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 – 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-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 Five – Fallen Warrior

*looks at the title*

Rowling really needs to stop teasing me with Hagrid’s death.

Or wait, does the “fallen warrior” refer to Hedwig? No way, right?

Also~ you know what makes the previous chapter even dumber? Moody has an invisibility cloak too — if I recall correctly those instances when I pointed out “and this is why Rowling felt compelled to make Harry’s cloak even MORE special”. So they both could’ve literally donned their invisibility cloaks and apparated out of there.

Or~ have Nymphadora — you know, the metamorphmagus — metamorph into Petunia and have Harry don the invisibility cloak, walk to the end of the street with him and apparate before the death eaters are any wiser. No need for dumb theatrics and spectacle over muggle neighbourhoods.

Well, whatever.

Lara is my best girl. ♡ You know, I really want to write that Lara/Draco fic. It’d be so funny, they’d get up to all sorts of trouble and thwart Dumbles’ well-thought plans, ha ha. I actually got a potential first scene written for it but… hm… I don’t know, it’s probably the writer’s block. I mean, on bad days I abhor my own writing which isn’t conducive to doing it.

I also started this crack fic in which Draco was always a girl but… well, we’ll see. I think I need something like peer support for writing?

He could not understand where Voldemort had gone and expected him to swoop out of the darkness at any moment.

Well, Harry, your life has again been saved from imminent death by sheer luck of circumstance and coincidence, that is to say Rowling Ex Machina.

He crawled out of the pond and stumbled towards the great, dark mass on the ground that was Hagrid.

‘Hagrid? Hagrid, talk to me –’

But the dark mass did not stir.

Oh Rowling, please. As if you’d ever kill off your greatest author’s pet.

His missing tooth had been regrown.

Well, isn’t that lucky. And here I thought Harry would be hence known as the Half-tooth Potter.

A fair-haired, big-bellied man was watching Harry anxiously.

Hm?

Is this going to be our first fairly positive depiction of someone blonde?

And why is Narcissa (probably) the only blonde Black?

‘Hagrid’s fine, son,’ said the man . . .

As I said about Hagrid.

Also! How did they fix him since giants are resistant to magic?

. . . ‘the wife’s seeing to him now. How are you feeling? Anything else broken? I’ve fixed your ribs, your tooth and your arm. I’m Ted, by the way, Ted Tonks – Dora’s father.’

Okay? Is Ted a healer of some sort or…?

‘Arthur Weasley overstretch himself again, him and his Muggle contraptions?’

Again? So there’s something else than the car and the motorbike in this chapter? Or well, the previous since the motorbike is gone.

…..too bad it didn’t take Harry and Hagrid with it.

‘Death Eaters?’ said Ted sharply. ‘What d’you mean, Death Eaters? I thought they didn’t know you were being moved tonight, I thought –’

Ted, didn’t you think that’s always a possibility?

Okay, so he’s dimwitted like everyone else. Let’s see what else he is.

He swung his legs off the sofa; he needed to see Hagrid with his own eyes before he would believe that he was alive.

No, you really don’t.

He had barely stood up, however, when a door opened and Hagrid squeezed through it, his face covered in mud and blood, limping a little but miraculously alive.

Yay. *monotone*

Knocking over two delicate tables and an aspidistra, he covered the floor between them in two strides and pulled Harry into a hug that nearly cracked his newly repaired ribs.

‘Blimey, Harry, how did yeh get out o’ that? I thought we were both goners.’

As she moved forwards into the room, Mrs Tonks’s resemblance to her sister Bellatrix became much less pronounced: her hair was a light, soft brown and her eyes were wider and kinder. Nevertheless, she looked a little haughty after Harry’s exclamation.

Oh, does she? Does she “look a little haughty” after Harry rudely shouted “You!” at her and went for his wand?

What a hussy!

A mixture of fear and guilt gripped Harry at the sight of their expressions; if any of the others had died, it was his fault, all his fault. He had consented to the plan, given them his hair …

Well, Harry, if you really feel that way, why didn’t you just don your nifty little invisibility cloak and travel to the Burrow by your lonesome?

I mean, the charm was going to break once he comes of age, right? And once he comes of age, he can use magic as much as he wants? And he has already practised apparition even if he didn’t earn his licence.

‘Dora’ll be OK, Dromeda,’ said Ted.

Andromeda seriously married a man who calls her Dromeda? You know what that reminds me of? Dromedary.

And this! is why you don’t need to give nicknames to every character.

‘The Portkey’s through here,’ he added to Harry. ‘It’s supposed to leave in three minutes, if you want to take it.’

Why doesn’t it just leave if he touches it? And does that mean that if Harry didn’t touch it, it would leave by its lonesome unlike Harry who, for sure, feels “a mixture of fear and guilt”?

He looked at Mrs Tonks, wanting to apologise for the state of fear in which he left her and for which he felt so terribly responsible, but no words occurred to him that did not seem hollow and insincere.

Harry, please.

You’ve never cared before, stop pretending you care now.

‘I’ll tell Tonks – Dora – to send word, when she … thanks for patching us up, thanks for everything. I –’

You know what Hogwarts should teach kids?

Oracy.

‘Wait a moment,’ said Hagrid, looking around. ‘Harry, where’s Hedwig?’

‘She … she got hit,’ said Harry.

You mean you EXPLODED her, Harry?

Because dear lord, it’s not like you can explode the actual death eaters who are trying to kill you? Much better to explode your dear beloved owl?

The realisation crashed over him: he felt ashamed of himself as the tears stung his eyes. The owl had been his companion, his one great link with the magical world whenever he had been forced to return to the Dursleys.

Ha ha, Harry.

Please.

In the past six books, you have not once demonstrably cared about your owl. In Book Two you ignored her for months and months after she was mad at you for the car crash. In all the books, you’ve never once gone to visit her — aside from that one time when Rowling wanted you to bump into Cho so you could flirt with her over Cedric’s death some more. You were always snappy and rude and never gave her treats for a job well done. And even in the previous chapter in which she finally died, you spend the entire time ignoring her and talking about yourself.

So really, get over yourself.

‘Never mind,’ he said gruffly. ‘Never mind. She had a great old life –’

With Harry?

Because that’s a total lie if there ever was one.

‘Hagrid!’ said Ted Tonks warningly, as the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and Hagrid only just got his forefinger to it in time.

Hm? Did the previous portkeys glow blue? Do I really have to dig them up?

It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards.

— Book Four, Chapter Six

Harry felt the familiar sensation of a hook being jerked behind his navel.

— Book Five, Chapter Thirty-seven

No blue glow for these ones. But just to be fair

they could’ve magicked a sort of alarm on the portkey this time.

Throwing aside the no longer glowing hairbrush . . .

Harry! That thing was silver! Don’t throw it away, you nitwit!

‘The Death Eaters were waiting for us,’ Harry told her. ‘We were surrounded the moment we took off – they knew it was tonight – I don’t know what happened to anyone else. Four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us –’

He could hear the self-justifying note in his voice, the plea for her to understand why he did not know what had happened to her sons, but –

Harry, please. As if Molly’s going to care if you got her whole family killed.

‘Thank goodness you’re all right,’ she said, pulling him into a hug he did not feel he deserved.

As I said.

And you know what? Here’s Harry, feeling “guilt” about stuff that isn’t his fault when he has not once felt guilt about stuff that actually is his fault. This is just further narcissism.

Moreover! If Harry feels such tremendous guilt about “endangering” others, then why didn’t he don his nifty little invisibility cloak and leave the Dursleys by his lonesome? As he implied he was going to do at the end of Book Six.

“Lord Voldemort personally wants me dead. What would aurors do about that?” he said, and then he was going to use Moody’s help anyway?

Moody “I’ve Lost Twice to Death Eaters”?

She could have summoned it by magic, but as she hurried back towards the crooked house Harry knew that she wanted to hide her face.

Well, Harry, it’s not like you lot are in a hurry to use magic even when you aren’t emotionally upset?

‘Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it came back without them,’ she said, pointing at a rusty oilcan lying on the ground nearby. ‘And that one,’ she pointed at an ancient plimsoll, ‘should have been Dad and Fred’s, they were supposed to be second. You and Hagrid were third and,’ she checked her watch, ‘if they made it, George and Lupin ought to be back in about a minute.’

It’s a shame that none of them died.

Well, at least I have deaths to look forward to! Such as, Dobby, Lupin, Nymphadora, Fred… *sighs happily*

Almost all the characters I despise.

Mrs Weasley reappeared carrying a bottle of brandy, which she handed to Hagrid. He uncorked it and drank it straight down in one.

Oh right, more alcohol.

A blue light had appeared in the darkness: it grew larger and brighter, and Lupin and George appeared, spinning and then falling.

WHY ARE THE PORTKEYS SUDDENLY GLOWING BLUE?

Harry ran forwards and seized George’s legs. Together, he and Lupin carried George into the house and through the kitchen to the sitting room, where they laid him on the sofa.

You lot have magic? I can’t say for sure, but I would imagine that a wingardium leviosa would be a better way to carry him? Or that other one, what was it again, mobilicorpus?

Oh, and Harry finally manages to be useful. By being a grunt.

I honestly…

Why couldn’t these books be written by someone competent and self-aware?

As the lamplight fell across George’s head, Ginny gasped and Harry’s stomach lurched: one of George’s ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.

Oh no! *monotone*

No sooner had Mrs Weasley bent over her son than Lupin grabbed Harry by the upper arm and dragged him, none too gently, back into the kitchen, where Hagrid was still attempting to ease his bulk through the back door.

‘Oi!’ said Hagrid indignantly. ‘Le’ go of him! Le’ go of Harry!’

Lupin ignored him.

‘What creature sat in the corner, the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?’ he said, giving Harry a small shake. ‘Answer me!’

‘A – a Grindylow in a tank, wasn’t it?’

Lupin released Harry and fell back against a kitchen cupboard.

You lot still have magic? Use some imperius or imposter-detecting spell, why won’t you?

‘I’m sorry, Harry, but I had to check,’ said Lupin tersely. ‘We’ve been betrayed. Voldemort knew that you were being moved tonight and the only people who could have told him were directly involved in the plan. You might have been an impostor.’

SO WHY AREN’T YOU CHECKING EVERYONE, LUPIN? SUCH AS YOURSELF?

Brain cells. Dying in agony.

‘None of the Order would have told Voldemort we were moving tonight,’ said Harry: the idea was dreadful to him, he could not believe it of any of them.

Imperius, Harry.

Polyjuice.

It’s not like they need to be willing servants to still serve Tommy?

‘Voldemort caught up with you?’ said Lupin sharply. ‘What happened? How did you escape?’

Rowling ex machina.

Like, please. Stop lampshading.

For the love of Muses.

‘They recognised you? But how? What had you done?’

He used the expelliarmus. AS IF NO ONE IN THE HISTORY OF EVER HAS USED THAT SPELL BEFORE ASIDE FROM HARRY.

Like!!!!

IT’S NOT LIKE IT’S EVEN HARRY’S TRADEMARK SPELL! OH NO, HE IS MUCH MORE FOND OF SECTUMSEMPRA AND CRUCIO.

Or was until he found out that sectumsempra came from Severus.

Oh, and speaking of: so Severus is, in fact, demonstrably the greatest wizard in these books? I mean, none of these other morons have come up with new spells or new, improved ways to make potions — which Severus then didn’t proceed to teach. As the potions master.

SEVERUS FOR MINISTER OF MAGIC.

‘Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you aren’t prepared to kill!’

And for once I actually agree with Lupin.

‘We were hundreds of feet up! Stan’s not himself, and if I Stunned him and he’d fallen he’d have died the same as if I’d used Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus saved me from Voldemort two years ago,’ Harry added defiantly.

Harry, you are just genuinely…

Brain cells. Dying in agony. But okay.

One) So only Draco and Severus deserve the use of spells that are for “enemies”.

Two) Even if Stan wasn’t “imperiused”, it wouldn’t mean that he’s willingly fighting for Tommy. He could just as well be doing it under duress — like most soldiers on the fucking field.

Or do you think that every soldier who goes to war on behalf of elites wants to be dying and killing for them?

Three) It wasn’t expelliarmus that saved you, you utter nitwit. It was your fucking wand. You could’ve literally used any spell — like, say, the avada kedavra — and still got the same results.

Four) You literally cannot fight a “war” without killing your enemies.

And you know, it’s not like any of these characters are pacifists? I mean, Rowling has never brought it up and had them make the conscious decision not to kill or harm. In fact, hitherto they’ve had tremendous fun harming everyone around them but suddenly when they’re at war

it’s all “oh dear, I can’t possibly harm the people who are trying to kill me!”?

No, at that point it’s much better to explode your own dear beloved owl than possibly incapacitate enemy combatants?

The Brothers Lionheart by Astrid Lindgren did the subject of pacificism a lot better than Rowling could ever hope to manage — and it was still stupid even there.

Lupin was reminding him of the sneering Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith, who had jeered at Harry for wanting to teach Dumbledore’s Army how to Disarm.

Oh yeah, but they’re totally close. For reals.

‘Yes, Harry,’ said Lupin with painful restraint, ‘and a great number of Death Eaters witnessed that happening! Forgive me, but it was a very unusual move then, under imminent threat of death.’

Look, Lupin, it’s not like any of you — death eaters included — have been busily using killing or stunning spells? In fact, I distinctly remember being irritated about this in all of the previous books.

So save it, let’s move on.

‘So you think I should have killed Stan Shunpike?’ said Harry angrily.

YES.

And if you’re so inclined, an anti-imperius spell works too. If you can block cruciatus and avada kedavra, there’s no reason why you can’t have an anti-imperius spell.

‘Of course not,’ said Lupin, ‘but the Death Eaters – frankly, most people! – would have expected you to attack back! Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become so!’

IT’S NOT EVEN HIS SIGNATURE MOVE.

Harry was literally more enamoured with sectumsempra and cruciatus until he found that the former came from Severus.

Like???? What even is this??? Why are we having this harebrained dialogue??

‘I won’t blast people out of my way just because they’re there,’ said Harry. ‘That’s Voldemort’s job.’

DO I REALLY NEED TO DIG UP SIX BOOKS WORTH OF YOU BLASTING OTHER PEOPLE OUT OF THE WAY JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE THERE AT THIS MOMENT?

Harry has NEVER been a pacifist. This is the same utter moron who has enjoyed other people’s fear, discomfort and panic since Book One, his friends’ included. This is the same utter moron whose first instinct towards hurt and anger is to torture the source of it. This is the same utter moron who almost murdered a kid then cared more about some inanimate object and quidditch, and proceeded to use the same spell against zombies.

“But my quidditch!” Harry said while literally standing in the pool of someone’s blood that he caused.

But now he suddenly cares about some fucking random bus driver he saw once?

‘I think so, although there’s no chance of replacing his ear, not when it’s been cursed off –’

What a shame. *monotone*

Hermione flung herself into Harry’s arms . . .

Hermione, cease these overwrought displays of emotion. *eye roll*

Come to think of it, when did she start doing this? I kind of vaguely recall that she did this in Book One before Harry traipsed into the stone’s chamber that didn’t need him?

Moreover, does Harry ever hug her back? Because the narrative certainly makes no mention of it, ha ha.

I can just imagine him standing there like a log of wood.

my fancy artistic rendition

. . . but Kingsley showed no pleasure at the sight of any of them. Over Hermione’s shoulder Harry saw him raise his wand and point it at Lupin’s chest.

‘The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us?’

‘“Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,”’ said Lupin calmly.

For the love of gods with this abyss of stupidity.

Ha ha, and come to think of it: it’s not like “the best hope” means much? Especially if Harry is the only hope they have?

‘Followed by five, injured two, might’ve killed one,’ Kingsley reeled off, ‘and we saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through, but vanished pretty quickly. Remus, he can –’

‘Fly,’ supplied Harry.

Yeah. And honestly, it was kind of funny but apparently Rowling wanted it to be impressive.

Although! to be fair

ancient Asian philosophers (I don’t recall if it was just the Chinese) could fly on clouds. So Tommy flying like an overgrown bat could’ve been a reference to that oooor I’m giving Rowling too much credit.

‘Hermione, there’s obviously been a mass breakout which the Ministry has hushed up. Travers’s hood fell off when I cursed him, he’s supposed to be inside too.’

Oh? Is Travers that one death eater I rather liked?

‘Where’s George?’

‘He lost an ear,’ said Lupin.

‘Lost an –?’ repeated Hermione in a high voice.

‘Snape’s work,’ said Lupin.

REALLY?

Oh, Severus, I was always quite fond of you.

Too bad he didn’t take the other ear while he was at it. You know, for balance.

‘He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a speciality of Snape’s. I wish I could say I’d paid him back in kind . . .’

Well, I’m sure you’ve already paid him back in full in school, Lupin. You know, when you were bullying him and almost ate him?

Where was Ron? Where were Fred and Mr Weasley? Where were Bill, Fleur, Tonks, Mad-Eye and Mundungus?

Who cares? This whole excursion was dumb as hell.

Aspiring authors, it’s easier to care when things go belly up in your story if the initial plan was at least intelligent. So the exact opposite of everything happening in Harry Potters.

‘Thank goodness,’ Ginny whispered. They looked at each other; Harry wanted to hug her, hold on to her; he did not even care much that Mrs Weasley was there, but before he could act on the impulse there was a great crash from the kitchen.

Here’s another word of advice: character behaviour isn’t just what the character wants to do or thinks about doing, it’s actually what the author lets them follow through on.

Also, my interest in Harry/Ginny is in the negative.

‘I’ll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I’ve seen my son, now back off if you know what’s good for you!’

Harry had never heard Mr Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured.

Of course he’s displaying this emotion for one of the Sociopathic Twins.

How did they react when Bill’s face got chewed? From what I remember there wasn’t all that much of a fuss?

Mr Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin’s wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

The Sociopathic Twin is speechless. Will the wonders ever cease.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ croaked Fred, looking terrified. ‘Is his mind affected?’

Like, before or after the curse? Because I gotta tell you, you’ve all been affected since Book One.

‘Saint-like,’ repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. ‘You see … I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?’

Ahahahaha.

Harry glanced at Ginny and motioned to her to accompany him back outside.

What is she, a dog?

As they walked down the back steps into the dark yard, Ginny took his hand.

Aww, isn’t that sweet?

I almost care.

*massive eye roll*

‘Remus!’ Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin’s arms. His face was set and white: he seemed unable to speak. Ron tripped dazedly towards Harry and Hermione.

‘You’re OK,’ he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly.

And I almost care about this too. *eye roll*

‘’M all right,’ said Ron, patting her on the back. ‘’M fine.’

You know, Lavender aside, Ron is honestly a better boyfriend than Harry.

I mean, here:

Harry said nothing. He had been trying to keep fear at bay ever since reaching The Burrow, but now it enveloped him, seeming to crawl over his skin, throbbing in his chest, clogging his throat. As they walked down the back steps into the dark yard, Ginny took his hand.

Like, it’s totally possible that Ginny is holding Harry’s hand because it comforts her too but it’s pretty obvious that narratively it’s all about Harry. And he doesn’t do anything back or even think about the fact that her brother just got his ear cursed off. Just like he wasn’t all that interested when Bill’s face got chewed.

‘Ron was great,’ said Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin. ‘Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you’re aiming at a moving target from a flying broom –’

‘You did?’ said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck.

‘Always the tone of surprise,’ he said a little grumpily, breaking free.

Ron, please. Get yourself a girl who actually likes you.

‘No,’ said Ginny, ‘we’re still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and Mundungus. I’m going to tell Mum and Dad you’re OK, Ron –’

She ran back inside.

Ha ha. I’m already on Book Seven and I still find the totally nonexistent Ron/Ginny cuter than anything to do with Ron/Hermione or Harry/Ginny.

These books.

‘Bellatrix,’ said Tonks. ‘She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus, she tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d got her, I owe Bellatrix.’

What on earth do you owe Bellatrix? Or wait, wasn’t she fighting her before Bellatrix killed her useless cousin?

‘I’m going to have to get back to Downing Street. I should have been there an hour ago,’ said Kingsley finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky.

Totally random question, by the way: but is Kingsley his first or last name? Because Harry generally calls men by their last names so why would he call this random auror by his first name? But Shacklebolt certainly doesn’t sound like a first name?

Mrs Weasley ran forwards, but the hug Bill bestowed upon her was perfunctory. Looking directly at his father, he said, ‘Mad-Eye’s dead.’

What, I totally didn’t remember that Moody died too! The absolute glee I’m feeling right now!

Well, I guess it is a bit unfair to blame Moody for Fake-Moody’s behaviour. But on the other hand, that could’ve been mitigated if Rowling had at any point mentioned it was OOC of him to attack a terrified child.

So as it is, cheers it shall be.

Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was falling, falling through the earth, leaving him forever.

Harry, please.

‘We saw it,’ said Bill; Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the light from the kitchen window. ‘It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort – he can fly – went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backwards off his broom and – there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail –’

You know… for a legendary auror, Moody really wasn’t all that. We’ve seen or heard of him going up against death eaters only three times and every single one of those times he’s lost.

And Bill, you silly goose, of course there was something you could’ve done: you could’ve exploded Moody’s body as a diversion like Harry did with his owl. Did you even think of that?

‘Of course you couldn’t have done anything,’ said Lupin.

Confringo. *sotto voce*

Harry could not quite comprehend it. Mad-Eye dead; it could not be … Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor …

Harry, please.

Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief: she had been close to Mad-Eye, Harry knew, his favourite and his protégée at the Ministry of Magic.

Really?

Wasn’t Moody retired?

Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of Firewhisky and some glasses.

‘Here,’ he said, and with a wave of his wand he sent twelve full glasses soaring through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. ‘Mad-Eye.’

‘Mad-Eye,’ they all said, and drank.

Oh my god.

Can we end this chapter already?

The Firewhisky seared Harry’s throat: it seemed to burn feeling back into him, dispelling the numbness and sense of unreality, firing him with something that was like courage.

It’s a good thing they’re starting Harry on this path to alcoholism.

‘So Mundungus disappeared?’ said Lupin, who had drained his own glass in one.

I mean… wasn’t that obvious? The dude very evidently did not even want to be there and yet you dragged him there anyway? For what? For out of sheer petty mean-spiritedness like Ron and Harry did with Gilderoy?

The atmosphere changed at once: everybody looked tense, watching Lupin, both wanting him to go on, it seemed to Harry, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.

Lupin? Wasn’t it Bill telling that story?

‘They didn’t know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you’ve forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit of skullduggery.’

Oh.

Well, that explains things.

Why three aurors need a petty thief to come up with their plans is beyond me, though.

‘I think Dung panicked, it’s as simple as that. He didn’t want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them: it was enough to make anyone panic.’

No!

Who could’ve ever guessed!

She [Fleur] glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face . . .

Harry, please.

EVERY BLOODY TIME. AND STILL NOT ONCE FOR GINNY.

Harry glanced at Hagrid, who had just risked his own life to save Harry’s – Hagrid, whom he loved, whom he trusted, who had once been tricked into giving Voldemort crucial information in exchange for a dragon’s egg …

Uh-huh.

Sure, Harry.

Love and trust.

That’s exactly how I’d describe your relationship.

*massive eye roll*

‘No,’ Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised: the Firewhisky seemed to have amplified his voice. ‘I mean … if somebody made a mistake,’ Harry went on, ‘and let something slip, I know they didn’t mean to do it. It’s not their fault,’ he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken.

Oh my god. Can we stop already?

‘We’ve got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don’t think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort.’

They might not even be doing it willingly or knowingly, Harry.

More silence followed his words. They were all looking at him; Harry felt a little hot again, and drank some more Firewhisky for something to do. As he drank, he thought of Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye had always been scathing about Dumbledore’s willingness to trust people.

Oh well, if Dumbles did it.

Besides, Dumbles did not trust people. Because Dumbles surrounded himself only with unthinking pawns. Like the above moron.

‘Yeah, ’ear, ’ear,’ said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched.

You know, if I even the slightest bit cared about these Sociopathic Twins, I might’ve given an indulgent chuckle.

Lupin was wearing an odd expression as he looked at Harry: it was close to pitying.

‘You think I’m a fool?’ demanded Harry.

‘No, I think you’re like James,’ said Lupin, ‘who would have regarded it as the height of dishonour to mistrust his friends.’

Lupin.

You were the only one who didn’t know or wasn’t in on the Plan.

So quite obviously there was a friend that James mistrusted.

Can you puzzle out who it was?

Never mind that both you and Sirius believed the other to be a death eater, and one of you was an actual death eater, so how about we just — leave you stellar friends out of this?

Harry knew what Lupin was getting at: that his father had been betrayed by his friend, Peter Pettigrew.

As we already established way back in Book Three, none of the previous Golden Foursome were friends. Except for Sirius and James, I guess.

He felt irrationally angry. He wanted to argue . . .

Oh, Harry. You’re always irrationally angry and you always want to argue. Because you’re stupid.

‘Mad-Eye’s body,’ said Lupin. ‘We need to recover it.’

‘Can’t it –?’ began Mrs Weasley, with an appealing look at Bill.

‘Wait?’ said Bill. ‘Not unless you’d rather the Death Eaters took it?’

Well, I mean… *shrugs*

I don’t care?

The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence.

Please. Spare me.

The Wonderful Adventures of Nils by Selma Lagerlöf wrote about death far better than Rowling could ever hope to manage. Because Rowling can barely write to save her life.

‘I’ve got to go too,’ said Harry.

Harry, they all just risked their lives to get you there and now you want to leave? Why didn’t you think of this before you went back to the Dursleys?

Maybe then I could’ve been spared all this needless stupidity and drama.

‘Where’s Hedwig, Harry?’ she said coaxingly. ‘We can put her up with Pigwidgeon and give her something to eat.’

Ha ha, she died and Harry exploded her. Because better to explode your dear beloved pet than attack people who are trying to murder you.

‘Wait ’til it gets out yeh did it again, Harry,’ said Hagrid. ‘Escaped him, fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!’

‘It wasn’t me,’ said Harry flatly. ‘It was my wand. My wand acted of its own accord.’

my fancy artistic rendition

Like, imagine actually telling that.

“Oh, trust Harry. He’s our only hope.”

And then the dumb brat can’t even fight Tommy off but his wand does it for him.

I would’ve stopped following him right about now.

After a few moments, Hermione said gently, ‘But that’s impossible, Harry. You mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively.’

Oh, trust me, Hermione. That happens quite a lot with him. Because Harry certainly doesn’t get anything done of his own accord.

my fancy artistic rendition

‘The bike was falling, I couldn’t have told you where Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and found him and shot a spell at him, and it wasn’t even a spell I recognised. I’ve never made gold flames appear before.’

my fancy artistic rendition

‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Harry through gritted teeth. His scar was burning: he felt angry and frustrated; he hated the idea that they were all imagining him to have power to match Voldemort’s.

Don’t worry, Harry, I’ve never imagined you to have power whether it matches Tommy’s or not.

Now that he came to think of it, he had never heard of a wand performing magic on its own before.

That’s because you’re such a special little log of wood, Harry. You silly goose.

Dumbledore would have believed him, he knew it. Dumbledore would have known how and why Harry’s wand had acted independently, because Dumbledore always had the answers; he had known about wands, had explained to Harry the strange connection that existed between his wand and Voldemort’s … but Dumbledore, like Mad-Eye, like Sirius, like his parents, like his poor owl, all were gone where Harry could never talk to them again. He felt a burning in his throat that had nothing to do with Firewhisky …

Harry, please.

It’s Book Seven. No one cares or buys this anymore.

Never mind that Dumbles consistently withheld pertinent information from you so I hardly care about the meaningless crap that he did answer.

‘You told me the problem would be solved by using another’s wand!’

Tommy, please. Cease these histrionics.

‘Explain, then, what happened. Lucius’s wand is destroyed!’

Oh no. Poor Lucius.

‘I cannot understand … the connection … exists only … between your two wands …’

Well, what a curious mystery it is then!

And I almost care!

It was over as quickly as it had come: Harry stood shaking in the darkness, clutching the gate into the garden, his heart racing, his scar still tingling. It was several moments before he realised that Ron and Hermione were at his side.

Look, even here. Rowling had a perfect and ample opportunity to show Ginny as a comfort to Harry and she — yet again — opts for Ron and Hermione.

So. Why should I care about Harry/Ginny or Ginny in relation to Harry? Because she’s still practically nonexistent?

‘But it was supposed to have stopped! Your scar – it wasn’t supposed to do this any more! You mustn’t let that connection open up again – Dumbledore wanted you to close your mind!’

Did Dumbles really?

‘Harry, he’s taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the wizarding world! Don’t let him inside your head too!’

Does he?

And what do you know, I still don’t care even if he does!

Harry’s spell count so far: twenty-eight.

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

You know, yesterday I re-read the first chapter of Book One and I was still struck by how badly written it is. There’s no coherency or thought to the world building and that was just the first chapter. Vernon was still cute, though, ha ha.

---

WordPress spazzed out again and got stuck on autosaving the draft. I had to redo this post so I hope I got all the Harry Potter passages coloured.

Chapter Nine – The Half-Blood Prince

Well, this is a little late but happy Yule, everyone!

…..it’s almost the end of the year and not only am I still stuck on these books, I also haven’t managed to write anything of note. ( 〃．．)

That said, Rowling is already mentioning the half-blood prince, that foreshadowing little genius~.

(And yes, I’m being sarcastic.)

‘Well,’ she said uncertainly, ‘I don’t know … it would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is …’

Is it really? I mean, I do remember him bragging when he has something to brag about. But otherwise? Not really?

‘It’s rude to point,’ Ron snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggered.

Good thing it’s only Draco who bullies the first-years, eh.

‘I love being a sixth-year. And we’re going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax.’

Right. Because all of those eleven subjects are such a chore.

Just saying, but I had more subjects when I was in middle school.

Privileged twats.

‘We’re going to need that time for studying, Ron!’ said Hermione, as they set off down the corridor.

You know, Hermione is actually a really boring character.

Ron is the most complex character out of the trio — or well, when Rowling isn’t deliberately hammering him down to prop up the two failed morons.

Hermione’s remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron’s remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looked rather pleased with himself.

Aw, Lavender is actually quite cute. Ron does deserve someone who likes him.

‘But he can’t really think we’d continue Care of Magical Creatures!’ she said, looking distressed. ‘I mean, when has any of us expressed … you know … any enthusiasm?’

Oh I don’t know, how about the multimillion times when you just had to defend him and keep him on the job —

— and you know what, I can’t. I can’t summon the energy. So I’ll just say this: fuck these morons and fuck these books.

Neither Harry nor Hermione answered; there was no need. They knew perfectly well that nobody in their year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures. They avoided Hagrid’s eye and returned his cheery wave only half-heartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.

I hope these characters die. Like, they were so adamant that no one point out Hagrid’s many many failings as a teacher so he can keep the stupid position, only to ruin the subject for everyone else, and then these stupid twats drop the subject themselves anyway.

The distribution of timetables was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

??

Shouldn’t she already have this information? It’s not like the timetables are made on this exact morning or minute?

Neville looked miserable and muttered something about ‘my grandmother wants’.

‘My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option,’ mumbled Neville.

NEVILLE, YOUR GRANDMOTHER IS A COMPLETE HAG AND SHOULD NOT BE LISTENED TO.

‘So, Potter, Potter …’ said Professor McGonagall, consulting her notes as she turned to Harry. ‘Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration … all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven’t you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?’

‘It was, but you told me I had to get an “Outstanding” in my O.W.L., Professor.’

‘And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with “Exceeds Expectations” at O.W.L. Do you wish to proceed with Potions?’

Oh. How convenient.

Dear gods, if Harry had to actually earn anything.

They returned to the common room, which was empty apart from half a dozen seventh-years including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year.

So since Lee is no longer in school, and Lee was the same age as the Sociopathic Twins, does that mean that Katie was one year younger than the Sociopathic Twins? But why do I have the feeling that Alicia was pretty young too?

Oh, no, wait. She was in fourth year in Book Two. Never mind then.

‘I thought you’d get that, well done,’ she called over, pointing at the Captain’s badge on Harry’s chest. ‘Tell me when you call trials!’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Harry, ‘you don’t need to try out, I’ve watched you play for five years …’

‘You mustn’t start off like that,’ she said warningly. ‘For all you know, there’s someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before now because captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends …’

Gryffindors are, like, aware that reserve players are a thing?

No, wait. They’re Gryffindors. Of course they aren’t.

Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.

He’s so extra, ha ha.

‘The Dark Arts,’ said Snape, ‘are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible.’

Hydra. It’s called a hydra. I’m sure you can use the word.

Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice?

Don’t be so judgemental, Harry. All people have their kinks.

‘An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6,’ said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered) . . .

My favourite dork is sharing the class!

‘Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting.’

Why not start by whispering the spells? Or, like, do you have to shout them out all the time?

‘Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some,’ his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry once more, ‘lack.’

I DON’T EVEN CARE, I HAVE SO MUCH ADMIRATION FOR THIS MAN.

Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville’s muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word, a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, thought Harry bitterly, but which Snape ignored.

You know, I find Hermione so tiresome as a character that I’m going to kill her off. Well, I already planned to kill her off before my re-read project but re-reading the books has only reinforced that idea.

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of non-verbal spells forgotten he yelled, ‘Protego!’

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance . . .

Of course it is. *massive eye roll*

‘He tried to jinx me, in case you didn’t notice!’ fumed Harry.

Well, Harry… I hate to say it (not really), but you were in the middle of class in which you were supposed to practise jinxes and counter-jinxes or whatever they’re called.

What’s Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defence? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff –’

‘Well,’ said Hermione, ‘I thought he sounded a bit like you.’

‘Like me?’

‘Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorising a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts – well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?’

That is possibly the biggest insult that Severus has ever got.

Harry looked round; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on the previous year’s Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying towards him holding a roll of parchment.

‘For you,’ panted Sloper. ‘Listen, I heard you’re the new Captain. When’re you holding trials?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ said Harry, thinking privately that Sloper would be very lucky to get back on the team. ‘I’ll let you know.’

Reserve players. They’re still a thing. Even if they can’t play in games, at least they get to practise and possibly become better.

‘Oh, right. I was hoping it’d be this weekend –’ But Harry was not listening; he had just recognised the thin, slanting writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence, he hurried away with Ron and Hermione, unrolling the parchment as he went.

He’s going to be a tremendous captain, he is.

‘Ha! Snape’s not going to be pleased … I won’t be able to do his detention!’

I am sure the detention can be moved to another day?

He, Ron and Hermione spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry. Ron thought it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the type the Death Eaters would not know. Hermione said such things were illegal, and thought it much more likely that Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry advanced defensive magic.

You know, sometimes I almost pity these morons.

And then I remember I hate them. (Well, okay, I don’t hate Ron. Ron is a sweetheart most of the time.)

After break, she went off to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron returned to the common room, where they grudgingly started Snape’s homework. This turned out to be so complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period (though she considerably speeded up the process).

Our future aurors, everyone.

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy.

Who are these four Slytherins, Harry? Why can’t you pay attention to other people? You’ve had the same class with them for five years, you moron.

And there’s usually a roll call.

Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.

Wow. What a ringing endorsement.

‘Harry,’ Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, ‘didn’t get a chance to speak in Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old DA lags … and how are you, Ron – Hermione?’

…..so basically, Ernie is just a hufflepuff Percy?

Before they could say more than ‘fine’, the dungeon door opened and Slughorn’s belly preceded him out of the door.

Uh-huh. At least Slughorn isn’t an underage boy.

As they filed into the room, his great walrus moustache curved above his beaming mouth and he greeted Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

Okay. So Zabini is one of the four Slytherins. That leaves us two.

The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws.

♡

They chose the one nearest a gold-coloured cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at The Burrow.

Wow… I just… Well,

one) I just really don’t think the combination of those scents would smell particularly good

and two) like, I get what Rowling is trying to do — “foreshadowing” — but at the same time my first reaction was that Harry is a total creep sniffing Ginny’s perfume or something.

Like, he goes from total indifference and exclusion to suddenly “OM NOM NOM, GINNY SMELLS SO GOOD”?

And more hilariously, he still isn’t actually associating the scent with Ginny.

And you know, since this isn’t an actual love potion but a potion of obsession, can I take it as subtext that Harry does not, in fact, love Ginny? (I mean, it’s pretty obvious that Harry doesn’t love anyone, least of all Ginny but…)

‘Now then,’ said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest, so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off . . .

‘And the steam rising in characteristic spirals,’ said Hermione enthusiastically, ‘and it’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and –’

Hey, don’t stop there. I want to know what Ron smells like.

‘Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?’

‘No, I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see.’

Well, for Hermione to be a muggleborn witch, she has to have someone magical in her family tree somewhere. But I suppose Rowling is as bad at that as she’s at math.

Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered . . .

Aha! Nott is the third of the four Slytherins. I hope the last one is a girl. Maybe Morag.

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face.

Slapped.

She had slapped Malfoy around the face with all the strength she could muster.

And as a kind reminder: boys, you have no obligation to put up with violence from girls just because they’re girls.

‘Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it’s a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,’ said Slughorn. ‘Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavours tend to succeed … at least until the effects wear off.’

Or you could, you know, just be Harry Potter. That works tremendously well too.

‘Why don’t people drink it all the time, sir?’ said Terry Boot eagerly.

Terry Boot is here too. Now just three more Ravenclaw names to go. I know you can do it, Harry.

‘Have you ever taken it, sir?’ asked Michael Corner with great interest.

And now we have Michael Corner…

…is Hermione the only girl in this class?

Because fuck that.

To his annoyance he saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending low to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out) . . .

And fuck this rubbish too.

Okay. So, if anyone has been reading these, you probably know already that I can’t stand Rowling’s writing or Harry’s character?

Like, Harry is an indolent narcissistic moron who can’t think his way out of a wet paper bag and only gets ahead on the coattails of other more competent people and Rowling ex machinas, also known as luck. That’s all he has. Because certainly he does not have the talent or hard work or intelligence to fill a thimble.

So, the obvious solution is to luckily change potions professors, who luckily accept students who got less than outstanding, then luckily give Harry Severus’ old potions book, which luckily contains his better ways to brew potions, which luckily and evidently haven’t been taught by him or other professors to everyone because these people are useless morons, and which luckily Harry can use to win the fucking luck potion. His whole fucking life is already a string of lucky coincidences, and now we’re giving him a luck potion on a string of lucky coincidences. Because he sure as hell wouldn’t have won that thing on his own merits.

You know what’s the thing about aristocracy?

. . . from aristos “best of its kind, noblest, bravest, most virtuous” . . . — source: aristocracy

And I’m not saying that aristocracy always worked that way, but it sure as hell beats this neo-aristocracy that Rowling is going for with Harry.

Like, instead of having the rule of the best let’s have the rule of nepotistic incompetence and luck.

Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the ‘smooth, blackcurrant-coloured liquid’ mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

And frankly speaking, I hate this girl too.

Having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribbles of the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the Sopophorous Bean and had written in the alternative instruction:

Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting.

And then he’s too stupid to even recognise the merit of Severus’ margins until he narratively has to.

He could tell that Malfoy had expected to be treated like Harry or Zabini; perhaps even hoped for some preferential treatment of the type he had learned to expect from Snape. It looked as though Malfoy would have to rely on nothing but talent to win the bottle of Felix Felicis.

You know what? Fuck Harry, fuck these books and fuck Rowling’s fucking oblivious rubbish too.

LIKE! HOW DOES SOMEONE WRITE SUCH OBLIVIOUS FUCKING RUBBISH WITHOUT A HINT OF SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS? HOW DOES SOMEONE WRITE THE COMPLETE FUCKING INVERSION OF WHAT THEY’RE ACTUALLY SHOWING?

His annoyance with the previous owner vanishing on the spot, Harry now squinted at the next line of instructions. According to the book, he had to stir counter-clockwise until the potion turned clear as water. According to the addition the previous owner had made, however, he ought to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counter-clockwise stir. Could the old owner be right twice?

OH BUT ISN’T IT SO FUCKING WONDERFUL THAT DRACO HAS TO WIN WITH HIS OWN TALENT UNLIKE OUR PRECIOUS FUCKING BOY WONDER? Gods know we can’t have the kid exert himself!

*takes a deep breath*

How long is this chapter going to go on because I can’t put up with this. I just can’t.

Okay, three pages. I can totally do three pages.

I really wish I had a physical copy of these books that I could stab.

‘Add a clockwise stir –’

‘No, no, the book says counter-clockwise!’ she snapped.

And the actual fucking schoolbooks have actual fucking wrong information and no one, least of all Severus the Potions Professor, ever thought to rectify this? Like, this isn’t even a nifty shortcut that Severus came up with; this is just wrong. SO ALL OF THESE MORONS HAVE BEEN MAKING THIS POTION WRONG FOR — I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW MANY YEARS.

Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else’s potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had certainly never happened before in this dungeon.

Harry, I swear to gods, I am this close to killing you off ignominiously in all the fics. Do not tempt me.

‘The clear winner!’ he cried to the dungeon. ‘Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good Lord, it’s clear you’ve inherited your mother’s talent, she was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are – one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!’

So, what do you want to bet that Lily was “a dab hand at Potions” because she was stealing from Severus — just like her useless son!

As Severus so judiciously taught me, a rotten apple doesn’t fall far off from a rotten tree.

(Well, except I wrote that.)

Rowling wrote: “Bad blood, that’s what it is.”

‘Got lucky, I suppose,’ said Harry, because Malfoy was within earshot.

Death. I’m going throw this kid off the same cliff as Dumbles, mark my words.

‘I s’pose you think I cheated?’ he finished, aggravated by her expression.

‘Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?’ she said stiffly.

Yes.

‘He only followed different instructions to ours,’ said Ron. ‘Could’ve been a catastrophe, couldn’t it? But he took a risk and it paid off.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Slughorn could’ve handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one’s ever written in. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but –’

And Ron has totally lost all the spine he had since Book Four when Harry decided to blow up on him for asking completely reasonable questions that Harry could’ve answered any time he so deemed!

‘Hang on,’ said a voice close by Harry’s left ear and he caught a sudden waft of that flowery smell he had picked up in Slughorn’s dungeon. He looked round and saw that Ginny had joined them. ‘Did I hear right? You’ve been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?’

She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once.

Oh, how clever. How so very clever.

Also, I’m surprised the Riddle diary didn’t slip out of Harry’s mind like the whole possession and Chamber thing did. But then again, the useless moron did play with the diary himself so…

And sweet merciful gods! That’s that for that chapter.

Harry’s spell count so far: eighteen.

“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”

Stupidity of Today

I was complaining to someone I know if he’s ever tried using the keyboard’s directional buttons for aiming. Because let me tell you from a painful experience: no matter how lightly you try to press that button, it still doesn’t work. You can’t fine-tune with directional buttons.

Now, I’ve mentioned this someone before in my Tomb Raider and some other posts. He’s the same guy I bought the original (and only) games for as a lark because I knew he wouldn’t like them. This was a very bad mistake; every time I bring up something legitly bad about a random game, it’s like he physically has to bring up Tomb Raider. And the thing is, he just — he keeps saying these totally false things.

For example, I complained about Ocarina of Time‘s camera which was actually bad. It was an unfree camera in a 3D action game, and if anyone has any experience with games, you can probably guess what a frustrating experience that was.

This guy had to mention that “that’s why I couldn’t play Tomb Raiders“.

Tomb Raiders have free camera.

Another time he mentioned that Lara can’t even shoot while spinning. I just looked at him, and while he was spinning her, I pressed the shoot button. And surprise! Lara could indeed shoot while spinning. She can shoot while spinning, crouching, rolling, back- and side-flipping. She’s awesome like that.

And today he said to my complaints about aiming with the keyboard’s directional buttons that that’s why he couldn’t play Tomb Raiders.

Like, what?

You do not “aim” in Tomb Raiders. The games have an automatic aiming system. You do not use the keyboard’s directional buttons for anything in shooting. (Well, except for flipping around.)

So now on top of being annoyed, I’m extremely confused about what fucking game this dude was playing because evidently it wasn’t even Tomb Raider.

As such, he could kindly shut up. I really do not understand why some people have this incessant need to talk about things they know they know nothing about.

Stupidity is better

kept a secret

than displayed.

— Heraclitus

Well, he did get me to replay the original (and only) games so there’s that. And I still like them so much. I’ll probably do another post on them later, ha ha.

Chapter Thirty-Two – Out of the Fire

‘Harry,’ said Hermione in a rather frightened voice, ‘er … how … how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realising he was there?’

‘But … Harry, think about this,’ said Hermione, taking a step towards him, ‘it’s five o’clock in the afternoon … the Ministry of Magic must be full of workers … how would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? Harry … they’re probably the two most wanted wizards in the world … you think they could get into a building full of Aurors undetected?’

This whole chapter is happening because Harry is so stupid and his head is so far up his own arse that he can’t stop for five seconds to think.

One) Tommy knows of the connection between them now.

Two) Tommy is, supposedly, the strongest dark wizard in the world and it should be easy for him to plant images in Harry’s empty little head.

Three) How did he get Sirius out of Grimmauld Place? Why not visit there first to see if the house has been obliterated or empty?

Four) Why would he take Sirius into the Ministry of Magic?

Five) How did he take Sirius into the Ministry of Magic without anyone seeing them?

Six) Why not go into the Ministry and start screaming in every department that Tommy is there? Even if they didn’t take them seriously, it would likely cause some panic and make them investigate?

Seven) The Ministry is full of Dumbles groupies anyway so one would most likely investigate?

Eight) If only he had checked out what Sirius gave him during Yule~

I’m two pages in and already I’m utterly bored.

Did Harry even learn anything from this? What am I asking, of course he didn’t.

‘I dunno, there could be loads of reasons!’ Harry yelled at her. ‘Maybe Sirius is just someone Voldemort doesn’t care about seeing hurt –’

So… in other words… there are people Tommy cares about seeing hurt?

‘Yeah – and that’s why Dumbledore’s been so keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time!’ said Harry.

Oh, Harry. You silly brainless goose. Dumbles is keeping Sirius locked up to get him to conveniently get himself killed.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ cried Hermione, ‘but neither of you is making sense, and we’ve got no proof for any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there –’

For once I agree with Hermione. I would also like to add that whenever these morons try to conjecture anything, they’ve been consistently wrong.

‘You … this isn’t a criticism, Harry! But you do … sort of … I mean – don’t you think you’ve got a bit of a – a – saving-people thing?’ she said.

‘Well … you …’ she looked more apprehensive than ever. ‘I mean … last year, for instance … in the lake … during the Tournament … you shouldn’t have … I mean, you didn’t need to save that little Delacour girl … you got a bit … carried away …’

‘I mean, it was really great of you and everything,’ said Hermione quickly, looking positively petrified at the look on Harry’s face, ‘everyone thought it was a wonderful thing to do –’

She really should’ve stuck to the whole “you don’t have any proof of anything and you’re raving”.

‘I’m trying to say – Voldemort knows you, Harry! He took Ginny down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it’s the kind of thing he does, he knows you’re the – the sort of person who’d go to Sirius’s aid! What if he’s just trying to get you into the Department of Myst––?’

You know, I think this honestly would’ve been so much better if Rowling didn’t waste the first half of this chapter with Hermione speaking sense and questioning Harry. Because the brainless stupid moron ended up being entirely wrong — again — and Hermione ended up being right — again — and Sirius actually lost his life.

So what I’m saying is, I’m feeling copious amounts of irritation building up.

Also, does Harry have a saving people thing? Because to be honest, he isn’t all that interested in other people unless he knows them or they’re right in his face?

Harry let out a roar of frustration. Hermione actually stepped back from him, looking alarmed.

Sweet, Sirius actually lost his life because Harry is a brainless stupid moron, he refuses to listen to anyone else than his enormous head, aaaand he’s so used to bullying his alleged best friends into compliance.

Ladies and gentlemen, our hero.

And if I remember rightly, you didn’t have a problem with my saving-people thing when it was you I was saving from the Dementors, or –’

Nah, man. You were there to save Sirius and Hermione was there to help you save Sirius. And you kind of failed right until you went back in time and realised you CAN do a spell you’ve already done!

. . . he rounded on Ron ‘– when it was your sister I was saving from the Basilisk –’

He really has a way of colouring his memories.

For the record, he did not save Ginny from the basilisk. He got there, with no plan and no preparation, tossed his wand away, which was picked up by the enemy, and then proceeded to fumble blindly into walls until Rowling Ex Machina came along and dropped everything he needed literally into his lap. And the basilisk impaled itself on the sword Harry was simply holding up.

Also, the only reason Ginny and Harry survived is that Tommy is so fucking stupid he couldn’t shut the fuck up for three seconds and actually shoot the kid in the face with an avada kedavra when he was oblivious to his presence. Or I don’t know, shove the wand into Harry’s eye if spells don’t work.

‘Hi,’ said Ginny uncertainly. ‘We recognised Harry’s voice. What are you yelling about?’

‘Never you mind,’ said Harry roughly.

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

‘There’s no need to take that tone with me,’ she said coolly, ‘I was only wondering whether I could help.’

‘Well, you can’t,’ said Harry shortly.

The Romance of the Century.

I started the whole Ginny/Ron thing as a joke but I’m seriously starting to think it would be better for her to date her brother than this utter gremlin.

Also, Hermione/Harry isn’t any better. Because I don’t like Hermione and want her to die, and because Harry is such a complete ungrateful, unthoughtful brainless gremlin that you’d first need 100 000 words to make him into a person before you should ship him with anyone.

Okay, that’s that for tonight.

‘Luna and I can stand at either end of the corridor,’ said Ginny promptly, ‘and warn people not to go down there because someone’s let off a load of Garrotting Gas.’

When she says ‘garrotting gas’… er… does she mean:

1. garrot which is either a stick used for tightening a bandage or a seaduck

or

2. garrote which is something used for strangulation

?

(what am I asking of course she means the strangulation, for the love of gods I hate these books)

So, that’s work for that ‘wizards are psychopaths’ tag again, I suppose.

‘Of course now!’ said Harry angrily. ‘What did you think, we’re going to wait until after dinner or something? Hermione, Sirius is being tortured right now!’

I honestly don’t understand how anyone has the patience to read through this multiple times since I barely have the patience to read it this second time.

Like, all this whining and bullying and yelling and impatience and haste — and what did it amount to?

The brainless stupid moron was absolutely wrong and lost his grandfather because of it.

But did our sterling hero learn anything from this? No! No, he did not! Why is that? Because in the next book he’s right back at bullishly believing he’s right when everyone else disbelieved him. Well, at least in Book Six Harry did have the decency of being right for once.

If that’s a positive.

. . . black-market Butterbeers . . .

‘Harry, d’you want to chip in a couple of Galleons? Harold Dingle reckons he could sell us some Firewhisky –’

And now we’re at the stage of fifteen-year-old kids buying whisky on the school black market.

You do realise that Harry Potter is just like any show on “American” television but with quaint “Britishness”?

In truth, his scar was aching, but not so badly that he thought Voldemort had yet dealt Sirius a fatal blow; it had hurt much worse than this when Voldemort had been punishing Avery …

Really makes you think, doesn’t it!

No, wait. These are Harry Potters: no one thinks in these books.

‘That’s because it’s colourless,’ said Ginny in a convincingly exasperated voice, ‘but if you want to walk through it, carry on, then we’ll have your body as proof for the next idiot who doesn’t believe us.’

‘Fred and George were planning to do it before they left.’

‘A loud chorus of “Weasley is our King” if they see Umbridge coming,’ replied Hermione . . .

Oh no, they’re determined to completely sully Draco’s song.

He kept his eyes screwed up against the whirling ash and when the spinning stopped he opened them to find himself looking out at the long, cold kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

There was nobody there. He had expected this, yet was not prepared for the molten wave of dread and panic that seemed to burst through his stomach at the sight of the deserted room.

Ah yes, because surely Sirius spends 24/7 of his time in the kitchen.

ALSO! SINCE HE’S SHOVING HIS FACE INTO THE FIREPLACE TO TALK TO SIRIUS, WHY DIDN’T HE JUST QUICKLY SHOVE HIS WHOLE BODY THROUGH AND CHECK OUT THE PLACE?

Gods in heaven and all their celestial bodies, how much more stupid can these books get.

Would’ve gotten Harry faster to the ministry of magic too, by the way.

Like, “OH NO WE HAVE TO GO NOW!” and then the kid spends, what, at least several hours to get there? Because I doubt thestrals are really fast fliers?

Oh gods, I’m feeling my will to live wither and die. That means a break!

The break didn’t help. These books are still stupid.

. . . Professor Umbridge who had dragged him backwards out of the fire by the hair and was now bending his neck back as far as it would go, as though she were going to slit his throat.

Oh, I wish. I mean… *looks away*

‘You think,’ she whispered, bending Harry’s neck back even further, so that he was looking up at the ceiling, ‘that after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy.’

Oh, Dolores. Harry doesn’t think. As is most evident in this chapter.

Malfoy was leaning on the windowsill, smirking as he threw Harry’s wand into the air one-handed and caught it again.

♡♡♡♡♡

‘Good, good,’ said Umbridge, watching Ginny’s struggles. ‘Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn’t it?’

Malfoy laughed loudly and sycophantically.

Really, Rowling, stop with the adjectives.

‘So, Potter,’ she said. ‘You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon,’ she nodded at Ron – Malfoy laughed even louder . . .

Honestly, I kind of… laughed too.

He had just realised something; he could not believe he had been so stupid as to forget it.

Really, Harry? Because I don’t find that hard to believe at all.

. . . as footsteps were heard in the corridor outside and Draco Malfoy came back into the room, holding open the door for Snape.

HE’S HOLDING THE DOOR OPEN FOR SEVERUS.

Why is that so cute?

‘You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!’

Aw, Lucius speaks highly of Severus.

And absolutely nothing was done with Severus’ connection with the Malfoys either.

Snape looked round at Harry. His face was inscrutable. Harry could not tell whether he had understood or not, but he did not dare speak more plainly in front of Umbridge.

You know, Harry, the only person who has problems with comprehension is you.

‘I have no idea,’ said Snape coldly. ‘Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job.’

So, like, killing a fellow student warrants nothing else but a reference when they’re applying for jobs?

You know what? Just… there are only a few more pages left. I can finish this chapter, right now!

He closed the door behind him with a snap, leaving Harry in a state of worse turmoil than before: Snape had been his very last hope.

As I have repeatedly said about Harry before.

‘What Cornelius doesn’t know won’t hurt him,’ said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry’s body in turn, apparently trying to decide where it would hurt most. ‘He never knew I ordered Dementors to go after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same.’

What a plot twist! And so important! And just the something that a stupid monologuing villain would say!

Fortunately, the attention of Umbridge and her minions was focused too exclusively upon Hermione to notice these suspicious signs.

Yes. “Fortunately”.

‘Fine,’ said Hermione, now sobbing into her hands again. ‘Fine … let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you’d invite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th – that would serve you right – oh, I’d love it if the wh – whole school knew where it was, and how to u – use it, and then if you annoy any of them they’ll be able to s – sort you out!’

These words had a powerful impact on Umbridge: she glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his face.

Oh, really? So Draco doesn’t like Dolores either?

AND IT’S OVER!

Now there are just six chapters left.

Harry’s spell count so far: fourteen.

“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Careers Advice

I would like to kindly remind people that James, Sirius, Lupin and Lily were far worse than Draco Malfoy ever has been or will be.

And you can add Dumbles, Hagrid, Harry, Hermione and the Weasley Twins to that list.

Also, you know what I think now? I think Lily was bullying Petunia with her “frogspawn soap and turning tableware into rats”. Why do I think that? Because these are just that kind of books.

Ron had been startled to discover there were only six weeks left until their exams.

And yet you’ve done nothing and there are still a million pages left (an exaggeration).

And there are still ten chapters left. How are there ten chapters left? All the actual plot has already happened elsewhere?

*dies*

‘I dunno,’ said Ron, ‘there’s been a lot going on.’

Is he for real?

‘What’s the point?’ he said. ‘We’ve got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad’s got of becoming Minister for Magic.’

Someone please tell me that Arthur Weasley didn’t become the Minister for Magic. Hermione is already bad enough, these people should have at least one competent leader.

He had been so sure his parents were wonderful people that he had never had the slightest difficulty in disbelieving the aspersions Snape cast on his father’s character.

*wheezes with laughter*

And I was so sure that James was a terrible person considering the company he kept and the kid he sired.

Yes, he had once overheard Professor McGonagall saying that his father and Sirius had been troublemakers at school, but she had described them as forerunners of the Weasley twins, and Harry could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside-down for the fun of it … not unless they really loathed them … perhaps Malfoy, or somebody who really deserved it …

The Sociopathic Twins’ greatest hits in no particular order:

One) Bullying Percy for shits and giggles, and trying to rope the whole family into it.

Two) Abusing and experimenting on animals.

Three) Bullying their other brother who already feels neglected and has low self-esteem.

Four) Trying to attack kids younger and smaller than them over words.

Five) Ostracising Harry over house points in Book One.

Six) Almost suffocating Dudley to death on his own tongue.

Seven) Attacking another student for daring to try to dock house points from them.

Did I forget something? Oh right, petty thievery in Book Three.

Also, Harry, you little stupid moron, what has Draco done to deserve what Severus went through? Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Harry remembered Lupin saying back in Grimmauld Place that Dumbledore had made him prefect in the hope that he would be able to exercise some control over James and Sirius … but in the Pensieve, he had sat there and let it all happen …

Lupin? Hasn’t it been obvious since Book Three what kind of person Lupin is?

Harry kept reminding himself that Lily had intervened; his mother had been decent.

Yeah, she was so decent that she never actually lifted a finger to help Severus and instead spent the entire time hate-flirting with James.

Yet, the memory of the look on her face as she had shouted at James disturbed him quite as much as anything else; she had clearly loathed James, and Harry simply could not understand how they could have ended up married. Once or twice he even wondered whether James had forced her into it …

That one’s easy, Harry. Wonder Witch Lily started fucking James after Severus called her a mudblood, got herself pregnant and then ended up marrying him in a beautiful shotgun wedding.

For nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him he was like James, he had glowed with pride inside. And now … now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him.

You know, as much as I totally care about Harry’s self-pity party here, it’s just so amazing that he makes Severus’ Worst Memory all about him.

Cho really dodged a bullet in these books. It’s a shame about Ginny.

‘Harry, I’m talking to you, can you hear me?’

This is Ginny talking so the answer is no. He cannot hear you because he even forgets you exist.

‘I wish I could talk to Sirius,’ he muttered. ‘But I know I can’t.’

Oh, really? The poor failing witless loser can’t talk to his godfather? Let’s go back a few chapters, shall we?

‘I want you to take this,’ he said quietly, thrusting a badly wrapped package roughly the size of a paperback book into Harry’s hands.

Oh, if only he had dislodged that enormous head from his arse and actually cared to check out what Sirius gave him. The irony. These truly are the greatest children’s books of modern times~.

Sarcasm aside, I was actually thinking today. Like, classical fairy tales get a lot of flack — for sundry equally ignorant reasons because no one actually reads classical fairy tales. One of those reasons is that classical fairy tales basically depict “good people as beautiful” and “bad people as ugly”.

But here’s the thing, at least in classical fairy tales those beautiful people are beautiful from the inside out. Hence they’re also beautiful on the outside. In Harry Potters, though? Hermione is basically the prettiest girl in the school (Book Four) and Harry becomes a real stud in Book Six, but both of them are hideous inside.

Imagine actually replacing classical fairy tales with this tripe. And all the other modern tripe because I’ve been re-watching a few things and do I have a lot to say about them. Mainly that they’re inane, hypocritical, with no plot or themes or parallels or plan, and they continue the fine tradition of demonising all things European. These shows also really don’t like men. At all.

Which is rich considering how they write women.

Also, I find it curious that all of these shows and video games were released around the same time. But I’ll go on a conspiracy spiral later.

And whipping out her wand, she caused Harry’s books, bag and ink bottle to chase him and Ginny from the library, whacking them repeatedly over the head as they ran.

It probably shouldn’t but moments like these give me a small, fuzzy feeling of happiness.

CAREERS ADVICE
All fifth-years are required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.

All things considered, shouldn’t they have had this at the end of their second year? You know, when they were picking out their first electives? Or shouldn’t they have had this a bit sooner than right before their final exams?

‘Well, I don’t fancy Healing,’ said Ron on the last evening of the holidays. He was immersed in a leaflet that carried the crossed bone-and-wand emblem of St Mungo’s on its front. ‘It says here you need at least “E” at N.E.W.T. level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I mean … blimey … don’t want much, do they?’

‘Well, it’s a very responsible job, isn’t it?’ said Hermione absently.

They had a picture of a guy who came up with the “entrail expelling curse”. These are Harry Potters. I very much doubt how “responsible” healing is.

‘You don’t seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles; all they want is an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies: Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience and a good sense of fun!’

And by “a good sense of fun” they mean attacking their terrified children over what their dads said, denigrating toddlers, leaving them stranded on deserted rocks in the sea, giving them dementia, almost choking them to death on their own tongue, jinxing their doorknobs to bite their fingers off.

Did I forget something? I probably did.

‘Listen to this: Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently recruiting Curse-Breakers for thrilling opportunities abroad …’

Come to think of it, why do banks need curse-breakers?

…..don’t tell me it’s because they’re using them to break into each others’ banks?

He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could come up with no alternative. Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own.

Someone please tell me it was her setting up a trap for Harry instead of her being a failing witless moron.

‘Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that’ll open any lock,’ said Harry. ‘So even if she’s bewitched the door so Alohomora won’t work, which I bet she has –’

Seriously? I don’t remember that.

Oh well, I guess that’s enough for today. Time for sleep.

(And people actually think that only hyperrealistic graphics are beautiful.)

Uuuugh, nine spreads still left of this chapter.

The sky was a clear, misty, opalescent blue.

Clear and opalescent and yet misty? Um, does that work?

He was not sure what Sirius could possibly say to him that would make up for what he had seen in the Pensieve, but he was desperate to hear Sirius’s own account of what had happened, to know of any mitigating factors there might have been, any excuse at all for his father’s behaviour …

In short, Severus’ worst memory is All About You!

Besides, wasn’t all of it self-evident?

Hasn’t their behaviour over two years made all of it self-evident?

Something caught Harry’s attention: movement on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Harry squinted into the sun and saw Hagrid emerging from between the trees. He seemed to be limping.

I almost care about this tripe too. It sure is better than an actual plot of known death eaters knowingly bribing ministers for magic and trying to infiltrate the ministry of magic.

‘Hermione,’ said Ron in a low and indignant voice, ‘are you going to stop telling Harry off and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take my own notes?’

You know, Hermione is such a weird character. I mean, on the one hand, she’s hypercompetent. She knows more about the wizarding world and magic than pureblood kids who actually grew up in it. She knows and can cast all the spells. She has the answer to every “mystery”.

And yet. She isn’t the main character and she doesn’t actually do anything. Aside from being a walking talking Exposition and Plot Device. Instead, Harry is the hero, Harry who never studies, who never knows anything, who never prepares for anything, and who gets saved from his non-preparations and stupidity by Rowling From the Machine.

In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement, and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily.

Of course, Harry is bad at potions for the same reason that Neville is bad at everything: it’s someone else’s fault. Because good lord, Rowling’s pets can’t have flaws of their own.

‘Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?’

The real question is if Harry’s had any thoughts at all in his entire life.

‘Well, I thought of, maybe, being an Auror,’ Harry mumbled.

‘You’d need top grades for that,’ said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. ‘They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, and nothing under “Exceeds Expectations” grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It’s a difficult career path, Potter, they only take the best. In fact, I don’t think anybody has been taken on in the last three years.’

And of course Harry gets there by sheer nepotism. He vanquished the Dark Lord! — yeah, by dying. Twice. And Tommy vanquished himself, like, four or five times.

‘I was just wondering whether Mr Potter has quite the temperament for an Auror?’ said Professor Umbridge sweetly.

Well… I mean… your most legendary auror was Alastor Moody and when his impostor attacked and abused a terrified child turned animal, no one saw it as out of character.

So yeah, I suppose Harry does have the temperament for an auror.

‘I should have made my meaning plainer,’ said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. ‘He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher.’

*raises eyebrows*

A competent teacher? Lupin? Ha ha!

‘Well, you’ll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth,’ said Professor McGonagall, ‘perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical Defence. It will mean a lot more study even after you’ve left school, so unless you’re prepared to –’

Harry? Perseverance and dedication?

This chapter can end any minute now.

He could abandon the plan and simply learn to live with the memory of what his father had done on a summer’s day more than twenty years ago …

OH MY GOD THIS MELODRAMATIC HISTRIONIC TWIT.

Hey, Harry, you wanna know who has had to actually experience and live with that memory for more than twenty years? NOT. FUCKING. YOU.

But did he want to be like his father any more?

Harry, you absolute moron, you’re already a spitting image of your father.

Nothing was moving except the horrible kittens that were still frolicking on the wall plates above the confiscated broomsticks.

Harry pulled off his Cloak . . .

Harry, d’you really imagine that Dolores doesn’t have some magical surveillance in her office that lets her know if someone’s been there?

Ah, but what am I asking. This is the same moron who left his invisibility cloak behind when he went traipsing into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night.

He wondered why Sirius had never mentioned how very uncomfortable it was to speak out of the fire; his knees were already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge’s hard stone floor.

Because everything wizards do is wunderfull and wunderfully convenient.

When he had finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, ‘I wouldn’t like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen –’

‘I’m fifteen!’ said Harry heatedly.

Yes! And you’re already exactly like your father!

‘Look, Harry,’ said Sirius placatingly, ‘James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can’t you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be – he was popular, he was good at Quidditch – good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James – whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry – always hated the Dark Arts.’

Oh, Sirius, you dumb little lying piece of shit. James started bullying Severus for the great offence of wanting to be in the same house as his mother. And for being “friends” with Lily, James’ object of obsession.

AND WHAT EVEN IS THAT, BY THE WAY? ROWLING IS ACTUALLY JUSTIFYING JAMES’ BULLYING SEVERUS WITH “James was everything Snape wanted to be~”? Like, what the fuck seriously, oh my god with these fucking stupid books, someone save me.

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘but he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because – well, just because you said you were bored,’ he finished, with a slightly apologetic note in his voice.

‘I’m not proud of it,’ said Sirius quickly.

Uh-huh. I almost buy that.

‘Of course he was a bit of an idiot!’ said Sirius bracingly, ‘we were all idiots! Well – not Moony so much,’ he said fairly, looking at Lupin.

Lupin was willing to eat and murder a kid you were bullying. And then he actually had the gall to call it a “trick”, a “joke” and a “schoolboy grudge”.

‘How come she married him?’ Harry asked miserably. ‘She hated him!’

‘Nah, she didn’t,’ said Sirius.

‘She started going out with him in seventh year,’ said Lupin.

Oh, really. You don’t say.

#Lily goes to the list of murderable characters

‘Well,’ said Lupin slowly, ‘Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn’t really expect James to take that lying down, could you?’

Funny how we never have and never will see this.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘your father was the best friend I ever had and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.’

You and Lupin didn’t grow out of it.

James just had the benefit of the doubt of dying.

‘Approval for Whipping … Approval for Whipping … I can do it at last … they’ve had it coming to them for years …’

I actually agree with Argus here but I’d prefer to throw the lot of these characters off a cliff.

‘Time to test our talents in the real world, d’you reckon?’ asked Fred.

What talents? The talents of nepotism?

Oh thank the sweet merciful gods, it’s over.

Harry’s spell count so far: fourteen.

“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Snape’s Worst Memory

So… the part where he was sexually harassed by a bully but don’t worry, he deserved it because he called Lily a mudblood afterwards — you know, so you don’t have to worry about any nasty moral dilemmas like “maybe the hero’s dad is a total narcissistic jerk like his son?” — or the part where said bully’s son invaded his privacy and memory?

…..you know, now that I’ve put it that way, it’s actually a lot worse than what I remembered.

But hey! At least now I finally get to talk about James, Severus and mudblood and what a hypocrite Rowling is! This is going to be fun — in some capacity.

Also, before I forget. As I’ve mentioned previously, I’ve been reading The Complete Fiction of H. P. Lovecraft and I have to say, some of those tales fit Tommy so well — or at least the version of Tommy that I want to write. Such as Herbert West-Reanimator and The Case of Charles Dexter Ward.

I feel that Rowling was sort of going for something similar but then she couldn’t help herself and wrote Tommy as a witless failing loser. Most likely because her main character is a witless failing loser.

But anyway, I probably have to think a bit more about how to implement all of my ideas for Tommy in that fic but it’s going to be fun! Well, if I ever manage to write it, that is.

*feels a sudden surge of overwhelming anxiety*

You know, this is why you don’t embark on quests to rewrite mediocre, bad stories because there are more mediocre, bad stories than you have time. Especially if you want to write original stories too. I wish I was one of those people who can write a million words a day (an exaggeration).

The notices had gone up all around the school overnight, but they did not explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister for Magic and his Junior Assistant to escape.

Well, I’d presume the same way they always do: from Dumbles.

. . . as Marietta was now in the hospital wing . . .

So she did get to the hospital wing. Will the wonders ever cease?

‘They couldn’t keep him away in our second year and they won’t be able to this time.’

More’s the shame.

‘Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?’

Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight with malice.

Hee! It’s my favourite massive dork. ♡

Also, ‘malice’. *massive eye roll* Because Rowling’s darling pets never take any pleasure in other people’s misfortune.

‘… so, Granger, I’ll have five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Five because I don’t like you, Potter. Weasley, your shirt’s untucked, so I’ll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that.’

Ha ha! ♡ He’s so cute and dumb.

‘Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points,’ said Harry furiously, as they watched several more stones fly upwards from the Gryffindor hour-glass.

‘Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break,’ said George.

‘What do you mean, “tried”?’ said Ron quickly.

‘He never managed to get all the words out,’ said Fred, ‘due to the fact that we forced him head-first into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.’

‘Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him,’ said Fred coolly. ‘Anyway … we’ve decided we don’t care about getting into trouble any more.’

Ah, so not only do they ostracise their own housemates over house points, but they also attack other houses’ students over it. But it’s okay because it’s just a nasty little Slytherin who’s missing and slowly starving to death.

…..have I mentioned that I hate these books? Because I truly hate these books.

‘We’ve always known where to draw the line,’ said Fred.

Really?

Such as bullying your own brother and trying to rope the whole family into it? Or I don’t know, ostracising your eleven-year-old housemate over house points? Bullying your other brother who already has a low self-esteem? Or making other students disappear to who knows where because, gods forbid, they dared to try to dock some house points from you? Or abusing animals for fun and experiments?

When I get to writing that fic, these twins are dead.

‘– what with Dumbledore gone –’ said Fred.

‘– we reckon a bit of mayhem –’ said George.

‘– is exactly what our dear new Head deserves,’ said Fred.

To be honest, these twins’ dialogue is really annoying.

‘Yerse … I’ve been telling Dumbledore for years and years he’s too soft with you all,’ said Filch, chuckling nastily. ‘You filthy little beasts would never have dropped Stink Pellets if you’d known I had it in my power to whip you raw, would you, now? Nobody would have thought of throwing Fanged Frisbees down the corridors if I could’ve strung you up by the ankles in my office, would they? But when Educational Decree Number Twenty-nine comes in, Potter, I’ll be allowed to do them things … and she’s asked the Minister to sign an order for the expulsion of Peeves … oh, things are going to be very different around here with her in charge …’

He does have a point. Besides, what he’s saying doesn’t differ the slightest from what the wizards are already doing to each other.

Need I remind people of the ton-tongue toffee that almost choked Dudley to death? Or the shoes that were eating away at that wizard’s feet and which were given to him by his brother? Or the doorknobs that could bite people’s fingers off?

Wizards have already been established as total psychopaths in the past four and a half books. So frankly, I really don’t care what Argus is saying that he wants to do to these little psychopathic morons.

He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody’s magical one and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy.

Oh, how convenient.

‘Very well,’ said Umbridge, looking displeased. ‘In that case, you will kindly tell me the whereabouts of Sirius Black.’

Harry’s stomach turned over and his hand holding the teacup shook so that it rattled in its saucer.

You know, Harry, you could’ve worked to prove Sirius’ innocence to the wizarding world at large for the past, oh I don’t know, two years to avoid exact moments like these. Like you did with Hagrid.

But what am I saying, Harry can’t work.

Also, it’s pretty obvious that Dolores spiked Harry’s tea with veritaserum. But you’re telling me that she can’t tell that Harry’s not drinking the tea?

Let’s go back to Book Four for a bit, shall we?

Dumbledore forced the man’s mouth open, and poured three drops inside it. Then he pointed his wand at the man’s chest, and said, ‘Rennervate.’

Crouch’s son opened his eyes. His face was slack, his gaze unfocused.

Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath, then began to speak in a flat, expressionless voice.

As you can see, he’s slack and unfocused and his voice is flat and expressionless. So quite unlike anything Harry is expressing in this scene — and oh right, he’s Harry. He’s always slack and unfocused.

‘A Floo Network Regulator is keeping watch over every fire in Hogwarts – except my own, of course.’

And you really needed to mention that to Harry? Oh, right. It’s for the “plot”, such as it were.

Dragons comprised entirely of green and gold sparks were soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they went; shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers; rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls; sparklers were writing swear words in midair of their own accord; firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere Harry looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer he watched.

As Harry watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to manoeuvre; it whirled towards Umbridge and Filch with a sinister ‘wheeeeeeeeee’. They both yelled with fright and ducked, and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape towards the second floor.

Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow; she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the next painting, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.

The fireworks continued to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon.

And then people actually wonder why Argus hates these “little beasts”. ‘Tis a mystery.

Like, I’m sure everyone was laughing during this bit because “did the Sociopathic Twins ever show up Dolores!” but people do realise it’s Argus who has to clean this mess up? Without magic. Like always.

And now he was in a dimly lit room as high and wide as a church, full of nothing but rows and rows of towering shelves, each laden with small, dusty, spun-glass spheres … now Harry’s heart was beating fast with excitement … he knew where to go … he ran forwards, but his footsteps made no noise in the enormous, deserted room …

So this is the room that’s housing Sybill’s prophecy about Tommy and Harry. Presumably all of these spheres are holding prophecies then? How old does that make them? What do they do with them? Do they keep them even years after the moment of prophecy has passed? If so, why? And why is Harry’s prophecy the only one relevant to the current year?

With a surge of guilt he realised that he had not practised Occlumency once since their last lesson: there had been too much going on since Dumbledore had left; he was sure he would not have been able to empty his mind even if he had tried.

Oh, Harry, you silly goose. Your head is always empty.

‘Over here,’ said Harry, glad of a reason to postpone his meeting with Snape . . .

See? Does he really think that being late is going to put Severus in a better mood?

He did feel Cho might have chosen her friends a bit more carefully; it was small consolation that the last he had heard, Marietta was still up in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey had not been able to make the slightest improvement to her pimples.

That face will have to make do because I’m too tired to point out exactly what’s wrong with this.

To summarise it, though: Harry is what’s wrong with this.

Harry looked at her incredulously.

‘A lovely person who made a mistake? She sold us all out, including you!’

‘Well … we all got away, didn’t we?’ said Cho pleadingly. ‘You know, her mum works for the Ministry, it’s really difficult for her –’

‘Ron’s dad works for the Ministry too!’ Harry said furiously. ‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, he hasn’t got sneak written across his face –’

‘That was a really horrible trick of Hermione Granger’s,’ said Cho fiercely. ‘She should have told us she’d jinxed that list –’

‘I think it was a brilliant idea,’ said Harry coldly. Cho flushed and her eyes grew brighter.

‘Oh yes, I forgot – of course, if it was darling Hermione’s idea –’

‘Don’t start crying again,’ said Harry warningly.

‘I wasn’t going to!’ she shouted.

‘Yeah … well … good,’ he said. ‘I’ve got enough to cope with at the moment.’

‘Go and cope with it then!’ Cho said furiously, turning on her heel and stalking off.

You know, Cho really dodged a bullet there.

So, I have this plan to write this Ron/Ginny fic. As soon as I get a proper start on it that doesn’t make me want to claw my eyes out, that is. But anyway, it’s also kind of this Harry-bashing fic, though I’m not sure if I can call it bashing if all of it is based on what he’s doing in canon.

Which is, you know, being a narcissistic self-centred psychopath.

That Ron/Ginny thing started as a joke, by the way, because I needed something to amuse myself with while I’m re-reading these but I’m totally going to write it seriously. I also unironically think it would be better for Ginny to date her brother than Harry.

Snape’s office door banged open and Draco Malfoy sped in.

‘Professor Snape, sir – oh – sorry –’

Malfoy was looking at Snape and Harry in some surprise.

‘It’s all right, Draco,’ said Snape, lowering his wand. ‘Potter is here for a little remedial Potions.’

Harry had not seen Malfoy look so gleeful since Umbridge had turned up to inspect Hagrid.

Hee! He’s so CUTE.

Draco, that is. Harry can go die in a gutter.

Harry gazed at the Pensieve, curiosity welling inside him … what was it that Snape was so keen to hide from Harry?

None. Of. Your. Fucking. Business. You moron.

Like, okay, let’s stop here for a moment.

This is literally the kid of the boy who bullied Severus, invading his memories and privacy. And sure, Rowling tries to excuse it with “maybe it’s got something to do with the department of mysteries!” because Harry is so stupid that he doesn’t realise he’s suspected Severus of something every year and every time he’s been wrong.

Also, there was that small, insignificant matter of Severus trying to save his ungrateful, twerpish arse in Book One but that was totally forgotten and brushed under the carpet.

It’s also not the first time Harry has invaded someone’s privacy for shits and giggles; see Argus in Book Two.

Moreover, I don’t believe for a second that Severus would’ve left his pensieve alone with Harry.

Montague was Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team . . .

Oh, is he?

He was falling through cold blackness, spinning furiously as he went, and then –

Well, so much for the headcanon that the “cold blackness” was just a Dumbles-specific thing.

He was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, but the four house tables were gone. Instead, there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student, head bent low, scribbling on a roll of parchment. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment. It was clearly exam time.

Also, since we were given the excuse that “Harry just wanted to see if Snape was hiding something about the Department of Mysteries” then shouldn’t the moron have fucked off as soon as he saw that the memory has nothing to do with the department of mysteries?

The voice made Harry jump. Turning, he saw the top of Professor Flitwick’s head moving between the desks a short distance away.

What’s Flitwick doing in the defence against the dark arts exam?

Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach: it was as though he was looking at himself but with deliberate mistakes. James’s eyes were hazel, his nose was slightly longer than Harry’s and there was no scar on his forehead, but they had the same thin face, same mouth, same eyebrows; James’s hair stuck up at the back exactly as Harry’s did, his hands could have been Harry’s and Harry could tell that, when James stood up, they would be within an inch of each other in height.

You’re also both witless failing losers who bully others! Rotten apples certainly don’t fall far off from rotten trees, as Severus so judiciously said — oh wait, I wrote that.

Harry stared at Wormtail for a moment, then back at James, who was now doodling on a bit of scrap parchment. He had drawn a Snitch and was now tracing the letters ‘L.E.’.

Oh, look. Isn’t it so cute, he’s doodling Lily’s name with the snitch.

Harry looked around and glimpsed Snape a short way away, moving between the tables towards the doors to the Entrance Hall, still absorbed in his own exam paper. Round-shouldered yet angular, he walked in a twitchy manner that recalled a spider, and his oily hair was jumping about his face.

Right. He’s so ugly, gangly and greasy unlike handsome pretty James and Sirius, and that’s why he deserves to be bullied.

Four spreads left. I can totally do this before I go to bed.

Wormtail was the only one who didn’t laugh.

‘I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes and the tufted tail,’ he said anxiously, ‘but I couldn’t think what else –’

‘How thick are you, Wormtail?’ said James impatiently. ‘You run round with a werewolf once a month –’

Oh, it’s a M Y S T E R Y why Peter didn’t want to die for these people~.

‘Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake,’ he heard Sirius say. ‘I’ll be surprised if I don’t get “Outstanding” on it at least.’

‘Me too,’ said James.

And yet neither of you ever did anything outstanding in your lives, short as they were.

And you know… James has been in this chapter for, like, five minutes and already I’m heartily sick of him.

Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so.

I’m rather heartily sick of Sirius too.

James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom further and further away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn’t tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry noticed that his father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to keep it from getting too tidy, and he also kept looking over at the girls by the water’s edge.

James is… pretty much what I imagined him to be. Except I ascribed James/Peter dynamic to Sirius/Peter because I put them both in one year up.

Also, canon James is a lot like fanon Draco.

This fandom is beyond help.

‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’

Wormtail turned slightly pink, but James grinned.

It really is a mysterious mystery why Peter didn’t want to die for these people.

‘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.’

Harry turned to see what Sirius was looking at.

Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the O.W.L. paper in his bag. As he left the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up.

So in other words, Severus was minding his own business when the Two Dipshit Extraordinaires decided to bully him because they were bored.

‘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!’

Yeah, okay, my tolerance to stomach this was reached just about now.

Like, Severus’ dad was abusive. And apparently this is such a regular thing that he immediately goes for his wand just from hearing James’ voice.

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.

And not only that but James is doing this to get Lily’s attention. Which either tells us that Lily is a horrible person or James is just that fucking stupid.

I go with the former since Lily did end up marrying this loser and having his child.

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him –

‘Leave him ALONE!’

James and Sirius looked round. James’s free hand immediately jumped to his hair.

It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders, and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes – Harry’s eyes.

Harry’s mother.

So James really is that fucking stupid.

And Lily is seriously engaging with him in a conversation instead, ooooh I don’t know, dispelling the jinx on Severus or helping him out? You know, that good old-fashioned of actually doing something?

I told you she wasn’t all that.

Also, you know what’s the absolute richest thing about this? James and Sirius are, by all accounts, far worse than Draco ever has been or ever will be. And yet Rowling warned her impressionable readers about “people like Draco Malfoy” but not about people like Dumbles, James, Sirius, Lupin, Hagrid, Harry, Hermione, the Sociopathic Twins…

‘Leave him alone,’ Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. ‘What’s he done to you?’

No, Lily. The more important question is what are you doing?

‘You think you’re funny,’ she said coldly. ‘But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.’

Aaaand she still isn’t lifting an actual finger to help out Severus.

Good lord with this girl.

‘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.’

Uh-huh. But Draco Malfoy is totally the worst character in these books.

Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch towards his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.

‘I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,’ said Lily.

You know, considering that Lily is doing absolutely nothing to help out her supposed childhood friend, I’m forced to come to the conclusion that she just took this opportunity to hate-flirt with James.

Because evidently this isn’t about helping Severus or another bullied student.

But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. 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.

One) James started it.

Two) How did it go again? Oh, now I remember.

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 …’

So really, fuck these fucking books.

Like, what am I actually supposed to think about Rowling’s little darling pet doing the exact same fucking thing as death eaters? Evidently, if we go by Rowling and the general fandom, the answer is nothing. I’m supposed to think nothing while reading these fucking garbage books.

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, ‘Let him down!’

Aaaand there it is.

This is going to be splendidly fun when I get to writing that rewrite au. Lily goes on to the list of murderable characters.

‘Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,’ said James earnestly.

This is the dude who is going to marry her.

Let’s break this down.

They’re fifteen in this. Sirius, Remus and James tried to murder Severus probably next year. They were out of school at seventeen. Lily had Harry at twenty, minus the nine months of carrying him so she was about nineteen when she got pregnant.

So in four years or less we went from this to that and I don’t believe for a second that James actually changed. What I am believing right now, though, is that Lily started fucking James right after Severus called her a mudblood.

You know what he should’ve called her instead? A cunt.

‘LEAVE HIM ALONE!’ Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

‘Take the curse off him, then!’

Ha ha, and the stupid bint still isn’t actually doing a thing to help out Severus. Like, ooooh I don’t know, lifting the damn curse off herself?

‘I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!’

What help?

Lily blinked.

‘Fine,’ she said coolly. ‘I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.’

Well, that certainly was a quick about face but not really considering her prior behaviour. Or, you know, the lack of it.

‘Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can – I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.’

Someone is protesting a bit too much, methinks.

Wow. This family is… just… James is bullying Severus to get Lily’s attention, Lily is using that bullying to bully James because she likes him, and then later on Harry will bully Severus too.

Is bullying, like, a weird gryffindor mating ritual?

Okay, so let’s recap real quick:

Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the O.W.L. paper in his bag. As he left the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up.

Severus was minding his own business when Sirius and James decided to start bullying him because they were bored, and James wanted to use the opportunity to get Lily’s attention and extort her into dating him.

‘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!’

This bullying is so regular that Severus’ immediate reaction is to go for his wand just from hearing James’ voice. Also, for more fucked-upness, please do recall that Severus’ dad was abusive.

‘Impedimenta!’ he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet halfway through a dive towards his own fallen wand.

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.

‘I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,’ said Sirius viciously. ‘There’ll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.’

Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.

‘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 –

They then proceeded to disarm him, trip him up, belittle and diss him, and almost choke him with soap.

It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders, and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes – Harry’s eyes.

Then precious little Lily comes along, doing — absolutely nothing.

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, ‘Let him down!’

She even seems to find the whole thing funny.

But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. 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.

Then they proceed to further humiliate him in front of the entire school by sexually harassing him and doing the exact same thing as fucking death eaters did in Book Four.

‘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.

Then they further humiliate and abuse him, and do the exact same thing as Hermione, Harry and Ron did in Book One to Neville. So very curious, isn’t it?

‘I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!’

But Severus totally deserved all that because afterwards he called Lily a mudblood when he was abused, humiliated, sexually harassed, stressed out and agitated.

Like, I really have no other way to ask this: but what the fuck is wrong with people?

Rowling has been doing this since Book One. Remember our very first scene with Hagrid and Dudley? In which Hagrid attacked a terrified eleven-year-old boy because of something his dad said. Or let’s take Draco who totally deserves to be abused and humiliated for the stuff he says when it was Harry, Ron and Hermione who started it and who actually physically attack him.

Rowling has been positioning since Book One that people deserve to be attacked, abused, humiliated and bullied for their words — and not always even their own words but their dad’s words — when her darling little pets get to do every fucking psychotic thing under the sun much to the laughter of onlookers and readers.

If I had that kind of shameless personality, I would get a twitter account just to ask her “how does it feel to reap exactly what you hammered into kids’ heads over a period of ten years?” But I suspect she wouldn’t get the question anyway.

Stop falling for this shit.

Also, would it make you feel better if Severus had called her a cunt instead of a mudblood? Yes? So some insults are worse than others and some insults are more acceptable than others? So it’s not actually that all bullying is bad or that all insults are bad? So it’s okay to call someone a cunt as long as you don’t use something “really bad” such as mudblood?

Is this what public schooling does to people?

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?’

And then James gets right back into it but that’s okay because the word mudblood was said.

Also, just to repeat: this is Severus’ worst memory when he’s attacked, abused, humiliated and sexually harassed and he most likely even regrets calling Lily a mudblood even though, from the looks of it, the stupid bint deserved it.

And this memory and his privacy were invaded by said bully’s son.

And as Harry hurtled towards the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head.

Ha ha, and even when Severus most likely wants to kill the brat, he still doesn’t actually attack him.

For fuck’s sake.

What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him; it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.

No actually, you don’t know, Harry. You know how I know? Because every time you think you’re going to be humiliated in front of crowds, it’s all in your head and you always come out of it wunderfully cool which is quite different from being actually humiliated in front of crowds.

Oh, right. There was Dudley before Harry got to Hogwarts or found out he’s a wizard. But here’s the problem with that: we never actually saw Dudley bullying Harry but we sure did see Rowling and Harry bullying Dudley!

There was, also, the Collective Ostracisation in Book One which isn’t quite the same and no one but me remembers it anyway.

Also, even during this moment, Harry makes it all about him.

Harry’s spell count so far: fourteen.

“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”

Stupidity of the Day

Or why I shouldn’t read random comments on the internet about things I actually like.

SOME PEOPLE: Oh, I’m so glad Crystal Dynamics made Not-Lara less of a blatant sex object~

ALSO SOME PEOPLE: Oh, man. Not-Lara looks hot.

ALSO SOME PEOPLE: She looks especially delicious now.

ALSO SOME PEOPLE: For the first time in my life~ I want to fuck Lara Croft~

Like, here are just a few expressions that capture my feelings at that moment:

I have no other way to ask this but are these people fucking kidding me?

There seems to be this weird substantial group of creeps who can apparently only focus on female characters’ looks — namely, their breasts — instead of how they’re treated narratively and what they actually do.

Their underlying attitude seems to be that if they deem a female character’s breasts to be “too big” — which Lara’s aren’t but I’ll get to this in a bit — then she better put those away because ew, nobody wants to see those. They also seem to assume that Lara couldn’t possibly do the things she does because her “boobs are too big”.

Like, good job insulting every woman who has big boobs in real life.

Moreover, Original Lara’s breasts aren’t “too big”. In the first game, they were these lethal pyramids of destruction. In the second and third games, they were normal. Maybe slightly bigger than average — whatever that “average” is — but certainly not so “abnormally large” that every ignorant idiot should feel compelled to comment on them twenty-five years after the games released. In the fourth and fifth games, they did look a little ridiculous but I think that had more to do with the change of graphics and design and that — little reflection thing on her breasts.

But — and this might shock some people who evidently didn’t even play the original games — the games aren’t about Lara’s boobs.

The original games never reduced Lara into a pair of tits. It’s people like above who fucking do that and then actually dare to say how glad they are that Crystal Dynamics reduced Lara’s breast size, now she’s hot, now she’s delicious, now she’s fuckable, completely fucking missing the hypocritical irony of their own fucking words.

Look, I’m not going to pretend that Lara Croft wasn’t deliberately designed to be sexy. She was. She basically has the body shape that most men find ideal; ample breasts, tiny waist, wide hips (and long hair). But narratively in the games, she’s just this incidentally hot badass girl who’s doing treasure hunting for thrills and mystical trinkets.

Furthermore, what drives me up the walls is this false idea that just because they reduced the Thing’s breast size in Reboot Cash Grab Two, it somehow magically means that she isn’t a blatant sex object. (Which is essentially insulting women with smaller breasts by implying that they aren’t desirable.)

Did people somehow miss the Thing’s constant whimpering and gasping? Did they somehow miss the constant assaults while the Thing just stands there helpless? Did they somehow miss the creepy non-consensual fondling and attempted rape?

The Thing is absolutely a blatant sex object; she’s just supposed to appeal to a different fantasy.

Which is a lot creepier than just liking her for her body.

Just saying.

Chapter Twenty-five – The Beetle at Bay

I’m kind of tired of doing these, to be honest. But since I started it, I might as well finish it. But re-reading the books this way was a mistake, ha ha. Well, it does help me remember things so there’s that.

And nice, are we finally going to acknowledge that it was a liiiittle fucked up of Hermione to kidnap and imprison a reporter just because she wrote things Hermione didn’t like? But which were, curiously, not totally untrue?

Ha, what am I asking. These are Harry Potters, the main characters get to be as psychotic as they like but dear lord, if you dare to call someone mean names after they’ve dissed, abused and harassed you first.

Then you deserve to be dissed, abused and harassed more.

But one more thing before I start with this chapter: in the previous chapter we learned that Neville’s parents were tortured until, well, they stopped functioning as persons. (How does this differ from Dementors sucking out a person’s soul? Who knows!) You know who was a part of this torture? Bartemius Jr. You know who Bartemius Jr was impersonating? Mad-Eye Moody. You know what Fake-Moody’s first lesson was? On “Unforgivables”, including cruciatus.

So in other words, one of the people who tortured Neville’s parents impersonated a professor whose first lesson was on torture and whom Neville even rather liked since Fake-Moody was so kind to him and gave him a book.

And then it was never brought up again. By anyone.

Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Harry, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Oh, so it was this dude who killed them.

‘We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,’ said Fudge last night.

And did you actually keep doing anything about that past Book Three?

No?

Guessed as much.

‘We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black’s cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader.’

You know, why didn’t Bellatrix ever disclose that her useless blood traitor of a cousin was never a death eater?

Because she found it funny?

‘On no account should any of these individuals be approached.’

Yeah, considering how pusillanimous most of the wizards are, I very much doubt that’ll happen.

Or hey, here’s a thought: why didn’t Sirius go catch his cousin to prove his innocence to the wizarding world at large?

Oh, that’s right. Because Sirius can’t be an actual character who’d actually affect the plot.

Such as it were.

There they all were, talking about homework and Quidditch and who knew what other rubbish, when outside these walls ten more Death Eaters had swollen Voldemort’s ranks.

*almost dies laughing*

“Ten more Death Eaters had swollen Voldemort’s ranks”.

Oh, the horror. I almost feel the threat.

How many people does he have now? Fifteen?

But wait, these same people couldn’t even take on about a dozen death eaters when they outnumbered them 8 000 to 1.

No wonder they need kids dying for them.

‘Bode …’ said Ron. ‘Bode. It rings a bell …’

Yeah, it does actually. It was the same dude who greeted Arthur in the elevator.

…..so what kind of harebrained red herring is Rowling doing with this?

‘We saw him,’ Hermione whispered. ‘In St Mungo’s, remember? He was in the bed opposite Lockhart’s, just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil’s Snare arrive. She – the Healer – said it was a Christmas present.’ Harry looked back at the story. A feeling of horror was rising like bile in his throat. ‘How come we didn’t recognise Devil’s Snare? We’ve seen it before … we could’ve stopped this from happening.’

I am almost convinced that they care.

But anyhow~ to answer your question, dearest Hermione: because you’re morons.

Harry was not thinking about Devil’s Snare. He was remembering taking the lift down to the ninth level of the Ministry on the day of his hearing and the sallow-faced man who had got in on the Atrium level.

‘I met Bode,’ he said slowly. ‘I saw him at the Ministry with your dad.’

Oh look! He does remember that other people exist when the plot demands it.

He also doesn’t remember them when the plot demands it as evidenced by Fake-Moody, the book on aquatic plants and Neville in Book Four.

To quote Fake-Moody’s immortal words just because I feel like it:

‘But I also had to contend against your stupidity.’

If he hadn’t abused Draco, I might even be inclined to like him.

‘To send a letter,’ said Hermione, swinging her bag on to her shoulder. ‘It … well, I don’t know whether … but it’s worth trying … and I’m the only one who can.’

Because you kidnapped and imprisoned Rita for months?

Someone please tell me this chapter isn’t going to be long.

Harry watched him go, wondering how much more bad news he could stand.

Hagrid getting fired would be the best news. Right after Dumbles’ death, that is.

You hypocritical “I’ll Drop His Subject Anyway in Book Six”, you~.

The fact that Hagrid was now on probation became common knowledge within the school over the next few days, but to Harry’s indignation, hardly anybody appeared to be upset about it; indeed, some people, Draco Malfoy prominent among them, seemed positively gleeful.

Why would anyone be upset about it, “I’ll Drop His Subject Anyway in Book Six”?

And the cutest massive dork has been mentioned, ha ha. ♡

Those who came from wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort’s; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort’s reign of terror were legendary.

Oh really?

Are they really?

There were relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors: Susan Bones, whose uncle, aunt and cousins had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry.

‘And I don’t know how you stand it – it’s horrible,’ she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort.

Harry stands it just fine unless he’s humiliating himself in front of crowds — which, of course, never happens because he’s the Wunderfull Boy Wonder.

It was not only the students’ mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.

So wait.

Like… we have an actual plot happening of one) known death eaters knowingly bribing the minister for magic and two) death eaters escaping prison

and we’re focusing on everyone in a school whispering and gossiping with each other about it?

Yeah, just… *dies of sheer abject tedium and stupidity of these books*

‘They obviously can’t talk freely in the staff room any more,’ said Hermione in a low voice, as she, Harry and Ron passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. ‘Not with Umbridge there.’

And they certainly don’t have, like, their own quarters where they could possibly gossip.

She seemed determined at the very least to achieve a sacking before long, and the only question was whether it would be Professor Trelawney or Hagrid who went first.

Both. I recommend both. And after that she can toss Dumbles off a cliff — I mean, sack.

. . . and with no desire to do anything that might jeopardise his job further they abstained from walking down to his hut in the evenings.

They don’t want to jeopardise his job but they have no problems dropping his subject in Book Six.

What a bunch of hypocritical nepotistic morons.

It seemed to Harry that Umbridge was steadily depriving him of everything that made his life at Hogwarts worth living: visits to Hagrid’s house, letters from Sirius, his Firebolt and Quidditch.

That’s some really sad life, Harry.

. . . but in nobody was this improvement more pronounced than in Neville. The news of his parents’ attackers’ escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him.

As I already said about Neville and Fake-Moody above.

Why not address that as well, huh?

Harry’s sessions with Snape, which had started badly enough, were not improving. On the contrary, Harry felt he was getting worse with every lesson.

Before he had started studying Occlumency, his scar had prickled occasionally, usually during the night, or else following one of those strange flashes of Voldemort’s thoughts or mood that he experienced every now and then. Nowadays, however, his scar hardly ever stopped prickling, and he often felt lurches of annoyance or cheerfulness that were unrelated to what was happening to him at the time, which were always accompanied by a particularly painful twinge from his scar. He had the horrible impression that he was slowly turning into a kind of aerial that was tuned in to tiny fluctuations in Voldemort’s mood, and he was sure he could date this increased sensitivity firmly from his first Occlumency lesson with Snape.

‘The lessons with Snape are making it worse,’ said Harry flatly.

Wait.

My “Dumbles Is the Root of All Evil” senses are warning me again.

‘That’s not funny,’ said Hermione sharply. ‘Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.’

Aaaand this pretty much intensifies that.

‘Maybe it’s not Harry’s fault he can’t close his mind,’ said Ron darkly.

‘Well, maybe Snape isn’t really trying to help Harry …’

‘Maybe,’ he said again, in a lower voice, ‘he’s actually trying to open Harry’s mind a bit wider … make it easier for You-Know—’

And we’re actually doing Severus the Red Herring. Again.

Gods in heaven and all their celestial bodies, these books are so stupid.

‘Dumbledore trusts him,’ Hermione repeated. ‘And if we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone.’

And what exactly has Dumbles done to earn that trust?

You know, aside from that small matter of grooming useless eleven-year-olds to go after two dark wizard extraordinaires?

Oh gods, there are still eight spreads left of this tripe. I’m taking a break.

*a break later*

I had a break and ate dinner so my ability to concentrate has gotten better. These books haven’t gotten one bit better, though.

Harry had had very little time to spare for conversations with Cho since they had agreed to visit the village together, but suddenly found himself facing a Valentine’s Day spent entirely in her company.

When have you ever had actual conversations together?

On the morning of the fourteenth he dressed particularly carefully.

If she already likes you in spite of you dressing in Dudley’s old used clothes and Weasley jumpers, I’d say you don’t have to worry about your appearance.

You know who else started a perfectly polite conversation with a strange boy who was unkempt, too thin and dressed in too big muggle clothes? Draco.

But Draco’s a vile pureblood supremacist or some such.

. . . proceeded alone to the Entrance Hall to meet Cho, feeling very apprehensive and wondering what on earth they were going to talk about.

The same thing you always do? Cedric?

It was a fresh, breezy sort of a day and as they passed the Quidditch stadium Harry glimpsed Ron and Ginny skimming along over the stands and felt a horrible pang that he was not up there with them.

More Ginny/Ron proofs!

(It’s a joke, if someone didn’t catch that.)

‘Potter and Chang!’ screeched Pansy, to a chorus of snide giggles. ‘Urgh, Chang, I don’t think much of your taste … at least Diggory was good-looking!’

Well. She has a point. I wouldn’t touch Harry even if my life depended on it; he doesn’t wash his wand after shoving it up a troll’s nose, he plays with diaries he found in toilets, and he probably doesn’t even wash his hair very often.

A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it.

“A few Hogsmeaders”. There’s, like, ten of them?

‘Oh, there’s a really nice place just up here; haven’t you ever been to Madam Puddifoot’s?’ she said brightly, leading him up a side road and into a small teashop that Harry had never noticed before. It was a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows. Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Umbridge’s office.

‘Cute, isn’t it?’ said Cho happily.

‘Er … yeah,’ said Harry untruthfully.

Oh, won’t you look at that? More vilification of all things girly.

No wonder Cho and Harry never happened. Cho was too much of a girl.

But just as he moved his hand forwards, Cho took hers off the table. She was now watching Roger Davies kissing his girlfriend with a mildly interested expression.

‘He asked me out, you know,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘A couple of weeks ago. Roger. I turned him down, though.’

Choooo, Harry is too stupid to understand circumlocution. He’s too stupid to understand plain English too.

‘I thought,’ she said, tears spattering down on to the table, ‘I thought you’d u – u – understand!’

Aaaand that’s where you went wrong, Cho. Harry does not understand a whole lot, least of all other people’s feelings.

‘Women!’ he muttered angrily, sloshing down the rain-washed street with his hands in his pockets. ‘What did she want to talk about Cedric for, anyway? Why does she always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a human hosepipe?’

Wow, Cho really dodged a bullet there. Shame about Ginny, though.

‘Makes a diff’rence, havin’ a decent family,’ he said. ‘Me dad was decent. An’ your mum an’ dad were decent. If they’d lived, life woulda bin diff’rent, eh?’

Yeaaaah… you know, I very much doubt James was decent. There hasn’t been almost anything about Lily yet but knowing Rowling, I’m sure she wasn’t all that either.

Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses.

Wait, what?

So not only did Hermione kidnap and imprison Rita, she also cost her her job?

‘I’m guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter?’ she said. ‘Probably, Twenty-five Ways to Mingle With Muggles and the dates of the next Bring and Fly Sale?’

*raises eyebrows*

So there are more than two magazines?

‘Well, yes,’ said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. ‘Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider’s account of life in Azkaban.’

HERMIONE KIDNAPPED AND IMPRISONED HER. FOR WEEKS OR MONTHS.

I WOULD THINK THAT’S A WORSE CRIME THAN BEING AN UNREGISTERED ANIMAGUS OR WHAT HAVE YOU.

Oh wait, these are Harry Potters. All of these characters are psychopathic morons so kidnapping and imprisoning someone for weeks or months is probably just a regular weekend in this world.

Rita looked as though she would have liked nothing better than to seize the paper umbrella sticking out of Hermione’s drink and thrust it up her nose.

Go ahead, Rita. I support you.

Harry’s spell count so far: thirteen.

“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”

Gods in heaven and all their celestial bodies, I hate these books.

Chapter Seventeen – The Four Champions

I wrote this coda with Pansy in it for chapter sixteen so I tried to look up if her looks were described in the later books. They weren’t but I did come across a really funny quote by Rowling, and anyone who has been following these can probably guess what I think of that woman’s opinion on anything. Without further ado:

Let my girls be Hermiones, rather than Pansy Parkinsons. Let them never be Stupid Girls.

Hermione: has no empathy to speak of, is a walking encyclopedia who gets used by the resident hero but still isn’t particularly bright, imprisons people for writing “mean” things about her, scars girls for life for petty revenge, obliviates and gives dementia to her own parents without their consent, bullies others into submission, and is generally very unpleasant and self-righteous individual. That Hermione?

Let’s compare that list of things to what Pansy has done, shall we?

Pansy: says a few ostensibly mean things here and there.

It might not seem like it but I try really, really hard not to call Rowling any names during these and yet the woman makes it so bloody difficult. But I will say this, however, otherwise I shall go mad. Judging solely by her books, Rowling seems to be the exact kind of person she is vilifying the Dursleys, Draco and Pansy for. As I already said about Dudley, I don’t know who Draco and Pansy are based on but I sincerely hope they have a restraining order.

But you know what’s the best part I came across? I shall quote from potterwikia:

Upon hearing the news, Pansy rushed to visit him in the hospital wing, and “lost no time in vilifying Harry far and wide“.

This is in reference to Book Six. In which Harry almost eviscerated Draco, got off scot-free as Rowling’s every disgusting psychopathic pet does, and then spent his sun-filled days kissing Ginny Weasley, essentially getting rewarded for almost murdering someone.

Like, I love that bit “lost no time in vilifying Harry~” as if Pansy is somehow at fault here. As if she’s wrong for “vilifying” the psychopathic lunatic who almost murdered her boyfriend and then wasn’t even punished for it. (NB: manslaughter is still murder because the other person is still dead.)

*deep breaths*

Okay, this won’t do. I’m already pissed off and I haven’t even started the chapter yet.

I ask this sincerely: Are there actually people who take this woman’s words seriously? Are there actually people who think this woman isn’t completely full of shit?

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly.

There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat.

A kind reminder: He isn’t freezing because he doesn’t like attention or fame. He’s freezing because he has a fear of public rejection. Oh, fine. He’s probably also confused because he didn’t put his name into the fancy magical cup and yet out it came anyway! Ah, mysterious mysteries~.

Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire.

Ha ha! He’s such a gentleman.

‘But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name’s come out of the Goblet … I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage … it’s down in the rules, you’re obliged … Harry will just have to do the best he –’

I honestly feel my brain dying a slow agonizing death as I read these books. This level of stupid should be illegal.

‘C’est impossible,’ said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur’s shoulder.‘’Ogwarts cannot ’ave two champions. It is most injust.’

Why not choose a second champion for the other schools as well? What kind of competition even is it if it has only three people?

If I was doing this tournament, I would’ve made age-appropriate challenges for each grade.

‘It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,’ said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. ‘Don’t go blaming Dumbledore for Potter’s determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here –’

You know, it’s not like he’s wrong? Well, except for that “don’t go blaming Dumbledore” because I’m blaming Dumbles for everything.

Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry, who looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles.

‘Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?’ Dumbledore asked calmly.

You do realise that Dumbles is reading Harry’s mind whenever he looks him in the eyes, don’t you? If he has to read the kid’s mind to see if he’s telling the truth, it means that Dumbles doesn’t trust Harry. Why does this old coot have to be so creepy and gross?

‘He could not have crossed the Age Line,’ said Professor McGonagall sharply. ‘I am sure we are all agreed on that –’

Okay, like, what’s the real problem here? Evidently it isn’t Harry’s age because the age restriction was only imposed this year and these people were quite happily killing off their kids for entertainment for six hundred years. Is it that Hogwarts now has two champions? If that’s the case, why not choose a second champion for the other schools as well? And stop. wasting. my. time.

What’s better than contrived drama! Nothing, I tell you.

‘Dumbly-dorr must ’ave made a mistake wiz ze line,’ said Madame Maxime, shrugging.

‘It is possible, of course,’ said Dumbledore politely.

Ha ha ha! This piece of shit has never even for a second considered he might be wrong about anything.

‘Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!’ said Professor McGonagall angrily.

Aaaand Minerva’s ardent fangirl spirit rears its unseemly head again.

‘Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I’m sure that should be good enough for everybody else!’

Well, you know~ I’m just saying~ there are people older than the students there.

You know what would’ve been actually hilarious? If it was some random person who put Harry’s name in the fancy cup because they thought the publicity would be great.

‘Mr Crouch … Mr Bagman,’ said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, ‘you are our – er – objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?’

Ha! He knows what’s up! He knows this panel of judges is a complete sham.

‘We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the Tournament.’

No wonder these people were happily killing off their kids for six hundred years.

You know what those backward, stupid Muggles let people do? Drop out of competitions.

And you know, if this stupid cup is actually “a binding magical contract”, how does this work with people who didn’t even submit their own names? Like, can you just make every sort of contract with other people’s names in this world? That’s illegal and makes the contract invalid in the backward, stupid Muggle world.

Oh my god, I hate these people so much.

Rowling wrote a complete lawless, psychopathic dystopia and then the woman presented it as something wonderful~ and magical~. Take a moment to appreciate how many kids’ logical and empathy facilities this woman author has ruined. Like, really appreciate it.

‘I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,’ said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. ‘You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It’s only fair, Dumbledore.’

Yes. I agree.

Also, I find it absolutely hilarious that this is said by the ex-Death Eater who is supposed to be evil. I’m dead serious, appreciate how many kids’ logical and empathy facilities this woman author has ruined.

Dumbles is the direct reason why Death Eaters became a thing in the first place, I’m fucking calling it now. Like, I absolutely refuse to believe that no one has tried to murder that old coot by now.

‘But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that,’ said Bagman. ‘The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out – it won’t re-ignite until the start of the next Tournament –’

Oh my god, you brainless morons. Toss their names in a hat and pick one.

Wait a second.

D’you remember how I said in one of the previous chapter deconstructions that Rowling didn’t write Fake-Moody as someone impersonating Moody but as the actual Moody who was impersonated by someone?

What if he was the real Moody all along? What if Bartemius Jr indeed tried to attack Moody but — what with Moody being a supposedly legendary auror — he failed and Moody captured him? And they only switched places in the last chapter so Bartemius Jr could take the fall for Moody? Dumbles likes doing that after all.

Ha! And now I can blame Dumbles for everything in this book too. Good job, me.

‘Don’t you?’ said Moody quietly. ‘It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter’s name in that Goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.’

If.

This genius plan and the whole “plot” hinged on an if.

‘Why should ’e complain?’ burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot.‘’E ’as ze chance to compete, ’asn’t ’e? We ’ave all been ’oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money – zis is a chance many would die for!’

These people are willing to die for a school and money. And it’s not like a thousand Galleons is a lot of money in this world anyway. A kind reminder: gold is dirt cheap.

The Weasley Litter won seven hundred galleons in that Daily Prophet Prize Galleon Draw and they blew it all on one vacation (and Ron’s new wand).

I mean, if Rowling wanted me to think this prize money is actually worth anything, let alone something to die for, she should’ve made it a hundred thousand galleons or something.

‘Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,’ said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.

Well, Fake-Moody. If you want Harry to die that bad, maybe you should’ve thought of it back in the Quidditch World Cup when you were invisible, had Harry’s wand, and Harry was defenceless and alone in a dark forest.

But no. Instead you chose this harebrained plan that hinged on an if.

I mean, let’s be real. It’s not like Tommy actually needs Harry’s blood for anything. If he needed it for something, it was so Harry’s touch would no longer hurt him. Which could’ve just as well been accomplished by killing the brat or, y’know, not touching him. It’s not like Harry is immune to all dark wizards or even dark spells. Only Tommy has that dubious honour.

STRAWMAN: But, Chicoryyyy, what about the plot?

When your “plot” hinges on ifs, coincidences of extreme convenience, and stupidity, you need a new plot.

‘We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,’ said Karkaroff loudly. ‘Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination, too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons.’

I like this character. I can tell he’s a bit meta like Draco. He knows Dumbles has an acquired taste in his staff. Meaning that the old coot has no standards to speak of.

‘The first task is designed to test your daring,’ he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur and Krum, ‘so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard … very important …

‘The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the Tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.’

Rowling is, honest to god, completely full of shit.

Let’s break this down, shall we?

One) She imposes the age restriction in this book so Harry can’t participate in the tournament in spite of having him express the desire to participate. Then she has Harry participate any-fucking-way just so she can pretend that sweet ickle Harry is a totally humble character who doesn’t like fame or glory. And also, so she can prop up how wunderfull her Boy Wonder is by having him compete against older students as a fourteen-year-old. Even though, you know, that was the norm for six hundred years so Harry isn’t special of specialness.

Two) As if this isn’t enough, she actually doesn’t let Harry compete with his own daring, competence and intelligence. Because he doesn’t have any. No, instead if I recall correctly, it was Hagrid who spilled the beans about the dragons and Fake-Moody gave him the idea about the broom, he got a hint about the egg from Cedric, and Dobby had to shove the gillyweed into his fucking hand. I don’t remember what happened with the maze but I suspect Harry had help with that too.

And come to think of it, how did the audience observe the second task? Did they stare at the lake for an hour? How thrilling.

Three) In other words, like every terrible mother, Rowling helped and had her wunderfull Boy Wonder cheat his way through the tournament. You know whom she’s vilifying for this exact same fucking thing? Petunia.

She did this same thing in Book Three with the Quidditch Cup. Instead of letting the Gryffindors win with their own competence, she made the opposition completely fucking brainless in comparison.

Appreciate how many kids’ logical and empathy facilities this woman author has ruined.

‘So,’ said Cedric, with a slight smile. ‘We’re playing against each other again!’

Don’t be so excited, Cedric. It’s just an excuse to murder you since your doting dad was asking for it.

‘I s’pose,’ said Harry. He really couldn’t think of anything to say. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked.

Oh, Harry. That’s because you’re stupid. ♡

Did anyone really want him dead?

Oh my god, this kid is so fucking stupid.

Harry was able to answer that at once. Yes, someone wanted him dead, someone had wanted him dead ever since he had been a year old … Lord Voldemort. But how could Voldemort have ensured that Harry’s name got into the Goblet of Fire? Voldemort was supposed to be far away, in some distant country, in hiding, alone … feeble and powerless …

Well, I don’t know. How did he almost murder your arse in Book One and Two? Tommy works in mysterious ways~.

But nobody wanted to hear that he wasn’t hungry; nobody wanted to hear that he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that he wasn’t at all in the mood to celebrate …

Aw, poor thing. Harry gets fame, glory, everyone’s adoration and adulation without even doing anything — and yet Harry is most affected. He is so hard done by.

He wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room.

To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him.

‘Where’ve you been?’ Harry said.

‘Oh, hello,’ said Ron.

This exchange sums up the entirety of their friendship. As I have said previously, Harry hasn’t done anything for his friends — aside from that brief instance when he let Ron borrow his firebolt in Book Three. This is not to say that Harry wouldn’t “heroically die” for Ron and Hermione, but he sure as hell isn’t interested in their emotional well-being unlike Ron who consistently notices and worries about Harry’s emotional well-being. Or at least he did in the past three books. I mean, I’d like to imagine he’d get sick of one-sidedly doing that at some point.

Harry is an emotional leech. He’s interested in people only so far as what he gets out of them and then he doesn’t reciprocate in any particular meaningful way. This isn’t surprising per se because the reason why he befriended Ron in the first place was that he imprinted on the Weasleys before Ron came creeping in for the Boy Wonder.

For an egregious example, Rowling makes a big production of Harry’s birthday in every book and the Boy Wonder will sulk if he thinks someone has forgotten about it. And yet Rowling can’t make Harry do even something as little as wishing his friends “happy birthday”. You know, even though she specifically mentioned that Hermione’s birthday is in September in Book Three.

And since I so love pointing these out, can you guess whom Rowling is vilifying for the exact same fucking thing? Dudley.

Rowling is completely full of shit, at every fucking level. Like, it’s so pervasive and systematic that I waver between thinking it’s on purpose and she’s totally relentlessly mocking her readers, or she’s just an oblivious hypocritical hack.

He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him.

Er…

So Harry storms into the dormitory and demands “where Ron has been” without so much as a hello. When Ron tries to ask how he got into the tournament — without explicitly blaming him, mind — Harry blames some nebulous other person with equally nebulous motivations, doesn’t really explain anything, gets angry when Ron doesn’t immediately believe him and then calls him stupid. (Not to mention that Harry gets all the fame and credit from riding other people’s coattails anyway, most commonly Hermione’s.)

Instead of, you know, asking Ron what’s wrong, why would he think that Harry put his name in the fancy cup, and even if he did put his name in the fancy cup, why would he think that he would’ve done it without Ron.

But then we would’ve had an actual conversation and Harry couldn’t have played the victim.

Anyhow~

Harry’s spell count so far: five.

“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”

Chapter Eleven – The Firebolt

I was going through some of the previous chapters I’ve posted from Book Three and I feel like I sound a lot harsher than I particularly mean to. I’ll try to tone it down but it’s just — I don’t understand how these books are getting worse instead of better? Well, no, I guess I do understand since the books were broken from the start and people just heaped praise on Rowling so she never really learned or had an incentive to do better? Also, I just — from reading her books, I feel like I fundamentally disagree with her on everything as a person.

Another problem, I think, is that each new book rather feels like a soft reboot instead of an actual continuation of the previous book. If that makes sense? But this feeling might just come from the fact that Rowling isn’t very good at world building. Everything — characters, spells, widgets, events — is inconsequential.

So anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I’ve been sounding unnecessarily harsh in recent chapters. I’ll try to tone it down but I don’t think I can entirely give up the sarcasm, ha ha. I need it to sustain my sanity in this abyss of hypocritical stupidity.

Why had nobody ever told him? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr Weasley, Cornelius Fudge… why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned the fact that Harry’s parents had died because their best friend had betrayed them?

Er — Draco mentioned it? And you didn’t find it interesting or worthwhile enough to investigate on your own? I guess you’ve become so used to the universe handing everything to you for nothing that you’ve come to expect it.

Ron and Hermione watched Harry nervously all through dinner, not daring to talk about what they’d overheard, because Percy was sitting close by them.

Aaaand we continue the unexplained exclusion and dislike of Percy. For reasons. Because Rowling is such an awesome author.

When they went upstairs to the crowded common room, it was to find Fred and George had set off half-a-dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits.

Dung is, y’know, manure, right? So these characters are playing with shit? …..and you like them why exactly? You admire characters who constantly harm themselves and their friends, family and animals, who constantly play with shit and farts, and whose “sweets” include earwax, acid and cockroaches?

Well… to each their own, I guess.

He pushed his books aside and quickly found what he was looking for — the leather-bound photo album Hagrid had given him two years ago, which was full of wizard pictures of his mother and father.

Oh hey, it’s the photo album. That hasn’t been mentioned since the end of Book One. Y’know, it would be easier to care if Rowling was actually showing that Harry cares. But yeah, this is just one more thing Harry does when the “plot” demands it. Otherwise there is no indication that he cares a whit about his parents. Or extended family.

He stopped on a picture of his parents’ wedding day. There was his father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was his mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with his Dad.

So when was the pair of dimwits’ wedding? Right out of Hogwarts? They died at twenty-one. And by logic, they must’ve been hiding for at least a couple of years. At least before they had Harry. So from somewhere around nineteen at least.

The answer to that question is important because does it ever change Lily’s “friendship” with Severus.

Harry had never given him a thought before.

Oh, Harry. You’ve never given a thought to anyone!

The dormitory door opened.

“Harry?” said Ron’s voice uncertainly.

Aw, Ron’s such a sweetheart sometimes.

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison.

Oh? Y’mean you’ve finally found someone you hate more than the kid you were a rude gitface to first? Is this character development? You may discuss.

He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces.

I think this says something extremely unfortunate about Harry’s relationship, or lack of really, with Neville. As a kind reminder, the only things that Harry knows about Peter so far are: he was fat, he was incompetent, he hero-worshipped James and Sirius, and he supposedly died a futile death. And the first person who comes to Harry’s mind is Neville.

As I’ve been saying since Book One, these characters aren’t friends.

“Like trying to go after Black,” said Ron sharply.

I just love it when these characters try to pretend that Harry has any will or agency of his own. Or like there is an actual plot in these books.

“So what are you saying?” said Ron, looking very tense. “You want to — to kill Black or something?”

And if he does? Was it Confucius who said you shouldn’t live under the same sky as the murderer of your parents? I forget.

The problem isn’t whether Harry wants to kill Sirius or not. The problem is that he’s a complete idiot who can barely do three spells: Rictumsempra, Expelliarmus and Lumos. None of those three will exactly be of use if he wants to defend himself or kill someone else. Not to mention he has no will or agency of his own to speak of.

The only reason why Harry has survived this far is because his god — that is, Rowling — warps the entire universe in his favour.

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione in a panicky voice. “Harry doesn’t want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?”

Y’know, I really don’t understand these people who think killing a human is the worst thing you can do. But these people usually think every person is precious and handcrafted by god just because they’re humanoid. For example, in my humble opinion, Dumbles, Hagrid and Dobby can go walk right off a cliff and nothing of value would be lost.

But more seriously, if you know anything at all about humanity, there is something extremely perverse about finding every child-abusing cannibal valuable. And in fact, that probably makes you worse than the child-abusing cannibal.

“Malfoy knows,” he said abruptly. “Remember what he said to me in Potions? ‘If it was me, I’d hunt him down myself… I’d want revenge.'”

“Malfoy’s dad must have told him,” said Harry, ignoring Ron. “He was right in Voldemort’s inner circle–“

“–so obviously, the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort–“

And we get right back to world building and plot segregation. I actually talked about this in — one of the previous chapters, anyway — but Lucius was in Tommy’s inner circle and Sirius wasn’t. Wouldn’t Lucius have known that Sirius was never a Death Eater? If Draco was aware of the gritty details of the Potter murders through his father, then was Lucius lying to his son or was Draco lying to Harry? Or was Rowling simply thinking nothing at all when she wrote this book?

I’ll go with the latter. Always go with the most parsimonious explanation, as I’ve read.

“–and Malfoy’d love to see you blown into about a million pieces, like Pettigrew! Get a grip, Malfoy’s just hoping you’ll get yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch.”

Actually, I think he’d just find it funny.

“I’ll never know what they’d have wanted because, thanks to Black, I’ve never spoken to them,” said Harry shortly.

Ha ha, savage.

“Yeah, let’s go,” said Harry, sitting up, “and I can ask him how come he never mentioned Black when he told me all about my parents!”

Well, to be fair to Hagrid, I don’t think Rowling had even thought of this subplot in Book One. She didn’t even think about it in this book, much. Or at all. *looks away*

Harry, about to collapse under Hagrid’s weight, was rescued by Ron and Hermione . . .

I dunno, shouldn’t Harry have dropped straight to the ground when Hagrid flung himself on him?

Dear Mr Hagrid,
Further to our inquiry into the attack by a Hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.

. . . you bear no responsibility . . .

There are no words to describe how much I despise Dumbles. Like, I’ve encountered some hideous characters but Dumbles takes the win easy. Also, I know half of these characters are unrepentant snowflakes but I think Hagrid is the biggest one — I mean, his size notwithstanding. Because at least Dumbles, Harry and Hermione bear some consequences for their actions — which is not saying a lot, mind — but Rowling never even peripherally acknowledges that Hagrid has done something wrong. And at least she killed off Dumbles but what did Hagrid get?

What did Hagrid get? I forget.

But anyway, of course Hagrid bears some responsibility because he was the adult in that situation. He was the teacher. He chose hippogriffs — that is, temperamental and dangerous animals — as the very first lesson for a bunch of kids whose only contact with magical creatures so far had been their pets. And all of this just because Hagrid is completely incapable of putting himself in someone else’s place.

He’s the half-giant. He might just get an inconsequential scratch if some magical creature attacks him. But his students are thirteen-year-old human kids.

Like, I just really do not understand how anyone can like Hagrid. I don’t. But then, people actually like Dumbles too and I just want to see him dead. Which is why I will have Draco murder him. It shall be grand. But I’ll talk more about this later.

Also, telling Draco not to insult anyone is almost like telling him not to breathe, ha ha. ♡ Not that he can’t be polite, as evidenced by his first and half of his second scene in Book One. I wonder if he gave up on politeness after it got him disliked for no reason with Harry?

And I don’t think he was actually insulting the hippogriff. Because insulting someone isn’t just about the words you use, it’s also about how you use those words — tone of voice, expression, etc. I think that’s just how Draco talks and he was being neutral about it, and the hippogriff being an uppity animal of course didn’t understand him and took just the word as an insult instead of the way it was delivered. Admittedly, though, this is just a headcanon.

Yours in fellowship…

Oh gods, now she’s ruining the word fellowship.

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin made Harry, Ron and Hermione whip around. Buckbeak the Hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.

I very much doubt that Hagrid’s hut is so huge that they wouldn’t notice the hulking hippogriff in the corner as soon as they stepped through the door.

Also, it’s a wild animal. I very much doubt it wants to be locked in Hagrid’s tiny hut — and wait, what am I saying? They kept Fluffy locked up in a tiny room for a year.

Moreover, doesn’t Hogwarts have stables? I would imagine that they have stables considering their carriages are pulled by invisible horses. It’s not like they’d just keep those out in the wild… would they?

“Won’ make no diff’rence!” sobbed Hagrid. “Them Disposal devils, they’re all in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket! Scared o’ him! An’ if I lose the case, Buckbeak–“

Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forwards, his face in his arms.

Poor Lucius. He has everyone in his pocket, he has all the clever plans, and yet he can’t achieve anything anyway.

Besides, it would be easier to care if these books weren’t already chock-full of casual animal abuse by the narrative and Rowling’s darling pets. Case in point: Buckbeak himself ended up locked up in an attic. Have I ever mentioned how much I despise cheap emotional manipulation? Because I truly despise cheap emotional manipulation.

Not to mention, in the real world it’s rather usual to put down animals which have attacked humans. Whether that’s right or wrong, you can decide that for yourself.

“What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?” said Harry.

“He’s done more’n enough fer me already,” groaned Hagrid.

Oh, has he? Ha ha ha.

Hagrid howled still more loudly. Harry and Hermione looked at Ron to help them.

“Er — shall I make a cup of tea?” said Ron.

Harry stared at him.

Harry, I’m sure you don’t remember this what with your memory already going at thirteen, but you were almost murdered in Book One and you brushed it aside with a cup of strong tea. So what’s with the judgemental staring? Ah, right. How could Harry possibly help his own personality?

“I’ve not bin meself lately,” said Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other. “Worried abou’ Buckbeak, an’ no one likin’ me classes–“

“We do like them!” lied Hermione at once.

“Yeah, they’re great!” said Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. “Er — how are the Flobberworms?”

“Dead,” said Hagrid gloomily. “Too much lettuce.”

I find it amazing that the narrative and everyone treats this sixty-year-old man like a child.

Also, do note: Rowling makes a cheap joke out of the flobberworms dying in the chapter in which we’re supposed to feel sorry for Hagrid about his dumbassery potentially getting Buckbeak put down. And not a word is said that Hagrid sucks at his job as the caretaker of magical creatures. But well, that was obvious from Book One: see Fluffy.

Hagrid went quiet for a moment, staring into his tea. Then he said quietly, “Thought o’ jus’ letting Buckbeak go… tryin’ ter make him fly away… but how d’yeh explain ter a Hippogriff it’s gotta go inter hidin’? An’ — an’ I’m scared o’ breakin’ the law…”

Er — y’mean you’re scared of breaking the law when there’s a very good chance you’ll get caught, don’t you? Because, man, otherwise you don’t have any problems about breaking the law left, right and centre. Check Book One and Two.

And Buckbeak is a WILD ANIMAL. What do you suppose it’ll do if you let it go? Hang around humans?

“Another jumper from Mum… maroon again… see if you’ve got one.”

I still think Molly has passive-aggressive issues with Ron.

“Nothing! Blimey, who’d spend that much on you?”

I dunno, the author?

“Dumbledore was just passing it on to me. He wouldn’t spend hundreds of Galleons on me. He can’t go giving students stuff like this–“

A kind reminder:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.
It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one.

Professor M. McGonagall

“Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor.”

Poor Harry, so young and yet so forgetful. If the future lady headmaster can buy expensive, top-of-the-shelf brooms for you, I really see no reason why the current child-grooming headmaster can’t just as well. If he wasn’t so decrepit, I bet Dumbles would give you anything in exchange for blowjobs. …..okay, that was in bad taste, I don’t want to imagine him sexually abusing Harry on top of everything else. (￣ ￣|||)

“That’s why he wouldn’t say it was from him!” said Ron. “In case some git like Malfoy said it was favouritism.”

Er — are you stupid? It is favouritism. Just like Harry’s precious Nimbus in Book One was gross favouritism. I just can’t with these books, I feel my brain cells dying in agony as I read on.

Harry Potter, so special that even blatant favouritism isn’t favouritism when it comes to him.

“This is an international-standard broom, this is!”

I don’t know much about school sports but is this allowed? I don’t know, shouldn’t school sports have standardised equipment so they’ll all basically have the same starting point and then the only thing that differentiates them is actual talent? Instead of who has more money? I mean, obviously Harry will have an extreme advantage if he’s riding a professional international-standard broom?

Hermione had just come in, wearing her dressing-gown and carrying Crookshanks, who was looking very grumpy, with a string of tinsel tied around his neck.

A kind reminder:

“And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours.”

If Scabbers was my pet, I would’ve stopped being friends with Hermione ages ago and I probably would’ve called her something far worse than a Mudblood. Ron has the patience and forgiveness of a saint.

But before Hermione, could answer, Crookshanks sprang from Seamus’s bed, right at Ron’s chest.

As I said.

By the way, this happens throughout the entire book and Rowling justifies Hermione’s gross self-centred indifference by making Scabbers into Peter at the end. Even though that doesn’t justify her behaviour when none of them is aware that Scabbers isn’t a real rat. I mean, there are actually some people who blame Ron for being mean to poor little Hermione since obviously Hermione can do no wrong. Just because a character is the author’s self-insert it doesn’t mean they can’t be other people’s self-insert, too.

But anyway, we’re not supposed to see anything wrong with the above — and if we do, we’re supposed to blame Ron for being mean — but we’re supposed to care that Buckbeak will kick it because Hagrid is a dumbass and he attacked a student.

These books are trying their damnest to make me despise each and every one of them.

. . . unless Scabbers had powers he had never revealed . . .

Come to think of it, what are Hedwig’s powers then? Aside from putting up with the Boy Wonder.

Hermione had shut Crookshanks in her dormitory, but was furious with Ron for trying to kick him . . . 

Oh my god, you complete fucking bint. This:

“And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours.”

is what you said. You’re not holding your end of the deal and then you get mad at Ron for your own fucking behaviour? Forget kicking her cat, I’d be kicking her in the face until her fucking behaviour improves.

Yeah, you know what? Draco can call her a Mudblood all day long, I didn’t care when he first did it and I care even less now.

And no, just because Rowling thought that making Scabbers into Peter was the most brilliant thing ever because of PLOT TWIST, DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING, DID YOU, TEE HEE HEE~ that doesn’t excuse Hermione’s behaviour when none of them know that Scabbers. isn’t. a. real. rat.

At this point she’s nothing but a selfish bint who doesn’t care about her supposed best friend’s pet. And people actually blame Ron in this book. The world makes me despair.

There were only three other students: two extremely nervous-looking first-years and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth-year.

Yeah, because the rest of these characters are just little balls of sunshine.

“I have been crystal-gazing, Headmaster,” said Professor Trelawney, in her mistiest, most faraway voice, “and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…”

Or in other words, you can join the party since the author finally introduced your existence. What’s the other teachers’ excuse for not joining?

And he did indeed draw a chair in mid-air with his wand . . .

…..why, though?

Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream.

“I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky!”

So what about the unlucky numbers in other countries?

“But where is dear Professor Lupin?”

“I’m afraid the poor fellow is ill again,” said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. “Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day.”

Wait, when was Lupin ill for the first time again?

He drank the potion on Hallowe’en, which is the 31st of October. Their first match was probably on the next Saturday, in November, but Lupin was gone at least from Friday. So wait, he has to drink the potion a week beforehand?

According to my computer calendar, the 31st of October was a Sunday in 1993. Friday would’ve been the 5th, November and Saturday the 6th, November. According to a handy website, the moon would have been 63% full on this date, not to mention waning. Still according to this handy website, the moon would’ve been 85% full on 24th, December and waxing.

But anyway, let’s say the Friday Lupin was ill was the 5th, November and this was the full moon. It takes about 29 to 30 days to the next full moon which would’ve been the 4th or 5th of December. Which would mean that the next full moon would’ve been somewhere on the 2nd or 3rd of January.

The point is Lupin couldn’t have possibly been “ill” on christmas day. Unless he was actually ill instead of “ill”?

“I doubt it will make much difference,” said Professor McGonagall coldly, “unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall.”

I’m actually surprised that there aren’t tons of Minerva/Sybill fics. After all, I know how these ships go even if I don’t participate in them. But I guess it’s because they aren’t men?

Whey they reached the portrait hole they found Sir Cadogan enjoying a Christmas party with a couple of monks, several previous Headmasters of Hogwarts and his fat pony. He pushed up his visor and toasted them with a flagon of mead.

“Merry — hic — Christmas! Password?”

How do paintings get drunk?

Y’know, it seems less like these are moving and talking paintings and more like the paintings are passages to another dimension. For example, in Dark Souls there were painted worlds and you could step into them with the right object. I don’t know how wide these worlds were because, y’know, video games, but they were actual worlds with inhabitants and buildings and weather and so on.

Hermione walked around them, sat down, picked up the nearest book and hid her face behind it.

“So that’s it, is it?” said Professor McGonagall beadily, walking over to the fireside and staring at the Firebolt. “Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter.”

So, Hermione does this without even consulting her friends first and then she doesn’t even have the spine to face them.

“Because I thought — and Professor McGonagall agrees with me — that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!”

Y’know, there are a lot more cheaper ways to murder the Boy Wonder if that’s what Sirius was after. Not to mention it doesn’t make sense that a convict who’s been in prison for twelve years and should’ve had all of his property already confiscated by the government has the money to buy the most expensive broom in the market.

But hey, what do I know? Can’t have logic get in the way of the brilliant plot.

Harry’s spell count so far: three.

“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”

Chapter Seventeen – The Heir of Slytherin

The second to last chapter!!!!

He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns.

I don’t know if I should be proud Harry’s finally thinking of defending himself with his wand or wonder why he didn’t have it in his hand in the first place? I mean, when did he put it away? I’d assume he’d still need it for light?

He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement.

I really don’t see what good this would do. It’s a giant snake. It’s extremely poisonous. It could bite Harry’s head off, crush him, suffocate him, or simply poison him. Which it actually did later.

On that thought, you know what Harry should’ve got himself? Reflective glasses — like those one-way mirrors that reflect from one side and are transparent from the other.

Would those have helped? I dunno, but it would’ve been better than doing nothing and getting deus ex machinaed out of your shoddy nonpreparations.

Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: it was ancient and monkey-like . . .

Marcus is trollish, Millicent is hag-like, and apparently Sally is monkey-like. Please, Rowling, tell me aaaall about dehumanisation.

He flung his wand aside . . .

How is this kid not dead yet? Oh, right. ‘Cause of “love”.

Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn’t Petrified. . . .

Maybe she was Petrified with her eyes closed? Like, come on, Harry. Aren’t you capable of even the most basic logic? Also, if she was petrified wouldn’t you have noticed it the instant you touched her and lifted her up? Since she’d be as stiff as a stone?

“She’s still alive,” said Riddle. “But only just.”

You had an entire year and a day to suck up her life or soul or whatever. Dude, what’ve you been doing?

“A memory,” said Riddle quietly. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Speaking of dude, what’re you doing, less talking and more killing. Don’t you remember what happened in the previous book? Why are you this stupid and incompetent? Like, are there people who actually take Tommy seriously? I mean, are there people who actually think he’s scary?

Because he’s such a useless and pathetic blundering moron I just — I can’t imagine it. But if Rowling’s main characters are useless, I guess it makes sense her villains are equally useless.

. . . Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again.

But his wand had gone.

Oh, gosh! I wonder how that ever happened! Oh, that’s right. You threw it away.

How is this kid not dead yet? I demand karmic Darwinian justice in these books!

He looked up. Riddle was still watching him — twirling Harry’s wand between his long fingers.

DUDE. LESS INTENSE STARING AND MORE INTENSE KILLING.

This book just goes on and on and on and on and on and on. *cries* Like, Tommy is acting like a complete moron who inexplicably can’t just murder the brat or turn him into a chicken or whatever. Or a rooster, that would’ve been hilarious. And Harry is acting like a complete moron who can’t catch a hint. Stop. Wasting. My. Time. Book.

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter,” said Riddle. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.”

“We’re going to talk now,” said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry’s wand.

Oh my god.

“How did Ginny get like this?” he asked slowly.

“Well, that’s an interesting question,” said Riddle pleasantly. “And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley’s like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger.”

Oh my fucking god.

“What are you talking about?” said Harry.

“The diary,” said Riddle. “My diary. Little Ginny’s been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes: how her brothers tease her, how she had to come school with second-hand robes and books, how–” Riddle’s eyes glinted “–how she didn’t think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her…”

All the time he spoke, Riddle’s eyes never left Harry’s face. There was an almost hungry look in them.

OH MY FUCKING GOD.

I’m too tired for this shite. That’s it for today. *goes back to reading The Adventures of Pinocchio*

“It’s very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl,” he went on.

That’s boring? THAT’S boring? IMAGINE HOW BORING IT IS TO READ SIX FUCKING PAGES!!!! OF AN INCOMPETENT VILLAIN MONOLOGUING ON THEIR INCOMPETENT VILLAINY. While our dimwit hero Harry is nothing but a prop so Tommy can explain the W H O L E book to the audience. It’s when these books get to these moments that I feel my will to live die a slow agonising death.

Maybe that’s why Ginny’s dying so slowly. Tommy wanted to talk her to death.

“If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed.”

I really fail to see how. You’re stupid, you’re incompetent, you’re pathetic, you’re inefficient. What have you actually achieved? That we’ve been shown. Oh, that’s right. Nothing. Because you just can’t murder the bane of your existence as soon as the dimwit steps through the door and he’s unaware of your presence.

“What d’you mean?” said Harry, whose mouth had gone very dry.

“Haven’t you guessed yet, Harry Potter?” said Riddle softly. . . .

This is hell.

If you want a picture of hell, imagine a villain soliloquying their villainy — for ever.

“No,” Harry whispered.

“Yes,” said Riddle, calmly.

I don’t know why, but this exchange is hilarious.

“It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary,” said Riddle. . . .

No, like, seriously, dude? Is this how you lost the first time?

TOMMY: Ah, Harry Potter. At last. How I have searched for you, my nemesis! Tonight, you shall die!

HARRY: A-da.

TOMMY: But first, I must tell you of the long arduous journey it took me to get here! I want you to know exactly what I did, how I did, to whom I did, and why I did, so you can truly appreciate my evil villainy if I say so myself!

HARRY: A-ga.

LILY: Um, could you please stop trying to murder my son?

TOMMY: Silence, you Mudblood wench! I’m talking, and talking, and talking, and talking, and talking, and talking, and talking, and talking, and talking.

“And why did you want to meet me?” said Harry. . . . 

“Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry,” said Riddle. . . .

NO SERIOUSLY DUDE. WRITE A VERY SPECIAL MEMO.

“. . . So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust.”

“Evening, Rubeus,” said Riddle sharply.

“What yer doin’ down here, Tom?”

So he’s gone back to Hagrid?

“It was my word against Hagrid’s, Harry. . . .”

Oh my gooood. *starts crying out of sheer abject tedium*

If this is the standard you have, this is the standard you get.

“On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school Prefect, model student . . .”

I can with utmost honesty say that’s not my image of you at all.

“. . . on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed . . .”

“. . . trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed . . .”

“. . . trying to raise werewolf cubs . . .”

“. . . werewolf cubs . . .”

Please, do tell me all about what great world building Harry Potter has.

“But I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realise that Hagrid couldn’t possibly be the heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance… as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!”

That’s because everyone in these books is brainless.

Also, when and how did Tommy find out he’s the heir of Slytherin? Or did he just make a lucky guess?

And, er, Tommy, opening the chamber requires neither brains nor power. Even Harry managed to open it and I’m sure we can both agree that the kid doesn’t have either of those things.

“Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. . . .”

He just won’t shut up. He literally just won’t shut the fuck up.

“I bet Dumbledore saw right through you,” said Harry, his teeth gritted.

“Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled,” said Riddle carelessly. . . .

And in true Dumbledore fashion! He did nothing about it! But hey, at least he was monitoring the situation.

“Haven’t I already told you,” said Riddle quietly . . .

Well, it’s a little hard to tell what you have and haven’t told already with you talking incessantly. And considering the way Tommy carries on, I’m amazed Ginny isn’t dead by now. I want one of them to die already — I don’t care who. Preferably them all.

“. . . that killing Mudbloods doesn’t matter to me any more? . . .”

That’s good to hear because frankly, man, you suck at it.

“From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery — particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. . . .”

Ha ha ha ha, oh, I think you both way overestimated this kid’s initiative and smarts.

“Well,” said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, “how is it that a baby with no extraordinary magical talent managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

I dunno, ’cause your only extraordinary talent is yakking away ad nauseam?

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

“You see?” he whispered. “It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. . . .”

And they didn’t laugh at you? Man, those must’ve been some great friends you got there.

…..oh gods, now I’m imagining a club of gothic teens coming up with edgy fake names for themselves.

“I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch?”

Dude, the real issue was that your mother was a mind-raping rapist.

Also, this could’ve been interesting. Tommy is hating his dad, and as a consequence all Muggles, because he thinks his dad abandoned his mom for being a witch. It’s a reason for what he feels and why he feels it, which is a good thing. But of course, Rowling does absolutely nothing with it.

“Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you, and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. . . .”

Well gosh! If everyone says so, it must be true!

“. . . Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days.”

Can’t imagine why since Dumbles hasn’t done a single fucking thing. Well, aside from that small matter of grooming Harry to die like a sacrificial pig. That he’s doing exemplarily.

And you know, I’ll talk more about this when I get to Book Six.

“To business, Harry,” said Riddle, still smiling broadly.

Wouldn’t that be the day.

“Twice — in your past, in my future — we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk,” he added softly, “the longer you stay alive.”

Maybe the dimwit survived because you spend more time talking at him than murdering him? But hey, what do I know?

“A lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck in here for ever.”

I’m not a “great wizard”.

But the longer Riddle stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny…

No, seriously. How is she not dead yet? How much life can an eleven-year-old girl possibly have? One of these characters should just die already and by this point I would really prefer if it were all of them.

“My common Muggle-born mother,” he added, shaking with suppressed rage.

Oh fuck you, Harry, ha ha. Get off your high horse. You don’t care a single fucking whit about your common Muggle-born mother’s side of the family. You know, the Muggles? Remind me again, where were the Evanses when you were admiring your family in the Mirror of Erised last year? Oh, that’s right. No where.

“So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that’s a powerful counter-charm. I can see now — there is nothing special about you, after all. . . .”

THANK YOU.

. . . Then he heard Riddle’s hissing voice: “Kill him.”

Considering the snake didn’t kill most of the people fifty years ago or any of the people currently, does that mean he never actually gave it the order to kill them? I’ll go with this headcanon because it’s more interesting.

Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of Harry’s head, almost knocking him out.

Did it give him a concussion? No? Fine. Be that way.

A gleaming silver sword had appeared inside the Hat, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.

I’m surprised this sword wasn’t made of gold as well.

“Kill the boy! Leave the bird! The boy is behind you! Sniff — smell him!“

Tommy, snakes aren’t dogs. They smell with their tongues. Also, stop yelling at it and start helping it, you moron. Someone should put you back to villain school.

. . . Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent’s mouth.

Good for you, Harry! You actually did something! Of course, there is still the problem that you didn’t prepare yourself at all before you went to the chamber, and instead, literally begged for god to help you. And did the god in the machine ever deliver!

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” said Riddle’s voice above him. “Dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what he’s doing, Potter? He’s crying.”

I bet he’s crying at the absolute abyss of your stupidity.

“So ends the famous Harry Potter,” said Riddle’s distant voice. . . .

And he. still. won’t. shut. the. fuck. up. Harry, grab that fang and throw it at him!

And seriously, man, you don’t know anything about phoenixes? What kind of a “greatest sorcerer” are you?

. . . Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus.

Come to think of it, Harry’s glasses. He already went through one cave-in and do you know what cave-ins mean? Dust! He’s tripped and been smashed against the wall. More dirt! And possibly cracks!

How’s he seeing anything with those glasses?

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes soared back overhead and something fell into Harry’s lap — the diary.

For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the Basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

And through into his thigh. Oh, the irony.

I guess this is good because this is the second thing Harry has actually done — but even this had to be literally dropped into his lap.

And I actually feel more sorry for the snake than any of these dumbasses.

“Harry — oh, Harry — I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy. . . .”

The hell d’you think your brother would do to you? What is the problem with all of these arseholes when it comes to Percy? Besides, if she thought Percy was suspecting her and she’s trying to come clean, then what the fuck does it matter if Percy’s there to hear?

“It was me, Harry — but I — I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to — R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over . . .”

Ah, yeah. A book made you. A book took you over. A book that couldn’t do anything to you if you’d stopped writing in it. Even when you tossed it away, you went back after it like an addict looking for a fix. Remember, she started writing into it again. She wasn’t just taking it from Harry for fear of him finding out that it’d been her all along.

“I’m going to be expelled!” Ginny wept . . . 

Yeah, because that’s going to be your biggest problem.

“. . . I’ve looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came . . .”

You were a year old when Bill started Hogwarts (Bill was born in November, 1970, which means that by some stupid rule he would’ve started Hogwarts in 1982 instead 1981). Hey Rowling, children don’t start developing explicit memories until they’re four. Stop making your year-old characters into super-babies.

“. . . w-what’ll Mum and Dad say?“

You’re the greatest disappointment of our vigorous sex life? And boy, do we have lots to compare you with.

After a few minutes’ progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry’s ears.

You wanna swear on that?

Soon the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks was gone. The tunnel turned and turned again. . . . He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he’d find when it did. And then, at last, as he crept around yet another bend, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

I might be wrong but it doesn’t sound like a couple of minutes’ trip.

“Ron!” Harry yelled, speeding up. “Ginny’s OK! I’ve got her!”

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizeable gap he had managed to make in the rock fall.

“Ginny!” Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. “You’re alive! I don’t believe it! What happened?”

He tried to hug her but Ginny held him off, sobbing.

Aw, Ron’s such a cute big brother.

“And how come you’ve got a sword?” said Ron, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry’s hand.

‘Cause heaven knows he can’t do a thing with his wand.

. . . Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

“His memory’s gone,” said Ron. “The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn’t got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. . . .”

Tee hee hee~ I R O N Y.

Think of it this way, if you may. Rowling created this character for the sole purpose that she could do this to him? For no plot-related reasons, because Gilderoy was in no shape or form relevant to the plot. This is the same with Draco, whom she characterised for the sole purpose that she could then give all the things he wanted to Harry. This is some next level character creation, I say.

“He looks like he wants you to grab hold…” said Ron, looking perplexed. “But you’re much too heavy for a bird to pull up there.”

“Fawkes,” said Harry, “isn’t an ordinary bird.” He turned quickly to the others. “We’ve got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron’s hand. Professor Lockhart–“

“He means you,” said Ron sharply to Lockhart.

“You hold Ginny’s other hand.”

Just because Fawkes is no ordinary bird it doesn’t mean that there’s any way that an eleven-year-old girl can pull the weight of an adult man.

But hey, magic. It’s magical.

Harry knocked and pushed the door open.

Oh sweet heavens, it’s over. I thought it’d never end. And now I have only one more chapter to go!

*checks the title of the next chapter*

Oh, you [censored].

Harry’s spell count so far: three.

“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”

Chapter Ten – Hallowe’en

WARNINGS: cussing. I couldn’t stop myself because the sheer hypocritical stupidity in this chapter hurt.

You know, for a book about a boy in a school about witchcraft, we don’t get to see a whole lot of the school or the witchcraft. I think this is a shame because there actually was one thing I always liked about this series. Or well, the video games. I always liked the environments and that was about all I liked.

Moreover, much fuss was made over the remembrall in the previous chapter and then it just disappeared into thin air. The last we saw it was here:

‘He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive,’ Professor McGonagall told Wood.

The last mention we get is here:

‘If he hadn’t stolen Neville’s Remembrall I wouldn’t be in the team…’

Did you even give back to Neville, Harry? Because we sure as hell didn’t see or hear about it.

So the whole ball was literally nothing more than an excuse to get Harry the Boy Wonder on the quidditch team. Which could’ve been accomplished in any myriad of ways. Such as legitimate tryouts.

I mean, even Hermione calls it out for what it was: Harry was rewarded for breaking the rules. And Rowling gave Harry what Draco wanted at Draco’s expense. You have no idea how much I want to take Dudley and Draco out of this awful book and keep them safe so they can’t be bullied by their own creator.

Neither Neville or Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor.

Can’t blame them. I don’t have the slightest interest in it either. The whole thing is nothing more than a disposable MacGuffin like every other object in this series. See the remembrall above and the troll below.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus.

True love.

All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived with the post about a week later.

You two dimwits started it.

Harry judged and dismissed Draco after exactly two seconds, Harry was rude to Draco for no reason, Ron laughed at Draco’s name, and then Harry rejected Draco because he didn’t have a family of red-headed litter to imprint on. And it’s you two dimwits keeping this up. So fuck you all and fuck your fucking pettiness.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone’s attention was caught at once by a long thin package carried by six large screech owls.

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.
It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one.
Professor M. McGonagall

This book. Is so unbelievably stupid. I can’t with it.

In fan fics the authors always pretend that Minerva is the impartial professor. I have no fucking clue where they got this impression from because Minerva is a massive hypocritical twat.

So let’s start with the broom. Why is it that the Boy Wonder is the only one who gets the Bestest Broom of the Current Year™? Why won’t all the quidditch players get a Nimbus Two Thousand from the school? Can you spell pref-er-en-tial treat-ment?

Secondly:

I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one.

I. Don’t. Want. Everybody. Knowing.

I’m honestly so amazed by the sheer stupidity and hypocrisy that I have a hard time finding the words. Oh, oh, wait, I know:

IF YOU DON’T WANT EVERYBODY KNOWING THEN WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU SENDING IT AT FUCKING BREAKFAST WHERE EVERYBODY CAN SEE, YOU UNSPEAKABLE MORON?

Does Minerva actually think that all the kids at this school are so fucking stupid that they can’t figure out what the long thin package is? There aren’t that many options, especially when they’ll see the fucking broom in Harry’s first quidditch match. And what if Harry hadn’t opened the letter first? What then, Minerva? Did you think of that? No, of course you didn’t.

If she really “didn’t want everybody knowing”, then why didn’t she — oh, I don’t know — give the fucking broom to Harry privately?

I can’t. The stupid. It hurts.

‘A Nimbus Two Thousand!’ Ron moaned enviously. ‘I’ve never even touched one.’

Yeah. This is not a healthy friendship.

They left the Hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first lesson, but halfway across the Entrance Hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

Do these kids apparate? Because they see the long thin package arrive and they immediately leg it to the Entrance Hall to wait for these two dimwits? I’m not buying it.

‘That’s a broomstick,’ he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. ‘You’ll be for it this time, Potter, first-years aren’t allowed them.’

‘Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,’ said Malfoy quickly.

‘Yes, yes, that’s right,’ said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. ‘Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?’

‘A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,’ said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy’s face. ‘And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,’ he added.

Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy’s rage and confusion.

This book makes me feel sick.

The first thing Rowling established about Draco was that he wants to play quidditch; he wants it bad enough that he was going to smuggle a broom into the school. And I bet you anything he thought he’d show up at Hogwarts with his racing broom, impress everyone with his mad flying skills and get picked out for his house’s quidditch team as a first-year. Harry judged him for this, arbitrarily deciding he was like Dudley and afterwards he keeps treating Draco like fucking dirt. For no reason that Draco can discern from his point of view.

Rowling then introduced Neville’s remembrall as a dispensable MacGuffin to get Harry, as a first-year, to the quidditch team at Draco’s expense. You know, giving the thing Draco wanted to Harry, the kid who didn’t even know what quidditch was. But not only that, no. She rewarded Harry for breaking the same rule as Draco, had the teachers show him gross and expensive preferential treatment, and had the school buy him the Bestest Broom of the Current Year™.

Is this fun? Is it fun bullying fictional eleven-year-olds you created? Because this honestly isn’t even writing anymore? This is creating characters for the specific purpose of vicariously bullying them. These characters are eleven and Rowling was an adult when she wrote these books.

Poor Draco should quickly learn that Harry has the god of this universe — that is, Rowling — in his back pocket and she’s going to warp the whole universe for her precious Boy Wonder and spit in Draco’s face while she’s at it. It’s not Draco’s fault. *pets his blond head*

‘So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?’ came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry’s hand.

‘I thought you weren’t speaking to us?’ said Harry.

‘Yes, don’t stop now,’ said Ron, ‘it’s doing us so much good.’

True love.

‘So — that’s sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn’t it?’

Yeah. It really isn’t, Harry.

‘That Quidditch Cup’ll have our name on it this year,’ said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle.

I still can’t believe that these people are whining about a single loss. What a pathetic bunch.

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realised that he’d already been at Hogwarts two months.

On Hallowe’en morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors.

I’ll try to count this. Hallowe’en — that is, Samhain, the beginning of winter — is on the 31st of October. (Though, the actual midpoint is the 5th of November.) Harry has been at Hogwarts for two months. The school starts on September 1st. Chapter eight was their first week. Quidditch trials were held in the second week of term. Their first flying lesson was on a Thursday afternoon.

I guess my assumption about chapter nine starting two weeks or a month after the previous one was right. I’d lean more on two weeks because the quidditch trials were held in the second week and I don’t think it would take a month for them to have their first flying lesson.

What this means is that Harry was a total twit to a boy he had known for two weeks. That’s two hours because their first flying lesson was on Thursday and their double potions with Slytherins are on Fridays. Harry has issues. The author has issues. And none of these issues are addressed in these books instead the author keeps on bullying Draco and validating it.

I wrote a bully — like, an actual bully — in my Boku no Hero Academia fan fic but I did not treat him like Rowling keeps treating Draco. And this is the woman who had the audacity to tell her readers they aren’t supposed to like Draco.

These books are hideous.

Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they’d seen him make Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom.

His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

Oh hey, some more casual animal abuse.

All I’m saying is, did the toad like being zoomed around the classroom? Why couldn’t Flitwick demonstrate this spell with an inanimate object that wouldn’t be terrified or have heart palpitations because some twit is flying it around?

Moreover, were they learning basics for two months? What were these basics? Because we didn’t see any of them. Were they just practising wrist movements or something?

Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practise.

Why? This isn’t the kind of spell that needs a partner.

Harry’s partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, because Neville had been trying to catch his eye).

True friendship.

Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this.

True love.

‘Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practising!’ squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. ‘Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too . . .’

Oh my god, they really have been practising wrist movements for two months.

And I’m rather doubtful about the last sentence too. If memory isn’t completely failing me, don’t some of these characters perform magic just by poking their wand at something?

Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it — Harry had to put it out with his hat.

See?

Besides, the wandless, wordless magic that kids exhibit before they go to Hogwarts? Do I have to dig up the examples for that again? Okay, I will since I’m feeling vindictive.

Next morning, however, he had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off.

The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a glove puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Harry.

Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry’s surprise as anyone else’s, there he was sitting on the chimney.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished.

He’d never been more nervous, never, not even when he’d had to take a school report to the Dursleys saying that he’d somehow turned his teacher’s wig blue.

And since we’re on the subject of wands, did the wand design ever go through any changes? I mean, if you look at the history of European arms, they’ve been going through plenty of changes as defences and warfare evolved. Unlike, say, the katana in Japan which design hasn’t changed a lot since it was first invented. Of course, as far as I know, the katana wasn’t really used in warfare, it was more of a ceremonial, status sword.

And speaking of European arms, there’s this one book on the subject that I want to buy but books are expensive.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand and said, ‘Wingardium Leviosa!‘

‘Oh, well done!’ cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. ‘Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!’

I can’t even bother with this anymore. Let the muggleborn girl who got her wand four months ago be the only one who knows any magic. Who cares about world-building? Or logic.

‘It’s no wonder no one can stand her,’ he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor. ‘She’s a nightmare, honestly.’

True love.

‘So?’ said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. ‘She must’ve noticed she’s got no friends.’

Really? Not even Neville? I mean, Neville was the very first person she interacted with. Why didn’t they become friends? Especially since neither of them has any other friends? And Neville seems exactly like the kind of person who’d let her boss him around and he’d just go along with her.

Also, I really don’t get the double standards in these books. As I mentioned previously: Draco and Hermione are kind of parallel characters. They’re both chatterboxes, they both brought up things that our intrepid Pair of Dimwits didn’t know anything about, and they both have their obnoxious streaks that manifest differently. Hermione is a bossy know-it-all swot and Draco becomes really offensive when he feels defensive and slighted. Which isn’t his imagination, by the way, because Rowling is a fucking horrible author to him.

But Harry and Ron become friends with Hermione, not Draco. Why? Because Hermione is a girl and they felt bad for hurting her feelings? Because Draco didn’t fight a troll with them?

I don’t necessarily want them to be friends but I find it curious that out of the two characters that Ron and Harry consistently treat like dirt, it’s the girl who becomes their friend.

And, like, could we stop with this romance trope that two characters who constantly and snidely quarrel with each other get together later? Because no one except people who thrive on unnecessary drama wants a relationship like this. It’s tiresome. Life is already tiresome. You have to deal with idiots in your everyday life all the time and then you get home, your safe haven, the only place where you can relax, and the first thing your significant other does is start a pointless argument with you?

Besides, people are more willing to forgive cheating than contempt. I’m just saying.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter.

Live bats.

At least two thousand live bats.

As decoration.

I’m honestly trying, people, but I can’t. Animals are not decorations. And no, I don’t care it’s fantasy and I don’t care it’s a children’s book.

The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

How am I supposed to take this sentence? Has the food already been on the tables every breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past two months? Or have the kids been serving themselves from buffet tables for the past two months? Because surely the food has appeared suddenly at every meal they’ve had for the past two months?

. . . when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table and gasped, ‘Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.’

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

I honestly wonder what was Quirrell’s plan with this. Did he have a plan? No, wait. This is Rowling. I bet the only thing going through her head when she wrote this was to make Harry, Ron and Hermione friends.

Also, I’m getting some really untoward flashbacks to Boku no Hero Academia. I know for a fact that Horikoshi has either seen the films or read the books because he mentions Harry Potter in the school festival arc that I’ve been trying to wipe from my memory.

‘Prefects,’ he rumbled, ‘lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!’

Again, what do head girls and boys actually do? Do we ever learn this? Because so far it seems to be a totally useless title.

‘Make way, first-years coming through!’

What about the other years?

‘How could a troll get in?’

‘Don’t ask me, they’re supposed to be really stupid.’

They’re not the only things stupid in these books.

‘I’ve just thought — Hermione.’

‘What about her?’

‘She doesn’t know about the troll.’

Ron bit his lip.

‘Oh, all right,’ he snapped. ‘But Percy’d better not see us.’

I love how Ron had to think about it for a second, ha ha.

Besides, wouldn’t it have made more sense to tell a teacher? You know, the ones who can actually do something about a troll if they bump into it?

Oh, but then we wouldn’t have our Golden Trio of Nitwits be friends. How sad. I mean, someone has to do the thinking for Harry and Ron.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

‘What’s he doing?’ Harry whispered. ‘Why isn’t he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?’

‘He’s heading for the third floor,’ Harry said . . .

No, really. What was Quirrell’s plan here? Because evidently Severus and Dumbledore already suspect him, or someone else of foul play, otherwise Severus wouldn’t hurry to the third floor to check if anything is amiss. Secondly, Quirrell pretended to faint. Wouldn’t someone have stayed with him and made sure he’s okay? Wouldn’t someone have taken him to the hospital wing? Or wouldn’t someone have slapped him awake and taken him to the dungeons to deal with the troll like the rest of the professors?

From Quirrell’s point of view, he had absolutely no reason to pull off this stunt. The only reason why this stunt exists is because externally Rowling wanted to introduce Severus as a pointless red herring and make the Golden Trio of Nitwits friends.

This “plot” is really nothing more than loosely connected coincidences of extreme convenience.

Hagrid coincidentally invites Harry over and Harry coincidentally sees the newspaper article about the Gringotts’ break-in.

Neville coincidentally gets a remembrall and Harry coincidentally gets into the quidditch team thanks to it.

Draco coincidentally challenges Harry to a midnight duel — the silly theatrical kid — and Harry coincidentally stumbles into the forbidden third-floor corridor which door coincidentally could be opened by a first-year.

Ron coincidentally insults Hermione one too many times and Quirrell coincidentally lets a troll loose in the dungeons and the Golden Trio of Nitwits coincidentally become friends.

This is all happenstance. None of this is really dependent on Harry’s agency. Hell, it’s not even all that dependent on other characters’ agency.

‘Can you smell something?’

Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And you’re telling me Severus didn’t smell this when he was swooping down the corridor? Oh, headcanon! His sense of smell has worsened because of all the potions he has to brew.

It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

‘The key’s in the lock,’ Harry muttered. ‘We could lock it in.’

What kind of public toilet has a key in the lock outside of the room? And why aren’t girls getting locked up in this toilet all the time?

‘Confuse it!’ Harry said desperately to Ron, and seizing a tap he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

Was the tap already loose? Because there’s just no way Harry yanked it off.

‘Oy, pea-brain!’ yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it.

…..I’ll just assume the troll has already been smashing up the place even though it shouldn’t have had the time to do it.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid . . .

Do people usually call themselves brave? Because isn’t this whole thing told from Harry’s point of view so he’s calling himself brave and stupid?

. . . Harry’s wand had still been in his hand when he’d jumped — it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.

I hope he washed that afterwards.

. . . Ron pulled out his own wand — not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head . . .

Evidently, we do not view these books from Harry’s point of view.

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll’s nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy grey glue.

‘Urgh — troll bogies.’

He wiped it on the troll’s trousers.

I really hope he washed that afterwards.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn’t realised what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll’s roars.

Hogwarts is built out of solid stone? Not to mention, weren’t the professors down in the dungeons? Unless they already came out, looking for the troll?

‘Please, Professor McGonagall — they were looking for me.’

‘I went looking for the troll because I — I thought I could deal with it on my own — you know, because I’ve read all about them.’

‘They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.’

I… really don’t get why she has to lie about this? I mean, it’s true they went looking for her. And then bumped into the troll which had already found the girls’ toilet where Hermione was and which they incidentally locked up in with her. Is there really any reason to make up this lie? Unless she didn’t want to tell the teachers why she was in the girls’ toilet instead of dinner in the first place?

Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble.

And as far as I’m concerned, she really had no reason to pretend. See above.

Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry’s mind.

‘Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first-years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points.’

I wish I lived in a universe where I got everything I thought I wouldn’t.

‘Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this.’

Headcanon!!! The troll was brought in by Dumbledore. Because the old creep knew things would relatively turn out like this and he wanted to test Harry. I mean, he has his friend’s MacGuffin locked in a room that can be opened by a first-year and has a series of obstacles that can be solved by first-years. He’s either totally grooming Harry or he’s an incompetent, useless idiot. Take your pick.

‘She might not have needed saving if we hadn’t locked the thing in with her,’ Harry reminded him.

So you two dimwits got rewarded for something that was your fault in the first place?

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

How to make three completely incompatible individuals get along? Make them fight against a common adversary.

Moreover, this is a recurring theme with these three dimwits. They’re always getting into massive fights and shunning each other and only get along again at the threat of death.

Needless to say, this isn’t exactly a healthy friendship.

Thicker Than Water

I was trying to read this thing where a brother goes to find his little sister in a zombie-infested town, but then I started lagging with it and after that I started skipping.

The problems started when the brother meets the Love Interest™, and after approximately two hours of knowing this Love Interest™ he’s ready to ditch his sister in the zombie-infested town just to get this Love Interest™ out, and after another two hours it’s like he never had a sister to begin with.¹

“A sister? What sister? I have one of those? Oh god, I have two of those!”

Okay, that last sentence was a joke but I trust you get the point.

If some guy I’ve known for two hours tried to ditch his little sister whom he practically raised! in the middle of a zombie apocalypse for me, I would run like hell in the other direction because the guy is clearly out of his mind and quite possibly a dangerous creep.

Well, if nothing else I do always find it amusing when writers inadvertently reveal their own psychopathic tendencies through their stories.

---

¹ I’m not necessarily saying that blood is thicker than water every time but in this context the brother practically raised his little sister after their parents died and he loves her enough to initially face a town full of zombies on the off-chance of finding her alive. But after two hours with the Love Interest™ he’s ready to leave her to die alone because, eh, I don’t know, love?

Introductions in Old Books

I bought The Complete Fairy Tales by Charles Perrault, and as with all tales of yore it has an in-tro-duc-tion. I was reading it, and I was reading it, and I was reading it, and then I wanted to scream out of sheer frustration because the translator-editor just had to explain every single tale in it.

It was all: “blah blah blah, Freud, blah blah blah, sexual symbolism, blah blah blah”.

I honestly despise introductions like these. It’s as if the translator-editor is saying: “this is how you’re supposed to interpret these stories, you uneducated pleb”. That, or it’s nothing but an incestuous circle jerk with their scholar buddies. Historians do this too; they don’t quote original sources, they quote each other.

It’s like, I can read well enough on my own, thank you. I would kindly appreciate if you let me make up my own mind instead of telling me what the tale is — allegedly — about before I’ve even read the damn thing.

Thanks, But No Thanks

Over the past two days I read two stories by the same author, written a few years ago, and I came across a glorious gem of nonsense that reminded me why I’ve more or less given up on anything contemporary.

There was this scene in the other story where the main character — a man — walks to a bar in the middle of the night, alone presumably as the author made no mention of other people on the road, instead the author added: it’s only his “male privilege” that allows him to do it.

My first exact thought: oh my god someone please spare me

First of all, men make up the majority of victims of all violent crime aside from rape. Second of all, the author does realise that she’s straight up saying that men cannot be victimized on the account of their sheer “maleness” and “privilege” as if this “male privilege” is some kind of invisible force field that repels robbery, murder, assault or even rape?

Hint: it doesn’t.

In the other story, ironically, the author writes that women are such emotionally intelligent, morally steadfast and physically strong creatures — because yes, that is exactly like my experience with women as well — that they can easily take down supernatural monsters, which are stronger and faster and presumably more ruthless than humans, and yet these same women cannot take a walk alone in the middle of the night without somehow being assaulted? Because logic dictates, see.

In other words, the author does realise she’s an idiot, right?

The stories were very long and felt that way too, and they had the intelligence and depth of a particularly shallow piss pool. Every character was gorgeous and every character was beautiful, and every character wanted to sleep with or slept with another named character, and by the end of it I just wanted to die of abject boredom. The author was also obsessed with celebrities and popular culture, and if she referenced anything older than the cinema it was inevitably Shakespeare or Austen, which just made me think of English Class 101.