Severus weren’t particularly impressed with this flashback.

Because Rowling is pretty much presenting Severus as a creepy pervert here.

But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skywards with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared, like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly.

‘Mummy told you not to!’

Petunia stopped her swing by dragging the heels of her sandals on the ground, making a crunching, grinding sound, then leapt up, hands on hips.

‘Mummy said you weren’t allowed, Lily!’

Okay, I’m just — feeling rapid levels of disgust rising.

Also~ whatever happened to this:

‘Knew!’ shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. ‘Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every holiday with her pockets full of frog-spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!’

Retcon? Forgetfulness? Lies? Development?

‘But I’m fine,’ said Lily, still giggling. ‘Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do.’

I seriously find child Lily more disgusting than the teenage Lily, ha ha?

And Tuney? Tuney? No wonder Petunia hated her.

Lily waited until Petunia was near enough to have a clear view, then held out her palm. The flower sat there, opening and closing its petals, like some bizarre, many-lipped oyster.

Okay, can we just — stop? With Lily the Wonder Witch Hour? And get back to Tommy the Enormous Loser Hour?

‘It’s not right,’ said Petunia, but her eyes had followed the flower’s flight to the ground and lingered upon it. ‘How do you do it?’ she added, and there was definite longing in her voice.

He was highly coloured now, and Harry wondered why he did not take off the ridiculously large coat, unless it was because he did not want to reveal the smock beneath it. He flapped after the girls, looking ludicrously bat-like, like his older self.

Oh my god.

AS A KIND REMINDER: HARRY DID NOT EVEN THINK OF COMFORTING HIS ONE TRUE LOVE FOR THIS.

‘You are,’ said Snape to Lily. ‘You are a witch. I’ve been watching you for a while. But there’s nothing wrong with that. My mum’s one, and I’m a wizard.’

Actually, Severus, there are several things wrong with that. Because wizards are total psychopaths.

‘Wizard!’ she shrieked, her courage returned now that she had recovered from the shock of his unexpected appearance. ‘I know who you are. You’re that Snape boy! They live down Spinner’s End by the river,’ she told Lily, and it was evident from her tone that she considered the address a poor recommendation. ‘Why have you been spying on us?’

‘Haven’t been spying,’ said Snape, hot and uncomfortable and dirty – haired in the bright sunlight. ‘Wouldn’t spy on you, anyway,’ he added spitefully, ‘you’re a Muggle.’

Though Petunia evidently did not understand the word, she could hardly mistake the tone.

Wonder that.

The wizards have been so subtle about disliking muggles too!

He stood watching them as they marched through the playground gate, and Harry, the only one left to observe him, recognised Snape’s bitter disappointment, and understood that Snape had been planning this moment for a while, and that it had all gone wrong …

‘Normally,’ said Snape. ‘But you’re Muggle-born, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents.’

Then what was all the owl production with Harry?

‘Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?’

Snape hesitated. His black eyes, eager in the greenish gloom, moved over the pale face, the dark red hair.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t make any difference.’

Oh my god.

Just.

Rowling. Please. Stop. Stop presenting ten-year-old Severus as a stalker pervert. Please.

‘You’ve got loads of magic,’ said Snape. ‘I saw that. All the time I was watching you …’

His voice trailed away; she was not listening, but had stretched out on the leafy ground and was looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead. He watched her as greedily as he had watched her in the playground.

STOOOOP. STOP. PLEASE STOP.

‘Severus?’

A little smile twisted Snape’s mouth when she said his name.

‘They wouldn’t give you to the Dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. You’re not going to end up in Azkaban, you’re too – ’

He turned red again and shredded more leaves.

MORE OF THIS AND LESS STALKER PERVERT RED FLAGS.

‘What is that you’re wearing, anyway?’ she said, pointing at Snape’s chest. ‘Your mum’s blouse?’

There was a crack: a branch over Petunia’s head had fallen. Lily screamed: the branch caught Petunia on the shoulder and she staggered backwards and burst into tears.

Well.

I mean.

Oh my fucking god.

I cannot express how little I care about these bloody flashbacks. Okay?

Like, IN OUR VERY FIRST INTERACTION BETWEEN MUGGLES AND WIZARDS, ALL THE WAY BACK IN CHAPTER FOUR OF BOOK ONE, HAGRID ATTACKED A TERRIFIED ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD BOY FOR SOMETHING HIS DAD SAID.

SO I! COULDN’T! CARE! LESS!

But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape.

‘Did you make that happen?’

‘No.’ He looked both defiant and scared.

‘You did!’ She was backing away from him. ‘You did! You hurt her!’

‘No – no I didn’t!’

But the lie did not convince Lily: after one last burning look she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused …

GODS IN HEAVEN AND ALL THEIR CELESTIAL BODIES.

‘… I’m sorry, Tuney, I’m sorry! Listen – ’ She caught her sister’s hand and held tight to it, even though Petunia tried to pull it away. ‘Maybe once I’m there – no, listen, Tuney! Maybe once I’m there, I’ll be able to go to Professor Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind!’

‘That’s where you’re going,’ said Petunia with relish. ‘A special school for freaks. You and that Snape boy … weirdos, that’s what you two are. It’s good you’re being separated from normal people. It’s for our safety.’

AND COMPLETELY UNIRONICALLY, PETUNIA TURNED OUT TO BE RIGHT.

Rowling is seriously… how does anyone write this schizophrenic tripe?

Lily glanced towards her parents, who were looking around the platform with an air of wholehearted enjoyment, drinking in the scene. Then she looked back at her sister, and her voice was low and fierce.

‘You didn’t think it was such a freak’s school when you wrote to the Headmaster and begged him to take you.’

A KIND REMINDER: HARRY DIDN’T EVEN THINK OF COMFORTING HIS ONE TRUE LOVE FOR THIS.

‘I saw his reply. It was very kind.’

Ah. Yes. I’m… sure Dumbles was very kind.

‘You shouldn’t have read – ’ whispered Petunia. ‘That was my private – how could you – ?’

Lily gave herself away by half glancing towards where Snape stood, nearby. Petunia gasped.

‘That boy found it! You and that boy have been sneaking in my room!’

Well.

At least we now know where Harry inherited it from.

‘No – not sneaking – ’ Now Lily was on the defensive. ‘Severus saw the envelope, and he couldn’t believe a Muggle could have contacted Hogwarts, that’s all! He says there must be wizards working undercover in the postal service who take care of – ’

‘Apparently wizards poke their noses in everywhere!’ said Petunia, now as pale as she had been flushed. ‘Freak!’ she spat at her sister, and she flounced off to where her parents stood …

Oh, Petunia.

Unlike Rowling, I will give you all the good things in the world.

At last he stopped, outside a compartment in which a group of rowdy boys were talking. Hunched in a corner seat beside the window was Lily, her face pressed against the window pane.

Snape slid open the compartment door and sat down opposite Lily. She glanced at him and then looked back out of the window. She had been crying.

‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ she said in a constricted voice.

‘Why not?’

‘Tuney h – hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore.’

Lily.

Absolutely no one forced you to trespass on your sister’s room and invade her privacy?

Well. Now we know where Harry inherited this from as well.

I hate this chapter.

Also~ How did that go again, wait, wait, it’s coming back to me:

. . . but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there).

I can just feel the sisterly love.

‘She’s only a – ’ He caught himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, did not hear him.

And you know, why is Severus like this? His mum actually married and had a child with a muggle?

Like, this seems less to do with Severus’ abusive muggle dad and more to do with that good old contempt that all wizards have towards muggles. I’m currently making a comprehensive list — as soon as I manage to skim through these dumb books one more time.

‘You’d better be in Slytherin,’ said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened a little.

‘Slytherin?’

One of the boys sharing the compartment, who had shown no interest at all in Lily or Snape until that point, looked round at the word, and Harry, whose attention had been focused entirely on the two beside the window, saw his father: slight, black-haired like Snape, but with that indefinable air of having been well cared for, even adored, that Snape so conspicuously lacked.

‘Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?’ James asked the boy lounging on the seats opposite him, and with a jolt, Harry realised that it was Sirius. Sirius did not smile.

Even death would be kinder than this. Also~ a kind reminder of the greatest hits so far:

‘Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but –’

‘Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,’ said Hagrid darkly. ‘There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.’

‘I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad …’

‘I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.’

Perhaps it was Harry’s imagination, after all he’d heard about Slytherin, but he thought they looked an unpleasant lot.

‘Hmm,’ said a small voice in his ear. ‘Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting … So where shall I put you?’

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, ‘Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.’

‘You’re worth twelve of Malfoy,’ Harry said. ‘The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it? And where’s Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.’

And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, him and a couple of other stupid first-years. From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the House Cup.

Plus the entire house cup ceremony. And these are just from Book One.

So absolutely no one talk to me about the one and only comment Draco ever made about Hufflepuffs:

‘Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?’

‘My whole family have been in Slytherin,’ he said.

‘Blimey,’ said James, ‘and I thought you seemed all right!’

Sirius grinned.

‘Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?’

James lifted an invisible sword.

‘“Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!” Like my dad.’

Never could’ve told that James’ dad was in Gryffindor.

Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him.

‘Got a problem with that?’

Like you had a problem with Slytherins only nine sentences ago?

You know what Severus should’ve done? Smack this moron.

‘No,’ said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. ‘If you’d rather be brawny than brainy – ’

‘Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?’ interjected Sirius.

James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike.

‘Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.’

‘Oooooo …’

James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

‘See ya, Snivellus!’ a voice called, as the compartment door slammed …

Harry was standing right behind Snape as they faced the candlelit house tables, lined with rapt faces. Then Professor McGonagall said, ‘Evans, Lily!’

He watched his mother walk forwards on trembling legs and sit down upon the rickety stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat on to her head, and barely a second after it had touched the dark red hair the Hat cried, ‘Gryffindor!’

What a shock.

Harry saw Sirius move up the bench to make room for her. She took one look at him, seemed to recognise him from the train, folded her arms and firmly turned her back on him.

The roll call continued. Harry watched Lupin, Pettigrew and his father join Lily and Sirius at the Gryffindor table.

And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him, to where Lucius Malfoy, a prefect badge gleaming upon his chest, patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him …

That’s so cute, ha ha.

‘We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging around with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev? He’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?’

Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face.

‘That was nothing,’ said Snape. ‘It was a laugh, that’s all – ’

‘It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny –’

Yeah, quite unlike the torment that James and Sirius put Severus through — oh, wait.

‘What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?’ demanded Snape. His colour rose again as he said it, unable, it seemed, to hold in his resentment.

Oh?

‘They sneak out at night. There’s something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?’

‘I know your theory,’ said Lily, and she sounded cold. ‘Why are you so obsessed with them, anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?’

‘I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.’

‘They don’t use Dark Magic, though.’ She dropped her voice.

Oh my fucking god, Lily, you [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted].

‘And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there –’

GODS IN HEAVEN AND ALL THEIR CELESTIAL BODIES. EVEN DEATH WOULD BE KINDER THAN READING THESE BOOKS.

Snape’s whole face contorted and he spluttered, ‘Saved? Saved? You think he was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends’ too! You’re not going to – I won’t let you – ’

I very much doubt James was saving anyone’s neck. What better way to torment Snivellus than “saving his life”, right?

‘I didn’t mean – I just don’t want to see you made a fool of – he fancies you, James Potter fancies you!’ The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. ‘And he’s not … Everyone thinks … Big Quidditch hero – ’ Snape’s bitterness and dislike were rendering him incoherent, and Lily’s eyebrows were travelling further and further up her forehead.

‘I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag,’ she said, cutting across Snape. ‘I don’t need you to tell me that. But Mulciber and Avery’s idea of humour is just evil. Evil, Sev. I don’t understand how you can be friends with them.’

Okay, I’m just — this fucking close to losing the very thin sliver of patience I have.

Like, oh my fucking god with this [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted] [retracted].

Harry watched, again, as Snape left from the Great Hall, after sitting his O.W.L. in Defence Against the Dark Arts, watched as he wandered away from the castle and strayed, inadvertently, close to the place beneath the beech tree where James, Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew sat together. But Harry kept his distance this time, because he knew what happened after James had hoisted Severus into the air and taunted him . . .

*takes a deep hissing breath of rapidly increasing rage*

‘Slipped out?’ There was no pity in Lily’s voice. ‘It’s too late. I’ve made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends – you see, you don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?’

*finally blows the fuse*

YOU. STARTED. FUCKING. THE GUY. WHO WAS TORTURING YOUR “BEST FRIEND”. FOR YEARS. YOU STUPID FUCKING [RETRACTED].

‘ – to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?’

Severus is mudblood too, you stupid moron?

Then a blinding, jagged jet of white light flew through the air: Harry thought of lightning, but Snape had dropped to his knees and his wand had flown out of his hand.

‘Don’t kill me!’

‘That was not my intention.’

Any sound of Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned by the sound of the wind in the branches. He stood before Snape with his robes whipping around him, and his face was illuminated from below in the light cast by his wand.

Since when did apparating make light?

‘If she means so much to you,’ said Dumbledore, ‘surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?’

‘I have – I have asked him – ’

Oh my god, I’m dying.

TOMMY WAS PLAYING WINGMAN FOR HIS FOLLOWER. *wheezes*

‘You disgust me,’ said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice.

Oh, fuck off, Dumbles.

‘You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child?’

No. Not really.

‘They can die, as long as you have what you want?’

Preferably, yeah.

‘Hide them all, then,’ he croaked. ‘Keep her – them – safe. Please.’

‘And what will you give me in return, Severus?’

‘In – in return?’ Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, ‘Anything.’

OH MY–

HE DIDN’T EVEN KEEP HIS END OF THE BARGAIN. HE TOTALLY FAILED AND HE GOT A LIFELONG PAWN OUT OF IT ANYWAY.

The hilltop faded, and Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office, and something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal. Snape was slumped forwards in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim. After a moment or two, Snape raised his face, and he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the wild hilltop.

‘I thought … you were going … to keep her … safe …’

EXACTLY, SEVERUS.

‘She and James put their faith in the wrong person,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Rather like you, Severus. Weren’t you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?’

OH MY GOD, DUMBLES, JUST. DIE. AGAIN.

‘Her boy survives,’ said Dumbledore.

With a tiny jerk of the head, Snape seemed to flick off an irksome fly.

‘Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?’

‘DON’T!’ bellowed Snape. ‘Gone … Dead …’

‘Is this remorse, Severus?’

‘I wish … I wish I were dead …’

‘And what use would that be to anyone?’ said Dumbledore coldly. ‘If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.’

Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore’s words appeared to take a long time to reach him.

‘What – what do you mean?’

‘You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.’

‘He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone – ’

‘ – the Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.’

There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last he said, ‘Very well. Very well. But never – never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear … especially Potter’s son … I want your word!’

‘My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?’ Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape’s ferocious, anguished face. ‘If you insist …’

“Help me protect Lily’s son.”

By raising him like a pig to slaughter?

‘ – mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent –’

Oh, Severus.

Unlike Rowling, I will give you all the good things in the world. ❤

‘You see what you expect to see, Severus,’ said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. ‘Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likeable and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.’

Literally, who?

Also, Dumbles, STEP AWAY FROM THE UNDERAGE BOY.

Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, ‘Keep an eye on Quirrell, won’t you?’

Why won’t you keep an eye on Quirrell?

‘No,’ agreed Dumbledore. ‘You are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff. You know, I sometimes think we Sort too soon …’

He walked away, leaving Snape looking stricken …

There’s just. No words. To express how much I hate this old fucking creep and these stupid fucking books.

‘Why,’ said Snape, without preamble, ‘why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realised that. Why even touch it?’

Marvolo Gaunt’s ring lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.

Dumbledore grimaced.

‘I … was a fool. Sorely tempted …’

‘Tempted by what?’

Dumbledore did not answer.

Don’t stop there, Dumbles. Tempted by what?

‘It is a miracle you managed to return here!’ Snape sounded furious. ‘That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being – ’

‘I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.’

Snape sat down in the chair Harry had so often occupied, across the desk from Dumbledore. Harry could tell that he wanted to say more on the subject of Dumbledore’s cursed hand, but the other held it up in polite refusal to discuss the matter further. Scowling, Snape said, ‘The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius’s recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.’

‘In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?’

I want out of this book.

Like, in the very last moment, Rowling seriously had to ruin Severus’ apparent fondness for Draco.

‘Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you – ’

‘ – much less since his father has lost favour. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius’s position.’

‘All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.’

Snape raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, ‘Are you intending to let him kill you?’

‘Certainly not. You must kill me.’

I’m going to kill this old fucking creep. In all the fics.

‘If you don’t mind dying,’ said Snape roughly, ‘why not let Draco do it?’

‘That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I would not have it ripped apart on my account.’

‘And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?’

‘You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,’ said Dumbledore.

I can’t even comment. I’m so angry and disgusted, ha ha.

‘He is his father over again –’

Oh, Severus. ALL THE GOOD THINGS.

‘In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother’s.’

Dumbles, on the other hand, can just die. Again.

‘I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late.’

*deep breaths*

I’m sure this chapter will be over. Soon. Otherwise, I will go mad.

‘It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do.’

‘I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort.’

‘Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord’s mind!’

ALL THE GOOD THINGS, SEVERUS.

‘Lord Voldemort’s soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry’s. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame – ’

‘Souls? We were talking of minds!’

‘In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other.’

Dumbles.

Harry is literally just a dimwitted, inferior version of Tommy?

‘You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?’

Snape looked angry, mutinous.

Like, I’m not even sure if I want to make Severus Draco’s godfather anymore?

‘Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?’

‘But what must he do?’

‘That is between Harry and me.’

I despise. This character. So much. It’s unbelievable.

‘Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself on to the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.’

Oh, was this the reason why Severus was leaking memories like a faulty tap?

‘So the boy … the boy must die?’ asked Snape, quite calmly.

‘And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.’

Another long silence. Then Snape said, ‘I thought … all these years … that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.’

Oh, Severus. You just never learn, do you?

‘We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,’ said Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. ‘Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will, truly, mean the end of Voldemort.’

Harry? Suspect something? Harry? Arrange matters?

Okay. Sure.

Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape looked horrified.

‘You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?’

Wasn’t that obvious since Book One?

‘Don’t be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?’

‘Lately, only those whom I could not save,’ said Snape. He stood up. ‘You have used me.’

Wasn’t that obvious since Book One?

‘I have spied for you, and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter – ’

‘But this is touching, Severus,’ said Dumbledore seriously. ‘Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?’

Dumbles, seriously. Just. Fucking die. Again.

‘For him?’ shouted Snape. ‘Expecto patronum!’

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe: she landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

‘After all this time?’

‘Always,’ said Snape.

You know, that’s actually really sad. Especially when Lily’s whatever is compatible with the Moron Who Could Not Have Died Sooner.

‘You will have to give Voldemort the correct date of Harry’s departure from his aunt and uncle’s,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Not to do so will raise suspicion, when Voldemort believes you so well-informed. However, you must plant the idea of decoys – that, I think, ought to ensure Harry’s safety. Try Confunding Mundungus Fletcher. And Severus, if you are forced to take part in the chase, be sure to act your part convincingly … I am counting upon you to remain in Lord Voldemort’s good books as long as possible, or Hogwarts will be left to the mercy of the Carrows …’

Now Snape was head to head with Mundungus in an unfamiliar tavern, Mundungus’s face looking curiously blank, Snape frowning in concentration.

‘You will suggest to the Order of the Phoenix,’ Snape murmured, ‘that they use decoys. Polyjuice Potion. Identical Potters. It is the only thing that might work. You will forget that I have suggested this. You will present it as your own idea. You understand?’

Oh.

The decoys and Mundungus were Dumbles’ ideas.

I’m.

Done.

. . . a Death Eater moved ahead of Snape and raised his wand, pointing it directly at Lupin’s back –

‘Sectumsempra!’ shouted Snape.

But the spell, intended for the Death Eater’s wand hand, missed and hit George instead –

The best thing that came out of this — I mean.

could ever have been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. I think her mind’s going, personally!
Lots of love,
Lily

Well, Lily, as we’ve already established, you’re a stupid moron so what the fuck would you know?

Snape took the page bearing Lily’s signature, and her love, and tucked it inside his robes. Then he ripped in two the photograph he was also holding, so that he kept the part from which Lily laughed, throwing the portion showing James and Harry back on to the floor, under the chest of drawers …

He’s a funny man.

I LOVE HOW UTTERLY DISMISSIVE HE IS STILL OF HARRY. LIKE, LET THE MAN KEEP HIS JUSTIFIED RESENTMENT FOR THAT INSUFFERABLE BRAT.

And now Snape stood again in the Headmaster’s study as Phineas Nigellus came hurrying into his portrait.

‘Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood –’

‘Good. Very good!’ cried the portrait of Dumbledore behind the Headmaster’s chair. ‘Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valour – and he must not know that you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry’s mind and see you acting for him –’

And the sword was Dumbles’ idea too.

Well, at least it was Phineas who informed them instead of Dumbles somehow foreseeing that they’d camp in the Forest of Dean.

And sweet merciful gods, it’s over.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-five.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Twenty-two – The Elder Wand

So I went to take a peek at the pro Draco Malfoy tag out of curiosity and it was — it was honestly bizarre? Like, what even is this? Almost all of this has absolutely nothing to do with Draco Malfoy?

For example, the first post in the tag was about Draco/Hermione? Why? What does Hermione have to do with Draco? I mean, I wouldn’t wish those two on each other in a million years? And if the only way you can be “pro-Draco” is in relation to Hermione then… you’re not really pro-Draco.

The second post was a bit better because it acknowledged the Malfoys’ (and the Dursleys’!) love for each other but it also added:

No kid deserves to be spoiled by their parents.

And I’m just??

What kind of “spoiling” are we talking about? Because otherwise that honestly sounds kind of insane?

Then there were those dreaded “Draco Malfoy deserved a redemption arc!” and I’m like, he literally does not. He literally has nothing to “redeem”. He’s a small massive dork who is obnoxious to people who were rude to him first and then got in over his head because his dad was in jail. What exactly does he need to or deserve to “redeem” about that?

Moreover~ If Hagrid, Dumbledore, Minerva, Weasley Twins, Harry, Hermione, Sirius, James and Lupin et cetera don’t have to redeem themselves then Draco Malfoy sure as hell doesn’t have to either.

Harry Potter and Avatar: The Last Airbender make me think that people way overuse and misunderstand “redemption” arcs. Here’s advice that no one asked for: YOU CAN LIKE “MORALLY QUESTIONABLE” CHARACTERS WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT “REDEEMING” THEM, OKAY? IT SAYS NOTHING ABOUT YOU AS A PERSON EVEN IF YOU WERE TO LIKE A FICTIONAL MURDERER.

And then there was this utterly bizarre “pro-Draco” take that started with this gem:

Draco Malfoy is perhaps the darkest and shadiest character to feature in the Harry Potter books after Severus Snape.

And I’m just?? Literally, who are you talking about?? Draco is a dork who is obnoxious to people who were rude to him first and carries his grudges to the grave (not really, though)?

. . . his unfair meanness and prejudiced notions against the golden trio.

Unfair meanness.

Prejudiced notions.

WHO JUDGED WHO WITHIN THREE SECONDS OF MEETING EACH OTHER?

WHO LAUGHED AT WHOSE NAME FIRST?

WHO DISSED WHO FIRST?

WHO ATTACKED WHO FIRST?

Like. Draco literally started a polite conversation with a boy he didn’t know or recognise. A boy who was too thin and unkempt and dressed in too big muggle clothes (which, by the by, got Harry bullied in his old muggle school). He didn’t say a word to Hermione in the entire Book One and only started calling her a mudblood after she dissed him first in Book Two. And it’s not as if he’s going around calling anyone else mudblood? So where does that leave us in interpreting his character?

I also read the comment that Draco Malfoy isn’t that interesting. Which was perfectly fair. Because he’s just a small massive dork who is obnoxious to people who were rude to him first and carries his grudges to the grave. And since most self-proclaimed Draco fans don’t even seem to talk about the actual character but their own oc frauds of his character, it’s no wonder someone would look at that and then at what little is actually in canon and go, “he isn’t that interesting”. But none of the characters in Harry Potters are interesting so? Where does that leave us?

And that. Was enough of that foray.

The place honestly seemed unhinged.

Also, if Ginny isn’t allowed to have an emotional reaction about Fred, I will laugh about it until I die.

The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant laid down their arms?

Rowling seriously should not be writing death scenes. Because this is not how you’re supposed to react to a death scene.

I mean, the world had ended? I’m sorry, Harry, since when were you that close with Fred?

Harry’s mind was in freefall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossibility, because Fred Weasley could not be dead, the evidence of all his senses must be lying —

Well, he is dead and you’re making an already funny event infinitely funnier.

Not that I was gleefully waiting for the Sociopath Twins to die or anything.

And then a body fell past the hole blown into the side of the school and curses flew in at them from the darkness, hitting the wall behind their heads.

??

Is it just me or what is this saying? I mean the first part of that sentence?

‘Get down!’ Harry shouted, as more curses flew through the night: he and Ron had both grabbed Hermione and pulled her to the floor, but Percy lay across Fred’s body, shielding it from further harm, and when Harry shouted, ‘Percy, come on, we’ve got to move!’ he shook his head.

Oh no, Percy.

The thing is, okay, I want to say that Fred seriously did not deserve this from Percy. Because all we’ve ever seen in canon is Fred (and George) relentlessly bullying Percy and trying to rope the whole family into it. But I also feel so bad for Percy because this was his little brother regardless so… Oh, screw it. This would’ve been much better if Rowling was even a remotely good author.

‘Percy!’ Harry saw tear tracks streaking the grime coating Ron’s face as he seized his elder brother’s shoulders and pulled, but Percy would not budge. ‘Percy, you can’t do anything for him! We’re going to –’

Okay, there’s Ron.

Now, where’s Ginny, Rowling?

Hermione screamed, and Harry, turning, did not need to ask why. A monstrous spider the size of a small car was trying to climb through the huge hole in the wall: one of Aragog’s descendants had joined the fight.

‘It brought friends!’ Harry called to the others, glancing over the edge of the castle through the hole in the wall the curses had blasted: more giant spiders were climbing the side of the building, liberated from the Forbidden Forest into which the Death Eaters must have penetrated.

*raises eyebrows*

Really?

Because I gotta say if the army of giant spiders is here then this already stupid battle is over.

Pushing Hermione ahead of him with Ron, Harry stooped to seize Fred’s body under the armpits. Percy, realising what Harry was trying to do, stopped clinging to the body and helped; together, crouching low to avoid the curses flying at them from the grounds, they hauled Fred out of the way.

That spell?

Wingardium leviosa?

Mobilicorpus?

No?

Okay then.

Rounding the corner, Percy let out a bull-like roar, ‘ROOKWOOD!’ and sprinted off in the direction of a tall man, who was pursuing a couple of students.

Oh. It was Rookwood who killed Fred.

You know, I always rather liked Rookwood.

I mean!

No, but seriously speaking, I’ve never liked the Sociopath Twins and I never made it a secret so.

She had pulled Ron behind a tapestry. They seemed to be wrestling together, and for one mad second Harry thought that they were embracing again; then he saw that Hermione was trying to restrain Ron, to stop him running after Percy.

For one mad… Harry thought that they were embracing again?

Oh my god, Harry, you utter freak, what is wrong with you?

Like, yeah, Ron sure must feel like snogging his girlfriend(?) right after losing his brother?

I have absolutely no sympathy for Fred’s (or George’s) character and yet I still have more empathy than this brat?

‘I wanna help – I wanna kill Death Eaters –’

But Harry knew how Ron felt: pursuing another Horcrux could not bring the satisfaction of revenge; he too wanted to fight, to punish them, the people who had killed Fred, and he wanted to find the other Weasleys, and above all make sure, make quite sure, that Ginny was not – but he could not permit that idea to form in his mind –

You know, this is honestly the weirdest written relationship in the world? Like, almost all of the “progress” — if you can even call it that — is totally onesided in this really weird way?

And where is Ginny anyway? I want to know if she’s allowed to have an emotional reaction about her brother dying or does she have to suck it up again and be FIERCE™ because Harry is there?

‘You need to find out where Voldemort is, because he’ll have the snake with him, won’t he? Do it, Harry – look inside him!’

Eww. Hermione, someone could take those words the wrong way.

Why was it so easy? Because his scar had been burning for hours, yearning to show him Voldemort’s thoughts?

Harry.

Please don’t use ‘yearning’ and ‘Tommy’ in the same sentence.

He was standing in the middle of a desolate but strangely familiar room, with peeling paper on the walls and all the windows boarded except for one. The sounds of the assault on the castle were muffled and distant. The single unblocked window revealed distant bursts of light where the castle stood, but inside the room it was dark except for a solitary oil lamp.

And the loser isn’t even at the battle —

OOOOOOOOOOOH.

Oh, no.

No, nope, nope, no.

SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THAT WOMAN? D:

So, the beautiful full circles we’ve made in this book:

Neville’s parents were tortured to insanity after one measly torture session. Neville, on the other hand, withstood torture for a year and now he’s a real man whom his gran can be proud of. :3

Harry finally makes progress with his lack of torture prowess and learns how to really mean it when he’s torturing people with the cruciatus. :3

Severus was almost murdered in the Shrieking Shack when he was in school, and now he’s finally murdered there as an adult. :3

BEAUTIFUL FULL CIRCLES. EVERYWHERE. ROWLING IS FOR SURE THE GREATEST AUTHOR EVER.

He was rolling his wand between his fingers, watching it, his thoughts on the Room in the castle, the secret Room only he had ever found, the Room, like the Chamber, that you had to be clever, and cunning, and inquisitive to discover … he was confident that the boy would not find the diadem … although Dumbledore’s puppet had come much further than he had ever expected … too far …

Tommy.

The room was literally full of stuff that people had hidden there?

Like?

How is this loser this fucking stupid?

‘My Lord,’ said a voice, desperate and cracked. He turned: there was Lucius Malfoy sitting in the darkest corner, ragged and still bearing the marks of the punishment he had received after the boy’s last escape. One of his eyes remained closed and puffy. ‘My Lord … please … my son …’

Aww. ❤

‘If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins.’

Like the rest of the Slytherins?

Does that include all the eleven-year-olds?

HEY, ROWLING, WHAT DOES THE REST OF THE SLYTHERINS EVEN MEAN?

‘Perhaps he has decided to befriend Harry Potter?’

‘No – never,’ whispered Malfoy.

‘You must hope not.’

I hope not.

Harry Potter does not deserve the friendship of Draco Malfoy.

‘Aren’t – aren’t you afraid, my Lord, that Potter might die at another hand but yours?’ asked Malfoy, his voice shaking.

Oh my god.

*massive eye roll*

LIKE. THE MOST STUPID AND THINNEST EXCUSE IN THE WORLD WHY SOMEONE COULDN’T GET THAT STUPID BRAT KILLED.

‘Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to your son.’

Aww. ❤

Didn’t the Malfoys get a group hug eventually? Because they need it.

‘It is the only way, Nagini,’ he whispered, and he looked round, and there was the great, thick snake, now suspended in mid-air, twisting gracefully within the enchanted, protected space he had made for her, a starry, transparent sphere somewhere between glittering cage and tank.

I’m sorry, what?

Also, since year whatever this snake has been a woman. Why didn’t Tommy sleep with her if he was going to sleep with anyone? I mean, for some baffling reason, he granted her the highest honour of housing one of the shoddy pieces of his soul?

We could’ve had Tommy’s half-snake bastard offspring. It would’ve been poetic.

Obviously, the person who wrote The Cursed Child had no imagination to speak of. I have to do everything around here.

‘Voldemort’s sitting in the Shrieking Shack?’ said Hermione, outraged. ‘He’s not – he’s not even fighting?’

I feel dirty whenever I share a thought with one of these characters.

‘Right,’ said Ron, squaring his shoulders. ‘So you can’t go, that’s what he wants, what he’s expecting. You stay here and look after Hermione, and I’ll go and get it –’

Aww, Ron. You were too good for Harry and Hermione.

Which is why I advocate for the Ron/Ginny supremacy, ha ha.

I mean.

You know, as a Ron/Ginny aside, I really want to write that longer post-canon fic. I’ve decided to name it Monster because I like multilayered names like that. But it does make me sad that it 99,99% won’t have readers — or well, commenting readers *looks at the baffling 1,500 views on my mature Ron/Ginny fic* — because it will be more than just the incest fic. Like, it will basically be this dissection of anti-Harry, anti-Harry/Ginny, anti-Ron/Hermione and anti-Weasley family from the lens of Ron/Ginny. Which is actually one of the reasons why I want to write it. Any. day. now. brain.

‘No,’ said Hermione, ‘it makes much more sense if I take the Cloak and –’

I support this. Mostly for the hilarity.

Before Hermione could get further than, ‘Ron, I’m just as capable – ’ the tapestry at the top of the staircase on which they stood was ripped open.

‘POTTER!’

Two masked Death Eaters stood there, but even before their wands were fully raised, Hermione shouted, ‘Glisseo!’

The stairs beneath their feet flattened into a chute and she, Harry and Ron hurtled down it, unable to control their speed but so fast that the Death Eaters’ Stunning Spells flew far over their heads. They shot through the concealing tapestry at the bottom and spun on to the floor, hitting the opposite wall.

‘Duro!’ cried Hermione, pointing her wand at the tapestry, and there were two loud, sickening crunches as the tapestry turned to stone and the Death Eaters pursuing them crumpled against it.

Okay?

You know, they really should’ve just made these things into a cartoon.

‘Get back!’ shouted Ron, and he, Harry and Hermione flattened themselves against a door as a herd of galloping desks thundered past, shepherded by a sprinting Professor McGonagall. She appeared not to notice them: her hair had come down and there was a gash on her cheek. As she turned the corner, they heard her scream: ‘CHARGE!’

A cartoon. For five-year-olds.

But he threw it over all three of them; large though they were, he doubted anyone would see their disembodied feet through the dust that clogged the air, the falling stone, the shimmer of spells.

So here’s a thought: this stupid cloak makes the wearer impervious to all spells basically, right? But if their feet are visible, can they be killed by hitting their feet?

They ran down the next staircase and found themselves in a corridor full of duellers. The portraits on either side of the fighters were crammed with figures, screaming advice and encouragement, while Death Eaters both masked and unmasked duelled students and teachers.

A cartoon. For three-year-olds.

Dean had won himself a wand, for he was face to face with Dolohov, Parvati with Travers.

If Dean was initially wandless, how did he win himself a wand?

Also, it’s a wonder that these kids are holding up against what should be an elite group of dark wizards.

Even as they stood braced, looking for the opportunity to act, there came a great ‘wheeeeeeeeeeee!’ and, looking up, Harry saw Peeves zooming over them, dropping Snargaluff pods down on to the Death Eaters, whose heads were suddenly engulfed in wriggling, green tubers like fat worms.

A cartoon. For two-year-olds.

A fistful of tubers had hit the Cloak over Ron’s head; the slimy, green roots were suspended improbably in mid-air as Ron tried to shake them loose.

‘Someone’s invisible there!’ shouted a masked Death Eater, pointing.

Oh my god! We have a smart one here! Smart death eaters are as rare as unicorns!

Dean made the most of the Death Eater’s momentary distraction, knocking him out with a Stunning Spell; Dolohov attempted to retaliate and Parvati shot a Body-Bind Curse at him.

Aaaand there he goes.

‘I’m Draco Malfoy, I’m Draco, I’m on your side!’

Draco was on the upper landing, pleading with another masked Death Eater. Harry Stunned the Death Eater as they passed: Malfoy looked around, beaming, for his saviour . . .

Ha ha, he’s beaming. ❤ I adore that dork.

. . . and Ron punched him from under the Cloak. Malfoy fell backwards on top of the Death Eater, his mouth bleeding, utterly bemused.

‘And that’s the second time we’ve saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!’ Ron yelled.

Ron, on the other hand, is kind of a hit-and-miss.

Eh, it’s okay. I will make his life miserable in that Ron/Ginny fic — I mean.

And come to think of it, I feel as if I got another chapter coda idea from the previous chapter but I forgot what it was?

Students ran in every direction, some carrying or dragging injured friends.

That spell?

Wingardium leviosa?

Mobilicorpus?

Harry directed a Stunning Spell towards the masked Death Eater, it missed but nearly hit Neville, who had emerged from nowhere brandishing armfuls of Venomous Tentacula, which looped itself happily around the nearest Death Eater and began reeling him in.

You know, I can’t even express how happy I am that these books are almost over.

Harry, Ron and Hermione sped down the marble staircase: glass shattered to their left and the Slytherin hourglass that had recorded house points spilled its emeralds everywhere, so that people slipped and staggered as they ran.

I am ever so surprised that it was the Slytherin hourglass that Rowling decided to break.

‘NO!’ shrieked Hermione, and with a deafening blast from her wand Fenrir Greyback was thrown backwards from the feebly stirring body of Lavender Brown. He hit the marble banisters and struggled to return to his feet. Then, with a bright white flash and a crack, a crystal ball fell on the top of his head and he crumpled to the ground and did not move.

Also… why did it have to be Hermione who saved Lavender?

‘I have more!’ shrieked Professor Trelawney from over the banisters, ‘more for any who want them! Here – ’

And with a movement like a tennis serve, she heaved another enormous crystal sphere from her bag, waved her wand through the air, and caused the ball to speed across the hall and smash through a window. At the same moment, the heavy wooden front doors burst open, and more of the gigantic spiders forced their way into the Entrance Hall.

You know… this chapter can end any second now?

Hagrid had come thundering down the stairs, brandishing his flowery pink umbrella.

‘Don’t hurt ’em, don’t hurt ’em!’ he yelled.

But he was not even halfway to Hagrid when he saw it happen: Hagrid vanished amongst the spiders, and with a great scurrying, a foul swarming movement, they retreated under the onslaught of spells, Hagrid buried in their midst.

YES. PLEASE. EAT HIM!

‘HAGRID, NO!’

Harry forgot everything else: he sprinted out from under the Cloak, running bent double to avoid the curses illuminating the whole Hall.

HAGRID, YES.

DO NOT RUIN IT FOR ME, HARRY, YOU MORON.

Harry heard someone calling his own name, whether friend or foe he did not care: he was sprinting down the front steps into the dark grounds, and the spiders were swarming away with their prey, and he could see nothing of Hagrid at all.

YES!

EAT HIM! EAT HIM! EAT HIM! MAKE MY LIFE COMPLETE!

He thought he could make out an enormous arm waving from the midst of the spider swarm, but as he made to chase after them, his way was impeded by a monumental foot, which swung down out of the darkness and made the ground on which he stood shudder. He looked up: a giant stood before him, twenty feet high, its head hidden in shadow, nothing but its tree-like, hairy shins illuminated by light from the castle doors. With one brutal, fluid movement, it smashed a massive fist through an upper window and glass rained down upon Harry, forcing him back under the shelter of the doorway.

AND FLATTEN HARRY TOO!

‘DON’T!’ Ron yelled, grabbing Hermione’s hand as she raised her wand. ‘Stun him and he’ll crush half the castle – ’

Aaaand that would be a bad thing?

I mean.

‘HAGGER?’

Grawp came lurching round the corner of the castle; only now did Harry realise that Grawp was, indeed, an undersized giant. The gargantuan monster trying to crush people on the upper floors looked around and let out a roar. The stone steps trembled as he stomped towards his smaller kin, and Grawp’s lopsided mouth fell open, showing yellow, half-brick-sized teeth, and then they launched themselves at each other with the savagery of lions.

Okay then.

I guess I won’t get total death in these books.

‘RUN!’ Harry roared; the night was full of hideous yells and blows as the giants wrestled, and he seized Hermione’s hand and tore down the steps into the grounds, Ron bringing up the rear.

You know, sometimes it makes sense why people thought Harry and Hermione would happen.

Harry had not lost hope of finding and saving Hagrid . . .

STOP RUINING IT FOR ME, HARRY.

He raised his wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading through him: Fred was gone, and Hagrid was surely dying or already dead . . .

Heeee.

Oh, I guess that only makes me happy.

. . . how many more lay dead that he did not yet know about; he felt as though his soul had already half left his body …

Harry, please. Less melodramatics and more spells. Hurry it up. I want this chapter over and done with.

He saw Ron’s silver terrier burst into the air, flicker feebly and expire; he saw Hermione’s otter twist in mid-air and fade, and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling …

And then a silver hare, a boar and a fox soared past Harry, Ron and Hermione’s heads: the Dementors fell back before the creatures’ approach. Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast their Patronuses: Luna, Ernie and Seamus.

Hm… I feel that the hare is Luna’s, the boar is Ernie’s and the fox is Seamus’. I mean, aside from the sequence which hints at that.

‘That’s right,’ said Luna encouragingly, as if they were back in the Room of Requirement and this was simply spell practice for the DA. ‘That’s right, Harry … come on, think of something happy …’

‘Something happy?’ he said, his voice cracked.

‘We’re all still here,’ she whispered, ‘we’re still fighting. Come on, now …’

You know… Where exactly is Ginny “Harry’s greatest source of comfort”? Because this is another golden opportunity, utterly wasted.

With a roar and an earthquaking tremor, another giant came lurching out of the darkness from the direction of the Forest, brandishing a club taller than any of them.

Rowling, please. Stop teasing me with these characters’ deaths.

‘The Whomping Willow,’ said Harry. ‘Go!’

Ha ha, I actually had Ron come through here in that Ron/Ginny fic.

‘How – how’re we going to get in?’ panted Ron. ‘I can – see the place – if we just had – Crookshanks again –’

Come to think of it, where is Crookshanks?

‘Crookshanks?’ wheezed Hermione, bent double, clutching her chest. ‘Are you a wizard, or what?’

Hermione. Do not talk to me about “are you a wizard, or what”.

I mean, when I was skimming through Book One quickly and did those bookmarks, I started using “are you a witch or not” as a hashtag every time these morons should’ve used magic and didn’t.

Ron looked around, then directed his wand at a twig on the ground and said, ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’

How poetic.

…..this isn’t actually the only spell that Ron has done on-screen, is it?

Harry wriggled into the earthy passage hidden in the tree’s roots. It was a much tighter squeeze than it had been the last time they had entered it. The tunnel was low-ceilinged: they had had to double up to move through it nearly four years previously, now there was nothing for it but to crawl.

You know, I was actually thinking about this. Presumably, Lupin would’ve used this tunnel before he turned into a werewolf, right? So how humiliating would it have been if he had to crawl through this tunnel every time as a human and what would that have said about Dumbles? I mean, I know exactly what that would’ve said about Dumbles but I changed it up anyway in that Ron/Ginny fic in which I made this into a proper tunnel.

The room beyond was dimly lit, but he could see Nagini, swirling and coiling like a serpent underwater . . .

Like a serpent.

. . . Harry drew back a little, keeping his eyes fixed upon Nagini, wondering whether there was any spell that might penetrate the protection surrounding her, but he could not think of anything.

Oh, Harry. That’s because you’re very dim.

One failed attempt, and he would give away his position …

And come to think of it, why doesn’t Harry just avada kedavra Tommy from his position and then kill Nagini? I mean, does it really matter in which order he does it?

‘I have a problem, Severus,’ said Voldemort softly.

Oh, Tommy. You have several problems.

‘Why doesn’t it work for me, Severus?’

They have pills for that, man.

‘My – my Lord?’ said Snape blankly. ‘I do not understand. You – you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand.’

‘No,’ said Voldemort. ‘I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary . . .’

I LOVE HOW CASUALLY HE SAYS THAT.

No false modesty with this one.

And come to think of it, are there any Voldemort/Hermione fics? Because I think that pairing would be a lot more interesting and surprisingly compatible than, say, Voldemort/Harry?

‘I have thought long and hard, Severus … do you know why I have called you back from the battle?’

Oh? So he was at the battle? Did Lucius stay there?

And for a moment Harry saw Snape’s profile: his eyes were fixed upon the coiling snake in its enchanted cage.

Severus, why don’t you adava kedavra, Tommy? Like, does it really matter if you destroy the horcruxes after you kill Tommy’s current body?

‘You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I know his weakness, you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come.’

Uh-huh.

‘My instructions to my Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends – the more, the better – but do not kill him.’

‘My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But – let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can –’

Oh my god, Severus. Shut up about Harry.

‘I have told you, no!’ said Voldemort, and Harry caught the glint of red in his eyes as he turned again, and the swishing of his cloak was like the slithering of a snake, and he felt Voldemort’s impatience in his burning scar.

I’m surprised how long it took Tommy to tell Severus to shut up about Harry.

On the other hand, no one has told Tommy to shut up about Harry.

‘My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!’

Tommy.

Harry is an inactive, brainless seventeen-year-old whose spell count is thirty-five.

‘Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?’

Rowling ex machina.

‘My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another’s wand. I did so, but Lucius’s wand shattered upon meeting Potter’s.’

Rowling ex machina, Tommy.

Snape was not looking at Voldemort now. His dark eyes were still fixed upon the coiling serpent in its protective sphere.

Oh my god, Severus. Just kill him. You already killed Dumbles! You could’ve gone for two!

And, like, moved to Siberia or something. Or maybe Japan.

Ha ha, and it would’ve been so hilarious if Severus had taken down Tommy and his horcruxes and already won the war with no one the wiser.

‘I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.’

Aaaand this why, Tommy! You do not send sixteen-year-olds to do your job for you!

You enormous loser, you.

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

Aww, poor Severus.

It’s okay. I’ll give him all the good things in the world in that Rewrite AU. Including Penny Haywood among other things.

Ha ha, I’ll write them so sickeningly cute together (within in character, of course).

‘It cannot be any other way,’ said Voldemort. ‘I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last.’

Someone could really take those words the wrong way, Tommy.

The snake’s cage was rolling through the air, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.

‘Kill.’

There was a terrible scream. Harry saw Snape’s face losing the little colour it had left, it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake’s fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way, and he fell to the floor.

And in full beautiful circle: Severus even gets killed by a cursed magical creature.

Like, seriously. What the fuck is wrong with that woman?

‘I regret it,’ said Voldemort coldly.

He turned away; there was no sadness in him, no remorse.

If only he was like this all the time.

He pointed it at the starry cage holding the snake, which drifted upwards, off Snape, who fell sideways on to the floor, blood gushing from the wounds in his neck.

Even in his last moments, Rowling refuses him all and any dignity.

Now he was looking through the tiny crack between crate and wall, watching a foot in a black boot trembling on the floor.

Like, all dignity.

I’m honestly surprised that Rowling didn’t make him defecate while she was at it.

He did not know why he was doing it, why he was approaching the dying man: he did not know what he felt as he saw Snape’s white face, and the fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck.

I mean? You could maybe staunch the blood flow for him?

Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak and looked down upon the man he hated, whose widening black eyes found Harry as he tried to speak. Harry bent over him; and Snape seized the front of his robes and pulled him close.

You know, if this had happened with Draco, I would’ve just rage-quit right there.

Something more than blood was leaking from Snape. Silvery blue, neither gas nor liquid, it gushed from his mouth and his ears and his eyes, and Harry knew what it was, but did not know what to do –

As per usual.

A flask, conjured from thin air, was thrust into his shaking hands by Hermione. Harry lifted the silvery substance into it with his wand. When the flask was full to the brim, and Snape looked as though there was no blood left in him, his grip on Harry’s robes slackened.

I MEAN. YOU COULD’VE ACTUALLY TRIED TO STAUNCH THE BLOOD? INSTEAD OF THIS?

HOW DID IT GO AGAIN? ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT, YOU FOOLS?

‘Look … at … me …’ he whispered.

The green eyes found the black, but after a second something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank and empty. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor, and Snape moved no more.

I honestly can’t even feel anything about this?

The first half of this stupid chapter was melodrama, the second half was farce, and the ending was… just utter indignity because Rowling is an utter petty-minded, vindictive weirdo about her own characters.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-five.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

---

And wait, Harry actually stops the whole “war effort” to watch The Lowest Hits of Severus’ Life? IS THIS REALLY THE TIME, HARRY?

Chapter Thirty-one – The Battle of Hogwarts

I have learned that it’s almost impossible to explain summarily how terrible these books are to people who casually read them when they came out twenty years ago. And quite possibly liked them at that time.

…..wow, that’s so long ago. D:

Anyhow~ I’ve been kind of absent lately because I’ve been busy playing ✧˖°.video games.°˖✧. I bought this bundle of three games because there was one game I wanted in it and I thought, well, three games basically for the discounted price of one. That’s an easy enough decision. And then I ended up actually playing them. Which is odd. Usually, I buy games at a discount and then don’t actually play them until five years later.

One of the games, the one I wanted, Bramble: The Mountain King, was so up my alley that I just completely steamrolled through the game yesterday and it ended up being such an intense experience that it wired my brain so hard that I couldn’t get much sleep, ha ha. So I’m working on five hours of sleep right now.

I also totally forgot I was supposed to write a Ron/Ginny coda for the previous chapter. Oops, ha ha. Well, I guess I can still write it and make fun of Harry and Harry/Ginny. ✧˖°.FOR GREAT JUSTICE.°˖✧.

BUT I TOTALLY NEED TO TALK ABOUT BRAMBLE: THE MOUNTAIN KING IN ANOTHER POST.

The Battle of Hogwarts, huh.

I reeeeally don’t want to do this chapter.

Behind her stood the remaining teachers, including the palomino centaur, Firenze . . .

INCLUDING.

Ha ha. Why is that so funny?

. . . and the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had arrived to fight.

Oh, please. Who are you trying to fool?

‘… evacuation will be overseen by Mr Filch and Madam Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organise your house and take your charges, in an orderly fashion, to the evacuation point.’

THEN WHAT DO HEAD BOYS AND GIRLS DO?

‘Where’s Professor Snape?’ shouted a girl from the Slytherin table.

Aww, what a sweetheart this nameless Slytherin girl is. ❤

‘He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk,’ replied Professor McGonagall, and a great cheer erupted from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

Okay.

Whatever.

Is “done a bunk” really a common phrase because I’ve never heard or read it? Well, before now.

But her final words were drowned as a different voice echoed throughout the Hall. It was high, cold and clear: there was no telling from where it came; it seemed to issue from the walls themselves. Like the monster it had once commanded, it might have lain dormant there for centuries.

*sighs*

There are very few moments when Tommy seems rather cool and imposing.

And then Rowling actually shows him.

Also, I seriously had to read that last sentence “like the monster it had once commanded, it might have lain dormant there for centuries” at least twice before it clicked, ha ha.

‘I know that you are preparing to fight.’ There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound.

Oh my god, kids. Cease with the histrionics.

‘I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.’

Well.

Considering how bizarrely low his actual on-screen murder record is, particularly in this book (aside from that moment when he murdered the lot of his own followers, that is), he might even actually be telling the truth?

‘Give me Harry Potter,’ said Voldemort’s voice, ‘and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded.

Tommy.

Just.

WHY ARE YOU SO UTTERLY PATHETIC?

The silence swallowed them all again. Every head turned, every eye in the place seemed to have found Harry, to hold him frozen in the glare of thousands of invisible beams. Then a figure rose from the Slytherin table and he recognised Pansy Parkinson as she raised a shaking arm and screamed, ‘But he’s there! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!’

Like, the thing is. Rowling presents Pansy obviously in the wrong here. But her reaction makes perfect sense from her point of view.

I mean, Pansy doesn’t know Harry. For Pansy, Harry is just this psychopathic twit who got to strut around the school scot-free after he almost eviscerated her boyfriend to death.

She’s terrified. Harry is nothing to her. Why wouldn’t she be all, “let’s turn him in then and save ourselves at least”?

Before Harry could speak, there was a massive movement. The Gryffindors in front of him had risen and stood facing, not Harry, but the Slytherins. Then the Hufflepuffs stood, and, almost at the same moment, the Ravenclaws, all of them with their backs to Harry, all of them looking towards Pansy instead, and Harry, awestruck and overwhelmed, saw wands emerging everywhere, pulled from beneath cloaks and from under sleeves.

*massive eye roll*

‘Thank you, Miss Parkinson,’ said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. ‘You will leave the Hall first with Mr Filch. If the rest of your house could follow.’

Minerva.

It was literally one Slytherin girl who yelled and you’re punishing the entire house for it?

You’re going to be a tremendously good headmaster. Just like Dumbles!

. . . necessitating Professor McGonagall’s descent from the teachers’ platform to chivvy the under-age on their way.

‘Absolutely not, Creevey, go! And you, Peakes!’

You have no idea how happy I am that the second Dobby is going to die too.

Also, Peakes? Was that one of the beater boys from Book Six?

‘Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall, hurrying up to him, as students flooded the platform, jostling for position, receiving instructions, ‘aren’t you supposed to be looking for something?’

‘What? Oh,’ said Harry, ‘oh yeah!’

He had almost forgotten about the Horcrux, almost forgotten that the battle was being fought so that he could search for it: the inexplicable absence of Ron and Hermione had momentarily driven every other thought from his mind.

I can’t with this brainless brat.

I just really can’t.

Also, why isn’t he using that fancy magical map that he has?

He sensed eyes following him as he ran out of the Great Hall again, into the Entrance Hall still crowded with evacuating students. He allowed himself to be swept up the marble staircase with them . . .

??

Why are they going up the staircase?

Also: HOUSE-ELVES. HUNDREDS OF THEM. IN THE KITCHEN. THEY CAN APPARATE IN AND OUT OF HOGWARTS AT WILL.

Fear and panic were clouding his thought processes.

Yeah, Harry, that really has nothing to do with fear and panic.

Without Ron and Hermione to help him, he could not seem to marshal his ideas.

Oh my god.

Even after seven books, he needs other characters to do his thinking for him.

He slowed down, coming to a halt halfway along an empty passage, where he sat down upon the plinth of a departed statue and pulled the Marauder’s Map out of the pouch around his neck.

FINALLY.

He could not see Ron or Hermione’s names anywhere on it, though the density of the crowd of dots now making its way to the Room of Requirement might, he thought, be concealing them.

Why can’t you tap the map, say the name you want to find, and then the map shows it?

Also~ They’re apparently going to evacuate through the room of requirement instead of using those nifty house-elves they have enslaved in their kitchen.

He put the map away, pressed his hands over his face and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate …

You know, he has glasses?

How was it possible that Voldemort, the Slytherin, had found the diadem that had eluded generations of Ravenclaws?

How was it possible that Voldemort, a muggleborn, had found the chamber of secrets that had eluded generations of Slytherins?

. . . Harry saw Zacharias Smith bowling over first-years to get to the front of the queue . . .

Like, Rowling can seriously waste sentences on this stuff instead of any of the actual stuff she should be showing? Such as, Ginny being an actual source of comfort to this brainless brat.

Harry caught sight of a pearly-white figure drifting across the Entrance Hall below and yelled as loudly as he could over the clamour.

‘Nick! NICK! I need to talk to you!’

Now he thinks of asking something from the ghosts.

Have I mentioned that I can’t stand Rowling’s writing? Because I can’t stand Rowling’s writing.

‘Nick, you’ve got to help me. Who’s the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?’

Nearly Headless Nick looked surprised, and a little offended.

‘The Grey Lady, of course; but if it is ghostly services you require – ?’

The Grey Lady? I don’t think she’s been mentioned before?

Ha ha, so wait. Rowling literally invented a hitherto non-existent ghost to resolve a plot point for Harry?

Gods forbid this kid actually has to work for something.

‘That’s her over there, Harry, the young woman with the long hair.’

Harry looked in the direction of Nick’s transparent, pointing finger and saw a tall ghost who caught sight of Harry looking at her, raised her eyebrows, and drifted away through a solid wall.

Oh, hitherto non-existent Ravenclaw ghost. How I wish everyone had reacted such as you to Harry in these books.

She consented to pause, floating a few inches from the ground. Harry supposed that she was beautiful, with her waist-length hair and floor-length cloak, but she also looked haughty and proud.

A reminder: it took Harry seven books to even think that his One True Love is beautiful.

Close to, he recognised her as a ghost he had passed several times in the corridor, but to whom he had never spoken.

Funny that.

Also, it’s okay, Harry. You barely speak to anyone aside from the voices in your head.

‘This isn’t about trying to get better marks!’ Harry shouted at her. ‘It’s about Voldemort – defeating Voldemort – or aren’t you interested in that?’

She could not blush, but her transparent cheeks became more opaque, and her voice was heated as she replied, ‘Of course I – how dare you suggest – ?’

Why should she as a ghost be interested in that?

‘It – it is not a question of – ’ she stammered. ‘My mother’s diadem – ’

‘Your mother’s?’

She looked angry with herself.

‘When I lived,’ she said stiffly, ‘I was Helena Ravenclaw.’

Oh, she had a daughter.

And then Harry is going to destroy her mother’s heirloom, ha ha.

‘While the diadem bestows wisdom,’ she said, with an obvious effort to pull herself together, ‘I doubt that it would greatly increase your chances of defeating the wizard who calls himself Lord –’

That’s true, Helena. You can’t multiply zero.

I mean.

He did not know how he had managed to gain her confidence, and did not ask . . .

Because we’re at *checks notes* chapter thirty-one and you can’t possibly work for anything?

Also, Rowling: stop questioning your stupid narrative in your stupid narrative.

‘Then my mother fell ill – fatally ill. In spite of my perfidy, she was desperate to see me one more time. She sent a man who had long loved me, though I spurned his advances, to find me. She knew that he would not rest until he had done so.’

‘He tracked me to the forest where I was hiding. When I refused to return with him, he became violent. The Baron was always a hot – tempered man. Furious at my refusal, jealous of my freedom, he stabbed me.’

??

Okay?

‘The Bloody Baron, yes,’ said the Grey Lady, and she lifted aside the cloak she wore to reveal a single dark wound in her white chest. ‘When he saw what he had done, he was overcome with remorse. He took the weapon that had claimed my life, and used it to kill himself. All these centuries later, he wears his chains as an act of penitence … as he should,’ she added bitterly.

What chains?

ALSO, WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING AT HOGWARTS?

Is this school the purgatory? Because I literally wouldn’t put it past it.

‘A forest in Albania. A lonely place I thought was far beyond my mother’s reach.’

Oh, Albania. That total backwater place *checks notes* of almost three million people.

Oh wow, it actually has a smaller population than Finland.

Yes, Harry thought, Tom Riddle would certainly have understood Helena Ravenclaw’s desire to possess fabulous objects to which she had little right.

I just… really don’t like reading this brat’s thoughts.

And of course Harry wouldn’t be able to understand that since Harry gets everything he doesn’t even know he wants from the author.

It’s to die for.

‘Well, you weren’t the first person Riddle wormed things out of,’ Harry muttered. ‘He could be charming when he wanted …’

Could he, though?

Lost in desperate speculation, Harry turned a corner, but he had taken only a few steps down the new corridor when the window to his left broke open with a deafening, shattering crash. As he leapt aside, a gigantic body flew in through the window and hit the opposite wall. Something large and furry detached itself, whimpering, from the new arrival and flung itself at Harry.

‘Hagrid!’ Harry bellowed, fighting off Fang the boarhound’s attentions as the enormous bearded figure clambered to his feet. ‘What the – ?’

Do we really have to?

‘Heard You-Know-Who from up in our cave,’ said Hagrid grimly. ‘Voice carried, didn’ it? “Yeh got ’til midnight ter gimme Potter.”’

Oh my god.

You know what that means? It means that the neighbouring muggle town must’ve heard it as well.

I’m dying.

The first casualties of the battle were already strewn across the passage ahead: the two stone gargoyles that usually guarded the entrance to the staff room had been smashed apart by a jinx that had sailed through another broken window. Their remains stirred feebly on the floor, and as Harry leapt over one of their disembodied heads it moaned faintly, ‘Oh, don’t mind me … I’ll just lie here and crumble …’

Okay?

And as he reached the end of the passage, the memory of a third stone effigy came back to him: that of an ugly old warlock, on to whose head Harry himself had placed a wig and a battered, old tiara.

??

When exactly did he do this?

Oh, wait. It was to mark where he put Severus’ “vile little spell book”, right?

He knew, at last, where the Horcrux sat waiting for him …

Well, isn’t that a wonder. And there are still *checks notes* five chapters left!

Tom Riddle, who confided in no one and operated alone, might have been arrogant enough to assume that he, and only he, had penetrated the deepest mysteries of Hogwarts Castle. Of course, Dumbledore and Flitwick, those model pupils, had never set foot in that particular place, but he, Harry, had strayed off the beaten track in his time at school – here at last was a secret he and Voldemort knew, that Dumbledore had never discovered –

Dumbles literally mentioned the room of requirement in Book Four before you’d even discovered it?

Through other characters’ help as per usual, I might add.

He was roused by Professor Sprout, who was thundering past followed by Neville and half a dozen others, all of them wearing earmuffs and carrying what appeared to be large potted plants.

‘Mandrakes!’ Neville bellowed at Harry over his shoulder as he ran. ‘Going to lob them over the walls – they won’t like this!’

Like…

Can’t you at least lob boggarts?

‘It’s all righ’, Fang – it’s all righ’!’ yelled Hagrid, but the great boarhound had taken flight as slivers of china flew like shrapnel through the air, and Hagrid pounded off after the terrified dog, leaving Harry alone.

What. a. shame.

He forged on through the trembling passages, his wand at the ready, and for the length of one corridor the little painted knight, Sir Cadogan, rushed from painting to painting beside him, clanking along in his armour, screaming encouragement, his fat little pony cantering behind him.

You know… Why couldn’t Rowling just choose between a farce and a serious narrative?

‘I know, we’re evacuating,’ Harry said. ‘Voldemort’s – ’

‘ – attacking because they haven’t handed you over, yeah,’ said Aberforth, ‘I’m not deaf, the whole of Hogsmeade heard him.’

‘And it never occurred to any of you to keep a few Slytherins hostage? There are kids of Death Eaters you’ve just sent to safety. Wouldn’t it have been a bit smarter to keep ’em here?’

Of course not, Aberforth, they were just going to straight up murder them if they chose “the wrong side”.

‘It wouldn’t stop Voldemort,’ said Harry, ‘and your brother would never have done it.’

Would he never, though?

Your brother would never have done it … well, it was the truth, Harry thought, as he ran on again; Dumbledore, who had defended Snape for so long, would never have held students ransom …

Harry.

Dumbles was literally using Severus as a convenient pawn.

‘It was Ron, all Ron’s idea!’ said Hermione breathlessly. ‘Wasn’t it absolutely brilliant? There we were, after you left, and I said to Ron, even if we find the other one, how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn’t got rid of the cup! And then he thought of it! The Basilisk!’

‘Something to get rid of Horcruxes,’ said Ron simply.

Oh, Ron.

You literally were the best of the trio and Rowling did you the most dirty.

‘But how did you get in there?’ he asked, staring from the fangs to Ron. ‘You need to speak Parseltongue!’

‘He did!’ whispered Hermione. ‘Show him, Ron!’

Ron made a horrible, strangled hissing noise.

‘It’s what you did to open the locket,’ he told Harry apologetically. ‘I had to have a few goes to get it right, but,’ he shrugged modestly, ‘we got there in the end.’

*sighs*

I can’t even feel happy for him. Not when I know his life is just going to end up with Hermione and eternally in Harry’s shadow.

‘I know what the diadem looks like, and I know where it is,’ said Harry, talking fast. ‘He hid it exactly where I hid my old Potions book, where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it.’

*raises eyebrows*

Your old potions book?

Moreover~ how fucking stupid is Tommy exactly? Like, “where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries” and yet Tommy supposedly thought he was the “only one to find it”?

Like, Tommy, how brainless can you get?

‘I was the last to come through,’ said Mrs Longbottom. ‘I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grandson?’

‘He’s fighting,’ said Harry. ‘Naturally,’ said the old lady proudly. ‘Excuse me, I must go and assist him.’

Yeah… you know, Neville’s gran is still a total hag.

‘Ginny,’ said Harry, ‘I’m sorry, but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then you can come back in.’

Ginny looked simply delighted to leave her sanctuary.

‘And then you can come back in!’ he shouted after her, as she ran up the steps after Tonks.

‘You’ve got to come back in!’

Yeah, this relationship is just not going to last, ha ha.

Also, is Harry still yelling that last sentence?

‘Hang on a moment!’ said Ron sharply. ‘We’ve forgotten someone!’

And you know, I was actually thinking earlier: was there at some point more Ron/Ginny shippers? Because I feel as if Rowling has shown very little interactions between them in this book when she used to do it pretty consistently if rarely in the previous books?

I mean, my shipping them aside, it’s just weird that they don’t, like, react to each other at all? Especially when Ron used to be really protective of Ginny in the past?

‘Hang on a moment!’ said Ron sharply. ‘We’ve forgotten someone!’

‘Who?’ asked Hermione.

‘The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?’

‘You mean we ought to get them fighting?’ asked Harry.

‘No,’ said Ron seriously, ‘I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbys, do we? We can’t order them to die for us –’

Oh, Ron.

My heart weeps for you. I’m so sorry how Rowling ended up your character.

There was a clatter as the Basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.

‘Is this the moment?’ Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. ‘OI! There’s a war going on here!’

One) Uh-huh.

Two) And again with that WHAT ABOUT ME. You just gotta love it.

‘I know, mate,’ said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, ‘so it’s now or never, isn’t it?’

‘Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?’ Harry shouted. ‘D’you think you could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem?’

Harry, seriously.

You do nothing when they fight each other and you do nothing but complain when they don’t fight each other.

‘As long as it’s not any of our lot!’ said a voice: Harry turned and saw Ginny and Tonks, both with their wands drawn at the next window, which was missing several panes. Even as he watched, Ginny sent a well-aimed jinx into a crowd of fighters below.

‘Good girl!’ roared a figure running through the dust towards them, and Harry saw Aberforth again, his grey hair flying as he led a small group of students past.

Oh my god, even Aberforth would be a better match for Ginny than Harry.

‘They look like they might be breaching the North Battlements, they’ve brought giants of their own!’

I’m just…

How long is this chapter? Because I kind of want to be already done with it?

With surprising speed, she trotted off towards the stone steps. Harry looked at Tonks. ‘I thought you were supposed to be with Teddy at your mother’s?’

‘I couldn’t stand not knowing – ’ Tonks looked anguished. ‘She’ll look after him – have you seen Remus?’

‘Have you seen Remus?’ Tonks called after him.

‘He was duelling Dolohov,’ shouted Aberforth, ‘haven’t seen him since!’

‘Tonks,’ said Ginny, ‘Tonks, I’m sure he’s OK – ’

But Tonks had run off into the dust after Aberforth.

You know, but seriously, what is this woman doing here? And she’s supposed to be an auror?

Oh my god, don’t tell me that she got herself deliberately killed after Lupin was killed?

Ginny turned, helpless, to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

‘They’ll be all right,’ said Harry, though he knew they were empty words. ‘Ginny, we’ll be back in a moment, just keep out of the way, keep safe – come on!’ he said to Ron and Hermione, and they ran back to the stretch of wall beyond which the Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant.

See?

Ron used to react to Ginny a lot more in the previous books?

Like, that is his little sister. Whom he was very protective of. And all of a sudden there’s just no interactions between them?

I need the place where everything is hidden, Harry begged of it, inside his head, and the door materialised on their third run past.

Why not just ask for the room with the ravenclaw tiara?

The furore of the battle died the moment they crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them: all was silent. They were in a place the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.

‘And he never realised anyone could get in?’ said Ron, his voice echoing in the silence.

THANK YOU, RON.

‘He thought he was the only one,’ said Harry. ‘Too bad for him I’ve had to hide stuff in my time … this way,’ he added . . .

Harry.

You hid one stuff.

Like?

What’s wrong with this kid?

‘Accio diadem,’ cried Hermione in desperation, but nothing flew through the air towards them. It seemed that, like the vault at Gringotts, the room would not yield its hidden objects that easily.

You know, why not just… try “point me” towards the potions book?

He had already stretched out his hand, though he remained ten feet away, when a voice behind him said, ‘Hold it, Potter.’

He skidded to a halt and turned round. Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder, wands pointing right at Harry. Through the small space between their jeering faces, he saw Draco Malfoy.

‘That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter,’ said Malfoy, pointing his own through the gap between Crabbe and Goyle.

Like, FINALLY they seem to be acting like his bodyguards, ha ha.

I’m so happy there are only a couple of pages left.

‘Not any more,’ panted Harry, tightening his grip on the hawthorn wand. ‘Winners, keepers, Malfoy. Who’s lent you theirs?’

‘My mother,’ said Draco.

Aww. ❤

Harry laughed, though there was nothing very humorous about the situation.

Harry, though, can go die any time he pleases.

Which is soon, ha ha.

‘We’re gonna be rewarded,’ said Crabbe: his voice was surprisingly soft for such an enormous person; Harry had hardly ever heard him speak before.

Oh my god, Vincent has a soft voice!

And wait, isn’t this literally the first time he’s speaking in these books?

Crabbe was smiling like a small child promised a large bag of sweets.

‘We ’ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to ’im.’

Come to think of it, how on earth did these three dorks get to the room of requirement?

Like, the trio of nitwits closed the door? They shouldn’t have gotten in?

‘So how did you get in here?’ he asked, trying to distract them.

‘I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,’ said Malfoy, his voice brittle. ‘I know how to get in.’

Aww. ❤

‘We was hiding in the corridor outside,’ grunted Goyle. ‘We can do Diss-lusion Charms now! And then,’ his face split into a gormless grin, ‘you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What’s a die-dum?’

Yeah, like, my skin is seriously crawling right now. So if Rowling could just — stop it. Immediately. Please.

Also, hush, Gregory. Don’t ruin it.

With a whip-like movement, Crabbe pointed his wand at the fifty-foot mountain of old furniture, of broken trunks, of old books and robes and unidentifiable junk and shouted, ‘Descendo!’

The wall began to totter, then crumbled into the aisle next door where Ron stood.

*raises eyebrows*

Oh, Vincent even seems to be halfway competent — and oh my god, that’s why he’s the one who got killed and not Gregory. Because Gregory is too dimwitted so Rowling allowed him to live.

‘Ron!’ Harry bellowed, as somewhere out of sight Hermione screamed, and Harry heard innumerable objects crashing to the floor on the other side of the destabilised wall: he pointed his wand at the rampart, cried, ‘Finite!’ and it steadied.

The Boy Wonder’s thirty-fifth spell, everyone.

‘No!’ shouted Malfoy, staying Crabbe’s arm as the latter made to repeat his spell. ‘If you wreck the room, you might bury this diadem thing!’

*sighs*

*closes eyes*

He really is like his father.

‘What’s that matter?’ said Crabbe, tugging himself free. ‘It’s Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?’

Okay, I take what I said above back.

And you know what’s absolutely hilarious? Ron didn’t know what a diadem is either, he just knew how to say it right.

‘Potter came in here to get it,’ said Malfoy with ill – disguised impatience at the slow – wittedness of his colleagues, ‘so that must mean – ’

‘“Must mean”?’ Crabbe turned on Malfoy with undisguised ferocity. ‘Who cares what you think? I don’t take your orders no more, Draco. You an’ your dad are finished.’

*gasps*

‘Harry?’ mimicked Crabbe. ‘What’s going – no, Potter! Crucio!’

Harry had lunged for the tiara; Crabbe’s curse missed him but hit the stone bust, which flew into the air; the diadem soared upwards and then dropped out of sight in the mass of objects on which the bust had rested.

You know, but seriously, why don’t the spells do these sorts of impacts on human bodies?

‘STOP!’ Malfoy shouted at Crabbe, his voice echoing through the enormous room. ‘The Dark Lord wants him alive –’

Ha ha!

DRACO, PLEASE. STOP ACTING EXACTLY LIKE YOUR DAD.

‘So? I’m not killing him, am I?’ yelled Crabbe, throwing off Malfoy’s restraining arm, ‘but if I can, I will, the Dark Lord wants him dead anyway, what’s the diff — ?’

OH MY GOD, HE IS HALFWAY INTELLIGENT.

GO, VINCENT! I SUPPORT YOU! KILL THAT BRAT!

A jet of scarlet light shot past Harry by inches: Hermione had run round the corner behind him and sent a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe’s head. It only missed because Malfoy pulled him out of the way.

‘It’s that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!‘

AND HE’S TRYING TO KILL HERMIONE TOO. BLESS YOU, VINCENT.

I mean.

Also, so far the only characters who have suffered actual narrative consequences for the “unforgivables” *quotation marks of extreme contempt* are Draco and Vincent.

Like.

You know.

‘Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!’ Malfoy yelled at Crabbe and Goyle, who were both aiming at Harry: their split second’s hesitation was all Harry needed.

DRACO, PLEASE.

Harry saw Hermione dive aside and his fury that Crabbe had aimed to kill wiped all else from his mind. He shot a Stunning Spell at Crabbe, who lurched out of the way, knocking Malfoy’s wand out of his hand; it rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of broken furniture and boxes.

‘Expelliarmus!’

And you know what else is absolutely hilarious? Here is Vincent, trying to actually kill them, and all he gets from Harry is the stunning spell and the expelliarmus.

You know, instead of Harry almost eviscerating him to death. You can’t even say that Harry learned from that incident with Draco because right afterwards the stupid brat tried to use it on zombies. Without the singlest bit of hesitation. Like, the only reason why Harry stopped using those “increasingly nasty” spells is literally because he found out they’re from Severus.

But I guess he went right back into using them when he learned that Severus was the “bravest man he ever knew”. *massive eye roll*

Crabbe wheeled round and screamed, ‘Avada Kedavra!’ again. Ron leapt out of sight to avoid the jet of green light.

You know, considering these (presumably) advanced spells that Vincent is shooting out he must actually be pretty competent at magic?

The wandless Malfoy cowered behind a three-legged wardrobe . . .

Oh my god, Rowling. Can you, like, please restrain yourself at least once?

A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment’s warning. He turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle towards them.

‘Like it hot, scum?’ roared Crabbe as he ran.

Ha ha.

Vincent is actually quite hilarious.

Malfoy grabbed the Stunned Goyle and dragged him along . . .

Aww. ❤

It was not normal fire; Crabbe had used a curse of which Harry had no knowledge: as they turned a corner the flames chased them as though they were alive, sentient, intent upon killing them.

Much like with Peter, he must be at least halfway competent at magic to be able to cast these spells?

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had vanished from view: Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped dead; the fiery monsters were circling them, drawing closer and closer, claws and horns and tails lashed, and the heat was solid as a wall around them.

‘What can we do?’ Hermione screamed over the deafening roars of the fire. ‘What can we do?’

Well, considering the last time you didn’t inexplicably burn to death, just dab some dittany on?

Harry seized a pair of heavy-looking broomsticks from the nearest pile of junk and threw one to Ron, who pulled Hermione on to it behind him.

Nnnh.

OKAY, OKAY. I WILL REFRAIN FROM SAYING THAT IT’S TOO BAD THEY DIDN’T LEAVE HER BEHIND.

Harry could not see a trace of Malfoy, Crabbe or Goyle anywhere: he swooped as low as he dared over the marauding monsters of flame to try to find them, but there was nothing but fire: what a terrible way to die … he had never wanted this …

Well, at least there is that, Harry.

And he saw them: Malfoy with his arms around the unconscious Goyle, the pair of them perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, and Harry dived. Malfoy saw him coming, and raised one arm, but even as Harry grasped it he knew at once that it was no good: Goyle was too heavy and Malfoy’s hand, covered in sweat, slid instantly out of Harry’s –

Like, this is quite possibly the first actually decent thing that Harry has done?

‘IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!’ roared Ron’s voice . . .

I will also refrain from saying that it’s too bad that Ron didn’t kill Harry.

The diadem seemed to fall in slow motion, turning and glittering as it dropped towards the maw of a yawning serpent, and then he had it, caught it around his wrist –

Am I totally misremembering but don’t fan fics usually write that this tiara was left in the flames?

Malfoy fell off the broom and lay face down, gasping, coughing and retching. Harry rolled over and sat up: the door to the Room of Requirement had vanished and Ron and Hermione sat panting on the floor beside Goyle, who was still unconscious.

‘C – Crabbe,’ choked Malfoy, as soon as he could speak. ‘C – Crabbe …’

Aww. ❤

‘He’s dead,’ said Ron harshly.

Ron, I get your sentiments but let the kid mourn his friend?

Then a number of huge bangs shook the castle, and a great cavalcade of transparent figures galloped past on horses, their heads screaming with bloodlust under their arms. Harry staggered to his feet when the Headless Hunt had passed . . .

‘Where’s Ginny?’ he said sharply. ‘She was here. She was supposed to be going back into the Room of Requirement.’

‘Blimey, d’you reckon it’ll still work after that fire?’ asked Ron, but he, too, got to his feet, rubbing his chest and looking left and right. ‘Shall we split up and look – ?’

NO, LIKE, SERIOUSLY? WHY IS RON NO LONGER WORRIED ABOUT HIS LITTLE SISTER?

He pulled the diadem from his wrist and held it up. It was still hot, blackened with soot, but as he looked at it closely he was just able to make out the tiny words etched upon it: Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.

A blood-like substance, dark and tarry, seemed to be leaking from the diadem. Suddenly Harry felt the thing vibrate violently, then break apart in his hands, and as it did so, he thought he heard the faintest, most distant scream of pain, echoing not from the grounds or the castle, but from the thing that had just fragmented in his fingers.

Oh.

Okay.

‘It must have been Fiendfyre!’ whimpered Hermione, her eyes on the broken pieces.

‘Sorry?’

‘Fiendfyre – cursed fire – it’s one of the substances that destroy Horcruxes, but I would never, ever have dared use it, it’s so dangerous. How did Crabbe know how to – ?’

Oh my fucking god, Hermione.

‘Must’ve learned from the Carrows,’ said Harry grimly.

Oh? So the Carrows must’ve been pretty competent at magic too?

‘Shame he wasn’t concentrating when they mentioned how to stop it, really,’ said Ron, whose hair like Hermione’s was singed, and whose face was blackened. ‘If he hadn’t tried to kill us all, I’d be quite sorry he was dead.’

RON, PLEASE. HIS FRIENDS ARE LITERALLY THERE.

Fred and Percy had just backed into view, both of them duelling masked and hooded men.

Heeee. Ten seconds until the Sociopath Twin dies!

I mean.

‘Hello, Minister!’ bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. ‘Did I mention I’m resigning?’

‘You’re joking, Perce!’ shouted Fred, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells.

Fred looked at Percy with glee.

‘You actually are joking, Perce … I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were –’

Yeah… You know, I’m not even sorry that the Sociopath Twin died?

‘No – no – no!’ someone was shouting. ‘No! Fred! No!’

And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.

*sighs happily*

I MEAN.

AND IT WAS THE LAST SENTENCE.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-five.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Thirty – The Sacking of Severus Snape

That’s a really weird way to say ‘murder’. But then again, the previous murder attempt was also called ‘a trick, a joke and a schoolboy grudge’ so. What else can you expect? Nothing better.

Also,

. . . and also (Harry had to admire Sirius’s nerve) several posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls; Harry could tell that they were Muggles because they remained quite stationary within their pictures, faded smiles and glazed eyes frozen on the paper.

See this here, people?

Half-naked muggle girls. On the walls of Sirius’ room.

I assure you, if Sirius was romantically or sexually even the least bit inclined towards men, he would’ve plastered half-naked muggle men all over his walls. And quite possibly displayed his sex toys for his parents to see as well. In fact, I’m surprised he didn’t do it anyway just to displease his parents because Sirius clearly didn’t give a flying whit about what his parents thought.

It’s fine to write him that way because, you know, slash is going to slash. But it’s not even a headcanon that he’s inclined towards men. It’s pure fanon.

And another thing, this one from the previous chapter:

Ginny gave Harry a radiant smile: he had forgotten, or had never fully appreciated, how beautiful she was, but he had never been less pleased to see her.

Bolded by yours truly.

At the time I was too busy laughing and applauding Harry for finally calling his One True Love beautiful.

But considering that it took Harry seven books to finally even think that Ginny is beautiful — once when Fleur was beautifying everything around her and once the above — I’d say it’s obvious that Harry has “never fully appreciated how beautiful Ginny is”. As an aside, Harry never has any problems reminding the readers how pretty Young Tommy, Cho and Fleur are. A kind reminder: Tommy actually murdered his parents.

It seems that despite Rowling’s best efforts, the truth still manages to shine through every once in a while in these books and I, for one, find it hilarious.

It’s okay, Ginny. I’ll make you happy with Ron, ha ha. In some capacity. Well, it depends on my mood. I WILL SAIL THIS SHIP TO THE END. I just need to get over my own neuroses so I can actually write fics.

Although it’s a little bit sad to do that all by my lonesome but what can you do? I don’t know any other lunatic who likes Ron/Ginny. Even (almost) all the fics in the Ron/Ginny tag were nothing but OOC paper doll porn so it’s just… me.

*sighs*

I kind of really wanted to meet another Ron/Ginny fan when I posted those Ron/Ginny fics.

Well, if I ever manage to write that Hagrid/Tommy fic, I don’t think it will have readers either. So… better get used to that thought, I guess.

And speaking of, I was thinking about my writer’s block in regards to the Harry Potter fics that I want to write. Maybe I’m thinking about them too hard? I mean, 99,99% of the fics in this fandom are utterly OOC anyway. So evidently, no one cares except me? The fandom doesn’t care, Rowling certainly didn’t care a flying whit about her characters. So maybe I should just make these characters my own and just write whatever?

Just write.

Just. Write.

Wrrrrite.

I’m trying to psych myself up. I will post the results eventually, hopefully.

The moment her finger touched the Mark, Harry’s scar burned savagely, the starry room vanished from sight, and he was standing upon an outcrop of rock beneath a cliff, and the sea was washing around him and there was triumph in his heart – they have the boy.

Tommy, please. Please. It’s Book Seven. There are seven chapters left. Stop being such a loser.

A loud bang brought Harry back to where he stood: disorientated, he raised his wand, but the witch before him was already falling forwards; she hit the ground so hard that the glass in the bookcases tinkled.

‘I’ve never Stunned anyone except in our DA lessons,’ said Luna, sounding mildly interested. ‘That was noisier than I thought it would be.’

Well… Good for Luna, I guess? But I just… kind of really want the bad guys to do something as well so I can maybe feel the slightest bit of tension.

And sure enough, the ceiling had begun to tremble. Scurrying, echoing footsteps were growing louder from behind the door leading to the dormitories: Luna’s spell had woken Ravenclaws sleeping above.

‘Luna, where are you? I need to get under the Cloak!’

Luna’s feet appeared out of nowhere; he hurried to her side and she let the Cloak fall back over them as the door opened and a stream of Ravenclaws, all in their nightclothes, flooded into the common room. There were gasps and cries of surprise as they saw Alecto lying there unconscious. Slowly, they shuffled in around her, a savage beast that might wake at any moment and attack them. Then one brave little first-year darted up to her and prodded her backside with his big toe.

‘I think she might be dead!’ he shouted with delight.

And… they couldn’t explain to the Ravenclaws what happened? So they can, you know, tie her up and lock her in a closet or something?

Harry closed his eyes, and as his scar throbbed he chose to sink again into Voldemort’s mind … he was moving along the tunnel into the first cave … he had chosen to make sure of the locket before coming … but that would not take him long …

Yeah. Just.

‘I dunno, do I? Shut it!’ snarled an uncouth voice that Harry knew was that of the Carrow brother, Amycus. ‘Alecto? Alecto? Are you there? Have you got him? Open the door!’

The Ravenclaws were whispering amongst themselves, terrified. Then, without warning, there came a series of loud bangs, as though somebody was firing a gun into the door.

Just.

How do all of these people hear everything from everywhere in this big stone castle?

‘ALECTO! If he comes, and we haven’t got Potter – d’you want to go the same way as the Malfoys?’

THE SAME WAY AS THE MALFOYS?

Don’t stop there, I want to know what happened to Draco!

Then, just as Harry was wondering whether he ought not to blast open the door and Stun Amycus before the Death Eater could do anything else, a second, most familiar voice rang out beyond the door.

Our hero, everyone. So decisive, so mindful and so active.

…..come to think of it, how do the death eaters even know that Harry is already at Hogwarts?

‘But isn’t your sister in there?’ asked Professor McGonagall. ‘Didn’t Professor Flitwick let her in, earlier this evening, at your urgent request? Perhaps she could open the door for you? Then you needn’t wake up half the castle.’

HOW IS HE WAKING UP HALF THE CASTLE WHEN IT’S A BIG DAMN STONE CASTLE?

For the love of Muses. Rowling has no idea how snakes work, Rowling has no idea how owls work, Rowling has no idea how animals work, Rowling has no idea how writing works, Rowling has no idea how themes work, Rowling has no idea how plotting works, Rowling has no idea how world-building works, Rowling has no idea how gold works, Rowling has no idea how anything works, and she evidently doesn’t even understand that the setting of her own stupid books was a big. damn. stone. castle.

Oh, but I got distracted: how did Alecto know — what was it again — “earlier this evening” that Harry is already at Hogwarts? Before he most likely even got there?

‘She ain’t answering, you old besom! You open it! Garn! Do it, now!’

Old besom.

A broom made from a bundle of twigs tied onto a shaft.

(Scotland, Northern England, derogatory) A troublesome woman

Maybe — what was this dude’s name again? — Amycus isn’t so bad after all.

I mean.

Also, garn?

(obsolete) yarn (twisted fibers for weaving)

Um?

(Cockney slang) A response that expresses disbelief or mockery.

A-ha, it’s probably this?

…..so for some reason the dude is speaking a mixture of Scottish and Cockney dialect? Like, Scotland and London are on the opposite sides of the country?

‘Certainly, if you wish it,’ said Professor McGonagall, with awful coldness. There was a genteel tap of the knocker and the musical voice asked, again, ‘Where do vanished objects go?’

‘Into non-being, which is to say, everything,’ replied Professor McGonagall.

‘Nicely phrased,’ replied the eagle doorknocker, and the door swung open.

Why wasn’t Minerva in Ravenclaw? Oh, right. Because the woman is a complete Dumbles cultist.

Come to think of it, if you were in Ravenclaw, could you become the head of house of, say, Slytherin? Do the heads of houses have to be alumni?

The few Ravenclaws who had remained behind sprinted for the stairs as Amycus burst over the threshold, brandishing his wand. Hunched like his sister, he had a pallid, doughy face and tiny eyes, which fell at once on Alecto, sprawled motionless on the floor. He let out a yell of fury and fear.

And Harry didn’t just immediately stun him from beneath his invisibility cloak… why?

These people truly do not understand the element of surprise.

‘We haven’t got him, and they’ve gorn and killed her!’

The only relevant instance of ‘gorn’ I found during a rudimentary internet search reveals that ‘gorn’ is a regional accent on Saint Helena’s island.

So tentatively I will say that this dude’s dialect is all over the place.

‘He told us Potter might try and get inside Ravenclaw Tower, and to send for him if we caught him!’

Oh? So Tommy informed them? Probably because of that mental connection? Maybe Tommy isn’t a completely brainless fool.

And speaking of, that mental connection is the only true mystery in these books: because how can you have a mental connection between two idiots who don’t have a brain.

‘Why would Harry Potter try to get inside Ravenclaw Tower? Potter belongs in my house!’

I’m… sure that’s it, Minerva. Harry just really wanted to take the time to visit his old besom head of house. You know, in a school full of death eaters who are working for Tommy who is trying to kill him.

Ah. This is why Minerva wasn’t a Ravenclaw.

Beneath the disbelief and anger, Harry heard a little strain of pride in her voice, and affection for Minerva McGonagall gushed up inside him.

Okay.

So it wasn’t even that Minerva thinks that Harry inexplicably wants to see her or come back to school. She was, in fact, protesting against the idea that the Boy Who Lived! could possibly belong to some other house.

Okay then~.

‘We can push it off on the kids,’ said Amycus, his pig-like face suddenly crafty. ‘Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll say Alecto was ambushed by the kids, them kids up there,’ he looked up at the starry ceiling towards the dormitories, ‘and we’ll say they forced her to press her Mark, and that’s why he got a false alarm … he can punish them. Couple of kids more or less, what’s the difference?’

So… you’re going to tell Tommy… you know, the dark lord who supposedly has a high murder count… that his elite group of dark wizards… were bested by kids.

And… Tommy won’t just murder you on the spot… why?

Gods of literature, I prithee, never let this woman write again.

‘Only the difference between truth and lies, courage and cowardice,’ said Professor McGonagall, who had turned pale, ‘a difference, in short, which you and your sister seem unable to appreciate. But let me make one thing very clear. You are not going to pass off your many ineptitudes on the students of Hogwarts. I shall not permit it.’

You’ve been permitting their torture and disfiguration for a year, Minerva.

Amycus moved forwards until he was offensively close to Professor McGonagall, his face within inches of hers.

OFFENSIVELY CLOSE.

‘It’s not a case of what you’ll permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or you’ll pay the price.’

And he spat in her face.

Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand and said, ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

As Amycus spun round, Harry shouted, ‘Crucio!’

The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor.

‘I see what Bellatrix meant,’ said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, ‘you need to really mean it.’

Well…

I… guess… it’s nice that we came full beautiful circle on Harry’s lack of torture prowess too?

Gods of literature, I prithee, never let this woman write again.

‘He spat at you,’ said Harry.

‘Potter, I – that was very – very gallant of you – but don’t you realise – ?’

*absolute rage erupts*

ROWLING.

UNFORGIVABLE.

AS IN, A SPELL THAT CANNOT BE FORGIVEN.

CAN YOU FUCKING SPELL IT?

CAN YOU–

OH MY GOD, I AM SO MAD.

GODS OF LITERATURE, I PRITHEE, NEVER LET THIS UTTER FUCKING HACK WRITE AGAIN.

‘Oh, are we allowed to say the name now?’ asked Luna with an air of interest, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak. This appearance of a second outlaw . . .

Second outlaw.

‘Potter!’ whispered Professor McGonagall, clutching her heart.

This appearance of a second outlaw seemed to overwhelm Professor McGonagall, who staggered backwards and fell into a nearby chair, clutching at the neck of her old tartan dressing gown.

And someone give the woman some fucking smelling salts.

In a distant part of Harry’s brain, that part connected to the angry, burning scar, he could see Voldemort sailing fast over the dark lake in the ghostly green boat … he had nearly reached the island where the stone basin stood …

Well, Harry, since you’re already taking these peeks, I want to see how Tommy gets rid of the potion in the basin.

Can you do that much at least? Probably not because it’s you.

Before Harry or Luna could act, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, pointed her wand at the groggy Death Eater and said, ‘Imperio.’

FOR THE LOVE OF GODS, ROWLING, WHAT FUCKING PART OF UNFORGIVABLES OF YOUR OWN FUCKING WRITING CAN YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?

Then he lay down on the floor beside Alecto. Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, and a length of shimmering silver rope appeared out of thin air and snaked around the Carrows, binding them tightly together.

AND YOU JUST COULDN’T DO THIS IMMEDIATELY BEFORE HE WOKE UP?

LIKE. IMAGINE. HOW MANY KIDS’ EMPATHY AND LOGICAL FACILITIES THIS WOMAN HAS RUINED.

As she said it, a wrath that was like physical pain blazed through Harry, setting his scar on fire, and for a second he looked down upon a basin whose potion had turned clear, and saw that no golden locket lay safe beneath the surface –

I wanted to see what he did with the potion, Harry.

But hey, at least it is as I already said in Book Six: there is a way to get rid of this potion without drinking. Which means that Dumbles was, indeed, a brainless bleeding moron.

‘Professor, I’m acting on Dumbledore’s orders, I must find what he wanted me to find!’

HE’S BLOODY DEAD, YOU STUPID BRAT.

‘But we’ve got to get the students out while I’m searching the castle – it’s me Voldemort wants, but he won’t care about killing a few more or less, not now – ’

WELL, THAT’S A WONDER, CONSIDERING THE ONLY PEOPLE HE’S BEEN KILLING IN THIS BLOODY BOOK ARE HIS OWN STUPID FOLLOWERS.

‘You’re acting on Dumbledore’s orders?’ she repeated, with a look of dawning wonder. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height.

For the love of gods, Minerva.

‘We shall secure the school against He Who Must Not Be Named while you search for this – this object.’

‘Is that possible?’

‘I think so,’ said Professor McGonagall drily, ‘we teachers are rather good at magic, you know. I am sure we will be able to hold him off for a while if we all put our best efforts into it. Of course, something will have to be done about Professor Snape –’

You were being controlled by three death eaters. For the entire year. You did absolutely nothing while two of those death eaters were busy disfiguring and torturing the students.

These morons are utterly fucking useless.

‘ – and if Hogwarts is about to enter a state of siege, with the Dark Lord at the gates, it would indeed be advisable to take as many innocent people out of the way as possible. With the Floo Network under observation and Apparition impossible within the grounds – ’

‘There’s a way,’ said Harry quickly, and he explained about the passageway leading into the Hog’s Head.

You have a kitchen full of bloody house-elves.

‘Potter, we’re talking about hundreds of students – ’

YOU HAVE. A KITCHEN. FULL OF. BLOODY HOUSE-ELVES.

‘I know, Professor, but if Voldemort and the Death Eaters are concentrating on the school boundaries they won’t be interested in anyone who’s Disapparating out of the Hog’s Head.’

HOUSE-ELVES. HUNDREDS OF THEM. IN THE KITCHEN.

‘There’s something in that,’ she agreed.

NO THERE IS NOT, YOU MORON.

She pointed her wand at the Carrows, and a silver net fell upon their bound bodies, tied itself around them and hoisted them into the air, where they dangled beneath the blue and gold ceiling, like two large, ugly sea creatures.

??

What was the point of this when she already tied them up? You know, after using unforgivables on them?

‘Come. We must alert the other Heads of House. You’d better put that Cloak back on.’

Why, though?

Like, there are no other death eaters left? Well, aside from Severus as far as they know but are you telling me they can’t even take care of one– Yeah, okay. I see. My mistake.

From the tip burst three silver cats with spectacle markings around their eyes. The Patronuses ran sleekly ahead, filling the spiral staircase with silvery lights, as Professor McGonagall, Harry and Luna hurried back down.

Ooookay?

So… Minerva’s patronus form is three cats of her own animagus form?

That explains so many things.

They had descended two more floors when another set of quiet footsteps joined theirs. Harry, whose scar was still prickling, heard them first: he felt in the pouch around his neck for the Marauder’s Map, but before he could take it out, McGonagall, too, seemed to become aware of their company. She halted, raised her wand ready to duel, and said, ‘Who’s there?’

‘It is I,’ said a low voice.

From behind a suit of armour stepped Severus Snape.

So… they hear quiet steps that joined theirs while they were, you know, moving. And then they stop and somehow during that second, Severus got himself behind a suit of armour to make a… dramatic appearance?

oh my god these books are so utterly stupid i can’t bear it

Hatred boiled up in Harry at the sight of him: he had forgotten the details of Snape’s appearance in the magnitude of his crimes, forgotten how his greasy, black hair hung in curtains around his thin face, how his black eyes had a dead, cold look.

Harry.

Genuine advice: go drown yourself in the lake. Okay? Thanks bye.

‘I did not know that it was your night to patrol the corridors, Minerva.’

OH MY GOD WITH YOU TOO, SEVERUS. ISN’T IT ABOUT TIME THAT YOU LET THEM KNOW YOU’RE ON THEIR SIDE?

‘I wonder what could have brought you out of your bed at this late hour?’

‘I thought I heard a disturbance,’ said Professor McGonagall.

HOW?

WHAT KIND OF ACOUSTICS DOES THIS STUPID CASTLE HAVE?

And how does anyone even live here if every bloody sound can be heard all over the big damn stone castle?

‘Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I must insist – ’

Professor McGonagall moved faster than Harry could have believed: her wand slashed through the air and for a split second Harry thought that Snape must crumple, unconscious, but the swiftness of his Shield Charm was such that McGonagall was thrown off balance. She brandished her wand at a torch on the wall and it flew out of its bracket: Harry, about to curse Snape, was forced to pull Luna out of the way of the descending flames, which became a ring of fire that filled the corridor and flew like a lasso at Snape –

Then it was no longer fire, but a great, black serpent that McGonagall blasted to smoke, which reformed and solidified in seconds to become a swarm of pursuing daggers: Snape avoided them only by forcing the suit of armour in front of him, and with echoing clangs the daggers sank, one after another, into its breast –

COMMUNICATION, SEVERUS.

And Minerva… just. go. jump in the same lake as Harry.

. . . with the enormous Professor Slughorn panting along at the rear.

Okay then.

‘No!’ squealed Flitwick, raising his wand. ‘You’ll do no more murder at Hogwarts!’

Oh my god, there are no words to express how much I hate everything in these books.

. . . Snape hurtled through a classroom door and, moments later, Harry heard McGonagall cry, ‘Coward! COWARD!‘

No, Minerva. He’s just being used and abused, and he’s absolutely terrible at communication.

. . . into the deserted classroom where Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout were standing at a smashed window.

‘He jumped,’ said Professor McGonagall, as Harry and Luna ran into the room.

Is this a farce? Or a serious narrative? You may discuss.

With a tingle of horror, Harry saw in the distance a huge, bat-like shape flying through the darkness towards the perimeter wall.

And farce it is that pretends to be serious.

There were heavy footfalls behind them, and a great deal of puffing: Slughorn had just caught up.

‘Our Headmaster is taking a short break,’ said Professor McGonagall, pointing at the Snape-shaped hole in the window.

Snape… shaped hole.

Just.

Even death would be kinder than these books.

. . . Voldemort leapt from it with murder in his heart –

You know, that’s it. Tommy might be an enormous unserious loser but at least he wants everyone dead just like me. I am siding with him from now on!

TOMMY! MURDER THE LOT OF THEM.

‘But we can hold him up,’ said Professor Sprout.

‘Thank you, Pomona,’ said Professor McGonagall, and between the two witches there passed a look of grim understanding.

Okay?

What’s this “grim understanding”?

And as she jogged out of sight, they could hear her muttering, ‘Tentacula. Devil’s Snare. And Snargaluff pods … yes, I’d like to see the Death Eaters fighting those.’

What death eaters?

They’re all dead?

‘Professor,’ Harry said, approaching the little Charms master, ‘Professor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is important. Have you got any idea where the diadem of Ravenclaw is?’

‘… Protego horribilis – the diadem of Ravenclaw?’ squeaked Flitwick. ‘A little extra wisdom never goes amiss, Potter, but I hardly think it would be much use in this situation!’

‘I only meant – do you know where it is? Have you ever seen it?’

‘Seen it? Nobody has seen it in living memory! Long since lost, boy!’
Harry felt a mixture of desperate disappointment and panic. What, then, was the Horcrux?

Oh my god, couldn’t you — bloody figure this out, like, in the book where absolutely nothing was happening but which was totally about the horcruxes and stopping Tommy?

‘I shall expect you and the Slytherins in the Great Hall in twenty minutes, also,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘If you wish to leave with your students, we shall not stop you. But if any of you attempt to sabotage our resistance, or take up arms against us within this castle, then, Horace, we duel to kill.’

You’re… going to murder literal children?

Okay…

Just…

What’s the practical difference between the good side and the evil side in this book?

Because there just literally is none?

‘The time has come for Slytherin House to decide upon its loyalties,’ interrupted Professor McGonagall. ‘Go and wake your students, Horace.’

And if they decide wrong — as in, their families — you’re just… going to murder children?

I just… I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

And all along the corridor the statues and suits of armour jumped down from their plinths, and from the echoing crashes from the floors above and below, Harry knew that their fellows throughout the castle had done the same.

‘Hogwarts is threatened!’ shouted Professor McGonagall. ‘Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!’

Clattering and yelling, the horde of moving statues stampeded past Harry: some of them smaller, others larger than life. There were animals too, and the clanking suits of armour brandished swords and spiked balls on chains.

As the room came into view, Harry slipped down a few stairs in shock. It was packed, far more crowded than when he had last been in there. Kingsley and Lupin were looking up at him, as were Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, Bill and Fleur, and Mr and Mrs Weasley.

‘We sent messages to the rest of Dumbledore’s Army,’ Fred explained. ‘You couldn’t expect everyone to miss the fun, Harry, and the DA let the Order of the Phoenix know, and it all kind of snowballed.’

‘They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organised,’ Harry said. ‘We’re fighting.’

WHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING?

THE DEATH EATERS ARE DEAD.

TOMMY KILLED THEM ALL BECAUSE TOMMY IS A BLEEDING MORON.

There was a great roar and a surge towards the foot of the stairs; he was pressed back against the wall as they ran past him, the mingled members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army and Harry’s old Quidditch team, all with their wands drawn, heading up into the main castle.

Harry, I swear to god. Quit it. with the. bloody quidditch.

‘Come on, Luna,’ Dean called as he passed, holding out his free hand; she took it and followed him back up the stairs.

*raises eyebrows*

Did Luna and Dean get together?

I guess it makes sense? They’re both artists?

‘I’m in Dumbledore’s Army – ’

‘ – a teenagers’ gang!’

For the first time in my life, I actually agreed with Molly.

‘I can’t go home!’ Ginny shouted, angry tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘My whole family’s here, I can’t stand waiting there alone and not knowing and – ’

Her eyes met Harry’s for the first time. She looked at him beseechingly, but he shook his head and she turned away bitterly.

‘Fine,’ she said, staring at the entrance to the tunnel back to the Hog’s Head. ‘I’ll say goodbye now, then, and – ’

Yeah, you know… Harry and Ginny are never going to last.

But it’s okay, Ginny. I’ll make you happy with Ron, ha ha.

There was a scuffling and a great thump: someone else had clambered out of the tunnel, overbalanced overbalanced slightly and fallen. He pulled himself up on the nearest chair, looked around through lopsided horn-rimmed glasses and said, ‘Am I too late? Has it started? I only just found out, so I – I – ’

Percy spluttered into silence. Evidently he had not expected to run into most of his family.

Oh, Percy.

You utter fool.

There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Fleur turning to Lupin and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, ‘So – ’ow eez leetle Teddy?’

Fleur is honestly adorable.

‘I was a fool!’ Percy roared, so loudly that Lupin nearly dropped his photograph. ‘I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a – a – ’

‘Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron,’ said Fred.

Percy swallowed.

‘Yes, I was!’

‘Well, you can’t say fairer than that,’ said Fred, holding out his hand to Percy.

Okay then.

Mrs Weasley burst into tears. She ran forwards, pushed Fred aside and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father.

You know… it’s these little moments. That just totally showcase everything about these characters’ relationships to one another.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ Percy said.

PERCY. STOP APOLOGISING. THEY WERE BULLYING YOU YOUR ENTIRE LIFE.

‘Well, we do look to our prefects to take a lead at times such as these,’ said George, in a good imitation of Percy’s most pompous manner.

Soooo. What do head boys and girls do?

‘Now let’s get upstairs and fight, or all the good Death Eaters’ll be taken.’

Why didn’t both of these twins just die?

‘Ginny!’ barked Mrs Weasley.

Ginny had been attempting, under cover of the reconciliation, to sneak upstairs too.

‘Molly, how about this,’ said Lupin. ‘Why doesn’t Ginny stay here, then at least she’ll be on the scene and know what’s going on, but she won’t be in the middle of the fighting?’

‘I –’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said Mr Weasley firmly. ‘Ginny, you stay in this Room, you hear me?’

Ginny did not seem to like the idea much, but under her father’s unusually stern gaze she nodded. Mr and Mrs Weasley and Lupin headed off for the stairs as well.

I’m sure she’ll stay right in that room like a good little girl.

‘Where’s Ron?’ asked Harry. ‘Where’s Hermione?’

‘They said something about a bathroom,’ said Ginny, ‘not long after you left.’

*gasps*

Ooooh, that’s why we didn’t get a reaction from Ron about Ginny. Hee, I feel a new Ron/Ginny fic coming!

But then his scar seared and the Room of Requirement vanished: he was looking through the high, wrought-iron gates, with winged boars on pillars at either side, looking through the dark grounds towards the castle, which was ablaze with lights. Nagini lay draped over his shoulders. He was possessed of that cold, cruel sense of purpose that preceded murder.

MURDER.

PLEASE.

ALL OF THEM.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-four.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Twenty-nine – The Lost Diadem

I seriously have no interest in reading this book right now. *sighs*

As an aside, what about Rita’s family? Hermione imprisoned her for months. Didn’t any of Rita’s family, friends or colleagues wonder what the heck happened to her? Didn’t anyone file a missing person’s report? Oh, what am I asking. Law enforcement doesn’t exist in this universe.

Also, I was again going through some of my old posts, more specifically the chapter on sectumsempra, and know what I realised?

. . . his father or Sirius’s names, usually coupled together in various petty misdeeds, occasionally accompanied by those of Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.

At the time I just commented on Lupin but this time I paused and went, wait a second. Notice the word ‘petty misdeeds’?

Now, what have we actually seen or been told about the Previous Foursome of Nitwits’ behaviour?

He pulled out a card from one of the topmost boxes with a flourish and read, ‘“James Potter and Sirius Black. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bertram Aubrey. Aubrey’s head twice normal size. Double detention.”’

Using an illegal hex on a kid. (But it sure is the Slytherins who have an untoward proclivity for the dark arts! The Gryffindors Would Never!)

The entirety of Chapter Twenty-eight, Snape’s worst memory, in which we find out that James and Sirius were torturing, sexually harassing and humiliating a half-blood kid for years.

And Sirius’ deliberate murder attempt in Book Three, which Lupin coyly diminished into “a trick, a joke and a schoolboy grudge”.

And then Rowling further diminished their psychopathic behaviour into ‘petty misdeeds’ in Book Six. Because of course she did.

Rowling did this exact same thing when she diminished a deliberate murder attempt into a trick, a joke and a schoolboy grudge.

You know, to be honest, as an author that woman is absolutely irritating.

Like, there are women who like this fantasy of being the sole exception to a complete psychopath’s behaviour. No matter what horrendous things he’s capable of, he can’t do that to her and most of it is in service of her. If women didn’t like this fantasy, these characters wouldn’t be made.

And it’s like, fine, whatever, but James is NOT even that. Because Rowling never acknowledges his behaviour as what it is. It’s all diminished into tricks and jokes and schoolboy grudges and petty misdeeds. James is basically that character who used to be a star in high school and bangs his high school sweetheart, gets shotgun married, and grows up to be an unemployed, violent loser with a pot belly.

Oh, but it’s so wunderfull that Harry picked up Lupin’s fine skill of utter understatement.

That stupid brat.

The longer Harry looked at Neville, the worse he appeared: one of his eyes was swollen, yellow and purple, there were gouge marks on his face, and his general air of unkemptness suggested that he had been living rough.

Oh yay, now Neville’s a real wizard.

‘What? This?’ Neville dismissed his injuries with a shake of the head. ‘This is nothing. Seamus is worse.’

Uh-huh.

‘Couple more?’ repeated Aberforth ominously. ‘What d’you mean, a couple more, Longbottom? There’s a curfew and a Caterwauling Charm on the whole village!’

‘I know, that’s why they’ll be Apparating directly into the bar,’ said Neville. ‘Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot.’

Like… the kids?

Oh my god, I can’t do this. Psychical damage, to the max.

You know what makes a real man! A year of torture!

Gosh, I wonder why Neville didn’t try that before!

*one long break later*

Here’s a pro tip in case this actually needs to be said: torture does not turn anyone into a “real man”.

Neville held out his hand to Hermione and helped her to climb up on to the mantelpiece and into the tunnel . . .

And the psychical damage just continues. Okay. I guess this is just one of those chapters.

Harry addressed Aberforth.

‘I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve saved our lives, twice.’

‘Look after ’em, then,’ said Aberforth gruffly. ‘I might not be able to save ’em a third time.’

Yeah, how about not asking the impossible from Harry, Aberforth. Gods know the kid can barely look after himself.

Harry clambered up on to the mantelpiece and through the hole behind Ariana’s portrait. There were smooth stone steps on the other side: it looked as though the passageway had been there for years.

So… you actually need to climb on the mantelpiece to get to this tunnel but there are steps in it.

Can we just, like, get to the end already?

‘How long’s this been here?’ Ron asked, as they set off. ‘It isn’t on the Marauder’s Map, is it, Harry? I thought there were only seven passages in and out of school?’

Please, Rowling. I’m literally begging you: stop questioning your stupid narrative in your stupid narrative.

‘They sealed off all of those before the start of the year,’ said Neville. ‘There’s no chance of getting through any of them now, not with curses over the entrances and Death Eaters and Dementors waiting at the exits.’

Well, that makes that Ron/Ginny fic even less canon than it already was.

He started walking backwards, beaming, drinking them in. ‘Never mind that stuff … is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a dragon? It’s everywhere, everyone’s talking about it, Terry Boot got beaten up by Carrow for yelling about it in the Great Hall at dinner!’

‘Yeah, it’s true,’ said Harry.

Neville laughed gleefully.

AND CAN WE, LIKE, STOP WITH THIS PERSONALITY TRANSPLANT ON NEVILLE?

I can’t do this. I can’t do this chapter.

‘But what have you been doing? People have been saying you’ve just been on the run, Harry, but I don’t think so. I think you’ve been up to something.’

This is what dying feels like.

‘Nah, they make her look tame. The other teachers are all supposed to refer us to the Carrows if we do anything wrong. They don’t, though, if they can avoid it. You can tell they all hate them as much as we do.’

Does this actually need to be said?

‘Amycus, the bloke, he teaches what used to be Defence Against the Dark Arts, except now it’s just the Dark Arts. We’re supposed to practise the Cruciatus Curse on people who’ve earned detentions – ’

I can’t even bother with the list anymore. Like, I just can’t anymore.

‘Yeah,’ said Neville. ‘That’s how I got this one,’ he pointed at a particularly deep gash in his cheek, ‘I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they’ve ever been top in anything, I expect.’

‘Alecto, Amycus’s sister, teaches Muggle Studies, which is compulsory for everyone. We’ve all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drove wizards into hiding by being vicious towards them, and how the natural order is being re-established.’

Rowling.

This is more or less literally what you’ve been showing so far?

I can’t do this chapter.

I can’t tolerate this woman’s writing anymore.

‘I got this one,’ he indicated another slash to his face, ‘for asking her how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got.’

And now you’re a real man, Neville! So all’s well that end’s well.

‘You didn’t hear her,’ said Neville. ‘You wouldn’t have stood it either. The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice that when you did it, Harry.’

From his pocket he pulled a golden coin, and Harry recognised it as one of the fake Galleons that Dumbledore’s Army had used to send one another messages.

‘These have been great,’ said Neville, beaming at Hermione. ‘The Carrows never rumbled how we were communicating, it drove them mad. We used to sneak out at night and put graffiti on the walls: Dumbledore’s Army, Still Recruiting, stuff like that. Snape hated it.’

‘Well, it got more difficult as time went on,’ said Neville. ‘We lost Luna at Christmas and Ginny never came back after Easter, and the three of us were sort of the leaders.’

‘. . . and then Michael Corner went and got caught releasing a first-year they’d chained up, and they tortured him pretty badly. That scared people off.’

Ginny’s ex-boyfriend, huh.

‘Yeah, well, I couldn’t ask people to go through what Michael did, so we dropped those kinds of stunts. But we were still fighting, doing underground stuff, right up until a couple of weeks ago. That’s when they decided there was only one way to stop me, I suppose, and they went for Gran.’

‘Yeah,’ said Neville, panting a little now, because the passage was climbing so steeply, ‘well, you can see their thinking. It had worked really well, kidnapping kids to force their relatives to behave, I s’pose it was only a matter of time before they did it the other way round. Thing was,’ he faced them, and Harry was astonished to see that he was grinning, ‘they bit off a bit more than they could chew with Gran. Little old witch living alone, they probably thought they didn’t need to send anyone particularly powerful. Anyway,’ Neville laughed, ‘Dawlish is still in St Mungo’s and Gran’s on the run. She sent me a letter,’ he clapped a hand to the breast pocket of his robes, ‘telling me she was proud of me, that I’m my parents’ son, and to keep it up.’

Oh Neville, you’re better than your parents since you’ve been withstanding a year of torture, unlike your parents who became functional vegetables after one measly torture session.

As Harry emerged into the room beyond the passage, there were several screams and yells –

‘HARRY!’

‘It’s Potter, it’s POTTER!’

‘Ron!’

‘Hermione!’

He had a confused impression of coloured hangings, of lamps and many faces. The next moment, he, Ron and Hermione were engulfed, hugged, pounded on the back, their hair ruffled, their hands shaken, by what seemed to be more than twenty people: they might just have won a Quidditch final.

HARRY, STOP WITH THE QUIDDITCH ALREADY.

. . . Harry saw the gold Gryffindor lion, emblazoned on scarlet; the black badger of Hufflepuff, set against yellow, and the bronze eagle of Ravenclaw, on blue. The silver and green of Slytherin alone were absent.

What. a. shock.

‘Room of Requirement, of course!’ said Neville. ‘Surpassed itself, hasn’t it? The Carrows were chasing me, and I knew I had just one chance for a hideout: I managed to get through the door and this is what I found! Well, it wasn’t exactly like this when I arrived, it was a load smaller, there was only one hammock and just Gryffindor hangings. But it’s expanded as more and more of the DA have arrived.’

Actual psychical damage.

‘It’s a proper hideout, as long as one of us stays in here, they can’t get at us, the door won’t open. It’s all down to Neville. He really gets this Room. You’ve got to ask it for exactly what you need – like, “I don’t want any Carrow supporters to be able to get in” – and it’ll do it for you! You’ve just got to make sure you close the loopholes! Neville’s the man!’

Oh my god, I’m actually dying.

‘It’s quite straightforward, really,’ said Neville modestly. ‘I’d been in here about a day and a half, and getting really hungry, and wishing I could get something to eat, and that’s when the passage to the Hog’s Head opened up. I went through it and met Aberforth. He’s been providing us with food, because for some reason, that’s the one thing the Room doesn’t really do.’

‘Yeah, well, food’s one of the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration,’ said Ron, to general astonishment.

He is, in fact, a pureblood.

Also, you can conjure animals and animals are food. Never mind that I’m pretty sure you can actually conjure, like, uncooked vegetables too.

And if not conjure, then transfigure. LIKE, WE HAVE AN ENTIRE SUBJECT THAT’S BEEN ABOUT NOTHING BUT TRANSFIGURING COMMON HOUSEHOLD OBJECTS INTO ANIMALS.

‘So we’ve been hiding out here for nearly two weeks,’ said Seamus, ‘and it just makes more hammocks every time we need them, and it even sprouted a pretty good bathroom once girls started turning up – ’

‘ – and thought they’d quite like to wash, yes,’ supplied Lavender Brown, whom Harry had not noticed until that point.

LAVENDER. ❤

Also, it’s okay, Harry. You barely notice anyone over your enormous head.

‘Tell us what you’ve been up to, though,’ said Ernie, ‘there’ve been so many rumours, we’ve been trying to keep up with you on Potterwatch.’ He pointed at the wireless. ‘You didn’t break into Gringotts?’

‘They did!’ said Neville. ‘And the dragon’s true too!’

There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops; Ron took a bow.

Before any of them could parry the question with one of their own, Harry felt a terrible, scorching pain in the lightning scar. As he turned his back hastily on the curious and delighted faces, the Room of Requirement vanished, and he was standing inside a ruined stone shack, and the rotting floorboards were ripped apart at his feet, a disinterred golden box lay open and empty beside the hole, and Voldemort’s scream of fury vibrated inside his head.

With an enormous effort, he pulled out of Voldemort’s mind again, back to where he stood, swaying, in the Room of Requirement, sweat pouring from his face and Ron holding him up.

Ron is a sweetheart.

‘Plan?’ repeated Harry. He was exercising all his will power to prevent himself succumbing again to Voldemort’s rage: his scar was still burning. ‘Well, there’s something we – Ron, Hermione and I – need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.’

‘We haven’t come back to stay,’ said Harry, rubbing his scar, trying to soothe the pain. ‘There’s something important we need to do –’

‘You don’t understand.’ Harry seemed to have said that a lot in the last few hours. ‘We – we can’t tell you. We’ve got to do it – alone.’

‘Because …’ In his desperation to start looking for the missing Horcrux, or at least to have a private discussion with Ron and Hermione about where they might commence their search, Harry found it difficult to gather his thoughts. His scar was still searing.

‘Dumbledore left the three of us a job,’ he said carefully, ‘and we weren’t supposed to tell – I mean, he wanted us to do it, just the three of us.’

WELL, IF DUMBLES WANTED IT.

These characters are more fanatical and stupid than death eaters.

‘We’re his Army,’ said Neville. ‘Dumbledore’s Army. We were all in it together, we’ve been keeping it going while you three have been off on your own – ’

‘It hasn’t exactly been a picnic, mate,’ said Ron.

Ron, shut the fuck up. I’m too tired to gather all the damn lavish dinners you’ve had.

‘I never said it had, but I don’t see why you can’t trust us. Everyone in this Room’s been fighting and they’ve been driven in here because the Carrows were hunting them down. Everyone in here’s proven they’re loyal to Dumbledore – loyal to you.’

It was Luna and Dean. Seamus gave a great roar of delight and ran to hug his best friend.

Best friend?

Ha ha ha!

Since when?

‘I sent for her,’ said Neville, holding up the fake Galleon. ‘I promised her and Ginny that if you turned up I’d let them know. We all thought that if you came back, it would mean revolution. That we were going to overthrow Snape and the Carrows.’

Oh my god.

‘Of course that’s what it means,’ said Luna brightly. ‘Isn’t it, Harry? We’re going to fight them out of Hogwarts?’

‘Listen,’ said Harry, with a rising sense of panic, ‘I’m sorry, but that’s not what we came back for. There’s something we’ve got to do, and then – ’

‘You’re going to leave us in this mess?’ demanded Michael Corner.

Yes.

Although, frankly speaking, I don’t see why any one of you is still at Hogwarts. Like, what are the death eaters going to do if you smuggle all the kids out of it through that secret tunnel?

Fill it with all the kids they don’t have?

‘No!’ said Ron. ‘What we’re doing will benefit everyone in the end, it’s all about trying to get rid of You-Know-Who – ’

Uh-huh.

There was another noise behind them, and Harry turned. His heart seemed to fail: Ginny was now climbing through the hole in the wall, closely followed by Fred, George and Lee Jordan. Ginny gave Harry a radiant smile: he had forgotten, or had never fully appreciated, how beautiful she was, but he had never been less pleased to see her.

GIVE HIM A ROUND OF APPLAUSE, EVERYONE! AFTER SEVEN BOOKS, HE HAS FINALLY CALLED HIS ONE TRUE LOVE BEAUTIFUL.

Harry’s mouth fell open. Right behind Lee Jordan came Harry’s old girlfriend, Cho Chang. She smiled at him.

Oh my fucking god.

Also, Harry. You had one date. That hardly makes Cho your old girlfriend.

‘So what’s the plan, Harry?’ said George.

‘There isn’t one,’ said Harry, still disorientated by the sudden appearance of all these people, unable to take everything in while his scar was still burning so fiercely.

‘Just going to make it up as we go along, are we? My favourite kind,’ said Fred.

No, Fred. It literally means there is no plan because these morons don’t plan. Anything. At all.

Ron turned suddenly to Harry.

‘Why can’t they help?’

‘What?’

‘They can help.’ He dropped his voice and said, so that none of them could hear but Hermione, who stood between them. ‘We don’t know where it is. We’ve got to find it fast. We don’t have to tell them it’s a Horcrux.’

I will always mourn Ron the Leader who never was.

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, who murmured, ‘I think Ron’s right. We don’t even know what we’re looking for, we need them.’ And when Harry looked unconvinced, ‘You don’t have to do everything alone, Harry.’

YEAH, BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT DUMBLES WANTED.

Besides, what are you and Ron? Chopped liver?

Dumbledore had warned him against telling anyone but Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes. Secrets and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus … he was a natural … Was he turning into Dumbledore, keeping his secrets clutched to his chest, afraid to trust? But Dumbledore had trusted Snape, and where had that led? To murder at the top of the highest tower …

He looked hopefully towards the little group of Ravenclaws, to Padma, Michael, Terry and Cho, but it was Luna who answered, perched on the arm of Ginny’s chair.

*raises eyebrows*

Ah, I see. I guess this is what started that Ginny/Luna ship.

‘Centuries ago, they say,’ said Cho, and Harry’s heart sank. ‘Professor Flitwick says the diadem vanished with Ravenclaw herself. People have looked, but,’ she appealed to her fellow Ravenclaws, ‘nobody’s ever found a trace of it, have they?’

Vanished with Ravenclaw herself?

Does that mean that Rowena isn’t dead, she just disappeared?

‘Sorry, but what is a diadem?’ asked Ron.

Oh my fucking god, Ron.

. . . before he could formulate a new question, however, Cho spoke again.

‘If you’d like to see what the diadem’s supposed to look like, I could take you up to our common room and show you, Harry? Ravenclaw’s wearing it in her statue.’

Cho really should’ve gotten herself out, to be honest.

Harry’s scar scorched again: for a moment the Room of Requirement swam before him, and he saw instead the dark earth soaring beneath him and felt the great snake wrapped around his shoulders. Voldemort was flying again, whether to the underground lake or here, to the castle, he did not know: either way, there was hardly any time left.

He glanced at Cho and then back at them. ‘Listen, I know it’s not much of a lead, but I’m going to go and look at this statue, at least find out what the diadem looks like. Wait for me here and keep, you know – the other one – safe.’

Cho had got to her feet, but Ginny said rather fiercely, ‘No, Luna will take Harry, won’t you, Luna?’

IS THIS REALLY THE TIME, GINNY?

‘Oooh, yes, I’d like to,’ said Luna happily, and Cho sat down again, looking disappointed.

IS THIS REALLY THE TIME, CHO?

AND SERIOUSLY, CHO? SERIOUSLY, STILL? EVEN AFTER THEY SCARRED YOUR FRIEND FOR LIFE AND LAUGHED ABOUT IT?

He led Harry and Luna to a corner, where a small cupboard opened on to a steep staircase.

‘It comes out somewhere different every day, so they’ve never been able to find it,’ he said. ‘Only trouble is, we never know exactly where we’re going to end up when we go out. Be careful, Harry, they’re always patrolling the corridors at night.’

I am so done with these stupid books.

Harry had prowled the castle at night many times before . . .

No, you have not.

Like, if he only does it when the “plot” literally forces him to, he hardly does it as a hobby.

. . . Harry and Luna walked, checking the Marauder’s Map whenever light permitted . . .

Lumos, anyone?

I doubt it’s going to be seen anymore from beneath the cloak than you morons?

They climbed in tight, dizzying circles; Harry had never been up here before. At last they reached a door. There was no handle and no keyhole: nothing but a plain expanse of aged wood, and a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle.

Luna reached out a pale hand, which looked eerie floating in mid-air, unconnected to arm or body. She knocked once, and in the silence it sounded to Harry like a cannon blast. At once the beak of the eagle opened, but instead of a bird’s call, a soft, musical voice said, ‘Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?’

‘Hmm … what do you think, Harry?’ said Luna, looking thoughtful.

What are you asking Harry for?

The deserted Ravenclaw common room was a wide, circular room, airier than any Harry had ever seen at Hogwarts. Graceful arched windows punctuated the walls, which were hung with blue and bronze silks: by day, the Ravenclaws would have a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. The ceiling was domed and painted with stars, which were echoed in the midnight-blue carpet. There were tables, chairs and bookcases, and in a niche opposite the door stood a tall statue of white marble.

The Ravenclaw common room sounds pretty. It’s too bad Harry is completely brainless, otherwise he might’ve been sorted here.

And come to think of it, why don’t the other common rooms have statues of their founders?

‘“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.”’

‘Which makes you pretty skint, witless,’ said a cackling voice.

Harry whirled round, slipped off the plinth and landed on the floor. The sloping-shouldered figure of Alecto Carrow was standing before him, and even as Harry raised his wand, she pressed a stubby forefinger to the skull and snake branded on her forearm.

You are so right, Alecto. Harry is a witless failing loser.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-four.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

---

If this chapter breakdown feels uninspired, it’s because it is. I seriously can’t take Rowling’s writing anymore.

Chapter Twenty-eight – The Missing Mirror

I was going through some of my older posts again, such as that post about James Potter and I started pondering.

The most common apologia for James is that he “changed”. And it’s like,

Did he, though?

Did he really?

Show me on what book and page this change happened.

The only indication that James “changed”, if you can call it that, is that Lily started fucking him — pardon the crude expression — but this is so utterly laughable as an argument that it shouldn’t even be responded to. And I suspect that the only ones who find that convincing are the ones who are used to viewing everything through the lens of their ship and romanticism which, in its crudest form, reduces every human interaction, emotion and character trait to “we’ll bang, okay?” Which makes neither for good writing nor a good basis of human interaction.

I mean, Lily letting anything of James’ in her private bits says absolutely nothing about James’ character or him “changing”. And the sheer idea that anyone’s womanly bits are an indication of someone else “changing” is… it’s insane? If anything, James should’ve changed when he fell in love with Lily, his love for her should’ve been the force that made him want to be and do better. But instead, the dude made better use of his time torturing her “friend” for years and trying to blackmail her into dating him and threatening to hex her too when she acted uppity and yelled at him to stop?

Like?

Say and think what you will about Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl but he is literally a better-written character than James Potter would ever hope to be. (I bring him up as an example because Chuck Bass is basically what James Potter was supposed to be, I think.)

Considering that Lily didn’t lift a finger to actually help her “friend” — because ew, Severus — and made much better use of her time hate-flirting with James — because you know how it is, don’t you girls, tee hee hee — what’s more likely is that Lily dropped the pretence and started fucking James right after Severus called her a mudblood. And then oops, Harry happened.

Oops, Harry happened.

Just look at Sirius and Lupin’s behaviour. They certainly didn’t change one bit — even after sitting in a jail that makes you relive your worst memories for twelve years. You’d think that would make a guy mature and rethink his choices in life, but you would think wrong. James is the only one who just had the benefit of the doubt of dying.

To be honest, a lot of the discourse in Harry Potter fandom reminds me of shipping discourse. There’s that same sort of disingenuous, either ignorant or willful misunderstanding of the text — or literature in general. People make characters either into toxic abusive monsters or erase all the flaws from actually toxic characters.

STRAWMAN: But, Chicory, aren’t you doing this with Draco Malfoy, the more astute might ask.

And the answer is,

For one, I do not ship Draco Malfoy — at least not with anyone in Harry Potters. Although, if I were so inclined, I might someday write a Draco/Marcus fic.

For two, Harry Potters are a unique case. What Rowling thought she was writing, what she was probably intending to write, was not backed at all by what she actually showed. It’s really not my fault that woman can’t write to save her life and she literally didn’t write Draco as she intended him to be?

And if you think that Draco Malfoy, at twelve years old, is a toxic abusive monster because he called a girl mudblood after she dissed him first… I’d say you’re the problem. *sotto voce*

Telling =/= showing. Words =/= behaviour.

Take an honest, genuine look at how Hagrid, Harry, Dumbles, Hermione, Sirius, Lupin, James, the Weasley Twins, etc actually behave — and then contrast that to how Draco behaves. And maybe then we’ll talk.

The problems with most of the Harry Potter interpretations, analyses, and meta stem from the fact that Rowling is not a good writer. She’s an absolutely, infuriatingly terrible writer. And as long as people don’t acknowledge that, there are going to be some pretty terrible takes and misunderstandings of the text.

Ah, but on the other hand, no one has actually read these dumb books.

Am I the only one in this world who reads? Because it honestly feels as if most of any fandom discourse is made by people who have never consumed the source materials? It’s like, okay, you can’t dictate how other people do fandom… but can you really call yourself a fan (or anti, I guess) of something if you’ve never even engaged with the source material yourself?

But I guess you can consume something and still be totally wrong about it so… it’s just one of those things?

Well, anyhow~. In other news that probably interests no one, I’m trying to write this short Ron/Ginny piece. Or to put that more accurately, I want to write a short piece about Aunt Muriel, Draco, Harry, and the Weasleys. But if I’m going to include the Weasleys, then I’m sorry, Ron and Ginny are going to be a thing in it. Because the only way I’ll find the Weasleys interesting or tolerable to write about is if those two idiots are in love and making a terrible mess of things. I want to do it as a writing exercise since so far, hilariously, my Ron/Ginny pieces have gone relatively well compared to my other scribblings. But on the other hand, this isn’t going well either — the story of my life — so it’s not exactly relevant yet.

Gods of literature, I prithee, let this stupid chapter be short.

Wait. The missing mirror?

Someone please tell me this isn’t going to be about that bloody mirror fragment?

Harry’s feet touched road.

(Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

He saw the achingly familiar Hogsmeade High Street: dark shop fronts, and the outline of black mountains beyond the village . . .

Oh, so the mountains around Hogwarts are black?

Why doesn’t that surprise me?

. . . and with a lurch of the heart, he remembered, with piercing accuracy, how he had landed here, nearly a year before, supporting a desperately weak Dumbledore . . .

Harry, please. I didn’t care then and I care even less now.

The air was rent by a scream that sounded like Voldemort’s when he had realised the cup had been stolen: it tore at every nerve in Harry’s body, and he knew immediately that their appearance had caused it. Even as he looked at the other two beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dashed into the street, their wands aloft.

Okay?

Harry seized Ron’s wrist as he raised his wand. There were too many of them to Stun: even attempting it would give away their position.

Mob control spells anyone?

You’re going to be aurors? Better get some practice in now?

‘Accio Cloak!’ roared one of the Death Eaters.

Harry seized its folds, but it made no attempt to escape: the Summoning Charm had not worked on it.

‘Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?’ yelled the Death Eater who had tried the charm, and then, to his fellows, ‘Spread out. He’s here.’

Well, on the one hand, at least the nameless death eater tried. On the other hand, it’s

I can’t believe that Rowling is making me sick of even an inanimate object. Because I’m honestly quite done with this stupid cloak too.

Six of the Death Eaters ran towards them: Harry, Ron and Hermione backed, as quickly as possible, down the nearest side street and the Death Eaters missed them by inches. They waited in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street from the Death Eaters’ searching wands.

Who said that these books became so much ~darker~ and ~mature~ as they went on? Because that person is genuinely speaking an idiot.

‘What about Dementors?’ called another Death Eater. ‘Let ’em have free rein, they’d find him quick enough!’

‘The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hand but his – ’

‘ – an’ Dementors won’t kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter’s life, not his soul. He’ll be easier to kill if he’s been kissed first!’

Oh my god! They’re marginally smarter than all the characters put together in these books!

Go, you nameless death eaters! I’m rooting for you! Suck out that brat’s soul!

There were noises of agreement. Dread filled Harry: to repel Dementors they would have to produce Patronuses, which would give them away immediately.

Or how about you cast wordless cheering charms on yourselves?

No?

Okay then.

Even as she said it, he felt the unnatural cold begin to steal over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanished.

Right up to the stars, huh.

Uh-huh.

Sure.

In the pitch blackness, he felt Hermione take hold of his arm and together, they turned on the spot.

The air through which they needed to move seemed to have become solid: they could not Disapparate; the Death Eaters had cast their charms well.

And these didn’t exist on the Malfoy Manor why…?

Also, the nameless death eaters are even marginally competent! Let’s cheer them on, everyone!

He raised his wand: he could not, would not, suffer the Dementor’s kiss, whatever happened afterwards. It was of Ron and Hermione that he thought as he whispered, ‘Expecto patronum!’

Okay, okay, more seriously.

One) Good for you, Harry, you’re again thinking of Ron and Hermione as your source of happiness. Before long you’ll be like a real boy!

Two) How did that go again, that bit about Ginny? Oh, wait, wait, it’s coming back to me:

… and hour by hour, he put off saying the thing that he knew he must say, doing what he knew it was right to do, because it was too hard to forgo his best source of comfort.

How does anyone actually ship these two to the point that people got into ship wars over it?

Harry/Ginny is honestly so atrociously written that I find the totally nonexistent Ron/Ginny far better, interesting and reciprocative.

The Dementors had retreated, the stars were popping out again, and the footsteps of the Death Eaters were becoming louder; but before Harry in his panic could decide what to do, there was a grinding of bolts nearby, a door opened on the left-hand side of the narrow street and a rough voice said, ‘Potter, in here, quick!’

He obeyed without hesitation: the three of them hurtled through the open doorway.

‘Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet!’ muttered a tall figure, passing them on his way into the street and slamming the door behind him.

Aww, look. Again saved by a literal divine intervention.

You know… I probably wouldn’t harp on this so much if Rowling didn’t literally do this every. bloody. time.

The stairs opened on to a sitting room with a threadbare carpet and a small fireplace, above which hung a single large oil painting of a blonde girl who gazed out at the room with a kind of vacant sweetness.

Oh, here’s Dumbles’ sister. (I honestly forgot her name already, ha ha.)

Oh no.

Don’t tell me this is another Dumbles’ centric chapter.

Oh no.

Don’t tell me the eye in the mirror was Dumbles’ brother.

Well. I guess that’s still better than the actual Dumbles.

‘So what?’ he was bellowing into one of the hooded faces. ‘So what? You send Dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at ’em! I’m not having ’em near me, I’ve told you that, I’m not having it!’

‘That wasn’t your Patronus!’ said a Death Eater. ‘That was a stag, it was Potter’s!’

And… the nice death eaters won’t just arrest or kill this man… why?

We’re actually at a point where the death eaters are bizarrely more benevolent than the “good side”.

‘Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,’ one of his companions told the barman. ‘Someone was out in the street against regulations –’

‘If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned to your curfew!’

‘You set off the Caterwauling Charm?’

Oh my god, it wasn’t even a Harry Potter-specific alarm system.

I take it back. We’re not cheering on these death eaters anymore.

‘What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven’t pressed your little Dark Marks and summoned him. He’s not going to like being called here for me and my old cat, is he, now?’

I’m sure they can cart you off to Azkaban or kill you without involving Tommy? I mean, they can’t be that useless?

‘Don’t you worry about us,’ said one of the Death Eaters, ‘worry about yourself, breaking curfew!’

‘And where will you lot traffic potions and poisons when my pub’s closed down? What’ll happen to your little sidelines then?’

‘Are you threatening – ?’

Traffic potions and poisons?

What?

What?

Okay, I’ll just:

DO OR DO NOT THESE MORONS HAVE TOTAL CONTROL OF THE MINISTRY AND THIS STUPID WORLD?

Gods in heaven and all their celestial bodies.

Deep breaths.

It’s fine.

It’s whatever.

‘I keep my mouth shut, it’s why you come here, isn’t it?’

Evidently, you’re not keeping your mouth shut, yelling it out in the street.

‘All right, we made a mistake,’ said the second Death Eater. ‘Break curfew again and we won’t be so lenient!’

Oh my god, people, is the death eater in your name just for show? START KILLING PEOPLE ALREADY.

Oh no, wait. Ha ha. They did kill totally nonexistent characters.

Harry’s attention was caught by something on the mantelpiece: a small, rectangular mirror propped on top of it, right beneath the portrait of the girl.

Soooo… I assume, knowing Rowling, that this is what connects to Harry’s shard of the mirror?

Was this mirror Sirius’ and it was sold to — what was Dumbles’ brother’s name? Aberforth? — by Mundungus?

Or this his own mirror which is somehow magically connected to the private talking tool that Sirius gave to Harry — and oh my god, if they can communicate through mirrors then WHY ON EARTH ARE THEY USING THE FLOOS FOR THAT?

OR OWLS?

‘You bloody fools,’ he said gruffly, looking from one to the other of them. ‘What were you thinking, coming here?’

Oh, I know!

Absolutely nothing.

Harry approached him, looking up into the face, trying to see past the long, stringy, wire-grey hair and beard. He wore spectacles. Behind the dirty lenses, the eyes were a piercing, brilliant blue.

‘It’s your eye I’ve been seeing in the mirror.’

There was silence in the room. Harry and the barman looked at each other.

‘You sent Dobby.’

Well, it’s been a while for one of these.

my fancy artistic rendition

‘He’s dead,’ said Harry. ‘Bellatrix Lestrange killed him.’

*feels quite charitable with the world for a moment*

The barman’s face was impassive. After a few moments, he said, ‘I’m sorry to hear it. I liked that elf.’

Oh, oh no. Aberforth’s no good, aside from being Dumbles’ brother.

But on the other hand… he did break Dumbles’ nose.

Now I feel conflicted.

‘You’re Aberforth,’ said Harry, to the man’s back.

Oh my god, Harry.

my fancy artistic rendition

Did Rowling just totally stop pretending that she’s writing anything other than a five-year-old’s first story?

He turned away, lighting lamps with prods of his wand, not looking at any of them.

He neither confirmed nor denied it, but bent to light the fire.

Come to think of it, what has Aberforth been doing that none of these things are already lit?

‘How did you get this?’ Harry asked, walking across to Sirius’s mirror, the twin of the one he had broken nearly two years before.

‘Bought it from Dung ’bout a year ago,’ said Aberforth. ‘Albus told me what it was. Been trying to keep an eye out for you.’

I can’t even summon the energy anymore.

Ron gasped.

‘The silver doe!’ he said excitedly. ‘Was that you too?’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Aberforth.

‘Someone sent a doe Patronus to us!’

‘Brains like that, you could be a Death Eater, son. Haven’t I just proved my Patronus is a goat?’

Ha ha.

On the one hand, okay, I gave a laugh. But on the other hand, like, c’mon, Rowling. Stop doing this with Ron?

Wasn’t Ron based on some old fling that she’d wished had gone better? Or was that a total lie too like everything else about that woman?

‘Oh,’ said Ron. ‘Yeah … well, I’m hungry!’ he added defensively, as his stomach gave an enormous rumble.

‘I got food,’ said Aberforth, and he sloped out of the room, reappearing moments later with a large loaf of bread, some cheese and a pewter jug of mead, which he set upon a small table in front of the fire. Ravenous, they ate and drank, and for a while there was silence but for the crackle of the fire, the clink of goblets and the sound of chewing.

Tell me, how did that fight go again in chapter fifteen? Oh wait, wait, it’s coming back to me:

‘So what part of it isn’t living up to your expectations?’ asked Harry. Anger was coming to his defence now. ‘Did you think we’d be staying in five star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?’

Don’t test me, Rowling. I neither forget nor forgive.

‘Right then,’ said Aberforth, when they had eaten their fill, and Harry and Ron sat slumped dozily in their chairs.

Slumped dozily.

. . . they’ll be on to you like Bowtruckles on Doxy eggs.

Huh.

Then why aren’t bowtruckles used as doxy control?

‘Get right out of Hogsmeade, up into the mountains, and you’ll be able to Disapparate there. Might see Hagrid. He’s been hiding in a cave up there with Grawp ever since they tried to arrest him.’

Oh, yay.

Hagrid.

‘Don’t be stupid, boy,’ said Aberforth.

Aberforth, don’t ask for the impossible from Harry.

The firelight made the grimy lenses of Aberforth’s glasses momentarily opaque, a bright, flat white, and Harry remembered the blind eyes of the giant spider, Aragog.

Harry, you utter freak, you genuinely have the weirdest, most dehumanising associations ever.

But sure, it’s Draco who is a total death eater bigot or whatever.

‘My brother Albus wanted a lot of things,’ said Aberforth, ‘and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out his grand plans. You get away from this school, Potter, and out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He’s gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don’t owe him anything.’

OH MY GOD, ABERFORTH, MAYBE THERE IS HOPE FOR YOU.

‘Oh, don’t I?’ said Aberforth quietly. ‘You don’t think I understood my own brother? Think you knew Albus better than I did?’

YOU TELL THAT BRAT!

AND SLAP HIM WHILE YOU’RE AT IT!

I mean.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Harry, whose brain felt sluggish with exhaustion and from the surfeit of food and wine.

Oh, they’re old enough to drink wine. These books for sure are so mature.

‘Did he, now?’ said Aberforth. ‘Nice job, I hope? Pleasant? Easy? Sort of thing you’d expect an unqualified wizard kid to be able to do without overstretching themselves?’

Ron gave a rather grim laugh. Hermione was looking strained.

ABERFORTH, YOU’RE RAPIDLY SHOOTING UP MY FAVOURITE CHARACTERS LIST.

I will make something out of him.

‘“Got to”? Why “got to”? He’s dead, isn’t he?’ said Aberforth roughly. ‘Let it go, boy, before you follow him! Save yourself!’

I genuinely hope this isn’t one of those “I’m testing your faith, boy”. If that’s the case, this character can go right to hell with Dumbles.

‘I – ’ Harry felt overwhelmed; he could not explain, so he took the offensive instead.

Ahem, I can explain that for you, Harry: it’s because you’re a brainless fucking tool who has never been loved so you mistook Dumbles’ gross fucking behaviour and creepy verbiage for love.

On the other hand, however, you do have Ron and Hermione right there so you don’t have any bloody excuses on that front either.

‘It’ll never be safe for you here, Potter, he wants you too badly.’

You know, Aberforth, you can really take those words the wrong way.

‘So go abroad, go into hiding, save yourself. Best take these two with you.’ He jerked a thumb at Ron and Hermione. ‘They’ll be in danger long as they live now everyone knows they’ve been working with you.’

ARE OR ARE NOT THESE TWO MORONS BLOOD TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS?

‘I can’t. It’s got to be me, Dumbledore explained it all – ’

‘Oh, did he, now? And did he tell you everything, was he honest with you?’

Harry wanted with all his heart to say ‘yes’, but somehow the simple word would not rise to his lips. Aberforth seemed to know what he was thinking.

‘I knew my brother, Potter. He learned secrecy at our mother’s knee. Secrets and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus … he was a natural.’

I SERIOUSLY HOPE HE’S GENUINE ABOUT ALL OF THIS.

‘That old berk,’ muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. ‘Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every orifice, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.’

Aberforth, there are no words to express how much I love you.

Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby’s grave; he had decided to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again, he did not want to hear anything that would deflect him from his purpose.

Harry, on the other hand, can go die any time he so damn well pleases.

He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brother’s: the bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking, and despised him for it.

HARRY, YOU DON’T NEED TO SELL HIM TO ME MORE.

ALL UNITE IN DESPISING HARRY!

‘Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much,’ said Hermione in a low voice.

This girl can go die too.

‘Did he, now?’ said Aberforth. ‘Funny thing, how many of the people my brother cared about very much, ended up in a worse state than if he’d left ’em well alone.’

You beautiful, beautiful man.

‘But that’s a really serious thing to say!’ said Hermione. ‘Are you – are you talking about your sister?’

How about, Hermione, none. of. your. fucking. business?

‘When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, set upon, by three Muggle boys. They’d seen her doing magic, spying through the back garden hedge: she was a kid, she couldn’t control it, no witch or wizard can at that age. What they saw scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn’t show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it.’

“When she couldn’t show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it.”

Like?

The magic trick? Or the actual magic?

And I seriously doubt this about children. I mean, wouldn’t children be more likely to find it utterly cool?

‘And my father went after the bastards that did it,’ said Aberforth, ‘and attacked them. And they locked him up in Azkaban for it. He never said why he’d done it, because if the Ministry had known what Ariana had become, she’d have been locked up in St Mungo’s for good. They’d have seen her as a serious threat to the International Statute of Secrecy, unbalanced like she was, with magic exploding out of her at moments when she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

If she was nowhere near muggles, how would she be a threat to the international statute of secrecy?

I mean? These dumb morons have been flaunting that thing since Book One?

NEED I REMIND PEOPLE OF THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER? IN WHICH THE TRIO OF NITWITS WERE FLYING A HUGE DRAGON ALL OVER BRITAIN?

‘I was her favourite,’ he said, and as he said it, a grubby schoolboy seemed to look out through Aberforth’s wrinkles and tangled beard. ‘Not Albus, he was always up in his bedroom when he was home, reading his books and counting his prizes, keeping up with his correspondence with “the most notable magical names of the day”,’ Aberforth sneered, ‘he didn’t want to be bothered with her. She liked me best. I could get her to eat when she wouldn’t do it for my mother, I could get her to calm down when she was in one of her rages, and when she was quiet, she used to help me feed the goats.

Aww, they sound cute.

Harry felt a horrible mixture of pity and repulsion; he did not want to hear any more . . .

Harry, on the other hand, can seriously go die.

‘Then, when she was fourteen … see, I wasn’t there,’ said Aberforth. ‘If I’d been there, I could have calmed her down. She had one of her rages, and my mother wasn’t as young as she was, and … it was an accident. Ariana couldn’t control it. But my mother was killed.’

I mean, if we’re totally honest, man, therapy probably would’ve done her good.

Maybe.

Depending.

‘Grindelwald. And at last, my brother had an equal to talk to, someone just as bright and talented as he was. And looking after Ariana took a back seat then, while they were hatching all their plans for a new wizarding order, and looking for Hallows, and whatever else it was they were so interested in. Grand plans for the benefit of all wizardkind, and if one young girl got neglected, what did that matter, when Albus was working for the greater good?

And a hundred years later, that dumb moron hadn’t learned a thing.

And you know what makes this even more gloriously hilarious? Dumbles was neglecting his sister to have sex. With a boy he’d known for, what, a few months?

‘But after a few weeks of it, I’d had enough, I had. It was nearly time for me to go back to Hogwarts, so I told ’em, both of ’em, face to face, like I am to you, now,’ and Aberforth looked down at Harry, and it took little imagination to see him as a teenager, wiry and angry, confronting his elder brother. ‘I told him, you’d better give it up, now. You can’t move her, she’s in no fit state, you can’t take her with you, wherever it is you’re planning to go, when you’re making your clever speeches, trying to whip yourselves up a following. He didn’t like that,’ said Aberforth, and his eyes were briefly occluded by the firelight on the lenses of his glasses: they shone white and blind again. ‘Grindelwald didn’t like that at all. He got angry. He told me what a stupid little boy I was, trying to stand in the way of him and my brilliant brother … didn’t I understand, my poor sister wouldn’t have to be hidden once they’d changed the world, and led the wizards out of hiding, and taught the Muggles their place?

Okay,

one) I seriously don’t understand why she needs to be hiding in the first place? Like, LIVE WITH HER IN AN ACTUAL WIZARDING VILLAGE, YOU MORONS.

two) the wizards lived openly with muggles until they got so intolerable that muggles started burning them at the stake. That’s why they’re hiding in the first place.

So?

I mean? Why do these dumb morons imagine it would go much better the second time around, especially since technology has advanced so much that they could just fucking nuke or carpet bomb these people?

‘And there was an argument … and I pulled out my wand, and he pulled out his, and I had the Cruciatus Curse used on me by my brother’s best friend – and Albus was trying to stop him, and then all three of us were duelling, and the flashing lights and the bangs set her off, she couldn’t stand it –’

Yeah, I mean… I’m not honestly feeling anything about this?

And like, Albus was trying to stop him? Dude? The stunning spell maybe?

‘ – and I think she wanted to help, but she didn’t really know what she was doing, and I don’t know which of us did it, it could have been any of us – and she was dead.’

??

Like??

Was it the adava kedavra? Or what did you do?

His voice broke on the last word and he dropped down into the nearest chair. Hermione’s face was wet with tears and Ron was almost as pale as Aberforth. Harry felt nothing but revulsion: he wished he had not heard it, wished he could wash his mind clean of it.

BUT HARRY IS FOR SURE JUST SO FULL OF LOVE.

He’s honestly such an intolerable freak.

‘Gone,’ croaked Aberforth. ‘Gone forever.’

Aww, it’s okay. I might be inclined to give you your sister too. You and Ron can bond over that, ha ha.

‘Never,’ said Harry. ‘The night that your brother died he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind. He started screaming, pleading with someone who wasn’t there. “Don’t hurt them, please … hurt me instead.”’

Okay, so wait.

Is that it?

Is that how he was trying to stop Grindelwald from hurting his family? Instead of whipping out his wand and stunning the dude?

Wow, the brilliance just oozes out of him.

‘He thought he was back there with you and Grindelwald, I know he did,’ said Harry, remembering Dumbledore whimpering, pleading. ‘He thought he was watching Grindelwald hurting you and Ariana … it was torture to him, if you’d seen him then, you wouldn’t say he was free.’

THEN WHY DIDN’T HE–

Like, oh my god.

Well, at least now we know where Lily learned her stellar abilities of intervention.

DUMBLEDORE: Lily, my dear, if someone tortures your friend, you better just yell at them from a distance to stop and maybe crack a smile while you’re at it.

LILY: Um. Does that actually–

DUMBLEDORE: Oh trust me, works wonders.

Aberforth seemed lost in contemplation of his own knotted and veined hands. After a long pause, he said, ‘How can you be sure, Potter, that my brother wasn’t more interested in the greater good than in you? How can you be sure you aren’t dispensable, just like my little sister?’

Oh, that’s easy. Dumbles didn’t care one iota about Harry.

YOU DO NOT GROOM CHILDREN YOU LOVE TO DIE.

IT’S THAT FUCKING SIMPLE, BOOK.

‘I don’t believe it. Dumbledore loved Harry,’ said Hermione.

Oh my god, Hermione, just shut up and die already.

‘Why didn’t he tell him to hide, then?’ shot back Aberforth. ‘Why didn’t he say to him, take care of yourself, here’s how to survive?’

BECAUSE HARRY ONLY NEEDS TO DIE TO GET THE JOB DONE.

‘Because,’ said Harry, before Hermione could answer, ‘sometimes you’ve got to think about more than your own safety! Sometimes you’ve got to think about the greater good! This is war!’

AND YOU’RE SEVENTEEN, YOU STUPID BRAT.

‘You’re seventeen, boy!’

EXACTLY, ABERFORTH.

‘I’m of age, and I’m going to keep fighting even if you’ve given up!’

Actually, Harry, the only time when people send teenagers and old retired men to the battlefield is when they literally have no one else. Everyone else is literally dead.

You stupid morons haven’t lost a single fighting-age man in the entire book because you pusillanimous losers put it all on the shoulders of three moronic seventeen-year-olds.

I hate these books.

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Harry. ‘Your brother knew how to finish You-Know-Who and he passed the knowledge on to me.’

Harry.

Then why didn’t Dumbles finish Tommy himself?

He had literal years of suspicion. He had literal years of research. And he left it all on a completely brainless teenager whose spell count is in the thirties?

‘I’m going to keep going until I succeed – or I die.’

Don’t give me hope, Harry.

At last he cleared his throat, got to his feet, walked around the little table and approached the portrait of Ariana.

‘You know what to do,’ he said.

She smiled, turned and walked away, not as people in portraits usually did, out of the sides of their frames, but along what seemed to be a long tunnel painted behind her. They watched her slight figure retreating until finally she was swallowed by the darkness.

Oh great, more literal divine intervention.

‘There’s only one way in, now,’ said Aberforth. ‘You must know they’ve got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends, Dementors all around the boundary walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded.’

Uh-huh.

Sure.

A tiny white dot had reappeared at the end of the painted tunnel, and now Ariana was walking back towards them, growing bigger and bigger as she came. But there was somebody else with her now, someone taller than she was, who was limping along looking excited. His hair was longer than Harry had ever seen it: he appeared to have suffered several gashes to his face and his clothes were ripped and torn. Larger and larger the two figures grew, until only their heads and shoulders filled the portrait. Then the whole thing swung forwards on the wall like a little door, and the entrance to a real tunnel was revealed. And out of it, his hair overgrown, his face cut, his robes ripped, clambered the real Neville Longbottom, who gave a roar of delight, leapt down from the mantelpiece and yelled, ‘I knew you’d come! I knew it, Harry!’

I hate these books.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-four.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Twenty-seven – The Final Hiding Place

I have TEN chapters of this book left? D:

How is that possible? Nothing has happened and these characters haven’t even done anything.

It seriously feels as if the actual conflict in this book was Ron finally telling Harry off and leaving the two morons to themselves, and the climax was him coming back because he’s a subjugated idiot.

Because horcruxes? Lol. Lmao even.

Deathly hallows? Lol. Lmao even.

Also, the problem with most Harry Potter analyses from the average enjoyer is that there’s a glaring conflict between who these characters are supposed to be and what Rowling actually shows. Obviously, the average enjoyer focuses on who the characters are supposed to be instead of who they actually are — aka their behaviour. And this is even more obvious in fan fiction.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, James, Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mood, Minerva, Dobby, the Weasleys, etc. aren’t heroes.

Draco, Lucius, Narcissa, the Dursleys, etc. aren’t monsters.

The muggles, though, are exactly as Rowling intended them to be. Completely nonexistent.

There was no means of steering; the dragon could not see where it was going, and Harry knew that if it turned sharply or rolled in mid-air they would find it impossible to cling on to its broad back.

Don’t give me hope, Harry.

Nevertheless, as they climbed higher and higher, London unfurling below them like a grey and green map . . .

Soooo~ inquiring minds want to know: how exactly did they explain the great hulking dragon to the muggles? Or is there some mass-obliviating happening right after this?

In other words, not only was the trio of nitwits a direct cause of the mass death of goblins but also the mass dementia of muggles?

Okay then~.

. . . Harry’s overwhelming feeling was of gratitude for an escape that had seemed impossible.

ROWLING. STOP LAMPSHADING YOUR STUPID NARRATIVE IN YOUR STUPID NARRATIVE.

Crouching low over the beast’s neck, he clung tight to the metallic scales, and the cool breeze was soothing on his burned and blistered skin, the dragon’s wings beating the air like the sails of a windmill.

One) Why are dragons’ scales “metallic”?

Two) Oh look, they still have the burns. And here I thought the burns would be totally nonexistent in this chapter.

Behind him, whether from delight or fear he could not tell, Ron kept swearing at the top of his voice, and Hermione seemed to be sobbing.

It’s Ron. Ron isn’t as cool as the Boy Wonder so obviously Ron is scared out of his wits. And Hermione is just being Hermione.

After five minutes or so, Harry lost some of his immediate dread that the dragon was going to throw them off . . .

Harry, don’t give me hope.

. . . but the question of how and when they were to dismount remained rather frightening.

Jump off and apparate?

If it works with shorter falls, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work with longer falls.

And if nothing else, I would get a good laugh at these morons falling to their deaths.

I mean!

Voldemort would know, at last, that they were hunting Horcruxes …

You’re telling me the moron really doesn’t know already?

On and on they flew, over countryside parcelled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matt and glossy ribbon.

So basically… they’re going to have to obliviate the entire country — and I was supposed to be pressed about Draco’s three “assassination attempts”?

Lol. Lmao even.

His hands were numb with cold but he did not dare attempt to shift his grip.

It’s too bad he didn’t lose his grip and fall.

I mean.

He had been wondering for some time what they would do if they saw the coast sail beneath them, if the dragon headed for open sea: he was cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty.

Aww, poor thing hasn’t eaten for a day. I wonder if he’s more desperately hungry and thirsty than the kid who suffered from blood loss and anaemia for months?

Also, don’t give me hope, Harry.

As an aside, did you know that ‘harry’ is also a verb?

Old English hergian “make war, lay waste, ravage, plunder” . . . Weakened sense of “worry, goad, harass” is from c. 1400.

— source: harry

It’s surprisingly fitting.

When, he wondered, had the beast itself last eaten? Surely it would need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, it realised it had three highly edible humans sitting on its back?

Don’t give me hope, Harry.

The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo; and still the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath them, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a great, dark cloud. Every part of Harry ached with the effort of holding on to the dragon’s back.

Oh my god, Harry, I don’t care.

What I do care about is the mass-obliviation of muggles that results from this.

He slithered over the side of the dragon and plummeted, feet first, towards the surface of the lake; the drop was greater than he had estimated and he hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing, green, reed-filled world.

Did you know that you can die if you jump into water from too high?

Too bad it didn’t happen.

Both had angry red burns all over their faces and arms, and their clothing was singed away in places.

Aww, their clothes are singed in places. They sure sustained injuries from all that burning treasure.

‘Well, on the up side,’ said Ron finally, who was sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow . . .

And I almost felt the consequences of those injuries.

‘No sword,’ repeated Ron. ‘That double-crossing little scab …’

*raises eyebrows*

Ron.

You were going to double-cross Griphook before you knew or even suspected him of double-crossing you.

‘At least we can’t wear it this time, that’d look a bit weird hanging round our necks,’ said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Well. You could’ve always put the previous one in one of those nifty bags that Hermione made or that moleskin pouch that Harry got from Hagrid but. Alas.

Hermione looked across the lake to the far bank, where the dragon was still drinking.

‘What’ll happen to it, do you think?’ she asked. ‘Will it be all right?’

ROWLING. AS LONG AS TRANSFIGURATION EXISTS, I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THIS LIP SERVICE.

She’s genuinely so annoying. She wastes all this lip service on dangerous magical creatures: dragons, hippogriffs, giants, werewolves, etc. and then she doesn’t even do anything with any of it.

‘Well, I don’t know how to break this to you,’ said Ron, ‘but I think they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts.’

All three of them started to laugh, and once started, it was difficult to stop. Harry’s ribs ached, he felt light-headed with hunger, but he lay back on the grass beneath the reddening sky and laughed until his throat was raw.

Oh, I’m just dying of laughter.

‘What are we going to do, though?’ said Hermione finally, hiccoughing herself back to seriousness. ‘He’ll know, won’t he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!’

You’re seriously telling me that moron doesn’t already know?

I mean, shouldn’t he at least feel it when one of the horcruxes gets destroyed? Because what good are they otherwise? They’re already absolutely useless as far as gaining immortality goes and now he doesn’t even feel them? Even though the horcruxes know things that Tommy knows after he created them?

‘What did you say to me?’ His voice was high and cold, but fury and fear burned inside him. The one thing he had dreaded – but it could not be true, he could not see how …

Tommy, c’mon.

You’ve already lost three of them.

You seriously cannot be this stupid.

The scream of rage, of denial, left him as if it were a stranger’s: he was crazed, frenzied, it could not be true, it was impossible, nobody had ever known: how was it possible that the boy could have discovered his secret?

Like… doesn’t Tommy at least know about the diary? And quite possibly the ring? So… shouldn’t it be obvious that they’d know by now?

The Elder Wand slashed through the air and green light erupted through the room, the kneeling goblin rolled over, dead . . .

Oh well, look at that. Rowling quite possibly did kill Griphook off. Now Harry won’t have to return that sword. Phew! He dodged a bullet there.

. . . the watching wizards scattered before him, terrified: Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy threw others behind them in their race for the door, and again and again his wand fell, and those who were left were slain, all of them, for bringing him this news, for hearing about the golden cup –

Oh my god, I don’t even have the words for what I’m experiencing right now.

Like.

This dude?

How is this dude? *waves hand incoherently*

HOW DOES THIS STUPID LOSER HAVE ANY FOLLOWERS?

Alone amongst the dead, he stormed up and down, and they passed before him in vision: his treasures, his safeguards, his anchors to immortality – the diary was destroyed and the cup was stolen; what if, what if, the boy knew about the others?

But surely if the boy had destroyed any of his Horcruxes, he, Lord Voldemort, would have known, would have felt it? He, the greatest wizard of them all, he, the most powerful, he, the killer of Dumbledore and of how many other worthless, nameless men: how could Lord Voldemort not have known, if he, himself, most important and precious, had been attacked, mutilated?

You know… I’ve been thinking that Tommy is an utterly pathetic loser ever since Book One but he’s… really reaching some unexplored nadirs here.

Also, Tommy~ Actually it was Severus who killed Dumbles after you’d hired a sixteen-year-old to do it. But you go off.

True, he had not felt it when the diary had been destroyed, but he had thought that was because he had no body to feel, being less than ghost … no, surely, the rest were safe … the other Horcruxes must be intact …

But he must know, he must be sure … He paced the room, kicking aside the goblin’s corpse as he passed, and the pictures blurred and burned in his boiling brain: the lake, the shack, and Hogwarts –

Oh my god.

I’m just…

Even if I hadn’t been utterly done before with this stupid plotline, Rowling pretty much killed whatever interest I might have had right now.

A modicum of calm cooled his rage now: how could the boy know that he had hidden the ring in the Gaunt shack? No one had ever known him to be related to the Gaunts, he had hidden the connection, the killings had never been traced to him: the ring, surely, was safe.

So he didn’t even tout his one pureblood connection to the other purebloods?

Okay?

How did he then convince them that he’s one of them?

I mean?

Ha ha ha…

I’m done.

And how could the boy, or anybody else, know about the cave or penetrate its protection? The idea of the locket being stolen was absurd …

OH MY GOD, TOMMY.

As for the school: he alone knew where in Hogwarts he had stowed the Horcrux, because he alone had plumbed the deepest secrets of that place …

And there was still Nagini, who must remain close now, no longer sent to do his bidding, under his protection …

GODS IN HEAVEN AND ALL THEIR CELESTIAL BODIES. *starts crying*

. . . it had been a grave mistake to trust Bellatrix and Malfoy: didn’t their stupidity and carelessness prove how unwise it was, ever, to trust?

Well, I mean… He does have a point.

He would visit the Gaunt shack first, then, and take Nagini with him: he would not be parted from the snake any more …

Like. What’s the actual point. Of putting a piece of his soul in a living being? What does that help? How does that benefit him? Especially since Nagini is, in fact, a cursed woman as per whatever the hell recent entry of this brainless series? Does the piece of Tommy’s soul make Nagini immortal? Does she not age anymore? Can’t she die from an accident or injury?

‘He knows.’ His own voice sounded strange and low after Voldemort’s high screams. ‘He knows, and he’s going to check where the others are, and the last one,’ he was already on his feet, ‘is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I knew it.’

The last one.

The fucking last one.

They’ve only found two in the entire book and we’re already on the fucking last one.

‘He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape’s there, because it’ll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he’ll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours –’

Shouldn’t Tommy, of all people, know how not safe Hogwarts is?

‘Wait, wait!’ cried Hermione, as Ron caught up the Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. ‘We can’t just go, we haven’t got a plan, we need to – ’

Because all of your “plans” have gone so splendidly well so far?

‘What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn’t safe enough?’

‘But how are we going to get in?’

WELL, I DON’T KNOW. HOW ABOUT THE SAME WAY THAT EVERYONE ELSE HAS BEEN GETTING IN SO FAR?

Ironically, they could try the cupboard in Borgin and Burkes. As far as I remember, they didn’t even do anything with it?

‘We’ll go to Hogsmeade,’ said Harry, ‘and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school’s like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time.’

When have the three of you morons not stuck together?

Like.

We’re seriously already going into the climax of this stupid book.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-four.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

---

The anxiety keeps persisting. I think I need to see a doctor for it because this seriously won’t do. Not that I’m sure what they can do about it because I don’t want medication.

Chapter Twenty-six – Gringotts

Oh no, another action chapter. *sighs*

Also, here’s another credit where credit is due: most of the average Harry Potter enjoyers reacted exactly as Rowling intended for them to react to these books. Because, as evidenced, most of the average Harry Potter enjoyers just — really do not have any empathy for muggles, for the Dursleys, for Draco, for Severus. And they have their blinkers firmly attached when it comes to the so-called “good side” and “heroes”.

As a kind reminder: Albus Dumbledore was systematically and deliberately grooming an underage boy to die. Rubeus Hagrid attacked a terrified eleven-year-old boy for something his dad said. James Potter was torturing a half-blood boy for years in front of the entire school so he could blackmail a muggleborn girl into dating him. Hermione Granger scarred her love interest and a girl for life as petty revenge and completely mind-raped her own parents. Harry Potter eviscerated another student and cared more about an inanimate book than almost manslaughtering someone. Fake-Moody attacked a student from behind and then smacked him against stone floors and walls while the kid squealed in terror and pain, and everyone around laughed.

And then all of these people are just so pressed about Draco’s three “assassination attempts”, ha ha. Like, please. Be serious, you absolute clowns.

Their plans were made . . .

You mean Griphook did your plans, right? Because you utter nitwits don’t plan.

. . . in the smallest bedroom a single long, coarse, black hair (plucked from the sweater Hermione had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled in a small glass phial on the mantelpiece.

WELL, ISN’T THAT JUST A MIGHTY COINCIDENCE.

Also, it would be so funny if it was animal hair again. But alas, we can’t have anything fun in these books.

Hermione looked frightened that the wand might sting or bite her as she picked it up.

You have no idea how much I wish it would.

‘I hate this thing,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I really hate it. It feels all wrong, it doesn’t work properly for me … it’s like a bit of her.’

Well, imagine how Bellatrix must feel about a bunch of mudbloods and blood traitors fondling her wand.

Harry could not help but remember how Hermione had dismissed his loathing of the blackthorn wand, insisting that he was imagining things when it did not work as well as his own, telling him to simply practise.

Ha ha, the greatest ship and friendship ever.

He chose not to repeat her own advice back to her, however; the eve of their attempted assault on Gringotts felt like the wrong moment to antagonise her.

Well, isn’t Harry such a magnanimous chap.

‘It’ll probably help you get in character, though,’ said Ron. ‘Think what that wand’s done!’

‘But that’s my point!’ said Hermione. ‘This is the wand that tortured Neville’s mum and dad, and who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius!’

??

Didn’t it also torture you, Hermione?

I mean, I must admit, I was distracted laughing my head off at your torture but I’m pretty sure Bellatrix used her own wand to do it.

Harry had not thought of that . . .

It’s okay, Harry, you’ve never thought much of Sirius. Or anything else, for that matter.

. . . he looked down at the wand and was visited by a brutal urge to snap it, to slice it in half with Gryffindor’s sword, which was propped against the wall beside him.

‘I miss my wand,’ Hermione said miserably.

Admittedly, I strive to forget these books even as I read them, but what on earth happened to Hermione’s wand?

Did they leave it at the manor or something?

Harry looked down at the hawthorn wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. He had been surprised, but pleased, to discover that it worked for him at least as well as Hermione’s had done.

Uh-huh.

Quidditch. Grimmauld Place and the Black inheritance. Kreacher. His wand. Almost his life. What else is Harry going to take from Draco?

Remembering what Ollivander had told them of the secret workings of wands, Harry thought he knew what Hermione’s problem was: she had not won the walnut wand’s allegiance by taking it personally from Bellatrix.

IMAGINE. WHAT SHE’S ACTUALLY SAYING WITH THIS NONSENSE.

Like, your personal possessions don’t stop being yours just because someone steals them. And since Rowling pretty much implies that wands are also sentient, imagine actually saying that they switch alliances just because they’re kidnapped.

We’re right on the level of bride kidnapping here. That’s how utterly low the psychoclass in these books is.

The door of the bedroom opened and Griphook entered. Harry reached instinctively for the hilt of the sword and drew it close to him, but regretted his action at once: he could tell that the goblin had noticed.

They had been firm on this point, because Hermione would need to transform into Bellatrix before they left, and the less that Bill and Fleur knew or suspected about what they were about to do, the better.

Why, though?

Who are they going to tell?

As they had lost Perkins’s old tent on the night that the Snatchers caught them, Bill had lent them another one. It was now packed inside the beaded bag, which, Harry was impressed to learn, Hermione had protected from the Snatchers by the simple expedient of stuffing it down her sock.

Um?

How big was that bag again?

Because I don’t want to go back to check?

Though he would miss Bill, Fleur, Luna and Dean, not to mention the home comforts they had enjoyed over the last few weeks . . .

Oh, yeah. He’s going to miss them tremendously. Just like he’s missed Sirius — oops, wait.

Also~ remind me again, Harry, what was that fight about in chapter fifteen? Oh, wait, wait, it’s coming back to me:

‘So what part of it isn’t living up to your expectations?’ asked Harry. Anger was coming to his defence now. ‘Did you think we’d be staying in five star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?’

. . . Harry was looking forward to escaping the confinement of Shell Cottage.

Certainly can’t tell that with the way he’s stayed there for weeks.

He was tired of trying to make sure that they were not overheard, tired of being shut in the tiny, dark bedroom.

Well, turn on the light, you silly goose?

Also, this would’ve been a good opportunity to mention that the “tiny, dark bedroom” reminded Harry of the cupboard but alas. We can’t have nice things in these books.

Most of all, he longed to be rid of Griphook.

Ha ha. Like, Rowling is so unserious. At first it’s all, “oh Harry is such an unusual wizard, he felt compassion for a magical creature” and now we’re doing this? For chapters?

IMAGINE. HOW MANY CHILDREN’S EMPATHY AND LOGICAL FACULTIES THIS WOMAN HAS RUINED.

However, precisely how and when they were to part from the goblin without handing over Gryffindor’s sword remained a question to which Harry had no answer.

It’s okay, Harry. It’s not like you have an answer to anything else either.

. . . as the goblin’s long fingers kept appearing around the edges of doors.

Uh-huh.

Sure, Rowling. Tell me all about dehumanisation, you hack.

With Bill’s warning in mind, Harry could not help suspecting that Griphook was on the watch for possible skulduggery.

You mean the skulduggery you’ve already agreed on?

Hermione disapproved so heartily of the planned double-cross that Harry had given up attempting to pick her brains on how best to do it; Ron, on the rare occasions that they had been able to snatch a few Griphook-free moments, had come up with nothing better than ‘We’ll just have to wing it, mate.’

You know, just out of curiosity: why is it that this stupid bint cares more about how wizards treat magical creatures than she cares about how all wizards treat muggles?

Why is it that this stupid bint has absolutely no trouble scarring her love interest and a girl for life as petty revenge but double-crossing a magical creature out of dubious need is beyond the pale?

Why is it that this stupid bint disagrees about every stupid thing but doesn’t actually offer any alternative suggestions?

Now he was experiencing jolts of anxiety, nagging doubts: he could not shake off the fear that it was all going to go wrong.

Harry.

Even if everything goes wrong, you’ll still be saved by author ex machina.

He kept telling himself that their plan was good, that Griphook knew what they were facing, that they were well-prepared for all the difficulties they were likely to encounter . . .

Well, I mean. It’s Griphook’s plan so I guess I can take their word for it?

. . . now that it was May.

Like, imagine this: there are either one or two months of this dumb book left.

What have these characters actually done all this time?

Small green shoots were forcing their way up through the red earth of Dobby’s grave now; in a year’s time the mound would be covered in flowers. The white stone that bore the elf’s name had already acquired a weathered look. He realised now that they could hardly have laid Dobby to rest in a more beautiful place, but Harry ached with sadness to think of leaving him behind.

Oh.

Come to think of it, so basically the only good magical creature was the one who slavishly worshipped Harry?

Okay then~.

Looking down on the grave, he wondered yet again how the elf had known where to come to rescue them.

Author ex machina?

*a deep sigh*

ROWLING. STOP QUESTIONING YOUR STUPID NARRATIVE IN YOUR STUPID NARRATIVE.

As she walked, she was tucking the small beaded bag into the inside pocket of another set of the old robes they had taken from Grimmauld Place.

Another set of old robes?

Like, when did they get the first ones?

Though Harry knew perfectly well that it was really Hermione, he could not suppress a shiver of loathing.

It’s okay, Harry. I feel that way about the lot of you all the time, too.

She was taller than he was, her long, black hair rippling down her back, her heavily lidded eyes disdainful as they rested upon him . . .

Bellatrix sounds so gothic.

Also, Harry really is a midget, ha ha.

‘She tasted disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots!’

Wasn’t gurdyroots that thing that Xenophilia made them drink? And which tasted like boogers or some such?

‘It’s not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time.’

You know, I honestly wonder why these people don’t look more beautiful or bizarre than they actually do?

‘There,’ said Hermione, ‘how does he look, Harry?’

It was just possible to discern Ron under his disguise, but only, Harry thought, because he knew him so well. Ron’s hair was now long and wavy, he had a thick, brown beard and moustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose and heavy eyebrows.

‘Well, he’s not my type, but he’ll do,’ said Harry. ‘Shall we go, then?’

*absolutely gleeful*

So does that mean that some men are Harry’s type?

*cackles*

You have no idea how much fun I had writing this bit in Fault Line:

“And I’m not convinced Harry isn’t massively gay,” Ginny added, hurt and vicious with it.

Ron stared, feeling derailed. Then he made a funny spluttering sound, he couldn’t help it. “What? Harry’s not – he’s not gay,” he said.

Ginny gave him a disdainful look, the curve of her mouth cruel. “Oh please, haven’t you seen how he looks at every boy who’s even remotely handsome? I bet he has a bloody diary where he obsesses how prettily their eyes glitter or how attractively sun shines on their hair.”

*sighs wistfully*

I still wish I could meet another Ron/Ginny fan.

Harry bent down and the goblin clambered on to his back, his hands linked in front of Harry’s throat.

I hope he throttles him.

He was not heavy, but Harry disliked the feeling of the goblin and the surprising strength with which he clung on.

*another sigh*

Sure, Rowling. Tell me all about dehumanisation.

*massive eye roll*

Harry turned on the spot with Griphook on his shoulders, concentrating with all his might on the Leaky Cauldron, the inn that was the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Why not just apparate directly to Diagon Alley?

. . . a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced at Hermione and drew back into the shadows.

You know, what kind of a writer is it who doesn’t tell or show? Anything about anything?

‘Too polite,’ Harry whispered in Hermione’s ear as they passed out of the inn into the tiny backyard. ‘You need to treat people like they’re scum!’

You know, you’d think that would come naturally to Hermione. Just treat them like Ron.

More shops than ever were boarded-up, though several new establishments dedicated to the Dark Arts had been created since his last visit.

THERE SURE IS A WAR GOING ON.

Also, I really don’t see why they can’t have dark arts shops in the first place? I mean, just because someone collects paraphernalia about something, it doesn’t mean that they’re evil.

Harry’s own face glared down at him from posters plastered over many windows, always captioned with the words Undesirable Number One.

Undesirable Number One will never stop being funny.

A number of ragged people sat huddled in doorways. He heard them moaning to the few passers-by, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards. One man had a bloody bandage over his eye.

Why are there suddenly beggars in this society?

Also, why did all the muggleborns insist on staying in this society? I mean? They have actual family in the muggle world that they could’ve gone to? They could’ve taken all of their gold and sold it in the muggle world and become filthy rich?

I mean?

How do you oppress any of these people when they could’ve just gone back to the muggle world and disappeared?

As they set off along the street, the beggars glimpsed Hermione. They seemed to melt away before her, drawing hoods over their faces and fleeing as fast as they could. Hermione looked after them curiously, until the man with the bloodied bandage came staggering right across her path.

Disguised as Bellatrix, Hermione looked after them “curiously”.

But sure, this girl is just vast depths of empathy.

‘My children!’ he bellowed, pointing at her. His voice was cracked, high-pitched, he sounded distraught. ‘Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, you know!‘

‘I – I really – ’ stammered Hermione.

The man lunged at her, reaching for her throat: then, with a bang and a burst of red light he was thrown backwards on to the ground, unconscious. Ron stood there, his wand still outstretched and a look of shock visible behind his beard.

You know, this whole Ron/Hermione thing is just making me feel all sorts of negative feelings.

Harry whirled round and Griphook tightened his hold around Harry’s neck: a tall, thin wizard with a crown of bushy, grey hair and a long, sharp nose was striding towards them.

‘It’s Travers,’ hissed the goblin into Harry’s ear, but at that moment Harry could not think who Travers was.

Well, I don’t have a clue who the hell Travers is either.

Hermione had drawn herself up to her fullest height and said, with as much contempt as she could muster, ‘and what do you want?’

Travers stopped in his tracks, clearly affronted.

‘He’s another Death Eater!’ breathed Griphook, and Harry sidled sideways to repeat the information into Hermione’s ear.

*closes eyes*

*takes in a deep breath*

For the love of gods, these characters are so dumb.

This is like the Slytherin common room all over again.

Harry recognised his voice now; Travers was one of the Death Eaters who had been summoned to Xenophilius’s house.

Still doesn’t tell me anything but okay.

‘Well,’ Travers coughed, ‘I heard that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the … ah … escape.’

But Draco, the seventeen-year-old, sure had ample opportunities to escape.

*massive eye roll*

Though the Death Eater looked offended, he also seemed less suspicious. He glanced down at the man Ron had just Stunned.

‘How did it offend you?’

‘It does not matter, it will not do so again,’ said Hermione coolly.

IT.

Oh my god, she’s so fucking ham-fisted.

‘Some of these Wandless can be troublesome,’ said Travers.

WHY ARE YOU LOT PRACTISING WANDLESS MAGIC AT SCHOOL IF WANDLESS IS AN INSULT?

WHY ARE THESE BOOKS SO STUPID?

‘This is Dragomir Despard,’ said Hermione; they had decided that a fictional foreigner was the safest cover for Ron to assume. ‘He speaks very little English, but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord’s aims. He has travelled here from Transylvania to see our new regime.’

Dragomir Despard.

From Transylvania.

Travers extended two fingers and shook Ron’s hand as though frightened of dirtying himself.

You know, honestly speaking, death eaters are hilarious.

‘Alas, I also,’ said Travers. ‘Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends.’

Then…

one) why is everything in this world gold?

two) why is all the gold controlled by goblins?

Why don’t wizards have their own bank?

Harry felt Griphook’s clasped hands tighten momentarily around his neck.

I hope he throttles him.

A watchful Death Eater was the very last thing they needed, and the worst of it was, with Travers marching at what he believed to be Bellatrix’s side, there was no means for Harry to communicate with Hermione or Ron.

Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before and come up with possible solutions to it?

But that would’ve been hard work and we can’t have that in Harry Potters.

As Griphook had already warned them, the liveried goblins who usually flanked the entrance had been replaced by two wizards, both of whom were clutching long, thin golden rods.

Okay?

Why, though?

Like, what’s the use of replacing doormen with wizards? Why not change all the goblins with wizards and finally control their own gold (and thus economy)?

‘Ah, Probity Probes,’ sighed Travers theatrically, ‘so crude – but effective!’

That does not tell me anything, man.

The Probes, Harry knew, detected spells of concealment and hidden magical objects.

Oh, Harry KNOWS. Will the wonders ever cease.

Also, wait a damn second.

WHY DO NOT THESE MORONS HAVE THESE AS WELL INSTEAD OF THE STELLAR DEFENCE OF STATING BASIC INFORMATION ABOUT THEMSELVES THAT ANYONE COULD FIND OUT?

Knowing that he had only seconds, Harry pointed Draco’s wand at each of the guards in turn and murmured, ‘Confundo,’ twice.

The Boy Wonder’s thirty-second spell. Yay. *monotone*

He stared down at the thin, golden Probe and then at his companion, who said in a slightly dazed voice, ‘Yeah, you’ve just checked them, Marius.’

You know, I miss Marcus. I liked him. I thought he was cute.

I wonder what happened to him?

Two goblins stood before the inner doors, which were made of silver and which carried the poem warning of dire retribution to potential thieves.

And they didn’t even replace these doormen?

…..doorgoblins?

Harry looked up at it, and all of a sudden a knife-sharp memory came to him . . .

KNIFE-SHARP.

Wouldn’t that be the day when anything about Harry is sharp.

. . . and never for an instant could he have dreamed that he would return to steal …

You’ve returned there almost every year, though?

‘Act now, act now,’ whispered Griphook in Harry’s ear, ‘the Imperius Curse!’

Harry raised the hawthorn wand beneath the Cloak, pointed it at the old goblin and whispered, for the first time in his life, ‘Imperio!’

*absolutely gleeful*

WELL. WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT. OUR STUPENDOUSLY LOVING BOY WONDER USING UNFORGIVABLE SPELLS YET AGAIN.

It’s too bad he didn’t use the adava kedavra, he could’ve done the whole set. But maybe he’ll have time post-canon.

So stupendously loving Boy Wonder’s dark arts score: levicorpus, sectumsempra, cruciatus, polyjuice potion, imperius.

But sure. It’s Draco who is infatuated with the dark arts.

A curious sensation shot down Harry’s arm, a feeling of tingling warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse it had just cast.

Okay?

Harry acted without thinking: pointing his wand at Travers, he muttered, ‘Imperio!’ once more.

Well, isn’t our stupendously loving Boy Wonder just suddenly using unforgivables left and right.

Oh, almost forgot: the moron’s thirty-third spell.

Hermione looked utterly bewildered, but to Harry’s enormous relief she accepted the bizarre turn of events without comment.

Travers was now standing quite still with his mouth hanging wide open. Ron was drawing attention to this odd phenomenon by regarding Travers with confusion.

Honestly speaking, why aren’t these morons dead already?

‘I am aware of the instructions. Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault … very old family … old clients … this way, please …’

And come to think of it, why does Bellatrix still have her vault? Why didn’t it go to Narcissa or the ministry?

I mean, the woman was sentenced to die in Azkaban?

Harry looked back at Travers, who was still rooted to the spot looking abnormally vacant, and made his decision: with a flick of his wand he made Travers come with them . . .

Why?

‘They’re Imperiused,’ he added, in response to Hermione and Ron’s confused queries about Travers and Bogrod, who were both now standing there looking blank.

For the love of gods, you all saw practical demonstrations and felt practical demonstrations of imperius.

And another memory darted through his mind, of the real Bellatrix Lestrange shrieking at him when he had first tried to use an Unforgivable Curse: ‘You need to mean them, Potter!’

Doesn’t that apply to every spell, though?

As an aside, one of the reasons why it’s so hard to care about these female characters is that they’re all shrill, screaming harpies. Like, they just do not sound pleasant. At all.

‘What do we do?’ asked Ron. ‘Shall we get out now, while we can?’

‘If we can,’ said Hermione, looking back towards the door into the main hall, beyond which who knew what was happening.

‘We’ve got this far, I say we go on,’ said Harry.

Well, what else would you do? Go back to camping and thinking about Dumbles in your bunks late at night?

‘Good!’ said Griphook. ‘So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no longer have the authority.’

Why do you need authority for that?

Harry pointed his wand at Travers.

‘Imperio!’

The wizard turned and set off along the dark track at a smart pace.

‘What are you making him do?’

‘Hide,’ said Harry . . .

Okay, let’s talk about this hare-brained stupidity some more because I actually re-watched Princess Mononoke with my nephew a few days ago.

Like, Princess Mononoke did this whole thing, too, about not killing your enemies and showing them mercy and whatever. And. That was the whole point. The cycle of hatred and revenge, and how they all derived from the emperor’s singular revolt against nature and natural order aka his refusal to accept his own mortality.

The characters who received this mercy and compassion were also aware of it. Because what’s the point otherwise?

How does Harry and the trio’s “mercy” or whatever break the cycle of hatred and revenge when the characters who receive it aren’t even aware of it?

. . . they hurtled past Travers, who was wriggling into a crack in the wall . . .

Like, that imperius is going to wear off at some point, right? Because otherwise that dude is going to starve to death in that crack?

. . . the more he thought about it, the more foolish it seemed to have disguised Hermione as Bellatrix, to have brought along Bellatrix’s wand, when the Death Eaters knew who had stolen it –

Wouldn’t that just be the day when any of you morons think?

Harry heard the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall, heard Hermione shriek something and felt himself glide back towards the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor.

‘C – Cushioning Charm,’ Hermione spluttered, as Ron pulled her to her feet . . .

One) It will never stop being funny that Hermione isn’t the main character.

Two) Oh, Ron. Why are you wasting yourself on Hermione?

‘The Thief’s Downfall!’ said Griphook, clambering to his feet and looking back at the deluge on to the tracks, which Harry knew, now, had been more than water. ‘It washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment! They know there are impostors in Gringotts, they have set off defences against us!’

Okay?

Also, why don’t wizards have this magical water?

Would be a hell of a better defence too than just stating basic information that anyone can find out.

‘Imperio!’ Harry said again; his voice echoed through the stone passage as he felt again the sense of heady control that flowed from brain to wand.

HEADY control.

But sure, it’s Draco who is infatuated with the dark arts. *massive eye roll*

‘How are we going to get out again?’ Ron asked . . .

Rowling ex machina as always?

A gigantic dragon was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. The beast’s scales had turned pale and flaky during its long incarceration under the ground; its eyes were milkily pink: both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great, spiked wings, folded close to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them, and when it turned its ugly head towards them, it roared with a noise that made the rock tremble, opened its mouth and spat a jet of fire that sent them running back up the passageway.

But we sure should feel sorry for Buckbeak just because it attacked Draco. *massive eye roll*

They advanced round the corner again, shaking the Clankers and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, grossly magnified, so that the inside of Harry’s skull seemed to vibrate with the din. The dragon let out another hoarse roar, then retreated. Harry could see it trembling, and as they drew nearer he saw the scars made by vicious slashes across its face, and guessed that it had been taught to fear hot swords when it heard the sound of the Clankers.

And yet these morons have an entire subject that’s nothing but glorified animal abuse.

Also! Speaking of Transfiguration, I was checking some of my old posts (and it’s so wild, I have no memory of what I’ve been writing in them, ha ha) and I came across that lesson where they were turning beetles into buttons.

And it’s like, okay, this stupid subject exists. Why doesn’t any of it feature in the actual books and world building? Like, give me bizarre clothes that have transfigured insects as buttons, buckles, brooches, etc. Give me tableware that used to be flamingos, hummingbirds, etc.

LIKE. DO SOMETHING. WITH ANY OF IT. If it must exist anyway.

. . . crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armour, the skins of strange creatures, some with long spines, others with drooping wings, potions in jewelled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown.

Ha ha!

That skull.

He had described Hufflepuff’s cup to Ron and Hermione, but if it was the other, unknown Horcrux that resided in this vault, he did not know what it looked like.

Why not first check that crown on that skull?

And come to think of it, how does Harry know what the hufflepuff’s cup looked like? Did I forget something again? Because I gotta be honest, I don’t even want to remember Book Six.

‘Light your wands, can’t you?’

Oh, Griphook. Don’t you know that these morons barely use magic for anything?

They directed their wands into every nook and crevice, turning cautiously on the spot.

Oh my god.

Why didn’t you just check that crown on that skull first?

Ron and Hermione pointed their wands at it too, so that the little golden cup sparkled in a three-way spotlight: the cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which had passed into the possession of Hepzibah Smith, from whom it had been stolen by Tom Riddle.

Well, would you look at that. The cup actually was in Bellatrix’s vault.

Also, come to think of it, I guess the tiara was in the room of requirement at Hogwarts. But as I said, I don’t even want to remember Book Six.

‘Accio cup!’ cried Hermione, who had evidently forgotten, in her desperation, what Griphook had told them during their planning sessions.

Well, I mean? It’s a horcrux? From what I remember it wouldn’t have worked anyway?

‘Then what do we do?’ said Harry, glaring at the goblin. ‘If you want the sword, Griphook, then you’ll have to help us more than –’

He already got you in there, you moron.

Hermione fumbled inside her robes, drew out the beaded bag, rummaged for a few seconds, then removed the shining sword.

Oh, look. Now the sword is in her bag. *massive eye roll*

‘If I can just poke the sword through a handle – but how am I going to get up there?’

ARE YOU WITCHES OR NOT?

JUST CONJURE OR TRANSFIGURE A HOOKED STICK.

Or you know, what are those called again — stilts?

The shelf on which the cup reposed was out of reach for any of them, even Ron, who was tallest.

FOR THE LOVE OF GODS, YOU MORONS.

She raised her wand, pointed it at Harry and whispered, ‘Levicorpus.’

Hoisted into the air by his ankle, Harry hit a suit of armour and replicas burst out of it like white-hot bodies, filling the cramped space.

HOW ABOUT THE WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA, YOU MORONS?

Half-buried in a rising tide of red-hot treasure, they struggled and yelled . . .

HOW ARE THESE MORONS NOT DEAD YET?

Then the worst scream yet made Harry look down: Ron and Hermione were waist-deep in treasure, struggling to keep Bogrod from slipping beneath the rising tide, but Griphook had sunk out of sight and nothing but the tips of a few long fingers were left in view.

Harry seized Griphook’s fingers and pulled. The blistered goblin emerged by degrees, howling.

You know, I’m honestly surprised that Rowling didn’t just take this opportunity to kill Griphook off and let Harry off the hook on the sword.

‘Liberacorpus!’ yelled Harry, and with a crash he and Griphook landed on the surface of the swelling treasure, and the sword flew out of Harry’s hand.

The Boy Wonder’s thirty-fourth spell. He sure is just pulling these hitherto unmentioned and nonexistent spells right out of his arse.

‘Get it!’ Harry yelled, fighting the pain of the hot metal on his skin, as Griphook clambered on to his shoulders again, determined to avoid the swelling mass of red-hot objects.

Ha ha, Griphook is honestly funny.

It was Griphook who had seen it and Griphook who lunged, and in that instant Harry knew that the goblin had never expected them to keep their word.

Why would or should he have?

I mean, you were going to double-cross but it’s okay because Griphook never expected you to keep your word anyway?

ROWLING. WHY ARE YOU SO UNSERIOUS?

One hand holding tightly to a fistful of Harry’s hair to make sure he did not fall into the heaving sea of burning gold, Griphook seized the hilt of the sword and swung it high out of Harry’s reach.

Ha ha!

It’s a shame about Griphook. He’s great.

The goblin still astride him, Harry dived and caught it, and although he could feel it scalding his flesh he did not relinquish it, even while countless Hufflepuff cups burst from his fist, raining down upon him as the entrance of the vault opened up again and he found himself sliding uncontrollably on an expanding avalanche of fiery gold and silver that bore him, Ron and Hermione into the outer chamber.

How are these morons not dead yet?

Sliding from Harry’s shoulders the moment he could, he had sprinted for cover amongst the surrounding goblins, brandishing the sword and crying, ‘Thieves! Thieves! Help! Thieves!’ He vanished into the midst of the advancing crowd, all of whom were holding daggers and who accepted him without question.

Ha ha!

Griphook is awesome. Too awesome for these books.

Slipping on the hot metal, Harry struggled to his feet and knew that the only way out was through.

I sure hope something sharp goes through Harry.

I mean…

‘Stupefy!’ he bellowed, and Ron and Hermione joined in: jets of red light flew into the crowd of goblins and some toppled over, but others advanced, and Harry saw several wizard guards running round the corner.

Harry, you’re facing a mob. At least use some crowd-control spell?

The tethered dragon let out a roar, and a gush of flame flew over the goblins: the wizards fled, doubled – up, back the way they had come, and inspiration, or madness, came to Harry. Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the beast to the floor he yelled, ‘Relashio!’

You know what, I don’t even care.

‘We’ll never get out, it’s too big!’ Hermione screamed, but the dragon opened its mouth and belched flame again, blasting the tunnel, whose floors and ceiling cracked and crumbled. By sheer force the dragon clawed and fought its way through. Harry’s eyes were tight shut against the heat and dust: deafened by the crashing of rock and the dragon’s roars, he could only cling to its back, expecting to be shaken off at any moment . . .

HOW ARE THESE MORONS NOT DEAD YET?

. . . then he heard Hermione yelling, ‘Defodio!’

She was helping the dragon enlarge the passageway, carving out the ceiling as it struggled upwards, towards the fresher air, away from the shrieking and clanking goblins: Harry and Ron copied her, blasting the ceiling apart with more gouging spells.

Goblins and wizards shrieked and ran for cover, and finally the dragon had room to stretch its wings: turning its horned head towards the cool outside air it could smell beyond the entrance, it took off, and with Harry, Ron and Hermione still clinging to its back, it forced its way through the metal doors, leaving them buckled and hanging from their hinges as it staggered into Diagon Alley and launched itself into the sky.

And then the morons fell off and died.

The end.

Hey, a girl can hope, right?

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-four.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Twenty-five – Shell Cottage

I think I met my first Draco anti in the wild and what I find wild is that people seriously just — conjured totally different books out of thin air as they were reading these. If I was a psychiatrist, I would study this phenomenon. As it is, it’s late and I’m tired.

Okay, I’m less tired now. But imagine seriously typing that a seventeen-year-old kid who has just been tortured for an hour and has listened to his parents be tortured for an hour is a coward for seeking brief comfort from his parents afterwards? Like, anyone who has read these posts knows exactly how little I care about Harry or Hermione’s entire characters because they’re not real characters, but I would never call them cowards for seeking comfort. I would, however, call them everything else under the sun, ha ha.

“Oh, but the seventeen-year-old had three assassination attempts under his belt. He should’ve just stoically thought he totally deserves all the subsequent torture and misery he gets.”

Like? That sounds exactly how real people think and feel? “I did a bad thing. Now I deserve all the bad things that happen to me.”

Please.

Three fucking assassination attempts, for the love of gods. You know who could’ve put an actual stop to those assassination attempts any damn time he so well pleased? Dumbles, the actual fucking authority figure and adult in that situation. You know what Dumbles most empathically did not do?

Exactly.

“Oh, he had every opportunity to leave and run away.”

Where on earth did you conjure these opportunities from?

You know what Draco antis fail to realise? Draco has more empathy and bravery as a character than these people will probably have in their entire lives.

Important Disclaimer: Even though we should not make value judgements about people by their responses to fiction. It’s fine. Whatever. I was just irked, that’s all. Here’s advice that no one asked for: insulting an author’s favourite character isn’t exactly the best way to compliment said author, ha ha.

(Gods of literature, I prithee, let this stupid chapter be short.)

He spent much of the next few days making excuses to escape the crowded cottage . . .

Next. Few. Days.

Harry’s been spending the next. few. days melodramatically staring at the sea. The twit.

The enormity of his decision not to race Voldemort to the wand still scared Harry. He could not remember, ever before, choosing not to act.

Well, give me a list of moments when you chose to act and then we’ll talk.

He was full of doubts, doubts that Ron could not help voicing whenever they were together.

‘What if Dumbledore wanted us to work out the symbol in time to get the wand?’

WHY DO YOU BRAINLESS MORONS CARE WHAT DUMBLES WANTED WHEN HE’S ALREADY DEAD AND HE WASN’T ANY MORE OF USE ALIVE?

‘What if working out what the symbol meant made you “worthy” to get the Hallows?’

For the love of gods.

Find more than one of them and then let’s talk about being “worthy”.

‘Harry, if that really is the Elder Wand, how the hell are we supposed to finish off You-Know-Who?’

Rowling ex machina as always?

Besides, how did Dumbles finish off Grindelwald?

Harry had no answers . . .

I am shocked!

. . . there were moments when he wondered whether it had been outright madness not to try to prevent Voldemort breaking open the tomb.

Harry, trust me. You wouldn’t have been able to prevent it even if you had tried and much like usual you didn’t even try.

So shut up.

He could not even explain satisfactorily why he had decided against it: every time he tried to reconstruct the internal arguments that had led to his decision, they sounded feebler to him.

The odd thing was that Hermione’s support made him feel just as confused as Ron’s doubts. Now forced to accept that the Elder Wand was real, she maintained that it was an evil object, and that the way Voldemort had taken possession of it was repellent, not to be considered.

‘You could never have done that, Harry,’ she said again and again. ‘You couldn’t have broken into Dumbledore’s grave.’

I hate these books.

But the idea of Dumbledore’s corpse frightened Harry much less than the possibility that he might have misunderstood the living Dumbledore’s intentions.

For the love of gods, Harry.

Stop.

Think about your life choices for a moment.

He felt that he was still groping in the dark; he had chosen his path but kept looking back, wondering whether he had misread the signs, whether he should not have taken the other way.

From time to time, anger at Dumbledore crashed over him again, powerful as the waves slamming themselves against the cliff beneath the cottage, anger that Dumbledore had not explained before he died.

Well, Harry, seeing as Dumbles is already dead and thus can’t influence you anymore, it’s really all your own stupid fault.

And then people actually have the gall to blame Draco and call him a coward when Draco has to actually live with Tommy.

‘But is he dead?’ said Ron, three days after they had arrived at the cottage.

*is reduced to incomprehensible gibbering of rage*

ALSO. THREE DAYS AFTER. WHAT A BLOODY WONDER.

Harry had been staring out over the wall that separated the cottage garden from the cliff when Ron and Hermione had found him; he wished they had not, having no wish to join in with their argument.

But they sure are, like, the bestest of best friends.

No one can convince me that these three morons would stay friends after this book.

‘Look at the facts, Hermione,’ said Ron, speaking across Harry, who continued to gaze at the horizon. ‘The silver doe. The sword. The eye Harry saw in the mirror – ’

RON. YOU USED TO BE SO SMART IN COMPARISON TO THE TWO MORONS.

‘Harry admits he could have imagined the eye! Don’t you, Harry?’

‘I could have,’ said Harry, without looking at her.

‘But you don’t think you did, do you?’ asked Ron.

‘No, I don’t,’ said Harry.

‘There you go!’ said Ron quickly, before Hermione could carry on. ‘If it wasn’t Dumbledore, explain how Dobby knew we were in the cellar, Hermione?’

I am genuinely speaking experiencing all sorts of psychic damage right now, reading this, so I’ll just — continue this tomorrow.

These early mornings just — do not suit me. I’m more tired than usual all the time and I have this constant low-key headache and anxiety.

‘Dumbledore wouldn’t come back as a ghost,’ said Harry. There was little about Dumbledore he was sure of, now, but he knew that much. ‘He would have gone on.’

And yet, he’s so very present in spite of having croaked a book ago.

‘What d’you mean, “gone on”?’ asked Ron . . .

What do you mean “gone on”, Ron?

Griphook was waiting for them, as Fleur had said, in the tiniest of the cottage’s three bedrooms, in which Hermione and Luna slept by night.

Come to think of it, does Luna know that the trio of nitwits got her only living family member arrested and quite likely tortured?

Or is that one of those insignificant details that need no mention?

‘Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you –’

‘That’s great!’ said Harry, relief surging through him. ‘Griphook, thank you, we’re really – ’

‘ – in return,’ said the goblin firmly, ‘for payment.’

Griphook, these people call the only human-friendly centaur a horse. Trust me, my little goblin, you’re not going to get anything out of helping these morons.

Slightly taken aback, Harry hesitated.

‘How much do you want? I’ve got gold.’

Ha ha.

Harry. They control all the gold.

His black eyes glittered; there were no whites to his eyes.

But we totally care about goblins, for sure.

‘I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor.’

Harry’s spirits plummeted.

‘You can’t have that,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Then,’ said the goblin softly, ‘we have a problem.’

Tell me about it. These books have been nothing but problems.

‘We can give you something else,’ said Ron eagerly. ‘I’ll bet the Lestranges have got loads of stuff, you can take your pick once we get into the vault.’

He had said the wrong thing. Griphook flushed angrily.

‘I am not a thief, boy! I am not trying to procure treasures to which I have no right!’

Imagine that these three morons become authority figures in this world.

‘The sword’s ours – ’

‘It is not,’ said the goblin.

‘We’re Gryffindors, and it was Godric Gryffindor’s – ’

‘And before it was Gryffindor’s, whose was it?’ demanded the goblin, sitting up straight.

‘No one’s,’ said Ron, ‘it was made for him, wasn’t it?’

Ron, sweetheart. You’re a pureblood. You should know better than this.

‘No!’ cried the goblin, bristling with anger as he pointed a long finger at Ron. ‘Wizarding arrogance again! That sword was Ragnuk the First’s, taken from him by Godric Gryffindor! It is a lost treasure, a masterpiece of goblinwork! It belongs with the goblins! The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!’

Ooooh. Well, look. at. that. Godric Gryffindor was a thief, much like his spiritual progeny. I am almost shocked.

Griphook glared at them. Harry glanced at the other two, then said, ‘We need to discuss this, Griphook, if that’s all right. Could you give us a few minutes?’

The goblin nodded, looking sour.

Griphook, no! They’re just going to discuss how to best swindle you!

Downstairs in the empty sitting room, Harry walked to the fireplace, brow furrowed, trying to think what to do.

Ha ha!

Who is he trying to fool?

‘It is true?’ Harry asked Hermione. ‘Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said hopelessly. ‘Wizarding history often skates over what the wizards have done to other magical races, but there’s no account that I know of that says Gryffindor stole the sword.’

One) Of course he asks Hermione, the muggle.

Two) HERMIONE, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BOOKS AND PUBLISHING WORKS?

‘It’ll be one of those goblin stories,’ said Ron, ‘about how the wizards are always trying to get one over on them. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky he hasn’t asked for one of our wands.’

‘Goblins have got good reason to dislike wizards, Ron,’ said Hermione. ‘They’ve been treated brutally in the past.’

‘Goblins aren’t exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they?’ said Ron. ‘They’ve killed plenty of us. They’ve fought dirty too.’

Even though Ron does have a point, imagine these two actually having this conversation.

Luna was arranging sea lavender in a jam jar beside the headstone.

You know, even though Luna is wasting this sentiment on Dobby of all creatures and she’s wasted herself on the trio of nitwits and I don’t quite have a read on her character, she is very sweet.

He quailed beneath the look Hermione was giving him.

‘That,’ she said quietly, ‘is despicable. Ask for his help, then double-cross him? And you wonder why goblins don’t like wizards, Ron?’

Yes, quite unlike attacking your love interest with birds to the point that the birds scar him. Or love potions. Or almost eviscerating kids to death in a toilet. Or scarring scared girls for life as petty revenge. Or attacking terrified kids and smacking them against stone floors and walls while everyone around laughs. Or making kids accomplices in your petty criminality. Or trying to feed a kid you’re bullying to a werewolf. Or deliberately and systematically grooming an underage neglected boy to die. Or attacking a terrified eleven-year-old for something his dad said.

Did I forget something?

Or jinxing your brother’s shoes to chew off his feet or jinxing doorknobs to bite off fingers.

But double-crossing goblins out of need, now that’s bad.

Rowling is honestly speaking so utterly fake as an author.

‘We need to offer him something else, something just as valuable.’

‘Brilliant. I’ll go and get one of our other ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift-wrap it.’

You know, Hermione really isn’t offering any solutions?

Yet the sword was their one, indispensable weapon against the Horcruxes.

Harry.

You have exactly one horcrux.

You have wasted an entire bloody year camping and obsessing about Dumbles.

Start finding more of them and then we’ll talk about you “needing” the sword.

The idea that Gryffindor might have stolen the sword was unpleasant to him; he had always been proud to be a Gryffindor; Gryffindor had been the champion of Muggle-borns, the wizard who had clashed with the pure-blood-loving Slytherin …

Harry is seriously a disgusting idiot.

Hey, Harry, remember that time when your muggleborn-loving Gryffindors collectively ostracised you because you lost some house points? Or when you turned out to be a parseltongue?

Or how about when our splendid Gryffindors almost eviscerated a kid to death in a toilet while absolutely no one cared, or how about when our splendid Gryffindors roared with laughter when a terrified kid was actually abused by a teacher, or how about when our splendid Gryffindors scarred scared girls for life, or how about when our splendid Gryffindors scarred their love interests for daring to date someone else, or how about when our splendid Gryffindors almost murdered a kid they were bullying, or how about when our splendid Gryffindors attacked terrified eleven-year-olds for something their dad said?

Gryffindors are fucking scum.

‘Maybe he’s lying,’ Harry said, opening his eyes again. ‘Griphook. Maybe Gryffindor didn’t take the sword. How do we know the goblin version of history’s right?’

YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW THE WIZARDING VERSION OF HISTORY.

‘Does it make a difference?’ asked Hermione.

‘Changes how I feel about it,’ said Harry.

Oh my god, you narcissistic brat.

‘We’ll tell him he can have the sword after he’s helped us get into that vault – but we’ll be careful to avoid telling him exactly when he can have it.’

A grin spread slowly across Ron’s face. Hermione, however, looked alarmed.

‘Harry, we can’t – ’

‘He can have it,’ Harry went on, ‘after we’ve used it on all of the Horcruxes. I’ll make sure he gets it then. I’ll keep my word.’

‘But that could be years!’ said Hermione.

‘I know that, but he needn’t. I won’t be lying … really.’

Uh-huh. I’m so sure they’ll be giving that sword to Griphook. You know, eventually.

Harry met her eyes with a mixture of defiance and shame. He remembered the words that had been engraved over the gateway to Nurmengard: For the Greater Good. He pushed the idea away. What choice did they have?

Well, as I was recently told about Draco, you have every choice in the world.

But of course, we don’t care when it comes to Rowling’s little pets because they’re the heroes. And heroes can do no wrong.

Back in the smallest bedroom, Harry made the offer, careful to phrase it so as not to give any definite time for the handover of the sword. Hermione frowned at the floor while he was speaking; he felt irritated at her, afraid that she might give the game away.

The greatest ship and friendship of all time.

‘I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?’

Yeah. Sure. Eventually.

You know, you would think that goblins would’ve got smarter by now about wizards.

Oh, but Harry is such an “unusual” wizard because he buried an elf in someone’s garden by hand.

It’s to cry for.

It was like planning to break into the Ministry all over again.

So you mean no actual planning is taking place?

Or wait, they have a nice goblin slave to do all the work for them.

‘I have visited the Lestranges’ vault only once,’ Griphook told them, ‘on the occasion I was told to place inside it the false sword. It is one of the most ancient chambers. The oldest wizarding families store their treasures at the deepest level, where the vaults are largest and best protected …’

Okay?

Why?

What does any of that mean?

Slowly, the days stretched into weeks.

There was problem after problem to overcome, not least of which was that their store of Polyjuice Potion was greatly depleted.

Well.

Make some more of it? It’s not like you’ve been doing anything for weeks. Or months. Or for the entire year.

Nobody asked questions, although Harry often felt Bill’s eyes on the three of them at the table, thoughtful, concerned.

Come to think of it, Bill is working as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. Why not, you know, ask for his help?

The longer they spent together, the more Harry realised that he did not much like the goblin. Griphook was unexpectedly bloodthirsty, laughed at the idea of pain in lesser creatures and seemed to relish the possibility that they might have to hurt other wizards to reach the Lestranges’ vault. Harry could tell that his distaste was shared by the other two, but they did not discuss it: they needed Griphook.

You know, I just really need to ask this: did Rowling honest to god have some sort of brain damage when she was writing these books?

Like, do I need to pull up the list again? Do I?

The goblin ate only grudgingly with the rest of them. Even after his legs had mended, he continued to request trays of food in his room, like the still frail Ollivander, until Bill (following an angry outburst from Fleur) went upstairs to tell him that the arrangement could not continue. Thereafter, Griphook joined them at the overcrowded table, although he refused to eat the same food, insisting, instead, on lumps of raw meat, roots and various fungi.

Okay?

So?

Harry felt responsible: it was, after all, he who had insisted that the goblin remain at Shell Cottage so that he could question him; his fault that the whole Weasley family had been driven into hiding, that Bill, Fred, George and Mr Weasley could no longer work.

THEY ARE BLOOD TRAITORS.

HALF OF THEM WORK FOR DUMBLES’ BRAINWASHED CULT OF MORONS.

‘I’m sorry,’ he told Fleur, one blustery April evening as he helped her prepare dinner.

April.

Also, Harry, since you’re so busy apologising to Fleur then how about apologising for making fun of her all throughout Book Six?

No?

Just me then?

Okay~.

She had just set some knives to work, chopping up steaks for Griphook and Bill, who had preferred his meat bloody ever since he had been attacked by Greyback. While the knives sliced away behind her, her somewhat irritable expression softened.

‘Anyway,’ Fleur went on, pointing her wand at a pot of sauce on the stove, which began to bubble at once . . .

Wait a second.

So Fleur was competent enough that she became a combatant in the Triwizard Tournament of Stupidity and Child Murder — and now she’s just a housewife like almost all the female characters?

I mean, it’s fine if she likes it and wanted to be one, and gods know I would like to be a housewife because if I never had to leave home again I’d be so happy.

But anyway, Book Four made Fleur seem more action-oriented than a housewife if you know what I mean. Because if she wasn’t, why did she join the Triwizard Tournament of Stupidity and Child Murder?

‘We’ll be off your hands soon, too, Ron, Hermione and I. We won’t need to be here much longer.’

WELL. WOULDN’T THAT JUST BE THE DAY?

‘But what do you mean?’ she said, frowning at him, her wand pointing at the casserole dish now suspended in mid-air. ‘Of course, you must not leave, you are safe ’ere!’

She looked rather like Mrs Weasley as she said it . . .

This is probably the most insulting thing that Harry has ever thought about Fleur.

Looking uncomfortable, Dean shrugged at Harry as he passed, following Luna into the combined dining and sitting room where Ron and Hermione were laying the dinner table. Seizing the chance to escape Fleur’s questions, Harry grabbed two jugs of pumpkin juice and followed them.

You know, what was that argument again? In Chapter Fifteen? Oh wait, wait, it’s coming back to me:

‘So what part of it isn’t living up to your expectations?’ asked Harry. Anger was coming to his defence now. ‘Did you think we’d be staying in five star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?’

‘… and if you ever come to our house I’ll be able to show you the horn, Daddy wrote to me about it but I haven’t seen it yet, because the Death Eaters took me from the Hogwarts Express and I never got home for Christmas,’ Luna was saying, as she and Dean relaid the fire.

‘Luna, we told you,’ Hermione called over to her. ‘That horn exploded. It came from an Erumpent, not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack – ’

Did you also tell her that you exploded half the house on top of her dad before leaving him with pissed off death eaters and getting him arrested and quite likely tortured?

Or was that one of those insignificant details that you just skipped right over?

‘Moonstones and diamonds,’ said Griphook, who had sidled into the room without Harry noticing. ‘Made by goblins, I think?’

‘And paid for by wizards,’ said Bill quietly, and the goblin shot him a look that was both furtive and challenging.

Well, at least ONE of these purebloods knows how to deal with goblins.

‘Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny sends you all her love.’

Oh look, Ginny got a mention. Will the wonders ever cease. I almost feel her presence and the love between her and the main character. It’s to die for.

‘Ah, she eez charmante, your aunt, ’ said Fleur crossly . . .

I thought Aunt Muriel was a delight.

There was a bang on the front door. Everyone’s heads turned towards it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen, looking frightened; Bill jumped to his feet, his wand pointing at the door; Harry, Ron and Hermione did the same. Silently, Griphook slipped beneath the table out of sight.

Ha ha!

Griphook is growing on me.

‘It is I, Remus John Lupin!’ called a voice over the howling wind. Harry experienced a thrill of fear; what had happened? ‘I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!’

THESE PRECAUTIONS ARE SO STUPID.

Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a travelling cloak, his greying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud, ‘It’s a boy! We’ve named him Ted, after Dora’s father!’

Hermione shrieked.

‘Wha — ? Tonks – Tonks has had the baby?’

‘Yes, yes, she’s had the baby!’ shouted Lupin. All around the table came cries of delight, sighs of relief: Hermione and Fleur both squealed, ‘Congratulations!’ and Ron said, ‘Blimey, a baby!’ as if he had never heard of such a thing before.

‘Yes – yes – a boy,’ said Lupin again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness. He strode round the table and hugged Harry; the scene in the basement of Grimmauld Place might never have happened.

‘You’ll be godfather?’ he said, as he released Harry.

‘M – me?’ stammered Harry.

Harry?

I sure hope Andromeda didn’t let him anywhere near the kid. *sotto voce*

‘To Teddy Remus Lupin,’ said Lupin, ‘a great wizard in the making!’

Oh my god, the kid’s going to be awful.

‘I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it’s turned ginger in the hour since. Probably be blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks’s hair started changing colour the day that she was born.’ He drained his goblet. ‘Oh, go on then, just one more,’ he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.

You know, that sounds hilarious. Imagine getting home one day and freaking out when you think someone has switched out your child, ha ha.

Lupin’s news seemed to have taken them out of themselves, removed them for a while from their state of siege . . .

Siege.

Uh-huh.

Only the goblin seemed untouched by the suddenly festive atmosphere, and after a while he slunk back to the bedroom he now occupied alone. Harry thought he was the only one who had noticed this, until he saw Bill’s eyes following the goblin up the stairs.

Oh my god, he doesn’t care about some stranger’s kid being born! Those goblins, so evil!

*massive eye roll*

The kitchen door opened behind them; Fleur was trying to bring through more empty goblets.

‘Wait,’ Bill told her. ‘Just a moment.’

She backed out and he closed the door again.

Exactly, woman, the menfolk are talking.

‘We are talking about a different breed of being,’ said Bill. ‘Dealings between wizards and goblins have been fraught for centuries – but you’ll know all that from History of Magic.’

Oh trust me, Bill, he really, really doesn’t.

‘However, there is a belief among some goblins, and those at Gringotts are perhaps most prone to it, that wizards cannot be trusted in matters of gold and treasure, that they have no respect for goblin ownership.’

Okay?

Who cares?

Besides, I’ve read six and 2/3 of these books and let me tell you: the wizards are unequivocally in the wrong. I don’t even care what the goblins have done. The wizards are mostly utter scum.

‘You don’t understand, Harry, nobody could understand unless they have lived with goblins. To a goblin, the rightful and true master of any object is the maker, not the purchaser. All goblin-made objects are, in goblin eyes, rightfully theirs.’

‘But if it was bought – ’

‘ – then they would consider it rented by the one who had paid the money.’

Goblins sound very modern.

‘You saw Griphook’s face when the tiara passed under his eyes. He disapproves. I believe he thinks, as do the fiercest of his kind, that it ought to have been returned to the goblins once the original purchaser died. They consider our habit of keeping goblin-made objects, passing them from wizard to wizard without further payment, little more than theft.’

Okay?

Isn’t it then?

I mean, it’s not like you have a particular compulsion to purchase or keep goblin-made objects? Make your own instead? You know, with the magic that you demonstrably don’t fucking use. ever?

‘All I am saying,’ said Bill, setting his hand on the door back into the sitting room, ‘is to be very careful what you promise goblins, Harry. It would be less dangerous to break into Gringotts than to renege on a promise to a goblin.’

AS I KEEP SAYING. ALL THE MAGICAL CREATURES WILL REVOLT AND SLAUGHTER THESE FOOLS.

As he followed Bill back to the others, a wry thought came to him, born no doubt of the wine he had drunk. He seemed set on course to become just as reckless a godfather to Teddy Lupin as Sirius Black had been to him.

Okay?

Kind of different circumstances but… fine? You do you?

I seriously hope that Andromeda won’t let this moron anywhere near that kid.

And look! Another chapter gone! With absolutely no progress!

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-one.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Twenty-four – The Wandmaker

Guess what I found in potterwikia:

. . . seeing as all muggle-borns have a trace of wizarding ancestry.

On the one hand, it’s as I’ve been saying since Book One. On the other hand, that was pretty much NEVER brought up in the actual books.

No. What Rowling decided to bring up in the books instead was the bloody wands.

So yes, I feel both annoyed and — is there an adjective for I Told You So?

But at the very least now we know that wizardry is not thematic. It’s genetic. And Rowling did absolutely nothing with that as is her way.

Also, when a writer is good — like Selma Lagerlöf — they will make you feel even for a minor character who was introduced briefly and was already dead. The Wonderful Adventures of Nils Holgersson made me teary-eyed. Rowling, however, is so singularly bad that I honestly couldn’t care less about even the torture of one of her main characters. And there was just… something about that sequence of SCREAM. HERMIONE. SCREAM. HERMIONE. SCREAM that made me go, it’s NOT supposed to make me laugh but I guess unfortunately it did. And then Bellatrix’s tiny silver knife — “I’ll run you through~” — and that theatrical NOOOOOOOOOOOO, ha ha. Great entertainment value, it’s too bad the books aren’t like that all the time.

Rowling is too ham-fisted and unsubtle for serious, dark and emotional moments. Just check Dumbles’ funeral in Book Six (or any moment with Harry, that melodramatic twit). And in my defence, I even watch horror films as black comedy so… Morbid sense of humour, that’s me. But I promise, no fictional characters were harmed by my laughing at their fictional misery.

Besides, if Hagrid attacking a terrified eleven-year-old boy and Fake-Moody attacking a terrified fourteen-year-old boy were supposed to be funny, then Rowling really has no high horse to sit on that the torture of one of her main characters made me laugh. If violence is supposed to be inconsequential and funny in these books then she truly cannot pick and choose for you what you’re supposed to find funny and what not.

But this is what I mean when I say that Rowling is singularly bad as an author. It’s like the splinching: when it happens to minor characters, it’s inconsequential and funny. When it happens to major characters, it’s a Big Deal and Consequential and You Should Totally Feel Bad About It Because Rowling Says So.

And by this point? If that doesn’t garner a massive eye roll from everyone then I’m afraid they’re beyond help.

Oooor I’m just making excuses. You decide for yourselves. ❤

And a few other random stuff because otherwise I’ll forget:

If we’re totally honest, Harry and Hermione aren’t characters. Harry is a total brainless tool who is barely more than a prop for these books to “happen” and Hermione is barely more than a literal Plot and Exposition Device. And what little actual characterisation they do have? Is pretty awful. And by that I mean they’re kiiiind of psychopathic but the narrative doesn’t acknowledge it so you can’t even find them enjoyably psychopathic like — well, like Dolores, I guess.

I mean, c’mon. Rita called Hermione “a silly little girl” and Hermione’s response to that was to kidnap and imprison her for months? What kind of fifteen-year-old girls do that? Rowling’s characters, that’s what.

Also, considering that Lupin was pretty much violated as a child, it doesn’t actually look good that the fandom headcanoned him as gay with HIV because of it. I mean… that’s pretty much worse than Dumbles being gay as far as representation goes. If that’s what one wants with it, that is.

Moreover, Sirius/Lupin isn’t a thing. They’re barely even friends in these books let alone something more. Have fun with it all you want but… don’t pretend it’s something more than it actually is. And by that I mean more than people’s fevered imagination.

As a kind reminder: friends do not suspect each other of being death eaters. Okay?

Okay!

I feel as if I had something to say about James but I can’t remember what it was. Maybe it’ll come back to me.

It was like sinking into an old nightmare; for an instant he knelt again beside Dumbledore’s body at the foot of the tallest tower at Hogwarts, but in reality he was staring at a tiny body curled upon the grass, pierced by Bellatrix’s silver knife. Harry’s voice was still saying ‘Dobby … Dobby …’ even though he knew that the elf had gone where he could not call him back.

Am I supposed to find this anything other than funny? Especially when Harry compares Dumbles and Dobby?

‘Hermione?’ he said suddenly. ‘Where is she?’

‘Ron’s taken her inside,’ said Bill. ‘She’ll be all right.’

And what a miracle that is.

Harry looked back down at Dobby. He stretched out a hand and pulled the sharp blade from the elf ’s body . . .

And I’m sure that knife won’t become relevant at all.

The sea was rushing against rock somewhere nearby; Harry listened to it while the others talked, discussing matters in which he could take no interest, making decisions.

So in other words, absolutely nothing has changed?

Terrific “quest” this is.

He stretched out a hand and pulled the sharp blade from the elf ’s body . . .

. . . now Bill was making suggestions about burying the elf.

What’s with this weird dehumanisation of Dobby right when I’m supposed to care that he’s dead?

I mean, calling him just the “elf” isn’t quite the same as calling him by his name?

. . . he saw Voldemort punishing those they had left behind at Malfoy Manor. His rage was dreadful . . .

Why must Tommy be such a pathetic fool?

‘I want to do it properly,’ were the first words which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. ‘Not by magic. Have you got a spade?’

Harry.

Are you a witch or not?

Like?

Okay, let’s reiterate this one more time.

In Chapter 21, Rowling wrote and I quote:

‘“In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.

‘“And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

If people usually die at this river then that means that the only thing that set the Three Morons apart from the others was magic. And if using magic just to build a bridge over a river is “cheating Death” — aka the natural order — then that means that magic is unnatural. So Rowling seriously made all of these little magical morons you’ve been following around in the past six and a half books completely unnatural. Which is what I’ve been saying since Book One but it really raises the question of why has Rowling wasted six and a half books impressing how wunderfully wunderfull these morons are if they’re unnatural? Why weren’t these books about muggles and their struggle against the unnatural morons? But I digress.

‘I want to do it properly,’ were the first words which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. ‘Not by magic. Have you got a spade?’

Aaaand now, she’s done it again.

If magical morons in a world with magic are unnatural to the point that the mere use of magic violates the natural order then what. are. we. doing. here?

That woman is genuinely the worst author I’ve ever read and I read a lot. I think. I’m not sure what I’m comparing myself to?

And shortly afterwards he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Bill had shown him at the end of the garden, between bushes.

You know, I guess I get the gesture? But who on earth would want some stranger’s dead body in their garden?

He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives.

Imagine that this moron is going to become this world’s leader.

Magic and the wizards are going to die out in a couple of generations after these books.

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out … though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love …

Uh-huh.

That’s…

Right.

Not touching any of that.

And he thought of Wormtail, dead because of one, small, unconscious impulse of mercy … Dumbledore had foreseen that … how much more had he known?

Uh-huh. Dumbles foresaw it.

That foreseeing old chap.

Just… Terrific. Great.

Harry lost track of time. He knew only that the darkness had lightened a few degrees when he was rejoined by Ron and Dean.

How long has this moron been digging a grave for an elf?

Harry had his retort ready for when they asked him why he had not simply created a perfect grave with his wand, but he did not need it. They jumped down into the hole he had made with spades of their own, and together they worked in silence until the hole seemed deep enough.

You know, I should’ve known that the glee from Dobby’s death wouldn’t last long.

Harry wrapped the elf more snugly in his jacket. Ron sat on the edge of the grave and stripped off his shoes and socks, which he placed upon the elf’s bare feet. Dean produced a woollen hat, which Harry placed carefully upon Dobby’s head, muffling his bat-like ears.

Well. Hilariously, this is still more than Harry’s beloved godfather got. Even if there was no body.

And then Harry got over it within a month.

But he totally loved Sirius.

Bill was wearing a travelling cloak; Fleur a large, white apron, from the pocket of which protruded a bottle of what Harry recognised to be Skele-Gro. Hermione was wrapped in a borrowed dressing gown, pale and unsteady on her feet; Ron put an arm around her when she reached him. Luna, who was huddled in one of Fleur’s coats, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf’s eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare.

Okay, I know I’m not the most unbiased judge because I’ve been waiting for Dobby’s death since the very first moment he was introduced but seriously, what the fuck are these characters doing?

Also, who the hell needed Skele-Gro? Hermione? Bellatrix tortured her so badly that she needed to regrow bones?

He forced himself not to break down as he remembered Dumbledore’s funeral, and the rows and rows of golden chairs, and the Minister for Magic in the front row, the recitation of Dumbledore’s achievements, the stateliness of the white marble tomb. He felt that Dobby deserved just as grand a funeral, and yet here the elf lay between bushes in a roughly dug hole.

Okay. I’m too tired for this.

‘Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It’s so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I’ll always remember what you did for us. I hope you’re happy now.’

She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, ‘Yeah … thanks Dobby.’

Ha ha, it’s too bad that Ron ruined my interest in Ron/Luna.

Harry swallowed.

‘Goodbye, Dobby,’ he said. It was all he could manage, but Luna had said it all for him.

WELL, SAY IT ANYWAY, YOU MORON.

‘D’you mind if I stay here a moment?’ he asked the others.

No. I hope you freeze to death.

He then felt in his pocket for a wand.

There were two in there. He had forgotten, lost track; he could not now remember whose wands these were; he seemed to remember wrenching them out of someone’s hand. He selected the shorter of the two, which felt friendlier in his hand, and pointed it at the rock.

Wasn’t that “friendlier” wand Draco’s wand?

So let’s recap real quick, shall we?

Harry has taken from Draco: quidditch, Grimmauld Place, Kreacher and now his wand. Did I forget something else?

Slowly, under his murmured instruction, deep cuts appeared upon the rock’s surface. He knew that Hermione could have done it more neatly, and probably more quickly, but he wanted to mark the spot as he had wanted to dig the grave. When Harry stood up again, the stone read:

Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf.

Oh my god, just kill me already.

The room was light-coloured, pretty, with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace.

Here’s what the internet has to say about burning driftwood:

You’re welcome for that bit of useless trivia. ❤

You know, these characters huffing toxic chemicals would explain so many things.

‘… lucky that Ginny’s on holiday. If she’d been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she’s safe too.’

Oh, look. Ginny still exists. Will the wonders ever cease.

‘I’ve been getting them all out of The Burrow,’ he explained. ‘Moved them to Muriel’s. The Death Eaters know Ron’s with you now, they’re bound to target the family – don’t apologise,’ he added, at the sight of Harry’s expression. ‘It was always a matter of time, Dad’s been saying so for months. We’re the biggest blood traitor family there is.’

The death eaters have known since the beginning that Arthur and Bill are working for the order of the phoenix and yet. They did absolutely nothing about it. Because Rowling is utterly unserious as an author.

‘Once Ollivander and Griphook are well enough, we’ll move them to Muriel’s too. There isn’t much room here, but she’s got plenty.’

Poor Aunt Muriel. Has to put up with Weasleys and other riffraff.

‘Griphook’s legs are on the mend, Fleur’s given him Skele – Gro: we could probably move them in an hour or – ’

Okay? Did I totally forget the previous chapter or what happened to his legs?

‘No,’ Harry said, and Bill looked startled. ‘I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It’s important.’

He heard the authority in his own voice, the conviction, the sense of purpose that had come to him as he dug Dobby’s grave.

Oh, sorry. I experienced a moment of extreme revulsion at associating Harry with “authority” and “conviction”.

Dobby would never be able to tell them who had sent him to the cellar, but Harry knew what he had seen. A piercing blue eye had looked out of the mirror fragment, and then help had come. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.

And still his scar prickled, and he knew that Voldemort was getting there too. Harry understood, and yet did not understand. His instinct was telling him one thing, his brain quite another. The Dumbledore in Harry’s head smiled, surveying Harry over the tips of his fingers, pressed together as if in prayer.

You gave Ron the Deluminator. You understood him … you gave him a way back …

And you understood Wormtail too … you knew there was a bit of regret there, somewhere …

And if you knew them … what did you know about me, Dumbledore?

Am I meant to know, but not to seek? Did you know how hard I’d find that? Is that why you made it this difficult? So I’d have time to work that out?

For the love of gods, can we just stop?

DUMBLES IS NOT GANDALF. DUMBLES IS NOT GOD. DUMBLES IS NOTHING BUT AN OLD CREEP WHO GROOMED THESE MORONS INTO HIS BRAINWASHED CULT.

Bill and Fleur were standing at the foot of the stairs.

So they have two floors?

Harry hesitated. He knew what hung on his decision. There was hardly any time left: now was the moment to decide: Horcruxes or Hallows?

And? Why does anything “hang” on your decision?

Like, do you understand what I feel at this moment? This is chapter twenty-four. There are twelve chapters left. We’re in Easter. We have not done or achieved a single thing.

And yet now Rowling is starting to pretend as if absolutely anything “hangs” on this moron’s decision.

IF THESE BOOKS WERE INTELLIGENT. THIS MORON WOULD’VE ALREADY LOST THE WAR.

‘How are you?’ Harry asked Hermione. ‘You were amazing – coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that –’

And it took Harry only four pages to ask.

And of course the Wonder Witch Hermione came up with a fake story while being tortured relentlessly by Bellatrix the Chief Torturer herself. Because Hermione isn’t a real character.

‘In here,’ said Bill, opening the door to his and Fleur’s room.

Bill reappeared, carrying the little goblin, whom he set down carefully upon the bed. Griphook grunted thanks and Bill left, closing the door upon them all.

‘I’m sorry to take you out of bed,’ said Harry.

Aaaand you didn’t just interrogate him in the room he was resting in why?

Okay~. Moving on. It’s late and I need to get up early.

‘You probably don’t remember – ’ Harry began.

‘ – that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?’ said Griphook. ‘I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous.’

‘You buried the elf,’ he said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. ‘I watched you, from the window of the bedroom next door.’

‘Yes,’ said Harry.

Griphook looked at him out of the corners of his slanting black eyes.

‘You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter.’

‘In what way?’ asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently.

‘You dug the grave.’

No, seriously, Rowling. Even death would be kinder than reading these fucking books.

‘Griphook, I need to ask – ’

‘You also rescued a goblin.’

‘What?’

‘You brought me here. Saved me.’

‘Well, I take it you’re not sorry?’ said Harry, a little impatiently.

‘No, Harry Potter,’ said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin, black beard upon his chin, ‘but you are a very odd wizard.’

Oh my fucking god, I’m dying.

‘Well, the vault we need to get into isn’t empty, and I’m guessing its protection will be pretty powerful,’ said Harry. ‘It belongs to the Lestranges.’

And look! Will the wonders ever cease, Bellatrix’s little slip became relevant in the next chapter.

BECAUSE GODS FORBID THESE MORONS EARN ANYTHING.

‘If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain,’ said Griphook finally, ‘it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and elves are not used to the protection, or the respect, that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers.’

These books are killing me.

I mean it.

‘The right to carry a wand,’ said the goblin quietly, ‘has long been contested between wizards and goblins.’

‘Well, goblins can do magic without wands,’ said Ron.

‘That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!’

‘Well, goblins won’t share any of their magic, either,’ said Ron. ‘You won’t tell us how to make swords and armour the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in a way wizards have never – ’

WHO CARES?

HOW IS ANY OF THIS RELEVANT?

HOW HAS ANY OF THIS BEEN A PART OF THE WORLD-BUILDING, SUCH AS IT WERE?

WHY ARE WIZARDS USING WANDS IN THE FIRST PLACE?

WHY ARE WANDS SO BLOODY IMPORTANT IF MAGIC IS GENETIC AND THUS PRESUMABLY INDEPENDENT OF WANDS?

‘But it is, it is about precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?’

Oh my god, goblins. Are you completely fucking stupid? You control all the gold.

‘We do!’ said Hermione. She had sat up straight, her eyes bright. ‘We protest! And I’m hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I’m a Mudblood!’

‘Don’t call yourself – ’ Ron muttered.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ said Hermione. ‘Mudblood, and proud of it! I’ve got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys’!’

And yet, here you still are, yapping away instead of dead.

Funny how that works.

As she spoke, she pulled aside the neck of the dressing gown to reveal the thin cut Bellatrix had made, scarlet against her throat.

Aww, look. She got a tiny scar.

I almost care.

‘Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free?’ she asked. ‘Did you know that we’ve wanted elves to be freed for years?’

Did you know we also did nothing about it and quite enjoyed the benefits of slave labour until we abandoned our house-elf to death eaters?

‘You can’t want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!’

??

Why do goblins want Tommy defeated? Did I miss something? Well, aside from Tommy being insane and only caring about himself?

But I thought goblins were supposed to stay away from wizarding squabbles?

The goblin stroked the sword, and his black eyes roved from Harry, to Hermione, to Ron and then back again.

‘So young,’ he said finally, ‘to be fighting so many.’

‘But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who’s been, places he’s done something important?’ said Ron, looking baffled.

YOU HAVE LOOKED FOR EXACTLY ONE PLACE. IN THE ENTIRE BLOODY BOOK. AND YOU DIDN’T FIND ANYTHING THERE EITHER.

‘I don’t know whether he was ever inside Gringotts,’ said Harry. ‘He never had gold there when he was younger, because nobody left him anything. He would have seen the bank from the outside, though, the first time he ever went to Diagon Alley.’

‘I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he’d have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the wizarding world. And don’t forget, he trusted Bellatrix and her husband. They were his most devoted servants before he fell, and they went looking for him after he vanished. He said it the night he came back, I heard him.’

And that’s why he picked Gringotts? Instead of just going “Here, Bellatrix. Guard it well. Otherwise, I will murder you.”??

‘I don’t think he’d have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though. He never told Lucius Malfoy the truth about the diary.’

Actually~ the diary was probably with Bellatrix too originally.

‘The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me … except for Hogwarts.’

Uh-huh.

They sure are the safest places ever.

When Harry had finished speaking, Ron shook his head.

‘You really understand him.’

Well, as they say, Ron, dumb feathers flock together. Dumbly.

Ron and Hermione looked bewildered, but impressed . . .

It sure doesn’t take a lot to impress these two little dimwits.

‘My dear boy.’ Ollivander’s voice was feeble. ‘You rescued us. I thought we would die in that place. I can never thank you … never thank you … enough.’

Actually, it was Dobby. Because gods know that Harry couldn’t have done anything without literal divine intervention.

‘No,’ whispered Ollivander. ‘I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of.’

Come to think of it, why not?

‘Walnut and dragon heartstring,’ he said. ‘Twelve and three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.’

*squints*

When exactly did Harry take Bellatrix’s wand?

‘Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy.’

Hee.

Ha ha! Aww, baby Draco has unicorn hair too.

‘Was?’ repeated Harry. ‘Isn’t it still his?’

‘Perhaps not. If you took it – ’

‘ – I did – ’

‘ – then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change.’

I truly, genuinely hate Rowling’s writing.

But I’ll talk about this in a second.

‘You talk about wands like they’ve got feelings,’ said Harry, ‘like they can think for themselves.’

Yes, and apparently wands are real hussies who change alliances with any idiot off the street who kidnaps them and rapes them.

Like, IMAGINE. WHAT THIS IS ACTUALLY SAYING. THAT YOUR PROPERTY STOPS BEING YOURS WHEN SOMEONE STEALS IT.

AND THEN ADD TO THIS THAT WANDS APPARENTLY “HAVE FEELINGS” AND “CAN THINK FOR THEMSELVES”. IF YOU TAKE THAT TO ITS LOGICAL EXTREME CONCLUSION THEN ROWLING IS ESSENTIALLY SAYING THAT IF YOU KIDNAP AND RAPE SOMEONE THEY’LL BE YOURS.

*is reduced to incomprehensibly gibbering of rage*

‘The wand chooses the wizard,’ said Ollivander.

NO THEY DO FUCKING NOT, YOU HACK.

‘Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand.’

THEN WHY ARE YOU STUDYING WANDLESS MAGIC AT ALL IF IT’S ALL ABOUT THE WANDS.

‘I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force,’ said Harry. ‘Can I use it safely?’

‘I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master.’

REFER TO ABOVE.

‘So I should use this one?’ said Ron, pulling Wormtail’s wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.

‘Yes, if you won it, it is more likely to do your bidding, and do it well, than another wand.’

THEN WHY ARE YOU MORONS BUYING WANDS IN THE FIRST PLACE?

‘I think so,’ replied Ollivander, his protuberant eyes upon Harry’s face. ‘You ask deep questions, Mr Potter. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic.’

HE FUCKING DOES NOT.

‘There are legends, though,’ said Harry, and as his heart rate quickened, the pain in his scar became more intense; he was sure that Voldemort had decided to put his idea into action. ‘Legends about a wand – or wands – that have passed from hand to hand by murder.’

Oh.

Is this why Tommy’s at Hogwarts? He’s going to kill Severus?

Ollivander looked terrified.

‘He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I – I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!’

Oh, please.

If a — how old is Hermione again? — nineteen-year-old girl could withstand the torture then so should have you.

‘I had … never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand should have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know …’

It’s called a deus ex machina.

‘Priori Incantatem,’ said Harry. ‘We left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys’, Hermione. If they examine them properly, make them recreate the spells they’ve cast lately, they’ll see that yours broke mine, they’ll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they’ll realise that I’ve been using the blackthorn one ever since.’

And… you’re just assuming that any of them suddenly grew a brain?

‘The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack,’ said Ollivander, ‘but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit … formidable.’

It honestly doesn’t sound formidable when you call it the deathstick.

Harry was suddenly reminded of how he had been unsure, when they first met, of how much he liked Ollivander. Even now, having been tortured and imprisoned by Voldemort, the idea of the Dark wizard in possession of this wand seemed to enthral him as much as it repulsed him.

And of course the most important thing in these books is if Harry likes someone or not.

‘The Deathly Hallows.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?’

Ollivander knows about the elder wand, deathstick and wand of destiny or whatever but he doesn’t know about the deathly hallows.

Uh-huh.

‘And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he duelled Grindelwald, and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand.’

‘“So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner . . .

Aaaand how exactly did that happen when he had a wand that literally couldn’t be beaten unless the owner was assassinated?

‘No,’ said Harry, and he sank to his knees in the grass. ‘Hermione’s right. Dumbledore didn’t want me to have it. He didn’t want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes.’

Well, if Dumbles wanted it.

And he walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outlines of the beloved castle, his first kingdom, his birthright …

You know… I said this about Aomine too in Kuroko’s Basketball but Tommy, dude, set your sights a little higher than a fucking primary school.

The white marble tomb, an unnecessary blot on the familiar landscape.

I quite agree with Tommy about the unnecessary.

The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved.

Why is Dumbles’ corpse almost perfectly preserved? What is wrong with these people?

The spider-like hand swooped and pulled the wand from Dumbledore’s grasp, and as he took it, a shower of sparks flew from its tip, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner, ready to serve a new master at last.

Uh-huh.

Wouldn’t that be the day.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-one.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

---

Honestly, waking up earlier these days does not give me the motivation to read this dumb book.

And you know what’s the most annoying thing? The trio of nitwits and Rowling do not care about the house-elves or goblins or any other magical creatures — Hermione called the only wizard-friendly centaur a horse — and yet here Rowling pretends that they do so that the trio of nitwits can get things from magical creatures.

I need to write a post-canon fic where all the magical creatures revolt because the trio of nitwits got into power and they fucked it up.

Chapter Thirty-three – Malfoy Manor

Well. I went to take a peek at the anti harry potter tag on tumblr. And I learned that no matter how rude or weird I might seem on this blog it’s — really nothing compared to what goes on in there.

I mean, there’s a reason I chose wordpress in the first place and it wasn’t just because I liked the look. There are a few blogs I occasionally check out on tumblr but for the most part that place seems like a cesspool? On the other hand, I don’t browse wordpress either so maybe wordpress is totally unhinged too outside of my quiet corner? Who knows!

Also, I feel I need to disclaimer this: I know I often make offhand comments about Rowling while reviewing these chapters. So I would like to reiterate that I don’t know that woman, I don’t know the first thing about her as a person, I’ve never interacted with her, and I’m singularly uninterested in doing either.

The reason why I started making those offhand comments is that her books are bad, okay? They’re singularly, infuriatingly, mindbogglingly bad. And I condensed this into the shorthand of what the fuck is wrong with that woman.

That said, she’s still a human being, okay? She’s not the devil. She’s just a human being who wrote extremely bad children’s books about her midlife crisis of faith and obsession with death. Badly. If anyone is responsible for the phenomenon that these books became it’s one) the publishing house for not editing this trash heap, two) mass hypnosis marketing and three) the average enjoyer who enabled it every step of the way. I mean, it was the public baying for more of these books?

There is only so far that mass hypnosis works as an excuse but at some point everyone really needs to start accepting responsibility for their own actions and agency. Especially if they’re an adult.

Okay? Okay!

Then one more thing from the previous chapter:

‘Marvolo Gaunt! You-Know-Who’s grandfather! In the Pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!’

So, remember Book Six in which we spent, like, 1/3 of the time pretending that Tommy’s past is important? And in that past he was looking into his family, framed his pureblood uncle for the deaths of his muggle family, and took the ring that’s apparently now a deathly hallow with Peverells’ coat of arms?

And you’re telling me that Tommy — with his obsession of his magical inheritance and purebloodism — did not once wonder about the coat of arms on the ring, look it up, find the Peverells and their connection to the deathly hallows?

And instead, the only reason why he didn’t find that out was because no one read fairy tales to him as a kid? Which he could’ve read for himself when he got to Hogwarts, particularly when you consider his obsession with conquering death? So he most likely would’ve consumed all literature relating to it?

*sighs*

Okay then~.

Lastly, I’m probably going to be a bit busier starting on Monday so let’s see how often I can post these stupid things. But we’re nearing the end of this book and I still haven’t started any of those long fics I started this for in the first place. *existential anxiety increases*

He saw Hermione point her wand, not towards the outside, but into his face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands, as heavy footfalls surrounded him.

Too bad she didn’t use the same magic she used on Marietta~.

‘Get up, vermin.’

Ha ha ha!

How does anyone take these books seriously?

‘Get – off – her!’ Ron shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, ‘No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!’

Well, Hermione~. Think positively~. Getting hit with a fist isn’t as damaging as getting violently attacked with birds.

Harry spun round to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: the little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets towards Ron, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.

Book Seven Ron/Hermione is, like, a 90% different relationship from Books One to Six Ron/Hermione.

‘Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,’ said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. ‘Delicious girl … what a treat … I do enjoy the softness of the skin …’

Harry’s stomach turned over. He knew who this was: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.

Permitted? Hired savagery?

What does that even mean?

A beam of wandlight fell into his face and Greyback laughed.

‘I’ll be needing Butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?’

The dude who is, like, too much of a violent savage even for regular death eating… drinks butterbeer.

‘What’s your name?’ snarled Greyback.

‘Dudley,’ said Harry.

‘And your first name?’

‘I – Vernon. Vernon Dudley.’

You know, what’s up with these characters’ propensity to endanger people they know?

‘Check the list, Scabior,’ said Greyback, and Harry heard him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. ‘And what about you, Ginger?’

‘Stan Shunpike,’ said Ron.

‘Like ’ell you are,’ said the man called Scabior. ‘We know Stan Shunpike, ’e’s put a bit of work our way.’

Ron. Seriously. These are actual death eaters, not death eater wannabes.

‘A Weasley?’ rasped Greyback. ‘So you’re related to blood traitors even if you’re not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend …’ The relish in his voice made Harry’s flesh crawl.

You know, I just — genuinely hate when authors do this. Like, they want to impress how pretty a character is and then, instead of doing it through the narrative, they do it through the villains.

Like, look! She’s so pretty even the villains want to rape and maul her!

‘Penelope Clearwater,’ said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing.

No, seriously. Why are they endangering other people?

And yes, yes, I know, the death eaters have a list. But at least Harry and Ron gave fake names (well, aside from Stan — and wait, stan) unlike Hermione. If these books were serious and the death eaters were a serious evil regime, that would’ve got Penelope either in trouble or killed.

‘It is you! If they find out who they’ve got – ! They’re Snatchers, they’re only looking for truants to sell for gold – ’

‘Not a bad little haul for one night,’ Greyback was saying . . .

So… Greyback is a snatcher these days?

‘So you aren’t wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?’

‘Slytherin,’ said Harry automatically.

‘Funny ’ow they all thinks we wants to ’ear that,’ jeered Scabior out of the shadows. ‘But none of ’em can tell us where the common room is.’

‘It’s in the dungeons,’ said Harry clearly. ‘You enter through the wall. It’s full of skulls and stuff and it’s under the lake, so the light’s all green.’

Full of skulls?

Oh my god, do I need to check Book Two?

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in carved chairs.

Well, look at that. Rowling was full of shite as usual.

And seriously, skulls?

I thought these books were supposed to be so ~dark~ and ~mature~, and then she retconned the slytherin common room to be full of skulls. *massive eye roll*

You know what she should have been writing instead?

One day as Squire Hardman sat in the front parlour of his expensive and palatial home, indulging in his favourite pastime of gnashing his teeth and swishing his riding-crop, a great thought came to him; and he cursed aloud at the statue of Satan on the onyx mantelpiece.

“Fool that I am!” he cried. “Why did I ever waste all this trouble on the girl when I can get the farm by simply foreclosing? I never thought of that! I will let the girl go, take the farm, and be free to wed some fair city maid like the leading lady of that burlesque troupe which played last week at the Town Hall!”

And so he went down to the settlement, apologised to Ermengarde, let her go home, and went home himself to plot new crimes and invent new modes of villainy.

— H. P. Lovecraft: Sweet Ermengarde

Appropriately, this section of the story was named Subtle Villainy.

Now, guess which of these is a parody and which you’re supposed to take seriously?

I am. so extremely. tired of that woman’s writing.

Oh, but sure, Rowling, keep telling me aaaall about dehumanisation.

‘Well, well, looks like we really ’ave caught a little Slytherin,’ said Scabior. ‘Good for you, Vernon, ’cause there ain’t a lot of Mudblood Slytherins.’

According to Rowling, half of these characters are mudbloods? Like, half the slytherin entries say pureblood or half-blood. Never mind all the non-British students in the House of Rampant Bigotry and Racism and Human Skulls.

He knew that his whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, he only had until his face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case.

Oooor the death eaters could do something smart and fix your face right now so they’d know who they’re talking to?

But of course, that would require an actual plot in these books.

‘You know what, Greyback,’ said Scabior. ‘I think there is a Dudley in there.’

Harry could barely breathe: could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this?

Yes. Luck. How luckily lucky.

Harry’s heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it.

Harry. He’s a werewolf. He should be hearing it if anything.

A dark figure came bustling towards them, and Harry saw a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor’s sword.

Aaaand they didn’t put this in Hermione’s bag because…?

‘Ve-e-ry nice,’ said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. ‘Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?’

‘It’s my father’s,’ Harry lied, hoping against hope that it was too dark for Greyback to see the name etched just below the hilt. ‘We borrowed it to cut firewood –’

We borrowed a sword. To cut firewood.

I don’t know which of these characters is dumber.

Nobody spoke: Harry sensed the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and felt Hermione’s arm trembling against his. Greyback got up and took a couple of steps to where Harry sat, crouching down again to stare closely at his misshapen features.

‘What’s that on your forehead, Vernon?’ he asked softly, his breath foul in Harry’s nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taut scar.

Just…

Fix his bloody face?

‘I found glasses!’ yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. ‘There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait – ’

And seconds later Harry’s glasses had been rammed back on to his face. The Snatchers were closing in, now, peering at him.

No, he was Harry, tied up and wandless, in grave danger –

I wish, Harry.

Maybe finally then I could care.

‘No,’ snarled Greyback, ‘I haven’t got – they say he’s using the Malfoys’ place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.’

Oh. So Greyback seriously doesn’t have the dark mark? Too much even for those scary bad terrible death eaters who are totally going to start a systematic cleansing of the wizarding world any day now?

‘… completely sure it’s ’im? ’Cause if it ain’t, Greyback, we’re dead.’

Fix his face?

You know, when we get to these points where the characters could just do the most obvious thing and then don’t, all I really feel is “what are we even doing here”.

But hey, at least I’ll see Draco again!

And speaking of Draco, I really don’t trust anyone who says that they prefer fanon Draco to canon Draco. Because fanon Draco isn’t even the same character, it’s an original character committing identity theft badly. So it’s like, just say you don’t like Draco and go?

… the window was the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a man to enter … a skeletal figure was just visible through it, curled beneath a blanket … dead, or sleeping …?

But Vernon sure is reprehensible for saying that criminals should be hanged instead. You know, unlike these completely humane wizarding prisons where they basically torture the prisoners for the rest of their lives instead of just utilitarianly executing them.

… as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapour, inside the cell-like room –

For the love of gods, I don’t care about any of this.

How long it would take Voldemort to get to this place, once he knew that Harry was here, was another matter …

Apparition? It still exists?

Closing his puffy eyes he allowed the pain in his scar to overcome him for a moment, wanting to know what Voldemort was doing, whether he knew yet that Harry was caught –

Who cares, Harry?

Absolutely nothing is going to happen except more stupid divine intervention.

… the emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanket and rolled over towards him, eyes opening in a skull of a face … the frail man sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon him, upon Voldemort, and then he smiled. Most of his teeth were gone …

‘So, you have come. I thought you would … one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it.’

‘You lie!’

‘I know ’e’s swollen, ma’am, but it’s ’im!’ piped up Scabior. ‘If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ’is scar. And this ’ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been travelling around with ’im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ’im, and we’ve got ’is wand as well! ’Ere, ma’am – ’

Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinising his swollen face.

Just…

Please.

Fix his stupid fucking face instead of putting me through this stupidity?

‘Follow me,’ said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. ‘My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.’

Oh my god.

We’re already in Easter.

AND JUST. FIX HIS BLOODY FACE.

HIS STUPID FACE IS EVERYWHERE AS “UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE”.

Harry did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely: a figure slightly taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blond hair.

HEE! DRACO IS TALLER THAN HARRY, CONFIRMED!

Good for you, Draco. ❤ You show that weird little midget gremlin.

‘Well, Draco?’ said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. ‘Is it? Is it Harry Potter?’

‘I can’t – I can’t be sure,’ said Draco. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.

‘But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!’

FIX. HIS. FACE.

‘Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me,’ said Lucius.

His grey eyes raked Harry’s forehead.

‘There’s something there,’ he whispered, ‘it could be the scar, stretched tight … Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?’

OH MY GOD. JUST FIX HIS FUCKING FACE.

‘Wait,’ said Narcissa sharply. ‘Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?’

‘I … maybe … yeah.’

‘But then, that’s the Weasley boy!’ shouted Lucius, striding round the bound prisoners to face Ron. ‘It’s them, Potter’s friends – Draco look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name – ?’

‘Yeah,’ said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. ‘It could be.’

*sighs*

Oh, Draco. It’s a good thing you’re in the dumbest books possible because otherwise you’d already be tortured by now.

She dragged back her left sleeve: Harry saw the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved master –

‘I was about to call him!’ said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. ‘I shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority – ’

‘Your authority!’ she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. ‘You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!’

‘This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy – ’

‘Begging your pardon, Mr Malfoy,’ interjected Greyback, ‘but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold –’

Like, can one of these characters for once act like an adult?

There was a bang and a flash of red light: Harry knew that the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior drew his wand.

‘What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?’

‘Stupefy,’ she screamed, ‘stupefy!’

They were no match for her, even though there were four of them against one of her: she was a witch, as Harry knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched.

Yeah. I — really don’t know how much that has to do with Bellatrix’s supposed prodigious skill and no conscience.

‘Where did you find this sword?’ she repeated, brandishing it in his face. ‘Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!’

I’m sure that little tidbit isn’t going to become relevant in the next two chapters.

‘Draco, move this scum outside,’ said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. ‘If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.’

‘Don’t you dare speak to Draco like – ’ said Narcissa furiously . . .

Narcissa. ❤

‘If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,’ she muttered, more to herself than to the others. ‘The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself …’

OH MY GOD. CAN’T YOU FUCKING PEOPLE LEARN ALREADY?

‘No!’ shouted Ron. ‘You can have me, keep me!’

Bellatrix hit him across the face; the blow echoed around the room.

Ha ha.

I mean…

‘If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,’ she said. ‘Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book.’

Well. If we’re totally honest, the blood traitor is worse than the mudblood. Just saying~.

The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn-out scream from directly above them.

‘HERMIONE!’ Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. ‘HERMIONE!’

‘Be quiet!’ Harry said. ‘Shut up, Ron, we need to work out a way – ’

‘HERMIONE! HERMIONE!’

‘We need a plan, stop yelling – we need to get these ropes off – ’

Ha ha ha!

I’m sorry, it’s just — so funny. That even when one of Harry’s best friends is being tortured, there is still no emotional cue from this character.

Hee… Also, at last Hermione is getting a taste of her own medicine so I frankly don’t care.

Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Ron shouted again, ‘HERMIONE! HERMIONE!’

Is it bad that this whole thing is just making me laugh?

‘We found it – we found it – PLEASE!’ Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever and the rusty nail slipped on to Harry’s wrist.

Ha ha.

I hope he got tetanus.

‘My pocket!’ said Ron. ‘In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!’

What a lucky coincidence. *monotone*

From above came Bellatrix’s voice.

‘You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!’

Another terrible scream –

‘HERMIONE!’

You know, you’ve really fucked up somewhere as an author if the torture of one of your main characters is more funny than terrible.

‘What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!’

I shall run you through with this knife~.

Why does that sound funny? Maybe because I’m imagining Bellatrix actually running at Hermione with the knife clutched in both hands and pointed at her, ha ha. Not really the image you want to evoke here.

Harry felt the ropes fall away and turned, rubbing his wrists, to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor.

Ron.

You came through a door?

At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness.

See? Here you go.

You know, as an aside, I recently read that Rowling was planning on killing one of the trio of nitwits when her obsession with death hit its peak and of course it was Ron.

Can’t say I’m surprised.

Hermione was screaming again: the sound went through Harry like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of his scar, he, too, started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for he hardly knew what, knowing in his heart that it was useless.

Oh. Now he finally gets an emotional cue, ha ha.

Hermione’s screams echoed off the walls upstairs, Ron was half sobbing as he pounded the walls with his fists . . .

LIKE, I DON’T EVEN CARE.

Hermione has been so utterly obnoxious as a character that this whole thing is just making me laugh.

And it’s not even that she’s a character. She’s barely been more than a literal Exposition and Plot Device.

. . . and Harry, in utter desperation, seized Hagrid’s pouch from around his neck and groped inside it: he pulled out Dumbledore’s Snitch and shook it, hoping for he did not know what – nothing happened; he waved the broken halves of the phoenix wand, but they were lifeless – the mirror fragment fell sparkling to the floor, and he saw a gleam of brightest blue –

Dumbledore’s eye was gazing at him out of the mirror.

‘Help us!’ he yelled at it in mad desperation. ‘We’re in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!’

The eye blinked, and was gone.

And look! Literal divine intervention incoming in one… two… three…

And this is one of the many many reasons why I just don’t care about anything that happens in these dumb books.

. . . and upstairs Hermione was screaming worse than ever, and next to him, Ron was bellowing, ‘HERMIONE! HERMIONE!’

It really doesn’t stop being funny.

Oh, but it’s too bad about Hermione. And Ron. Or some such.

‘But we can find out easily!’ came Lucius’s voice. ‘Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!’

Harry dashed across the cellar to where Griphook was huddled on the floor.

‘Griphook,’ he whispered into the goblin’s pointed ear, ‘you must tell them that sword’s a fake, they mustn’t know it’s the real one, Griphook, please – ’

You know, it’s so conveniently amazing that they’re hearing all of this in the basement. Where they’re keeping prisoners.

The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar.

Ron clicked the Deluminator. Three balls of light flew back into the air from his pocket, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who had just Apparated into their midst.

And look, our divine intervention this time!

And it didn’t even take an entire page.

‘Harry Potter,’ he squeaked, in the tiniest quiver of a voice, ‘Dobby has come to rescue you.’

‘But how did you – ?’

Please, Rowling. Stop questioning your stupid narrative in your stupid narrative.

‘You can Disapparate out of this cellar?’ he asked Dobby, who nodded, his ears flapping.

‘And you can take humans with you?’

Dobby nodded again.

Why else would Rowling have written him there, Harry?

‘Kill me, then, Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek … there is so much you do not understand …’

Like, I seriously do not care.

‘What was that?’ shouted Lucius Malfoy from over their heads. ‘Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?’

Acoustics in these old stone buildings sure are amazing.

‘We’re going to have to try and tackle him,’ he whispered to Ron. They had no choice: the moment anyone entered the room and saw the absence of three prisoners, they were lost. ‘Leave the lights on,’ Harry added, and as they heard someone descending the steps outside the door, they backed against the wall on either side of it.

You know.

It’s amazing that it took them so long to do this.

‘What is it, Wormtail?’ called Lucius Malfoy from above.

‘Nothing!’ Ron called back, in a passable imitation of Wormtail’s wheezy voice. ‘All fine!’

But hey, think positively, me~. At least Hermione got tortured and Dobby is going to die at the end of this chapter.

‘You’re going to kill me?’ Harry choked, attempting to prise off the metal fingers. ‘After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!’

The silver fingers slackened. Harry had not expected it: he wrenched himself free, astonished, keeping his hand over Wormtail’s mouth. He saw the rat-like man’s small, watery eyes widen with fear and surprise: he seemed just as shocked as Harry at what his hand had done, at the tiny, merciful impulse it had betrayed, and he continued to struggle more powerfully, as though to undo that moment of weakness.

Chapter. Please end already.

Wandless, helpless, Pettigrew’s pupils dilated in terror. His eyes had slid from Harry’s face to something else. His own silver fingers were moving inexorably towards his own throat.

Without pausing to think, Harry tried to drag back the hand, but there was no stopping it. The silver tool that Voldemort had given his most cowardly servant had turned upon its Disarmed and useless owner; Pettigrew was reaping his reward for his hesitation, his moment of pity; he was being strangled before their eyes.

Ron had released Wormtail too, and together he and Harry tried to pull the crushing metal fingers from around Wormtail’s throat, but it was no use. Pettigrew was turning blue.

Like, PLEASE end already.

‘Relashio!’ said Ron, pointing the wand at the silver hand, but nothing happened; Pettigrew dropped to his knees, and at the same moment, Hermione gave a dreadful scream from overhead. Wormtail’s eyes rolled upwards in his purple face, he gave a last twitch and was still.

‘And I think,’ said Bellatrix’s voice, ‘we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.’

‘NOOOOOOOOOOOO!’

Ron had burst into the drawing room; Bellatrix looked round, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron instead –

Ha ha ha!

Here’s a pro-tip: readers should not react like this when reading your totally serious moments.

‘STOP OR SHE DIES!’

Panting, Harry peered round the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat.

‘Drop your wands,’ she whispered. ‘Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!’

Well. At least one of them is marginally competent.

At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upwards in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione . . .

Miraculously, she did not die from this.

Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions: Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face.

No! Not Draco’s face!

I mean…

Oh, who cares. I haven’t made it any sort of secret that I couldn’t care less about Hermione’s entire character.

. . . Harry took his chance; he leapt over an armchair and wrested the three wands from Draco’s grip, pointed all of them at Greyback and yelled: ‘Stupefy!’ The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling and then smashed to the ground.

You know, if that actually works then why haven’t we seen any character dual-wielding wands?

As Narcissa dragged Draco out of the way of further harm . . .

❤

‘Ron, catch – and GO!’ he yelled, throwing one of the wands to him; then he bent down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who still clung to the sword, over one shoulder, Harry seized Dobby’s hand and he spun on the spot to Disapparate.

So wait.

Wait just a damn second.

It’s not even Dobby apparating now?

It’s Harry and Ron apparating?

And the Malfoy Manor supposedly doesn’t have wards against that sort of thing? You know, on the off chance that their wizard prisoners try to escape?

…..so why the hell did we even need Dobby in this chapter?

Well, who cares. He’s going to die.

The elf swayed slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. Together, he and Harry looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf’s heaving chest.

‘Dobby – no – HELP!’ Harry bellowed towards the cottage, towards the people moving there. ‘HELP!’

Ha ha ha!

I mean! How sad. Or some such.

. . . all he cared about was that a dark stain was spreading across Dobby’s front, and that he had stretched out his thin arms to Harry with a look of supplication.

Supplication.

Really, Rowling? Even in this creature’s last moment?

‘Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die – ’

The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.

‘Harry … Potter …’

And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

Ha ha!

Even in this creature’s last moments, his last words were Harry Potter. Like, Rowling literally couldn’t give him a personality outside of Harry worship even in this moment.

But anyway! Now Dobby’s dead and dozens more to go.

If it hasn’t become abundantly clear, I truly don’t like 98% of these characters. But don’t worry, no fictional characters were harmed by me laughing at their fictional torture and deaths.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-one.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Twenty-two – The Deathly Hallows

Okay! A few things again.

I got my sister to read that long(er) Ron/Ginny fic, Fault Line, and she told me it was well-written even if she thought the pairing was bizarre, ha ha. But on the other hand, she says that basically about everything I get her to read. So… the results are still ambivalent. But I guess I’ll just take her word for it.

And in somewhat related, happy news, I actually wrote another chapter coda: Dark Night of the Soul. It’s another Ron/Ginny because Rowling has been annoying me so much these past few chapters that I wrote it out of spite and to destress, ha ha. They don’t really do anything but hug and talk in it, though. But I clocked it at a bit over 4,000 words. My scribblings are slowly becoming longer! *gives myself a tentative applause* Maybe I’m finally starting to get over my writer’s block from hell! Or maybe it’s just Ron/Ginny because it has a surprising wealth of material to explore.

Secondly, if I was feeling fair — which I’m not because, you know, this is Rowling and Harry Potters — you can interpret the nonsense in the previous chapter allegorically as well. The first brother chose violence and the second brother chose to go against natural order so the first died violently and the second killed himself, which is fair enough. The third brother chose to live an unassuming, presumably nonviolent life — an “invisible” life if you will — and thus lived the longest and had children.

In other words, he lived a coward’s life.

There are exactly… three or four problems with that.

First:

The cowardly man thinks he’ll live for ever,

if he keeps away from fighting;

but old age won’t grant him a truce

even if spears spare him.

Second:

Cattle die,

kinsmen die,

you yourself will die,

but I know one thing that never dies,

the deeds of a dead man’s life.

Third:

That nonsense is contradicted by the very narrative itself. I mean, in the very first book, we had Dumbles grooming eleven-year-olds to go after two adult dark wizards which would’ve got them killed without literal divine intervention.

If Rowling wanted to make that allegory remotely true or desirable then we wouldn’t even have these dumb books….. oh my god, imagine if we didn’t have these dumb books.

*takes a blissful moment to imagine it*

Well, I guess I then wouldn’t be able to write Ron/Ginny for fun and spite and little to no profit.

You can also interpret the river as the river of death from various indigenous mythologies but it’s not. Because that would change the tale from three morons who “cheated” Death to three morons who trespassed Death’s realm and stole his stuff from him. While I certainly wouldn’t put it past Harry’s nitwitted ancestors, there’s just no indication that Rowling intended that reading, especially since that woman doesn’t do nuance or subtext or consistency or anything else that makes a story good.

Fourth:

It’s not allegorical. It’s literal. The “deathly hallows” are literal so the entire tale is literal.

Rowling seriously introduced Death, with a capital, in her dumb fucking books through a dumb fucking fake tale and then she did absolutely nothing with it.

I just can’t with these books. I can’t with that woman’s writings.

Like, there’s a difference between death being a theme — because evidently that’s an important theme for children?? because children for sure are obsessed with death?? and crises of faith?? — and death being an actual Being with a capital. And that difference is pretty big.

Let’s call this a bonus problem:

Let’s talk about the tale itself some more.

‘“In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.

He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river.

Specifically these bits. Notice the word ‘usually’ (bolded by yours truly), meaning that not everyone drowns in the river, meaning that Death had no reason to single out these morons just because they used magic to create a bridge.

Besides, what if muggles had created a bridge the muggle way? Would that have been cheating Death? What if they’d built a dam to control the flow of the river? Would that have been cheating Death? What if they crossed with boats or — since we’re talking about wizards — brooms? Would that have been cheating Death? What about diseases that usually kill people but not anymore because of either progress in hygiene or cures? What about people who are clinically dead and then get resuscitated? Does Death hand out gifts to all of these people?

Or even better, why didn’t the Flamels, Tommy or Harry get fancy trinkets from Death for “cheating death”? The Flamels were chucking down philosopher’s stones or however you use them for centuries. Tommy created horcruxes that prevented his natural or unnatural death. Harry didn’t die from the avada kedavra as he should’ve. Where are their fancy trinkets?

NEVER MIND THAT DEATH DIDN’T NEED TO HAND OUT THESE “GIFTS” IN A “CLEVER PLOY” TO GET THE BROTHERS TO DIE BECAUSE THE THREE MORONS WOULD’VE EVENTUALLY DIED OF OLD AGE ANYWAY. And if they didn’t die at the river or of old age specifically, they would’ve died of some other causes eventually.

Oh my god, why is even Death a brainless bleeding moron in these books?

So the only plausible explanation why the three morons in that fake tale of moronity “cheated” Death is because they have magic. Which pretty much outright states that magic is unnatural if using it just to build a bridge is enough to “cheat” Death. Which really raises the question of WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE THEN? If magic is unnatural to the point of “cheating” Death then why the hell have we been following magical morons around for the past seven books?

Thinking about these books for longer than three seconds makes me feel all kinds of rage.

Thirdly,

Xenophilius’s paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.

‘Obliviate!’ cried Hermione, pointing her wand first into his face . . .

do you remember Book Four in which it was revealed that Bertha Jorkins was obliviated and Tommy tortured the information out of her anyway and then killed her?

And suddenly we’re acting like obliviation is a legit form of protection.

If Xenophilius isn’t dead by the end of the book, Tommy is genuinely the most useless evil dark lord in the history of ever.

Also, I swear if Luna isn’t allowed to feel anything about her dad and the trio of nitwits’ direct hand in it…

Hermione obliviated him, she blew up half the house on top of him, they left him with pissed-off death eaters. Luna should be a part of the Trio of Nitwits Anonymous.

…..I am so totally going to make a Trio of Nitwits Anonymous support group in a fic: it shall include Draco, Neville, Luna, Marietta, etc.

Fourthly (because otherwise I’m going to forget), the problem with Rowling’s writing is that she neither commits nor puts a single bit of thought into anything. There is no hint of intelligent life in these books.

This is how you get wizard ministry workers entering their workplace through a metro public toilet because Rowling was Making a Point about politicians/government workers being like crap down a public toilet, and at no point did she stop to consider what does this actually say about the wizards? What does it say about the wizards that they’re so into ritual humiliation of their own public workers?

So you get this dichotomy of wizards being an extremely unevolved psychoclass and nothing but caricatures for Making a Point while at the same time Rowling wants her impressionable little readers to believe that wizards are not only totally real but the most wunderfull things who ever wundered, and they’re certainly better than those fat, dumb, bigoted filthy gammon muggles.

Which further splits into the dichotomy of oh no, the good wizards totally love muggles for no discernible in-universe reasons, because obviously Rowling doesn’t support bigotry, see, her good wizards live alongside muggles in historical wizarding villages after they “went hiding for good”, they’re totally tolerant of each other even though wizards are still supposed to be hiding and muggles don’t know they even exist. :):) And, well, the muggles who are a bit more observant and maybe not so tolerant get confounded continuously but you don’t have to trouble your pretty little head with that because obviously muggles aren’t human so who cares what continuous confounding does to them? :):)

Like, there are very specific reasons why I started asking what the fuck is wrong with that woman. Her books are so thoroughly schizophrenic (colloquially speaking) that it’s mindboggling.

This is why I’m open-minded about that conspiracy theory that these books were actually written by multiple intelligence service agents and Rowling was just the cover girl because can one single woman seriously be this schizophrenically terrible writer? Like, there has to be something fundamentally wrong for someone to be this thoroughly self-contradicting?

Harry fell, panting, on to grass and scrambled up at once. They seemed to have landed in the corner of a field at dusk; Hermione was already running in a circle around them, waving her wand.

So… Let’s recap: in the previous chapter, Ron was relegated right back to useless dead weight, Harry was marginally more useful than Ron and Hermione was, of course, the Wonder Witch and Girl Boss of the Year™. And yet. The books still aren’t about her.

No, no, Hermione, as the girl, has the important role of being an Exposition and Plot Device and doing the two nitwits’ homework for them. But not to worry, she’s not like the other girls.

‘That treacherous old bleeder!’ Ron panted, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it to Harry. ‘Hermione, you’re a genius, a total genius, I can’t believe we got out of that!’

‘Serves him right,’ said Ron, examining his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs. ‘What d’you reckon they’ll do to him?’

WELL. THERE GOES THAT RON/LUNA SHIP. IT WAS FUN WHILE IT LASTED.

‘Cave inimicum … didn’t I say it was an Erumpent horn? Didn’t I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!’

Hermione.

You fucking morons literally left Xenophilius to die. Is this really the time for I Told You So?

‘Oh, I hope they don’t kill him!’ groaned Hermione. ‘That’s why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn’t been lying!’

And that’s going to… do what exactly?

Like, the nice death eaters won’t just either torture the information out of him or drag him to Tommy to torture the information out of him, and then kill him?

Please, don’t tell me this is the reason why Hermione fans think Hermione is some kind of fucking moral backbone of these books? Because she bleats these fucking things and incessantly nags and bullies others, and never actually does a single concrete useful thing to correct course? She’s been doing this since Book One. “Oh, I should just tell on you to Percy!” she nags instead of actually doing something to stop the two nitwits.

Hermione is not moral. She’s a narcissistic fucking moron like the rest of these fucking characters.

I mean, how long did this bint have all the hissy fits about house-elves and slave labour while she didn’t lift a single fucking finger or her dainty arse to actually talk with the house-elves or help them. Winky was crying her eyes out and drinking herself to death, and Hermione certainly didn’t give two shites about her because she wasn’t a good house-elf like Dobby. Her best friend got an actual fucking slave and Hermione had a real chance of talking Harry into freeing Kreacher but instead Hermione just made Harry order him around kindly

and she certainly didn’t mind all the benefits of fucking slave labour with Kreacher.

And now they’ve literally left Xenophilius to die right after Harry finished regaling us all about the “great rush of affection” he felt for Luna, his daughter. They’re each other’s only living family members, and I just know Luna isn’t even going to be allowed to feel anything about it because her feeling anything about it might hint that the trio of nitwits fucked up and it might inconvenience Harry because Harry doesn’t put up with other people’s feelings, including and not limited to his supposed friends.

But of course nothing is going to happen to Xenophilius because Rowling is an utterly unserious hack and she can’t write these morons seriously fucking up, such as getting their “friend’s” dad tortured and murdered. No, that dubious honour is left for characters like Draco Malfoy because who cares what happens to him, if he gets eviscerated to death in a toilet, it’s not like Draco is a human. And then that fucking woman wants to tell me all about dehumanisation.

So the previous chapter was nothing but fucking weightless consequenceless fluff that won’t amount to anything because nothing serious can happen to Xenophilius and that means the death eaters and Tommy are officially the most useless evil regime in existence. And I’m supposed to care because…? Rowling doesn’t, the trio of nitwits don’t aside from one token bleat about it, so what is my incentive to care aside from Rowling’s Because I Say So?

But these books for sure are so ~dark~ and ~mature~.

Oh my god, I’m so angry.

And I’m not even past the first page.

‘Why hide me, though?’ asked Ron.

‘You’re supposed to be in bed with spattergroit, Ron! They’ve kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you’re with him?’

RON HAS BEEN HIS BEST FRIEND FOR SEVEN YEARS. THE DEATH EATERS AND MINISTRY ALREADY KNOW THAT ARTHUR IS A MEMBER OF THE ORDER OF PHOENIX. THE SOCIOPATHIC TWINS HAD THESE AS ADVERTISEMENT:

Why Are You Worrying About You-Know-Who?
You SHOULD Be Worrying About
U-NO-POO –
the Constipation Sensation That’s Gripping the Nation!

BILL FOUGHT AGAINST DEATH EATERS.

THEY’RE BLOOD TRAITORS.

LIKE.

#cause of death: rage

STOP QUESTIONING YOUR STUPID NARRATIVE IN YOUR STUPID NARRATIVE, ROWLING.

‘But what about your mum and dad?’

‘They’re in Australia,’ said Hermione. ‘They should be all right. They don’t know anything.’

*is reduced to incomprehensible gibbering*

I AM NOT EVEN PAST THE FIRST PAGE AND I’M ALREADY DYING.

#bertha jorkins

‘You’re a genius,’ Ron repeated, looking awed.

SHE IS NOT.

‘Yeah, you are, Hermione,’ agreed Harry fervently, ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you.’

That’s why Hermione is the plot device because the rest of you morons are utterly useless.

She beamed, but became solemn at once.

‘What about Luna?’

‘Well, if they’re telling the truth and she’s still alive – ’ began Ron.

‘Don’t say that, don’t say it!’ squealed Hermione. ‘She must be alive, she must!’

‘Then she’ll be in Azkaban, I expect,’ said Ron. ‘Whether she survives the place, though … loads don’t …’

‘She will,’ said Harry. He could not bear to contemplate the alternative. ‘She’s tough, Luna, much tougher than you’d think. She’s probably teaching all the inmates about Wrackspurts and Nargles.’

YOU LITERALLY LEFT HER ONLY LIVING FAMILY TO DIE.

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Hermione. She passed a hand over her eyes. ‘I’d feel so sorry for Xenophilius if – ’

‘ – if he hadn’t just tried to sell us to the Death Eaters, yeah,’ said Ron.

Like, I can’t.

There goes trio of nitwits/Luna anything.

They put up the tent and retreated inside it, where Ron made them tea.

Oh yes, let’s brush the whole thing under the carpet with a cup of strong tea.

‘Oh, why did we go there?’ groaned Hermione after a few minutes’ silence.

Because you’re an absolute idiot?

‘I don’t think so,’ said Ron. ‘It’s a damn’ sight harder making stuff up when you’re under stress than you’d think. I found that out when the Snatchers caught me. It was much easier pretending to be Stan, because I knew a bit about him, than inventing a whole new person. Old Lovegood was under loads of pressure, trying to make sure we stayed put. I reckon he told us the truth, or what he thinks is the truth, just to keep us talking.’

Oh look, Ron is still the most empathic one and yet he does jackshit all with that empathy.

‘Well, I don’t suppose it matters,’ sighed Hermione. ‘Even if he was being honest, I never heard such a lot of nonsense in all my life.’

‘Hang on, though,’ said Ron. ‘The Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a myth, wasn’t it?’

‘But the Deathly Hallows can’t exist, Ron!’

ARE YOU WITCHES OR NOT.

‘“The Tale of the Three Brothers” is a story,’ said Hermione firmly. ‘A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was as simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we’d have everything we need already!’

Oh yeah.

It sure was about how frightened humans are of death.

‘There’s no such thing, Harry!’

‘All right, even if you want to kid yourself the Elder Wand’s real, what about the Resurrection Stone?’ Her fingers sketched quotation marks around the name, and her tone dripped sarcasm. ‘No magic can raise the dead, and that’s that!’

Oh my god, Hermione, just shut the fuck up already.

You know what Hermione is? An idiot. Her bookwormism is just authoritarianism: if she hasn’t read it in a book, it doesn’t exist so in other words, she can’t imagine anything that she hasn’t either read or heard of. If this bint actually becomes the minister of magic, this stupid society is going to stagnate even more.

One supreme fact which I have discovered is that it is not willpower, but fantasy and imagination that creates. Imagination is the creative force. Imagination creates reality.

— Richard Wagner

‘When my wand connected with You-Know-Who’s, it made my mum and dad appear … and Cedric …’

Harry.

You shut the fuck up too.

He saw concern and something less easily definable in Hermione’s expression. Then, as she glanced at Ron, Harry realised that it was fear: he had scared her with his talk of living with dead people.

It’s called necrophilia, Harry. Or in this case, spectrophilia.

‘So that Peverell bloke who’s buried in Godric’s Hollow,’ he said hastily, trying to sound robustly sane . . .

“Robustly sane”.

Yeah, Harry, I think that ship sailed a long time ago if it ever even existed.

‘I looked him up after I saw the mark on his grave; if he’d been anyone famous or done anything important, I’m sure he’d be in one of our books.’

WELL, IF IT ISN’T IN A BOOK.

‘It means the name’s died out,’ said Hermione, ‘centuries ago, in the case of the Peverells. They could still have descendants, though, they’d just be called something different.’

So does that mean that wizards don’t always take the male surname when marrying?

‘Marvolo Gaunt! You-Know-Who’s grandfather! In the Pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!’

I must’ve totally blocked Book Six from memory because I have no recollection of this and it’s not like it’s been that long.

‘There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn’t the type to read fairy tales to his kids.’

Harry. You don’t read either.

‘He’d have loved to think the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal.’

And yet! We don’t actually see this reflected anywhere in these books.

All kinds of rage.

‘Yes … and that’s all very interesting,’ said Hermione cautiously, ‘but Harry, if you’re thinking what I think you’re think —’

Oh, Hermione. Harry doesn’t think.

‘Work? Work? Ron, it never worked! There’s no such thing as a Resurrection Stone!’ Hermione had leapt to her feet, looking exasperated and angry.

HERMIONE.

 ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT.

‘Harry, you’re trying to fit everything into the Hallows story – ’

Well, actually, Hermione, that would be the author.

Because Rowling is an absolute hack.

‘Fit everything in?’ he repeated. ‘Hermione, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hallows was on that stone! Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!’

‘A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!’

Oh, gross. I shared a thought with Hermione.

‘Where d’you reckon the ring is now?’ Ron asked Harry. ‘What did Dumbledore do with it after he broke it open?’

Probably in the same place where Dumbles stored all the relevant garbage that could be useful: in a random pond in Britain.

And he saw himself, possessor of the Hallows, facing Voldemort, whose Horcruxes were no match … neither can live while the other survives … was this the answer? Hallows versus Horcruxes? Was there a way, after all, to ensure that he was the one who triumphed? If he were the master of the Deathly Hallows, would he be safe?

Oh my god, Harry.

my fancy artistic rendition

But he scarcely heard Hermione: he had pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and was running it through his fingers, the cloth supple as water, light as air. He had never seen anything to equal it in his nearly seven years in the wizarding world.

Harry.

You haven’t even seen another invisibility cloak. Period.

Why do I have to put up with this brat?

And then, with a gasp, he remembered –

‘Dumbledore had my Cloak, the night my parents died!’

His voice shook and he could feel the colour in his face, but he did not care. ‘My mum told Sirius Dumbledore borrowed the Cloak! This is why! He wanted to examine it, because he thought it was the third Hallow!’

Uh-huh.

I’m sure… that’s exactly what it was… It was just an unfortunate coincidence that it happened right when Tommy was after you.

‘Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric’s Hollow …’ Harry was walking blindly around the tent, feeling as though great new vistas of truth were opening all around him. ‘He’s my ancestor! I’m descended from the third brother! It all makes sense!’

Actually, Harry, even though you ended up being right, none of your leaps of “logic” made any fucking sense.

my fancy artistic rendition

‘Read it,’ he told her, pushing his mother’s letter into her hand. ‘Read it! Dumbledore had the Cloak, Hermione! Why else would he want it?’

Because… He wanted your mother and father dead so better take the death-evading cloak from them?

Something fell to the floor and rolled, glittering, under a chair: he had dislodged the Snitch when he pulled out the letter. He stooped to pick it up, and then the newly tapped spring of fabulous discoveries threw him another gift, and shock and wonder erupted inside him so that he shouted out.

‘IT’S IN HERE! He left me the ring – it’s in the Snitch!’

my fancy artistic rendition

Voldemort had been raised in a Muggle orphanage. Nobody could have told him The Tales of Beedle the Bard when he was a child, any more than Harry had heard them. Hardly any wizards believed in the Deathly Hallows. Was it likely that Voldemort knew about them?

It’s Tommy.

He’s obsessed with death and conquering death.

Like?

Adults can read fairy tales too? In fact, that’s how most children hear them in the first place?

You know what, whatever. Let’s just get this stupid chapter over with.

Harry watched the cloudy sky, curves of smoke – grey and silver sliding over the face of the white moon. He felt light-headed with amazement at his discoveries.

Yeah, well, I guess it would make you light-headed, having the author literally plant everything in your brainless head all at once.

Didn’t they realise how far they had travelled in the last few minutes?

No, you haven’t.

Now you just have new stuff to find, paraphrasing Ron, and you still haven’t found any of the old stuff.

For books obsessed with death, they sure make you long for it.

‘No, it doesn’t,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t, Harry, you’re just getting carried away. Please,’ she said, as he started to speak, ‘please just answer me this. If the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all three of them would be master of Death – Harry, why wouldn’t he have told you? Why?’

WHAT. EXACTLY. DID DUMBLES. EVER TELL HARRY?

He had his answer ready.

‘But you said it, Hermione! You’ve got to find out about them for yourself! It’s a Quest!’

Even death would be kinder than reading these books.

‘Dumbledore usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing he’d do.’

‘Harry, this isn’t a game, this isn’t practice! This is the real thing, and Dumbledore left you very clear instructions: find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn’t mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can’t afford to get sidetracked –’

Oh now you can’t “afford to get sidetracked”.

If only he had the stone, he could ask Dumbledore these questions in person …

HE HAS A BLOODY PORTRAIT AT HOGWARTS.

And probably the ministry of magic too.

Harry wished his scar would burn and show him Voldemort’s thoughts . . .

Well, at least then you’d have thoughts, Harry.

Hermione would not like that idea, of course … but then, she did not believe … Xenophilius had been right, in a way … Limited. Narrow. Close-minded.

Greatest friendship and ship ever.

It was nearly dawn when he remembered Luna, alone in a cell in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors, and he suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He had forgotten all about her in his feverish contemplation of the Hallows. If only they could rescue her, but Dementors in those numbers would be virtually unassailable.

You know, I would almost prefer if they’d just completely forgotten her than getting this bloody lip service of “oh well, nothing we can do~”. Because gods forbid we actually do something in these bloody fucking books.

It was as though a flame had been lit inside him that nothing, not Hermione’s flat disbelief nor Ron’s persistent doubts, could extinguish.

But they sure are right on that bandwagon when Harry suggests something.

And yet the fiercer the longing for the Hallows burned inside him, the less joyful it made him.

Uh-huh.

When has this idiot ever been joyful?

Well, there was that moment in Book One when he was a bit cute.

And then six books more of this happened.

He blamed Ron and Hermione: their determined indifference was as bad as the relentless rain for dampening his spirits, but neither could erode his certainty, which remained absolute.

But they sure are the greatest friends who ever friended.

Harry’s belief in and longing for the Hallows consumed him so much that he felt quite isolated from the other two and their obsession with the Horcruxes.

‘Obsession?’ said Hermione, in a low, fierce voice, when Harry was careless enough to use the word one evening, after Hermione had told him off for his lack of interest in locating more Horcruxes. ‘We’re not the ones with an obsession, Harry! We’re the ones trying to do what Dumbledore wanted us to do!’

Gods have mercy.

Ron should’ve literally just stayed gone. Like, he was the only one with half a brain and then he came back for these two morons.

But he was impervious to the veiled criticism.

Yeah, I don’t think the criticism was all that veiled.

‘I thought it was You-Know-Who we were supposed to be fighting?’ Hermione retorted, and Harry gave up on her.

Greatest friendship and ship ever.

The visions he and Voldemort were sharing had changed in quality; they had become blurred, shifting as though they were moving in and out of focus.

Well, Harry, maybe that would be different if you’d at least practised legilimency. But of course you didn’t because gods forbid you to put effort into something.

He was worried that the connection between himself and Voldemort had been damaged, a connection that he both feared and, whatever he had told Hermione, prized.

You know, how am I supposed to write that Rewrite!AU if I want this freak dead?

As the weeks crept on . . .

Weeks.

. . . Harry could not help but notice, even through his new self-absorption, that Ron seemed to be taking charge.

Sweet merciful gods, PLEASE.

Perhaps because he was determined to make up for having walked out on them: perhaps because Harry’s descent into listlessness galvanised his dormant leadership qualities, Ron was the one now encouraging and exhorting the other two into action.

‘Three Horcruxes left,’ he kept saying. ‘We need a plan of action, come on! Where haven’t we looked? Let’s go through it again. The orphanage …’

Oh.

It’s just the same fucking shite since the beginning.

Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, the Riddle House, Borgin and Burkes, Albania, every place that they knew Tom Riddle had ever lived or worked, visited or murdered in, Ron and Hermione raked over them again, Harry joining in only to stop Hermione pestering him. . . . but Ron insisted on journeying to ever more unlikely places simply, Harry was aware, to keep them moving.

YOU HAVEN’T EVEN VISITED ONE OF THOSE PLACES.

‘You never know,’ was Ron’s constant refrain. ‘Upper Flagley is a wizarding village, he might’ve wanted to live there. Let’s go and have a poke around.’

Oh my god, Ron.

Also, aren’t these wizarding villages just suddenly popping up all over this stupid book.

Well, except Rowling has a very loose definition of “wizarding villages”: refer to the beginning of this post.

‘Potterwatch, didn’t I tell you that’s what it was called? The programme I keep trying to get on the radio, the only one that tells the truth about what’s going on! Nearly all the programmes are following You-Know-Who’s line, all except Potterwatch. I really want you to hear it, but it’s tricky tuning in …’

But not until March did luck favour Ron at last.

March. We’re on March and — oh my god, I’m going to cry.

‘I’ve got it, I’ve got it! Password was “Albus”! Get in here, Harry!’

‘… apologise for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house-calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters.’

Well, what does it matter when the death eaters evidently don’t arrest or murder people?

‘But before we hear from Royal and Romulus,’ Lee went on . . .

Royal and Romulus.

. . . ‘let’s take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wireless Network News and the Daily Prophet don’t think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell.’

Oh, no! Not Dirk Cresswell!

Who’s Dirk Cresswell?

ALSO~ FINALLY SOME DEAD PEOPLE.

Like, I honestly couldn’t care less that Ted is dead. He was barely a character and the man abandoned his blood traitor wife and half-blood daughter.

The whole family should be dead, I’m just saying.

‘A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed.’

Oh, no! Not Gornuk! *monotone*

Who’s Gornuk?

‘It is believed that Muggle-born Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to have been travelling with Tonks, Cresswell and Gornuk, may have escaped.’

“It is believed, both believed”.

Lee, you’re a commentator. Learn some rhetoric.

‘If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news.’

What if the death eaters are listening, man? It’s not like your “passwords” are that great and even if they were great, they’re still made to be cracked?

Also~ Dean apparently has both parents and sisters.

‘Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a Muggle family of five has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing the deaths to a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Phoenix inform me that it was the Killing Curse – more evidence, as if it were needed, of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.

You know, unlike that good old-fashioned muggle-baiting and terrorisation so far?

‘Listeners, I’d like to invite you now to join us in a minute’s silence in memory of Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Bathilda Bagshot, Gornuk and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Death Eaters.’

Ha ha ha.

The only ones out of that litany who didn’t even get names are the muggles.

But sure, Rowling, tell me aaaall about dehumanisation~.

What a bloody hack.

‘Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties,’ said Kingsley. ‘However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbours, often without the Muggles’ knowledge. I’d like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken.’

But not, like, risking it enough by actually telling muggles what’s happening to them? So they could actually try to protect themselves?

For the love of gods, I want out of these books.

‘I’d say that it’s one short step from “wizards first” to “purebloods first”, and then to “Death Eaters”,’ replied Kingsley. ‘We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.’

NOT ACCORDING TO ROWLING’S STELLAR NARRATIVE SO FAR IT’S NOT.

When will this bloody chapter end?

‘We know it’s Lupin!’

No! Who could’ve guessed that Romulus was Lupin! *monotone*

‘I do,’ said Lupin firmly. ‘There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. The “Boy Who Lived” remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting.’

A mixture of gratitude and shame welled up in Harry. Had Lupin forgiven him, then, for the terrible things he had said when they had last met?

Harry, for once in your life you were actually in the right that time?

‘I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,’ said Lupin, then hesitated slightly. ‘And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.’

The kid. Whose first instinct for anger and hurt. Is to torture the source of it. Is always good. And right.

I think I feel the sweet calling of death.

‘Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Harry Potter have now been imprisoned, including Xenophilius Lovegood, erstwhile editor of The Quibbler – ’ said Lupin.

‘At least he’s still alive!’ muttered Ron.

‘We have also heard within the last few hours that Rubeus Hagrid – ’ all three of them gasped, and so nearly missed the rest of the sentence ‘ – well-known gamekeeper at Hogwarts School, has narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Hogwarts, where he is rumoured to have hosted a “Support Harry Potter” party in his house. However, Hagrid was not taken into custody, and is, we believe, on the run.’

Rowling keeps teasing me about Hagrid’s death on purpose.

‘I suppose it helps, when escaping from Death Eaters, if you’ve got a sixteen-foot-high half-brother?’ asked Lee.

‘It would tend to give you an edge,’ agreed Lupin gravely.

‘“Rodent”?’ said yet another familiar voice, and Harry, Ron and Hermione cried out together: ‘Fred!’

Well. I guess Rodent fits the Sociopathic Twins.

‘Agreed,’ said Fred. ‘So, people, let’s try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill with a single glance from his eyes. That’s a Basilisk, listeners. One simple test: check whether the thing that’s glaring at you has got legs. If it has, it’s safe to look into its eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that’s still likely to be the last thing you ever do.’

For the first time in weeks and weeks, Harry was laughing: he could feel the weight of tension leaving him.

Ah ha ha ha. I’m just dying of laughter.

‘Well, who wouldn’t want a nice little holiday after all the hard work he’s been putting in?’ asked Fred. ‘Point is, people, don’t get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he’s out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don’t count on him being a long way away if you’re planning on taking any risks. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but safety first!’

‘Keep twiddling those dials: the next password will be “Mad-Eye”. Keep each other safe: keep faith.’

How the hell did it take Ron three months to tune back into this stupid program?

. . . Harry had become so used to their isolation he had nearly forgotten that other people were resisting Voldemort.

Probably because you’re doing nothing to resist Tommy?

‘Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol — ’

‘HARRY, NO!’

‘ — demort’s after the Elder Wand!’

‘The name’s Taboo!’ Ron bellowed, leaping to his feet as a loud crack sounded outside the tent. ‘I told you, Harry, I told you, we can’t say it any more – we’ve got to put the protection back around us – quickly – it’s how they find –’

You know… I forget on which book I said this but this moron is largely the cause of his own misery.

But Ron stopped talking, and Harry knew why. The Sneakoscope on the table had lit up and begun to spin; they could hear voices coming nearer and nearer: rough, excited voices.

Didn’t these things use to make noise?

‘Come out of there with your hands up!’ came a rasping voice through the darkness. ‘We know you’re in there! You’ve got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don’t care who we curse!’

Well. Curse them already then?

We don’t care who we curse~ so we’re just going to politely warn you first~.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-one.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Twenty-one – The Tale of the Three Brothers

Okay, a couple of things. As I re-read Book One again, I noticed this:

‘You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?’ said Hermione. ‘And send me an owl if you find anything.’

‘And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,’ said Ron. ‘It’d be safe to ask them.’

‘Very safe, as they’re both dentists,’ said Hermione.

And I realised that Ron actually just assumed that Hermione’s parents are wizards.

Which is odd considering that Hermione said that nobody in her family is magic at all on the train. But you may chalk that up to Rowling being utterly incapable of keeping her stupid story consistent.

Like, she wrote that “wand chooses the wizard, of course” and then contradicted that twice in the same book.

Another thing is, if you think about Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, how Ginny was taken to the chamber and everyone knew it and she has three other brothers at Hogwarts, two of whom are in possession of a magical map that shows them the entire school, what does it say about her other brothers that it was only Ron, at twelve-years-old, who went to get her from the chamber? As I keep saying, Ron/Ginny basically writes itself, ha ha. ❤

(And yes, I’m aware that Rowling doesn’t actually care about the NPCs and major character syndrome and the only thing consistent about her writing is how terrible it is, but the Ron/Ginny interpretation is just funnier.)

Furthermore, the marauder’s map: how exactly does it work? Hogwarts has multiple floors. Does the map show each floor separately and you can shift between them (kind of like in a video game) or does it basically show everything all at once? Because that seems needlessly messy?

And before I get to the chapter, I want to talk about Ron/Luna for a bit, mainly what kind of dynamic they would have.

Even though Rowling is very bad at the telling and showing part of writing, throughout the books it’s obvious that out of the trio, Ron is the most easy-going one, for the lack of a better term. What I mean is, he’s the most socially well-adjusted in the sense that he can make other friends and get along with a variety of people: we see this particularly in Book Four during the rift between Harry and Ron. Ron hangs out with Seamus, Dean, Lee, and his brothers whereas Harry hangs out with… Hermione. And that’s it. And then the brat can’t even be grateful for that, ha ha.

Hermione is the same as Harry; whenever she isn’t hanging out with Harry and Ron, she’s basically alone. Sure, Rowling tries to pretend that Hermione and Ginny are friends too — and the fandom also seems to have this misconception — but we just seriously do not see that aside from them occasionally having breakfast together and Hermione giving Ginny terrible dating advice when the girl was eleven or twelve. And even with the breakfast it was more like “Oh, and Ginny was there too by the way”.

I was recently told that Ron and Luna wouldn’t work because “Luna is too ethereal for him”. Personally, I think this is totally false because Ron seems like the type to “go along to get along”. Besides, after he gets over his initial “what’s up with this odd girl”, Ron becomes increasingly fond of Luna and even finds her “etherealness” amusing.

Like, the one Luna is “too ethereal for” is Hermione? Not Ron? It’s Hermione who constantly loses patience with her and argues with her and snipes at her because Hermione is obsessed with being right and other people being wrong.

So I started thinking about what kind of dynamic Luna and Ron would have and I think they would be just so chill with each other. Like, they would actually have that ~intellectual stimulation~ because Luna isn’t obsessed with being right and steamrolling people and she’d come up with these odd things, and Ron would either just good-naturedly argue with her because he finds her amusing or he’d, like, just pet her fondly. And because she’s kind of odd and ethereal and in her own world a lot, Ron would increasingly mother-hen her and make sure she eats and drinks and dresses properly. And Luna would just go along with it and still do her own thing, and they’d just let each other be and still do things together because they’re fond of each other.

(For the record: Harry and Luna would never work. Harry would be too embarrassed to be seen with her publicly. And yes, I’m aware that he took her to Slughorn’s party out of pity but keep in mind that Harry’s problem is a fear of public humiliation, not humbleness.)

I think I had something else to point out from the previous chapter but I forgot what it was.

Oh! It was probably about how exactly is Harry a symbol of anti-Tommy resistance or whatever? What I mean is… No one knows where this kid is. No one knows what this kid is doing. He isn’t fighting against death eaters. He isn’t helping muggleborns evade death eaters. He abandoned his own house-elf to death eaters. It’s December or January, we’re halfway through the book, and this stupid moron has only found and destroyed one horcrux (and the only reason why they managed even that much was because of literal divine intervention). He’s literally just camping and obsessing over Dumbles instead of doing anything.

Like… he just isn’t DOING anything. I mean, at least Robin Hood was stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but this stupid fucking moron isn’t even doing that much.

So how? How is he a symbol of anything? Aside from the wizards being an utterly pathetic bunch of Dumbles and Harry cultists?

I mean, for Harry to be a symbol of anything he should be a bit more than totally absent as far as public perception goes?

And one more thing (I promise this will be the last one!). So I started writing the next Ron/Ginny chapter coda and a thought occurred to me: what the heck happened to Pig, Ron’s owl? Or Trevor the toad, for that matter? OR CROOKSHANKS?

And I know that Ron/Ginny stuff isn’t very popular but eh, any writing is better than no writing when you’re in the middle of writer’s block, and this book has just been so boring that I haven’t really got any other ideas. Though, I really liked the coda I wrote about the muggle waitress in chapter nine. Here: Ashley.

I have to say, writing this fic raises another question of why didn’t Ron just try sending a letter to Harry and Hermione with his owl and follow it? If Petunia’s packages and Yule gifts found Lily behind a fidelius, I really don’t think Hermione’s protections were much stronger.

And then at least these characters would’ve been a bit smarter and more active than all of them just — literally waiting around for divine intervention.

But hey, these are Harry Potters and we can’t have nice things in these books.

Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione. Neither of them seemed to have understood what Xenophilius had said, either.

Ha ha. Oh, that doesn’t surprise me at all.

And positively, for once Hermione doesn’t know something either.

‘That’s right,’ said Xenophilius. ‘You haven’t heard of them? I’m not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. . . . One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest.’

You know… I just. Don’t care.

Like, these things? Weren’t even hinted at throughout these stupid books. And suddenly they’re a thing when the plot was supposed to be about finding and destroying horcruxes but because Rowling is utterly allergic to having these dumb morons do anything, we’re instead completely derailing that plot for — this.

I wonder if Rowling’s recent stuff is even marginally better than these books or if they’re just the same shite in a different package.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Harry. ‘I still don’t really understand.’

Oh, Harry. It’s okay. You don’t understand most things. It’s not your fault, it was the killing curse killing your brains.

To be polite, he took a sip from his cup too and almost gagged: the stuff was quite disgusting, as though someone had liquidised bogey-flavoured Every-Favour Beans.

Okay, here’s the thing. When you’re reading fiction, regardless of how messed up it is, you shouldn’t start to get this nagging voice in the back of your mind wondering what the hell is wrong with this author.

And yet that’s precisely what happened with me in regards to these books.

‘Midnight, our mum always told us,’ said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen. Hermione shot him a look of annoyance.

True love.

‘“And Death spoke to them – ”’

‘Sorry,’ interjected Harry, ‘but Death spoke to them?’

You know, considering that the deathly hallows were real then that obviously implies that Death, with a capital, is also real and then Rowling just completely didn’t do anything with that.

Like, why would Tommy waste time trying to find some dumb fucking wand, or drinking unicorn blood, or trying to steal philosopher’s stones, or creating horcruxes, when he could literally bind Death to himself?

‘It’s a fairy tale, Harry!’

And what makes a fairy tale in a fantasy?

‘“In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.

‘“And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

??

I mean??

Dude, they could’ve just as well gone around the river? Or built the bridge the muggle way? Or built a dam or something else?

Like, does Death do this with every dumb moron who “cheats”?

‘“So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner . . .

And what do you know, Harry eventually gets this wand and wins against Tommy because gods forbid that brat actually do anything with his own talent and competence.

‘“Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.

LIKE. THIS. WHY DIDN’T TOMMY WASTE TIME LOOKING FOR THIS INSTEAD?

‘“And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.”’

So does that mean that as long as you’re wearing the invisibility cloak, you’re actually immortal? And Tommy didn’t waste time looking for this thing instead?

Also, if Death gave his own cloak of invisibility then does that mean that Death himself is visible right now? Since that cloak is stuffed in either Harry’s pocket, bag or the bottom of his trunk.

‘“The first brother travelled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.

‘“That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat.

‘“And so Death took the first brother for his own.

Well. Good to know that wizards have always been unforgivably stupid, even in their own fairy tales.

‘“Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.

‘“Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her.

Like, what is up with these people? The women are shrill screaming harpies who rape and abuse men and the men are weird creeping stalkers?

Also~ Since the girl didn’t actually come back to life, doesn’t that mean that Death cheated with this gift?

‘“But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.”’

That’s called life.

You don’t need an invisibility cloak for it?

Also, who was the woman who married and had sex with a guy she couldn’t see?

Also, what does Death do with people who, like, die for a minute and then get resuscitated? Does he just hand out these “gifts” like candies to everyone?

‘The Elder Wand,’ he said, and he drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. ‘The Resurrection Stone,’ he said, and he added a circle on top of the line. ‘The Cloak of Invisibility,’ he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbol that so intrigued Hermione. ‘Together,’ he said, ‘the Deathly Hallows.’

‘But there’s no mention of the words “Deathly Hallows” in the story,’ said Hermione.

Hermione. Please. Using your own brain is a completely permissible thing.

‘Well, of course not,’ said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. ‘That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognise that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.’

And Tommy wasted time creating horcruxes why…?

‘But then … do you mean …’ said Hermione slowly, and Harry could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of scepticism out of her voice, ‘that you believe these objects – these Hallows – actually exist?’

HERMIONE.

ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?

Like, her entire character is utterly obnoxious. She’s nothing but a walking talking exposition and plot device and then she’d stupidly and bizarrely sceptical of divination, stuff that Luna says, or stuff like this. Because doing magic with a stick is evidently all fine and dandy, but all the aforementioned are a shade too far from believability.

‘Luna has told me all about you, young lady,’ said Xenophilius, ‘you are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded.’

SHE ISN’T EVEN THAT INTELLIGENT. ALL SHE HAS IS MEMORISATION.

‘Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione,’ said Ron, nodding towards the ludicrous headdress. His voice shook with the strain of not laughing.

True love.

‘Well, how can that be real?’

‘Prove that it is not,’ said Xenophilius.

You can’t prove a negative, man. You make an outlandish claim, the burden of proof is on you.

‘Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it,’ said Xenophilius. ‘Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Barnabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of wizarding history.’

Like??

What if those were just regular murders?

‘Who are the Peverells?’ asked Ron.

Ron.

You’re a pureblood.

Start acting like one.

‘You will stay for dinner?’ he called, as he vanished downstairs again. ‘Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup.’

‘Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St Mungo’s,’ said Ron under his breath.

Ha ha.

He’s funny sometimes.

‘Oh, Harry,’ she said wearily, ‘it’s a pile of utter rubbish. This can’t be what the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time.’

HERMIONE.

ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?

‘One of those superstitions, isn’t it? “May-born witches will marry Muggles.” “Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.” “Wand of elder, never prosper.” You must’ve heard them. My mum’s full of them.’

‘Harry and I were raised by Muggles,’ Hermione reminded him, ‘we were taught different superstitions.’

You know… in Book One Ron was the one who went, “Oh, you probably don’t know it since you were raised by muggles”, at Harry.

What’s wrong with Rowling? Why does she keep changing her own characters’ characterisations just to — I don’t even know? To do this stupidity?

‘It’s just a morality tale, it’s obvious which gift is best, which one you’d choose –’

The three of them spoke at the same time; Hermione said, ‘the Cloak,’ Ron said, ‘the wand,’ and Harry said, ‘the stone.’

So in other words, Ron is combative, Harry is arrogant (ha ha! true!), and Hermione is the humblest and wisest?

Yeah. No.

Well, except for Harry.

Oh no, wait a second. Add that wand to the list of things that Ron wanted and Harry got instead.

You know, it’s really a wonder that Ron and Draco didn’t become friends. They could, like, start some kind of Harry Potter support group: Potter Anonymous.

‘Yes, but could you keep your trap shut?’ said Hermione, looking sceptical. ‘You know, the only true thing he said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds of years.’

So in other words… magic literally has nothing to do with congenitalism? And everything to do with wands?

So… why do these morons start practising wandless magic?

‘The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, they crop up under different names through the centuries, usually in the possession of some Dark wizard who’s boasting about them. Professor Binns mentioned some of them, but – oh, it’s all nonsense. Wands are only as powerful as the wizards who use them. Some wizards just like to boast that theirs are bigger and better than other people’s.’

“Deathstick”.

Imagine actually calling your wand that.

‘Well, if you could bring people back, we could have Sirius … Mad-Eye … Dumbledore … my parents …’

Harry.

You were even less close to Moody than Dumbles??

The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger: it was something like burning underpants. Harry wondered whether it would be possible to eat enough of whatever Xenophilius was cooking to spare his feelings.

Well, you manage with Hagrid, I’m sure you’ll manage with Xenophilius.

‘I’ve got so used to Harry’s Cloak and how good it is, I never stopped to think.’

Oh, Ron. That’s because none of you ever stop to think.

It’s too much hard work and we can’t have that in Harry Potters.

Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with five beautifully painted faces: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville. They were not moving as the portraits at Hogwarts moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same: Harry thought they breathed. What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures, linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Harry realised that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink: friends … friends … friends …

I would just like to take this special moment to remind you: these morons aren’t close. Or at the very least they’re not close enough for something like this.

Harry felt a great rush of affection for Luna.

Harry.

Please.

Keep your rushes of affection to yourself.

The front of The Quibbler carried his own picture, emblazoned with the words Undesirable Number One, and captioned with the reward money.

Hee.

Undesirable Number One never stops amusing me.

Figures on broomsticks were flying past the windows.

Apparition?

It exists?

I hate that woman’s writing.

Harry realised their mistake just in time: he launched himself sideways, shoving Ron and Hermione out of harm’s way as Xenophilius’s Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent Horn.

Oh look, totally didn’t see that coming. *monotone*

And it took… twelve pages! I was almost right.

Harry flew through the air, then crashed to the floor, unable to see as debris rained upon him, his arms over his head. He heard Hermione’s scream, Ron’s yell and a series of sickening metallic thuds, which told him that Xenophilius had been blasted off his feet and fallen backwards down the spiral stairs.

And let me guess, absolutely no one died?

‘Didn’t I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?’ said a rough voice. ‘Didn’t I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?’

There was a bang and a scream of pain from Xenophilius.

‘No … no … upstairs … Potter!’

‘I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren’t coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before – ’ another bang, another squeal ‘ – when you thought we’d give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumple – ’ bang ‘ – Headed – ’ bang ‘ – Snorkacks?’

‘No – no – I beg you!’ sobbed Xenophilius. ‘It really is Potter! Really!’
‘And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!’ roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.

‘The place looks like it’s about to fall in, Selwyn,’ said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. ‘The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down.’

‘You lying piece of filth,’ shouted the wizard named Selwyn. ‘You’ve never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you’d lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you’ll get your girl back like this?’

‘I swear … I swear …Potter’s upstairs!’

Not that I’m not utterly invested in this drama, but can someone please start dying already?

‘You can have your little girl, Lovegood,’ said Selwyn, ‘if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it’s a trick, if you’ve got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we’ll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury.’

CAN YOU PEOPLE PLEASE START DOING SOMETHING INTELLIGENT FOR ONCE?

Ron was buried deepest . . .

Of course he is.

. . . Hermione managed to free Ron with the use of a Hover Charm.

Of course she did.

Xenophilius’s paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.

‘Obliviate!’ cried Hermione, pointing her wand first into his face, then at the floor beneath them: ‘Deprimo!’

You know, is Luna even going to be allowed to feel anything about Hermione giving her dad dementia?

She had blasted a hole in the sitting-room floor. They fell like boulders, Harry still holding on to her hand for dear life, there was a scream from below and he glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling. Hermione twisted in mid-air and the thundering of the collapsing house rang in Harry’s ears as she dragged him once more into darkness.

I’m honestly sick of these books.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-one.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’

Chapter Twenty – Xenophilious Lovegood

I need to get this off my chest, I think. So here’s a brief vent before I get to the chapter.

So a while ago, I posted my first explicitly Ron/Ginny fic: Fault Line. Surprisingly, the hits keep climbing higher while the actual engagement remains pretty much at zero. And the only reason for that I can think of is that the fic is bad.

And the thing is… I’m kind of like this small bundle of insecurities and worries and low self-esteem. But even though I know I’m not the best writer around, I also don’t think I’m that bad. So seeing those hits climb higher while the engagement remains at practically zero is… kind of driving me up the walls every time I check in at my AO3 account.

The second thing is… it’s not really about getting praise or anything. I guess I was kind of hoping that by posting that fic I’d reach some other like-minded Ron/Ginny fan who’d notice all the fun little canon references I wrote and I’d get to, you know, fangirl with someone? For example, this:

“You used to be such a crybaby,” Ron said nostalgically. “What happened to that?”

Ginny was quiet for a moment before she said, tonelessly, “Harry doesn’t like people who cry.”

But apparently, I am the only lunatic in this world who likes Ron/Ginny.

So I’m mostly just feeling lonely and sad.

Well, I’m also the only lunatic in this world who genuinely likes the Dursleys so… I guess I should just get used to it?

The third thing is… I’m seriously feeling this existential dread at the thought of that fic getting, like, ten thousand hits while the engagement still remains pretty much at zero and that thought feels so terrible that I basically have two options: either I post more stuff on AO3 so that fic isn’t the first thing I see every time I check in or I delete it for the sake of my sanity. But I have this principle about not deleting fics I’ve posted because I’ve been in the position of looking for my favourite fic or fic author and finding it all gone, and I don’t want to make anyone feel else feel like that. Not to mention it’s basically the longest thing I’ve written since I started suffering from writer’s block from hell and that makes me kind of fond of it regardless of its quality.

So I’m pretty much left with option one: post more stuff. Which I don’t currently have. *existential dread increases*

And since I’m on the topic of Ron/Ginny~ I might as well talk about Ron because otherwise I’m going to forget. I’ve actually talked about this before in Book Four but. Repetition is a part of learning so let’s go~.

Much like Harry’s storyline is a horror about a boy who is so used to and desensitised to abuse that he doesn’t notice that all the people around him are as much or more abusive than Dursleys, Ron’s storyline is, in fact, a tragic horror.

In Book One, this kid wanted to be someone.

‘No – I’m alone – but I’m different – I look older – and I’m Head Boy!’

‘I am – I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to – and I’m holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup – I’m Quidditch captain, too!’

It was the deepest, most desperate desire of his heart.

‘It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts.’

It’s directly tied to his deepest, darkest insecurities six books later.

‘Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter … least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend … second best, always, eternally overshadowed …’

‘Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Harry Potter? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived?’

‘Your mother confessed,’ sneered Riddle-Harry, while Riddle-Hermione jeered, ‘that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange …‘

‘Who wouldn’t prefer him, what woman would take you? You are nothing, nothing, nothing to him,’ crooned Riddle-Hermione, and she stretched like a snake and entwined herself around Riddle-Harry, wrapping him in a close embrace: their lips met.

The thing is, none of what Tommy says is untrue. Rowling prefers Harry which bleeds into the Sociopathic Twins preferring Harry, Molly preferring Harry, Hermione preferring Harry, the entire universe preferring Harry.

Whenever Ron, Harry and Hermione are together, Rowling has this irrepressible habit of making Ron into an unobservant gormless slob who is outright useless if not pernicious. She started doing this right after Book Three when she apparently decided that she shan’t suffer anyone else to be better than the Boy Who Failed and Kept Failing Right till the End.

The Sociopathic Twins give the marauder’s map to Harry instead of any of their family members, and Rowling even has Ron lampshade this in the text.

Molly treats Harry like royalty and gives him the family heirlooms. Keep in mind that this woman blatantly and shamelessly plays favourites even with her own kids. So imagine what it would feel like to see your mother treat your best friend better than you when you’ve already been overshadowed and ignored your whole life by your own family?

After Book Three, Harry starts noting the many ways in which Ron isn’t better than him. The kid has an actual existential crisis because Ron gets the prefect’s badge and not him, and as it turns out the badge was always meant for him anyway but Dumbles thought it would’ve been too much of a burden on his already burdensome life, uwu. And the only reason why Harry starts to feel better about that is because his useless father wasn’t a prefect either but he sure was the head boy for some reason. Harry notes how bad Ron is at quidditch, he notes that Ron didn’t have any outstandings in his OWLS. He keeps up this constant, lowkey assurance to himself that even if he isn’t that good, at least he’s always better than Ron.

Even Hermione — Ron’s “true love” — prefers Harry. She ignores Ron most of the time, she keeps reassuring Harry what a fanciable stud he is when she isn’t complimenting him for something else that Harry didn’t earn, she thought Harry would be prefect to the point of screaming excitedly about it and completely fails to backpedal when she finds out that oops, it was Ron, and she practically always sides with Harry. Then there was the whole Scabbers fiasco in Book Three in which she showed her utter disrespect towards Ron by her utter disrespect and disregard for the life of his pet, refused to admit her own wrongs and instead went crying to Hagrid about it when all Ron wanted was an apology from her, and she sicced birds at Ron that clawed and pecked him so badly that he was actually scarred. I don’t care that Rowling turned that into a cute little joke in the previous chapter. That woman knows precisely that her violence isn’t funny because it’s just girls doing it to boys and never boys doing it to girls.

Also, Hermione canonically has a thing for authority and useless celebrities (Dumbledore, Gilderoy, Viktor, Harry to an extent, etc). Even her bookwormism is just one more manifestation of that.

And I’m not saying that Hermione should’ve sided and left with Ron in Chapter Fifteen. But the fact is that Ron was literally speaking the truth. And instead of — oh, I don’t know — admitting it and doing something about it, Hermione sided with Harry and Ron walked off and good riddance.

For seven fucking years, Ron has had to watch Harry get everything he wanted without any effort, without doing anything, and then he has to listen to the brat complain about it. Quidditch, fame, wealth, his family, Hermione and Ginny. Nimbus Two Thousand, Firebolt, the invisibility cloak. And they’re friends as long as Ron just obsequiously hero-worships Harry for it but as soon as he dares to stand up for himself, to assert his own feelings and personhood, the brat throws the temper tantrums of a lifetime, calls him stupid, chucks things at his head, gives him the silent treatment until he comes crawling back in and feels “corrosive hatred” he’s never felt before.

The really ironic thing is that the only times when Ron is actually capable, smart and competent are when he’s literally away from his sociopathic brothers and his two supposed best friends. He wins his only quidditch matches when Harry, Hermione and the Sociopathic Twins aren’t there; he wins against death eaters and snatchers when Harry and Hermione aren’t there. So Hermione confounding McLaggen so Ron could get into the quidditch team isn’t actually cute. All it showcases is yet another instance when his friends and his love interest don’t trust him, his abilities, and Ron isn’t supposed to earn anything because of his own talent. He’s no Boy Wonder after all. (Never mind that Harry never earns anything either, he just gets everything handed out to him by Rowling ex machina.)

The tragic horror of Ron’s character is that he wanted to be someone and he could be someone if he only got himself away from Harry and Hermione (and most of his family), but instead his character arc is literally about learning to be content in their shadow.

Moreover, this:

‘She’s like my sister,’ he went on. ‘I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It’s always been like that. I thought you knew.’

Ron’s problem isn’t if Harry prefers Hermione. His problem is if Hermione prefers Harry. So Harry saying that he loves Hermione like a sister (right after telling us that they’re barely friends without Ron there) is nice and all but it isn’t his reassurance to make. The one who should’ve made that reassurance to Ron is Hermione. She should’ve been the one to reassure Ron that she prefers and loves Ron, Harry is nothing but a friend if that. But instead, it’s apparently the Boy Wonder’s decision because he doesn’t fancy her so Ron doesn’t have anything to worry about, eh. So basically Ron might forever be worse than Harry but at least Ron gets the girl by the grace of Harry’s indifference? Like, I genuinely don’t know anyone else who fails this hard as an author?

This is going to sound weird because this is a Ron/Ginny example from a fic I haven’t actually written yet but there’s a reason why Ginny telling Ron that “Harry was always a replacement for you” is going to be the pivotal moment of that fic. I mean, obviously Ron wants to be and is better than that but I also think that if he heard that from someone he’s always loved and never thought he could have, it’d do things to him. Especially since Rowling really fails to convince me that the trio of nitwits would even stay as friends after school.

Regardless, all of the above are some of the reasons why I genuinely started preferring Ron/Ginny as a ship and why I want to write that long Ron/Ginny fic. Because ironically that Ron/Ginny fic would be the perfect medium to point out exactly what’s wrong with the Weasleys, what’s wrong with Harry/Ginny, what’s wrong with Harry, and what Ron actually needs. And well, I also just really want to write this scene where Ron ends up telling Draco that he’s dating Ginny (he’s feeling very depressed and fatalistic at the time) and Draco has the best laugh of his life because he doesn’t know what’s funnier: Ron dating his sister or Ron dating “Potter’s sloppy seconds”. And then they become kind of friends because Draco doesn’t care beyond finding it the funniest thing ever.

So. Fingers crossed that I can actually write it.

Harry had not expected Hermione’s anger to abate overnight, and was therefore unsurprised that she communicated mainly by dirty looks and pointed silences next morning. Ron responded by maintaining an unnaturally sombre demeanour in her presence as an outward sign of continuing remorse. In fact, when all three of them were together Harry felt like the only non-mourner at a poorly attended funeral.

True love.

During those few moments he spent alone with Harry (collecting water and searching the undergrowth for mushrooms), however, Ron became shamelessly cheery.

‘Someone helped us,’ he kept saying. ‘Someone sent that doe. Someone’s on our side. One Horcrux down, mate!’

Ron.

Don’t remind me.

Bolstered by the destruction of the locket, they set to debating the possible locations of the other Horcruxes, and even though they had discussed the matter so often before, Harry felt optimistic, certain that more breakthroughs would succeed the first.

So in other words, you’re back exactly where you started.

Hermione’s sulkiness could not mar his buoyant spirits: the sudden upswing in their fortunes, the appearance of the mysterious doe, the recovery of Gryffindor’s sword, and above all, Ron’s return, made Harry so happy that it was quite difficult to maintain a straight face.

And the only reason why you made the above “progress” is literally because of Rowling, Dumbles and Severus ex machina.

Deep breaths, me.

Late in the afternoon he and Ron escaped Hermione’s baleful presence again . . .

Truest of the loves.

Harry had finally managed to tell Ron the whole story of his and Hermione’s various wanderings, right up to the full story of what had happened at Godric’s Hollow . . .

Well, that must’ve taken all of five minutes considering that you two nitwits didn’t do anything.

‘… and how did you find out about the Taboo?’ he asked Harry, after explaining the many desperate attempts of Muggle-borns to evade the Ministry.

One) How did you find out about it, Ron?

Two) Show, Rowling. Don’t tell.

Seriously. How am I supposed to care about the “desperate attempts of muggleborns to evade the death eaters” when the book itself doesn’t bloody care?

Evidently, Rowling thought it a much better waste of pages to be picking non-existent blackberries with the dyad of nitwits and talking about it.

‘You and Hermione have stopped saying You-Know-Who’s name!’

‘Oh, yeah. Well, it’s just a bad habit we’ve slipped into,’ said Harry.

You know, it still would’ve been the funniest thing ever if they’d started calling Ron you-know-who.

. . . ‘but the name’s been jinxed, Harry, that’s how they track people! Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance – it’s how they found us in Tottenham Court Road!’

I would say “Show, Rowling. Don’t tell” but she frankly doesn’t tell either so I can’t be bothered.

‘Exactly! You’ve got to give them credit, it makes sense. It was only people who were serious about standing up to him, like Dumbledore, who ever dared use it. Now they’ve put a Taboo on it, anyone who says it is trackable – quick and easy way to find Order members! They nearly got Kingsley – ’

HOW ABOUT USING HIS ACTUAL BLOODY NAME?

HIS REAL NAME IS TOM RIDDLE. HE ISN’T VOLDEMORT AND HE MOST CERTAINLY ISN’T LORD VOLDEMORT.

If you want to show you aren’t scared of big bad Voldemort, you use his proper name that he hated.

Like?!? Why do I need to explain this?!? Why couldn’t that woman do even that much right?!

“Always use the proper name for things~” and then absolutely everyone keeps calling him Voldemort or Lord Voldemort.

‘Yeah, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him, Bill said, but he fought his way out. He’s on the run now, just like us.’

So everyone is on the run and no one is bloody dying and Arthur Weasley is probably still walking free even though the death eaters already know that he’s part of the order.

So in other words, everything is still stupid and random and pointless.

But sure, these books are so ~dark~ and ~mature~.

‘You don’t reckon Kingsley could have sent that doe?’

‘His Patronus is a lynx, we saw it at the wedding, remember?’

Maybe he fell in love and his patronus changed its shape? I’ve heard that happens.

‘Harry … you don’t reckon it could’ve been Dumbledore?’

‘Dumbledore what?’

Ron looked a little embarrassed, but said in a low voice, ‘Dumbledore … the doe? I mean,’ Ron was watching Harry out of the corners of his eyes, ‘he had the real sword last, didn’t he?’

Harry did not laugh at Ron, because he understood too well the longing behind the question. The idea that Dumbledore had managed to come back to them, that he was watching over them, would have been inexpressibly comforting.

Okay, here’s the thing. I guess I more or less get what Rowling was going for with Dumbles — you know, the kind wise old mentor trope — but nothing and I do mean absolutely nothing in what Rowling showed of Dumbles earned that trope. Even if you want to discount Dumbles being the direct root of all evil in these books, he was still an utterly useless sack of dung.

‘I dunno,’ said Ron. ‘Sometimes I’ve thought, when I’ve been a bit hacked off, he was having a laugh or – or he just wanted to make it more difficult. But I don’t think so, not any more. He knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn’t he? He – well,’ Ron’s ears turned bright red and he became engrossed in a tuft of grass at his feet, which he prodded with his toe, ‘he must’ve known I’d run out on you.’

‘No,’ Harry corrected him. ‘He must’ve known you’d always want to come back.’

Well, Ron wouldn’t have needed to come back if Harry hadn’t been so useless as a leader that he ran off in the first place, now would he. So really, it’s all semantics and Dumbles is a fucking useless omniscient creep. An omniscient creep who didn’t deign to explain anything to the morons he left all of his shite on.

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ron at once, ‘people are talking about it quite a lot. ’Course, if things were different, it’d be huge news, Dumbledore being pals with Grindelwald, but now it’s just something to laugh about for people who didn’t like Dumbledore, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who thought he was such a good bloke. I don’t know that it’s such a big deal, though. He was really young when they – ’

‘Our age,’ said Harry, just as he had retorted to Hermione, and something in his face seemed to decide Ron against pursuing the subject.

Let’s see, Harry~. I wonder if I still remember this all.

Severus. Dudley. Draco. Neville. Gilderoy. Dursleys. Marge. Cho. Pansy. Marietta. Montague. Dolores. Crucio. Sectumsempra. Levicorpus. Oppugno.

So none of you fucking talk to me about Dumbles being “your age”.

A large spider sat in the middle of a frosted web in the brambles.

That thing should not be anywhere near frosted webs. Unless we’re already in spring? I wouldn’t put it past these morons.

Harry took aim at it with the wand Ron had given him the previous night, which Hermione had since condescended to examine, and had decided was made of blackthorn.

Of course she did.

‘Engorgio.’

‘Sorry – reducio.’

Boy Wonder’s thirty and thirty-first spell. Hurrah. *monotone*

‘Stop that,’ said Ron sharply. ‘I’m sorry I said Dumbledore was young, OK?’

Harry had forgotten Ron’s hatred of spiders.

Of course he did.

He knew why she wanted it to be all right: she still felt guilty about breaking his wand. He bit back the retort that sprang to his lips: that she could take the blackthorn wand if she thought it made no difference, and he would have hers instead. Keen for them all to be friends again, however, he agreed; but when Ron gave Hermione a tentative smile, she stalked off and vanished behind her book once more.

Like, Rowling seriously fails to convince me that these morons would even stay as friends after school.

Besides, I had the same thought: if it’s all just a matter of confidence then why doesn’t Hermione give her wand to Harry and take the blackthorn wand herself?

Sitting in the entrance, he tried to make the blackthorn wand levitate small stones at his feet: but his magic still seemed clumsier and less powerful than it had done before.

I know that any sort of logic, consistency or thought must’ve been painful for Rowling but:

one) is magic bloody congenital or not?

two) or is it just about the bloody wand?

Hermione was lying on her bunk reading, while Ron, after many nervous glances up at her, had taken a small wooden wireless out of his rucksack and started to try to tune it.

He threw Hermione many covert glances, plainly fearing an angry outburst, but for all the notice she took of him he might not have been there.

Finally Hermione climbed down from her bunk. Ron ceased his tapping at once.

‘If it’s annoying you, I’ll stop!’ he told Hermione nervously.

True love.

Hermione did not deign to respond, but approached Harry.

‘We need to talk,’ she said.

This. She’s been doing this since Book One.

It flew through his mind that there was a chapter on him in there; he was not sure he felt up to hearing Rita’s version of his relationship with Dumbledore.

I, on the other hand, would love to hear what Rita made of your relationship.

. . . he saw that Dumbledore had replaced the ‘A’ of Albus with a tiny version of the same triangular mark inscribed upon The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

The wizarding eye of providence.

I have to say, it doesn’t surprise me. About Dumbles, I mean.

‘It keeps cropping up, doesn’t it?’ she said. ‘I know Viktor said it was Grindelwald’s mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric’s Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can’t ask Dumbledore or Grindelwald what it means – I don’t even know whether Grindelwald’s still alive – but we can ask Mr Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I’m sure this is important, Harry!’

Yes… I’m sure… it’s, like, totally relevant.

Gods of literature, I prithee, never let this woman write again.

Harry did not answer immediately. He looked into her intense, eager face and then out into the surrounding darkness, thinking. After a long pause, he said, ‘Hermione, we don’t need another Godric’s Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and – ’

You’re right, Harry. It’s much more important to just stay in the tent and do nothing but talk.

‘But don’t you think, if it was, Dumbledore would have told me about it before he died?’

Oh my god, Harry.

Tell me one thing that Dumbles told you before the old creep croaked.

‘The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful,’ piped up Ron. ‘I think Hermione’s right, I think we ought to go and see Lovegood.’

Harry threw him a dark look. He was quite sure that Ron’s support of Hermione had little to do with a desire to know the meaning of the triangular rune.

‘Maybe … maybe it’s something you need to find out for yourself,’ said Hermione, with a faint air of clutching at straws.

‘Yeah,’ said Ron sycophantically, ‘that makes sense.’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ snapped Hermione, ‘but I still think we ought to talk to Mr Lovegood. A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grindelwald and Godric’s Hollow? Harry, I’m sure we ought to know about this!’

‘I think we should vote on it,’ said Ron. ‘Those in favour of going to see Lovegood – ’

His hand flew into the air before Hermione’s. Her lips quivered suspiciously as she raised her own.

Yeah. They’re just really getting on that ~intellectual stimulation~. *massive eye roll*

‘Fine,’ said Harry, half-amused, half-irritated. ‘Only, once we’ve seen Lovegood, let’s try and look for some more Horcruxes, shall we?’

YOU HAVEN’T EVEN LOOKED FOR THE FIRST ONE.

And no, the locket doesn’t count because their bloody slave did most of the work.

‘Yeah, they’re not far from my place,’ said Ron. ‘I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point towards the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn’t be hard to find.’

And you didn’t know who Luna is why…?

You know, it would be so easy to rewrite Luna and Ron as childhood friends.

‘You only agreed to try and get back in her good books.’

‘All’s fair in love and war,’ said Ron brightly, ‘and this is a bit of both.’

I’m sure we’ll get to the intellectual stimulation of this relationship any day now.

They had an excellent view of the village of Ottery St Catchpole from the breezy hillside to which they Disapparated next morning. From their high vantage point, the village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great, slanting shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between clouds. They stood for a minute or two looking towards The Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes.

And we never see or hear from these neighbours why…?

‘Well, it’s not like you haven’t just seen them. You were there for Christmas,’ said Hermione coldly.

‘I wasn’t at The Burrow!’ said Ron, with an incredulous laugh. ‘Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I’d walked out on you? Yeah, Fred and George would’ve been great about it. And Ginny, she’d have been really understanding.’

Ron, no! There goes that chapter coda idea. *sighs*

Unless I change it up? Isn’t even unread Ron/Ginny writings better than no writings? Isn’t that how it goes, ha ha?

Besides, I find that utterly stupid. Like, Ron’s problems during that fight were precisely that Harry was utterly useless as a leader and worry for Ginny and his family. And then he supposedly didn’t even go check on them when he was faffing about?

So what was the point?

‘– yeah, I get it, you don’t care!’

Well, evidently you don’t care either, Ron, so what was even the point?

You know what, I’m going to write another Ron/Ginny coda because screw Rowling. This one won’t be explicit (I think I’ll just have them hug) but I don’t think it’ll be platonically deniable either.

‘Bill and Fleur’s new place. Shell Cottage. Bill’s always been decent to me. He – he wasn’t impressed when he heard what I’d done, but he didn’t go on about it. He knew I was really sorry.’

“Bill’s always been decent to me”.

Uh-huh. That’s not sad at all.

‘Aha!’ shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upwards, towards the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great, black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky.

??

Why do I have a hard time imagining that? I wonder if potterwikia has a visual representation.

Well, no. But apparently it’s basically just a tower that’s been made into a house? A black moomin house? The moomin house is honestly one of the prettiest houses I know. If I had the money, I would build a replica and live there.

‘That’s got to be Luna’s house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!’

‘It’s nothing like a bird,’ said Hermione, frowning at the tower.

‘I was talking about a chess rook,’ said Ron. ‘A castle to you.’

They’ll just get right on that intellectual foreplay any day now.

‘Listen, I’ve got a feeling you’d be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods’ window. Let’s try the next lot of hills.’

‘That’s got to be Luna’s house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!’

Ron’s legs were the longest and he reached the top of the hill first. When Harry and Hermione caught up with him, panting and clutching stitches in their sides, they found him grinning broadly.

‘It’s theirs,’ said Ron. ‘Look.’

Honestly? I would much rather get more out of Ron and Luna’s relationship.

Harry thought he recognised a Snargaluff, and gave the wizened stump a wide berth.

Am I forgetting something or why is he avoiding this plant?

Xenophilius did not take Harry’s hand, although the eye that was not pointing inwards at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry’s forehead.

What the hell is that sentence saying??

Delicately made models of creatures Harry did not recognise, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling.

?!?!?!?!

FIC IDEA CONFIRMED.

Before Harry could speak, however, Hermione let out a small cry of shock.

‘Mr Lovegood – what’s that?’

She was pointing at an enormous, grey spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.

‘It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack,’ said Xenophilius.

‘No it isn’t!’ said Hermione.

I really, truly cannot stand Hermione’s entire character.

‘Hermione,’ muttered Harry, embarrassed, ‘now’s not the moment – ’

Harry’s problem is fear of public humiliation, not humbleness.

‘But Harry, it’s an Erumpent horn! It’s a Class B Tradeable Material and it’s an extraordinarily dangerous thing to have in a house!’

‘How d’you know it’s an Erumpent horn?’ asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.

You know, before I started this re-read project I’d already decided that I’m going to kill Hermione off in that Rewrite!AU. But now I’m going to feel so much happiness about it.

‘There’s a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!’

A kind reminder: this was first-year reading material. For a totally unknown class since they didn’t have care of magical creatures until Book Three.

‘Mr Lovegood, I recognise the grooved markings around the base, that’s an Erumpent horn and it’s incredibly dangerous – I don’t know where you got it –’

Hermione’s killing me. I’m serious.

‘Mr Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straight away, don’t you know it can explode at the slightest touch?’

‘I bought it,’ said Xenophilius dogmatically, ‘two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew of my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now,’ he said, turning to Harry, ‘why exactly have you come here, Mr Potter?’

What did Luna say about her mother again?

I wonder if I can find it in potterwikia because I don’t want to rummage through Book Five again.

Potterwikia informs me that she died when her spell backfired on her. But what do you just wanna bet that Xenophilius caused it by his harebrainedness and then lied about it?

His good eye moved again to Harry’s scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerised.

DID I FORGET SOMETHING ABOUT HIS DESCRIPTION?

Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck.

Oh. Okay. He was cross-eyed.

Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said, in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, ‘Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She … she will like to see you. I’ll go and call her and then – yes, very well. I shall try to help you.’

Finally. Some conflict. Some self-interested motivations that have nothing to do with the Boy Wonder. Sweet merciful gods of literature.

‘Cowardly old wart,’ said Ron. ‘Luna’s got ten times his guts.’

‘He’s probably worried about what’ll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here,’ said Harry.

‘Well, I agree with Ron,’ said Hermione. ‘Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm out of it himself.’

*sighs*

Why does it have to be Harry who is reasonable for once?

‘And for heaven’s sake keep away from that horn.’

I’m sure that horn isn’t going to become relevant in the next ten pages.

Harry crossed to the window on the far side of the room. He could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below them at the base of the hill. They were very high up; a bird fluttered past the window as he stared in the direction of The Burrow, now invisible beyond another line of hills.

If the Burrow is visible from the Lovegood house, why aren’t Luna and the Weasleys childhood friends?

Ginny was over there somewhere. They were closer to each other today than they had been since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but she could have no idea he was gazing towards her now, thinking of her.

Harry.

I’m saying this as someone who ships Ginny with her brother but you’re seriously creepy and kind of gross when it comes to her.

‘Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure!‘

So basically… none of you?

You know, considering that:

‘This isn’t magic — it’s logic — a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck in here for ever.’

Maybe Ravenclaw was the house of mudbloods?

But on the other hand, all the earth references are too good to pass in regards to mudbloods and hufflepuff.

‘Finally,’ he pointed to the orange radish, ‘the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary.’

So what’s the wizarding world’s idea of extraordinary?

‘Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?’

Ah ha ha. Title drop.

You know what I should do? I should start reading Moomins again.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirty-one.

‘Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.’