When I say Rowling is a terrible author…

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

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

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

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

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

And Harry Potter just, frankly, isn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

‘ – yes, their son, Harry – ’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because:

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

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

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

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

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

The Dursleys are honestly really cute actually. ❤

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes,’ said Professor McGonagall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet here he is, imposing himself anyway.

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

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

Bolded by yours truly and said by Minerva.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please. Be serious.

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

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

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

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.’

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

by Joanne Rowling

Okay! I’ve conquered twice and I think this will be the last time because I don’t think my brain can take these books multiple times, at least not in such a short interval. It’s fine, I think, because I now have the e-book bookmarked and noted too. It’s a html file but I don’t know how to share it. Well, it’s not that much different from what I’ve already gone through in my chapter breakdowns but it does include every character, spell, potion, etc. I ended up making so many bookmarks and notes that several times I worried my e-reader was going to crash. I’m not sure if I can do it with the following books but let’s see what happens, ha ha.

Edit 1.1.2024: I did figure out how to share it! It’s now in pdf form but. Adobe cuts the page somewhere in Chapter Five. The whole thing can be viewed on Kindle which is free and allows importing pdf files. Or if someone does download it, it can be re-converted into an html file and read on a browser as — someone intended. It still looks awful, though. The bookmarks are on the left side and my notes are on the right side, the first ones are at the bottom and the last ones are at the top. Oh, also I cuss a lot in the notes because I wasn’t going to share it.

But if anyone is interested here you go: Book One Bookmarks and Notes Edited

I feel so shy about sharing it, ha ha. Now I just need to do the same with the other books? *sighs*

I’ll try to make this review comprehensive for possible if unlikely future readers of this blog who might not want to read through a million posts of me ranting at Harry Potter. But a word of warning: there’s a reason why I call these things a review of sorts. Also, I don’t cater on my blog. If I did cater on my blog, I wouldn’t have spent the better part of two years ranting about the most popular books in the world. I generally try not to be rude because I don’t see the point, but if something bothers you, then there’s that little x in the right corner of the tab.

In a lot of ways, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is, in fact, the best book of the series. Of course, everyone has their personal preferences but there’s this thing called objective fact beyond preference.

The reason why Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is the best book of the series is that it more or less works for what it is: an introduction to Harry Potter and its world. There is this sense of wonder when we first see Diagon Alley and Hogwarts that’s lacking in the following books, partly because Rowling never really expands the world. There’s barely any unsubtle, schizophrenic, historically illiterate politics. And most importantly, all the problems already present in The Philosopher’s Stone haven’t been exacerbated by six more books of literally nothing.

That said, it’s still an atrocious mess.

For all intents and purposes, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is a vindictive, inferior fairy tale about a dim-witted fish-out-of-water wizard boy in a boarding school in Britain. It’s a mixture of nostalgia for British colonialism (which wasn’t all that British, though), acceptable bigotry, boarding school fiction, urban fantasy and detective mystery.

The problem is that Rowling does none of that well. The boarding school is subtextually horrifying and we don’t even see a whole lot of it for something that exclusively happens there, there’s no magic system or indeed barely any magic, and the plot happens through a loosely connected string of unfortunate coincidences of extreme convenience. Nothing happens through the main character(s) own agency, never mind that Harry is barely a character let alone a main character. I mean, this story is supposed to be about a wizard boy in a wizard school and the main point of view and main character doesn’t do a single spell in the entire book.

As for the magic, Rowling neither shows nor tells anything about anything. As I was doing the bookmarks, I kept remarking “show don’t tell” but this wasn’t quite accurate because Rowling doesn’t tell either. Practically everything in these books is disposable as soon as it runs out of use for the plot, such as it were. Evidently, Rowling took planned obsolescence to heart and applied it to literature.

Almost all the characters behave in ways that are completely illogical to their characterisation and background because Rowling wanted to make certain things and plot beats happen.

For example, Ron is a pureblood. His parents, his brothers, and his extended family have all gone to Hogwarts and they’ve lived in the wizarding world for generations. And yet the kid doesn’t know if his family is pureblooded, he doesn’t recognise fake spells from real spells, and he doesn’t know what happens at sortings. He doesn’t know any of the basic information he should know, as a pureblooded kid who grew up in the wizarding world and around magic, but he sure does know random wizarding laws off the top of his head. Because reasons™.

None of that makes sense.

In contrast, it’s Hermione who is our walking talking encyclopedia of plot and exposition into the wizarding world. Hermione who is a muggle and grew up in the muggle world, and found out about the wizarding world and magic three months before her introduction. Hermione who, in three mere months, apparently learned all there is to know about the wizarding world and magic. To the point that she tells a pureblood kid:

‘Are you sure that’s a real spell?’ said the girl. ‘Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard–‘

Hermione’s character is utterly obnoxious. Her entire character is the equivalent of writing a story about Japanese people in Japan and then having a weeb lecture them on Japanese culture and what it means to be Japanese. Which probably ties to the nostalgia for British colonialism.

Also, did Hermione get into trouble with the ministry for those spells she tried “just for practice”?

Then there’s Quirrell and Severus whose behaviours don’t make any sense either. For example, during Halloween Quirrell releases a troll in the dungeons, runs into the Great Hall in the middle of the feast, and informs everyone about the troll, presumably so he could do something in the resulting chaos, right?

But instead, he pretends to faint. In front of the entire school and Dumbledore’s chair.

So what actually was the point? What was the plan? Severus immediately runs off to the third-floor corridor where Fluffy and the philosopher’s stone are, supposedly to head Quirrell off… when Quirrell is literally pretending to be unconscious in the Great Hall and all Severus had to do was either stay with him, get him to hospital wing or slap him awake and drag him along with the rest of the professors to deal with the troll. Which someone apparently did, considering Quirrell goes to the bathroom with Minerva and Severus. Curiously, Dumbledore ~the greatest wizard of modern times~ was nowhere to be seen or heard during the troll incident.

So what. was. the. point?

The point was to reinforce Severus the Red Herring in the dumbest, most nonsensical way possible. Severus the Red Herring does not make sense.

Another example is the first quidditch match. Quirrell curses Harry’s broom in an attempt to murder the Boy Wonder — for reasons™. In front of the entire school. When he can’t even plausibly make it look like an accident.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off.

‘Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark Magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.’

And afterwards… there’s absolutely nothing. Absolutely no one is interested in the flagrant murder attempt of the Boy Wonder let alone a student. There’s no calling off the match, no investigation, no one even checks the broom for manufacturing defects or curses which makes the firebolt drama in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban even dumber. Someone makes a flagrant murder attempt at the Boy Wonder’s life and it’s literally brushed under the carpet with a cup of strong tea.

Or the detention in Chapter Fifteen, The Forbidden Forest in which their punishment for wandering around in the middle of the night when it’s dangerous….. is to wander around in the middle of the night in the Forbidden Forest when it’s dangerous, looking for something strong enough to kill and harm unicorns. Because Rowling wanted to show that Tommy Is Back and apparently couldn’t figure out any other way to do it. Never mind that the only reason why Harry and Hermione were doing that detention was because they were cleaning up Hagrid’s petty criminality. Hagrid is sixty, Harry and Hermione are eleven.

Then there were other minor things such as:

When the post arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it.

When literally two pages before that Rowling showed Vernon doing the exact same thing:

‘Get the post, Dudley,’ said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

‘Make Harry get it.’

‘Get the post, Harry.’

‘Make Dudley get it.’

‘Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley.’

Probably because she wanted to write that exchange.

Or Molly who asks:

‘Now, what’s the platform number?’ said the boys’ mother.

Even though she and her entire family have all gone to Hogwarts and she should know what the platform number is. This isn’t the first time she’s gone to the platform? Why does this line exist?

I could bring up a whole slew of other examples but I trust you already get the point. What this shows is that Rowling didn’t put a single iota of thought into anything let alone careful thought, and I absolutely refuse to believe there ever was an editor to this mess. Because if there was? They should be fired. But apparently all of the above is okay because Rowling was writing for children and children evidently don’t deserve intelligent, thoughtful and good stories.

When you spend a better part of reading the book yelling at the characters “WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT? WHY ARE YOU SAYING THAT? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?” then you know there’s a fundamental problem with the writing.

Anyhow~ all of these illogicalities, incoherencies and contradictions make Harry Potter feel almost like satire. But it doesn’t quite get there either because even though it’s an absurd farce, it doesn’t become absurd enough in the vein of “it’s just a flesh wound” or a character unintentionally jumping head-first into a woodchipper. It never lampshades itself in any meaningful or humorous way. So evidently, you’re supposed to take everything at face value except the face value is a shallow self-contradicting incoherent mess that relentlessly gaslights you.

I could go over Hagrid and Draco’s characters again but I’ve already talked about them at length so I’ll just link to the relevant post: Chapter Twelve – Magic is Might.

But to summarise: Hagrid, who is supposed to be our representative of the good tolerant wizards, attacks (and almost murders!) a terrified eleven-year-old muggle boy for something his dad said. Draco, who is supposed to be our representative of the evil intolerant wizards, starts a perfectly polite conversation with a boy he doesn’t know or recognise, a boy who is unkempt and too thin and dressed in old baggy muggle clothes and sellotaped glasses that got him bullied in his muggle school.

And instead of using that little fact to — oh, I don’t know — add nuance to this trash heap of a story? Absolutely nothing pinged in that woman’s head.

Rowling is not a good author. She’s an absolutely, infuriatingly terrible author. So if it’s true that most publishers refused to publish this book, it’s really no wonder.

As for the narrative, it’s basically lite judeo-christianism for atheistic nerds (although that applies more to the book series as a whole than individual books). But also not really because sometime in the ’90s when these urban fantasies were coming out in droves, the people making them decided that they’re post-religion so you basically get a watered-down version of the religion — without the actual religiosity. I mean, at least in Constantine it’s weaved into the actual story, plot and world-building. And what do you know, the film is actually good.

And the fact that this was written by a presumably English woman in England really goes to show how utterly subjugated Europeans still are. But hey, I’m nothing if not an eternal optimist so maybe someday we’ll get stories by us, about us, for us again.

But you know what’s the actual unacknowledged truth in Harry Potters?

Dumbledore (mudblood, blood traitor): systematically and deliberately grooms an underage boy to die, and grossly favours Gryffindors and discriminates against Slytherins

Hagrid (mudblood, blood traitor): attacks a terrified muggle boy for something his dad said, endangers kids, threatens them with violence they’ve already been inflicted with and makes them accomplices in his criminal activities

Tom (mudblood): murders, tortures and terrorises people, including his own followers

Harry (mudblood): bullies his friends, attacks people for words and trinkets that aren’t his, almost eviscerates a student to death in a toilet, and actually murders Quirrell and then proceeds to never think of him again

Weasley Twins (blood traitors): bully their brothers and try to rope the entire family into it, almost murder Montague and Dudley, and try to attack twelve-year-old boys for words

Hermione (mudblood): scars a scared girl for life as petty revenge, attacks and scars her love interest as petty revenge, imprisons reporters for calling her a “silly little girl” for weeks, bullies first-years when she’s in a foul mood, and calls centaurs horses

James (blood traitor): bullies, tortures and sexually harasses a half-blood kid in front of the entire school to blackmail a muggleborn girl into dating him, and then threatens to hex her too when she acts uppity and yells at him to stop it

Sirius (blood traitor): bullies, tortures and sexually harasses a half-blood kid in front of the entire school because his best friend is doing it, and almost gets him murdered and eaten by his other friend

Lupin (mudblood, blood traitor): almost eats and murders a half-blood kid his friends were bullying, torturing and sexually harassing in front of the entire school

Dolores (mudblood): makes a student cut himself as punishment, almost tortures a student, and terrorises people

And so on.

The unacknowledged truth in Harry Potters is that mudbloods and blood traitors are, in fact, terrible.

But no, you should totally side with them over the characters who are slowly and systematically being genocided. Because reasons™.

Ron Weasley

‘Gryffindor,’ said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. ‘Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.’

should’ve ended up in Slytherin actually.

And again, I’m not seeing anyone clutching their pearls over Ron’s comment about not wanting to be in Slytherin.

Or over the fact that the only reason why Harry is special and good, unlike Tommy, is that the brainless brat rejected Slytherin. He didn’t choose any other house, he just rejected Slytherin.

Chapter Twelve – Magic is Might

Magic is might, huh. Yeah, I feel that Rowling would subscribe to the “might is right” ideology. (After reading the chapter: oh wait, it’s supposed to be criticism of the death eater reign, ha ha ha.)

Okay, let’s talk about the problems in Rowling’s writing, shall we? This may not be a comprehensive list because I’m just one person and I may forget something.

One) Lack of coherence and commitment.

Two) Narrative and thematic dissonance.

Three) World-building and plot segregation.

Four) Lack of plot and its significance to the purported themes.

Five) Schizophrenic hypocrisy all the way down to the most minor detail. I have a non-comprehensive list in one of the chapters. I think it was in Book Three.

Six) Words vs behaviour and tell vs show.

Seven) Rampant animal and child abuse.

Eight) No, seriously — these books are like a case study of personality disorders.

Nine) Other characters and the world should exist independently of the main point of view (aka Harry and the narrative. Harry’s point of view isn’t the narrative and the narrative isn’t Harry. See Oliver vs Wood).

Ten) The unfunny stupidity. For example, Tucker and Dale vs Evil and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes were dumb. They were supposed to be dumb because they were parodies. You were supposed to laugh at the absurdity. Rowling wrote a complete farce but she never quite gets there either because she pretended she had Big and Important Things to Say About Dehumanisation and Discrimination, which boiled down to They’re Okay Depending on Who’s Doing It and Whom They’re Doing It To.

Eleven) All of these characters do and say the exact same things. All. Of. Them. Which would be fine if Rowling had left it at that but she didn’t. Instead, when her “evil” side does something it’s evil but when her “good” side does the exact same things and worse it’s inconsequential and funny. And yet everyone pretends that the good side is actually good.

Twelve) These are not stories. These are vapid narcissistic propaganda pieces relentlessly gaslighting the reader.

Thirteen) Rowling literally keeps putting the truth in the mouths of characters she wants the reader to despise or hate.

Was that all? And just to be fair the stuff that is good in Rowling’s writing:

One) Naming mostly (not Sanguini, though).

Two) Environments mostly (even though we don’t “see” a lot of it).

Three) Domestic fantasy bits mostly (although they’re completely divorced from coherence and world-building).

Four) More or less some tidbit character moments.

Five) DRACO! (ha ha, couldn’t resist)

Speaking of Draco, though, I recently wrote this free writing and switching up a pov exercise: The True Golden Rule. It’s basically Chapter Five of Book One from Draco’s point of view. I guess it’s also a draft for a potential fan fic in which Lara Croft (the original and only) goes to Hogwarts, and she and Draco become best friends and get up to all sorts of dumb trouble. ❤

The reason why I want to write this fic is twofold: I just really want Lara and Draco to become friends. It’s like a need, ha ha. But I also want to point out what is wrong with Rowling’s writing. Because if you aren’t writing Harry Potter fan fiction to point out exactly what is wrong with Harry Potters then you’re doing it wrong.

Here’s the thing. Let’s forget all subsequent material and post hoc justifications. Let’s focus singularly on Chapters Four and Five of Book One.

I honestly don’t think that people get the significance of those chapters when discussing either these books or Draco Malfoy’s character. Everything an author writes in the story has to be interpreted somehow, no matter how terrible of an author.

In Chapters Four and Five, we get our very first interactions between muggles and wizards, and wizards and death eaters. The Dursleys represent muggles, Hagrid and Harry represent wizards, and Draco represents death eaters. These two chapters and interactions are significant to the purported themes of these books because they are supposed to set the tone for the rest of the series.

And what actually happens? How does our representative of tolerant muggleborn and muggle-loving wizards act? How does our representative of intolerant muggleborn and muggle-hating wizards act?

Chapter Four: Hagrid breaks into the Dursleys’ hut, terrorises them half the night, attacks (and almost murders) their terrified eleven-year-old son for something his dad said, and then takes their ward against their express refusal and leaves them stranded on the rock in the sea. Never mind all the other illegal magic he was doing.

STRAWMAN: But the Dursleys are abusi–

Stop right there, my dim-witted little strawman. This isn’t about the Dursleys or how likeable or dislikeable they are. This is about Hagrid and his behaviour. Because Hagrid doesn’t know the Dursleys. He doesn’t know the first thing about them. He is acting this way simply because the Dursleys are muggles, a fact that Hagrid uses as a slur throughout Chapter Four and afterwards.

‘I’d like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him,’ he said.

‘A Muggle,’ said Hagrid. ‘It’s what we call non-magic folk like them. An’ it’s your bad luck you grew up in a family o’ the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on.’

‘If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won’t stop him,’ growled Hagrid.

Muggle is the actual slur in Harry Potters, not mudblood. Because no one treats mudbloods like mudbloods but every muggle is treated exactly like a muggle. A not-so-kind reminder: you. are. the. muggle.

And if Hagrid actually does know how the Dursleys have treated Harry? That makes him and the wizarding world worse because they know and they keep sending Harry back there anyway.

Never mind that the Dursleys are the only muggles in these books.

STRAWMAN: But what about the Grang–

You mean the Grangers who didn’t get looks, names, or a single line of dialogue, and then got magically mind-raped and their lives destroyed by their own daughter before she sent them off to be arrested by Australia’s immigration authorities?

Okay. Sure.

You know what Hermione could’ve done instead? Use that building society savings to buy them a vacation package, say it was a prize draw and tell them, “I’m going to school but you go off and enjoy! Oh, and if suspicious strangers approach you, run away.”

Or maybe! — just maybe! — she could’ve actually talked it out with her parents instead of deciding everything without their knowledge and consent.

So basically, you get this cognitive dissonance of muggles being either utterly nonexistent (Grangers), just bodies (Frank and the waitress in CH9 B7), or dumb, fat, bigoted abusers (the Dursleys) so Rowling can justify the psychopathic behaviour towards them while at the same time she pretends that the “good” wizards are, like, totally against “muggle-baiting” even when all of her “good” wizards keep doing it.

Chapter Five: In comparison, what does our vile little death eater, racist, bigot, classicist, blood supremacist etc. do?

Strikes up a conversation with a boy he doesn’t know or recognise, a boy who is unkempt and too thin and dressed in too big muggle clothes. You know, instead of doing it like Harry who is standing there in judgemental silence and looking as if Draco offends him just by existing.

Like, people genuinely, truly, cannot be this stupid.

And yes, I will keep harping about this until something gets through to people. Like, you cannot just ignore that part of his character because you hate him and it’s inconvenient to hating him. It’s the very first thing we learn of Draco in these books. You have to interpret it somehow.

Likewise, you cannot just ignore that the exact reason why Draco started going all “hey, mudblood” at Hermione is that Hermione dissed him first. And you really need to ask yourself if you’d care as much if he’d started calling her literally anything other than a mudblood, and depending on the answer quite possibly examine your own prejudices and conditioned responses.

Ah. But then again, no self-proclaimed Harry Potter fan has actually read these dumb books.

As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shrivelled in the sun until it was brittle and brown.

Seriously?

We’re seriously going to be spending months at this house?

Like.

Why not use Kreacher to apparate out of there?

Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing.

You are death eaters.

You control the ministry.

Why not just destroy the wards and search the damn place?

The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally one of them started forwards excitedly, as if they had seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.

So we’re seriously at the point where none of these characters actually do anything?

And you know, considering that last time Lupin stormed off in a huff, did he really just slam the front door and stop on the first step to apparate?

On the first day of September there were more people lurking in the square than ever before.

I’m honestly reaching the point where I want all of these characters dead again. Although I guess it’s not their fault that they have a terrible author.

And for the love of Muses, the narrative at the beginning of this chapter makes me want to chew glass.

Meanwhile, inside number twelve, Harry had just entered the hall. He had nearly lost his balance as he Apparated on to the top step just outside the front door, and thought that the Death Eaters might have caught a glimpse of his momentarily exposed elbow.

*deep breaths*

Harry.

You have a goddamn house-elf who can apparate directly in and out of the house.

Just.

Deep breaths aren’t helping.

. . . ‘I’ve got news, and you won’t like it.’

I already don’t like any of these books so what difference will the news make?

The kitchen was almost unrecognisable. Every surface now shone: copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow, the wooden table top gleamed, the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically different than the house-elf who now came hurrying towards Harry, dressed in a snowy-white towel, his ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton wool, Regulus’s locket bouncing on his thin chest.

‘Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner,’ croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.

Well.

It’s been a while since I’ve experienced this much revulsion towards these books.

And you know what, Hermione can honestly go to hell. All that whinging and bullying everybody about the house-elves at fucking Hogwarts, all the histrionics about slave labour, but as soon as her best friend gets one all she does is smile in approval when Harry starts ordering Kreacher kindly.

But sure, fandom, keep telling me how Hermione is so just and moral and helpful while she approves of Harry’s little slave and calls centaurs horses. Like, do people seriously not register how fucking offensive it sounds to call a centaur a horse? And the funniest part is that Firenze was mostly pro-wizard unlike all the other centaurs but that really goes to show what the fuck Firenze knows.

He and Hermione had been poring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand-drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table . . .

Aww, look. They’re totally doing something instead of living the high life of exile with their helpful little slave.

And you know what’s, like, absolutely bizarre and annoying? Harry shows mercy towards characters who most certainly should not get it from him but he’s totally fine almost gutting Draco like a fish?

STRAWMAN: Maybe Harry learned from–

He didn’t.

He didn’t stop using sectumsempra or Severus’ other spells because he almost gutted Draco like a fish. He tried using those very same spells against zombies and Severus. What made Harry stop using those spells was that the stupid brat learned that Severus had invented them.

I mean, Tommy actually murdered his parents. Peter had a direct hand in that. Kreacher got Sirius killed. And yet here Harry is, no longer so reluctantly owning him.

But then again, this is the same brat who thought this when Dolores was actually making him cut himself:

Harry had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked back towards Gryffindor Tower he had to admit he had found a strong contender.

Whereas all Severus had been doing was telling him truthfully what a stupid fucking twat he is.

A large picture of a familiar, hook-nosed, black-haired man stared up at them all, beneath a headline that read: SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER.

‘No!’ said Ron and Hermione loudly.

YES!

SEVERUS FOR MINISTER!

Well, okay, he probably wouldn’t enjoy being the minister, ha ha.

‘“‘I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest wizarding traditions and values –’” Like committing murder and cutting off people’s ears, I suppose!

Or how about, like attacking terrified children for something their dad said, almost murdering kids you’re bullying via your werewolf “best friends”, sexually harassing and torturing kids in front of the entire student body, blowing up muggle aunts, almost suffocating muggle kids to death on their own tongues, almost gutting your schoolmates in bathrooms, regularly endangering kids with your staff choices, abusing terrified children-turned-animals much to the laughter of onlookers, or grooming vulnerable kids into your brainwashed cult of pawns?

I might have forgotten a few things. Such as scarring girls for life as petty revenge or threatening kids to participate in petty criminal activities.

‘“Merlin’s pants”?’ repeated Ron, looking amused.

What happened to galloping gorgons and what else? Why are all expletives now about Merlin?

‘The other teachers won’t stand for this. McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all know the truth, they know how Dumbledore died. They won’t accept Snape as Headmaster.’

It’s not like they did anything about any other stellar choices of staff?

‘And who are these Carrows?’

Seriously, Ron?

‘And,’ Harry went on bitterly, drawing up a chair, ‘I can’t see that the other teachers have got any choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Voldemort are behind Snape, it’ll be a choice between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban – and that’s if they’re lucky. I reckon they’ll stay to try and protect the students.’

Hee.

*pictures all the Hogwarts teachers at Azkaban or worse*

Oh, sorry. I got distracted.

Kreacher came bustling to the table with a large tureen in his hands, and ladled out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so.

‘Thanks, Kreacher,’ said Harry . . .

He began to spoon soup into his mouth. The quality of Kreacher’s cooking had improved dramatically ever since he had been given Regulus’s locket: today’s French onion was as good as Harry had ever tasted.

I just…

I really do not have the words to express my disgust.

Like, this is what Rowling reduced Kreacher to. Kreacher was practically the only interesting house-elf these books had — mostly because I’ve wanted Dobby thrown off a cliff since the very second chapter of Book Two.

‘There are still a load of Death Eaters watching the house,’ he told Ron as he ate, ‘more than usual. It’s like they’re hoping we’ll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Hogwarts Express.’

*closes eyes and takes a deep breath*

Why. Won’t. They. Just. Break. In? Like they did at the Tonkses?

Ha ha ha, and Lupin still kept insisting on how safe his pregnant wife would be at her parents’ house. What an enormous stupid loser.

‘I’ve been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn’t it?’

I don’t know, is it any weirder than in Book Two?

He was sure Ginny, Neville and Luna were sitting together at this moment, perhaps wondering where he, Ron and Hermione were, or debating how best to undermine Snape’s new regime.

Harry, you could, like, wonder more about their physical and emotional well-being considering they’ll be going to school with actual death eaters. Who are very fond of the torture spell.

‘They nearly saw me coming back in, just now,’ Harry said. ‘I landed badly on the top step, and the Cloak slipped.’

You have a house-elf, you stupid moron.

She was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen dresser. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside, and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much else, into the bag’s capacious depths.

‘Phineas Nigellus,’ Hermione explained as she threw the bag on to the kitchen table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash.

Oh no, they’re going to be ruining Phineas next.

. . . the circular tower-top room where Snape was no doubt sitting right now, in triumphant possession of Dumbledore’s collection of delicate, silver magical instruments, the stone Pensieve, the Sorting Hat and, unless it had been moved elsewhere, the sword of Gryffindor.

Harry…

Why on earth d’you imagine that Severus is going to keep any of Dumbles’ crap?

‘Snape could send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for him,’ Hermione explained to Ron as she resumed her seat. ‘But let him try it now, all Phineas Nigellus will be able to see is the inside of my handbag.’

Oooor you could’ve just, like, turned the portrait towards the wall? And maybe cast mouldy ice cream at it if you’re worried about him hearing things he shouldn’t?

‘Good thinking!’ said Ron, looking impressed.

Sure, Ron.

Let’s… go with that.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry. ‘Watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign of her. Saw your dad, though, Ron. He looks fine.’

You’ve been there for weeks?

Find out where Dolores lives and go get the bloody locket.

Hey, if Bartemius Jr could ambush a legendary auror in his home right off a years-long imperius curse, I really don’t see why these three morons can’t do the same to a measly government worker?

‘Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work,’ Ron said. ‘That’s why we haven’t seen Umbridge, she’d never walk, she’d think she’s too important.’

SHE HAS AN ADDRESS.

‘Ron, it all matters! If we’re going to get into the Ministry and not give ourselves away when they’re bound to be on the lookout for intruders, every little detail matters! We’ve been over and over this, I mean, what’s the point of all these reconnaissance trips if you aren’t even bothering to tell us –’

WHY ARE YOU INVADING THE MINISTRY INSTEAD OF DOLORES’ HOME? Like, you would think the latter would be far easier?

But no wait, these morons invaded the ministry and the department of mysteries as moronic fifteen-year-olds so they probably think it’ll be that easy again. Never mind that Lucius and Bellatrix et al. probably cleaned out the place before the moronic fifteen-year-olds arrived.

‘You do realise, don’t you, that there’s probably no more dangerous place in the whole world for us to be right now than the Ministry of –’

THEN WHY AREN’T YOU AMBUSHING DOLORES AT HER HOME?

‘Wouldn’t make any difference to her, she was so evil in the first place,’ Harry shrugged.

Evil but so funny and right about most of these characters!

‘That’ll be true even if we spend another three months preparing,’ said Harry. ‘It’s time to act.’

He could tell from Ron and Hermione’s faces that they were scared; he was not particularly confident himself, and yet he was sure the time had come to put their plan into operation.

I’m just really not feeling for this “leader Harry”. It was always Ron who gave that impression. There was the chess, obviously, never mind that wizarding chess isn’t just about strategy, it’s more literally about leadership since the pieces are alive. Then there was the attention towards the well-being of his friends or “troops” if you will. The willingness to sacrifice himself so others could advance (Minerva’s chess game) and of course that he was instinctually, immediately heroic (Book Three).

Aaaand then Rowling of course decided to ruin his character since Book Three because she apparently realised she shan’t suffer anyone else to be better than the Boy Who Failed and Kept Failing Right Till the End.

They had spent the previous four weeks taking it in turns to don the Invisibility Cloak and spy on the official entrance to the Ministry, which Ron, thanks to Mr Weasley, had known since childhood.

One) Four weeks.

Two) Official entrance? So the telephone booth wasn’t the official entrance?

They had tailed Ministry workers on their way in, eavesdropped on their conversations and learned by careful observation which of them could be relied upon to appear, alone, at the same time every day. Occasionally, there had been a chance to sneak a Daily Prophet out of somebody’s briefcase. Slowly, they had built up the sketchy maps and notes now stacked in front of Hermione.

You know… why didn’t they just sneak in with the invisibility cloak?

‘If anyone shouldn’t go, it’s Harry, he’s got a ten thousand Galleon price on his head –’

Ten thousand galleons? Now there’s a real price money. If Rowling actually wanted me to believe that these morons would participate in the triwizard tournament of stupidity and child murder for money, she should’ve made the price a hundred thousand galleons at least instead of a measly thousand. Especially when gold is dirt cheap in this world.

‘Fine, I’ll stay here,’ said Harry. ‘Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort, won’t you?’

They’re not going to be defeating Tommy in the ministry, you moron. (And yes, I know he’s joking. It’s still a stupid joke.)

‘Well, if all three of us go, we’ll have to Disapparate separately,’ Ron was saying. ‘We can’t all fit under the Cloak any more.’

You have a house-elf who can apparate directly in and out of the house.

Harry’s scar was becoming more and more painful. He stood up. At once, Kreacher hurried forwards.

‘Master has not finished his soup, would Master prefer the savoury stew, or else the treacle tart to which Master is so partial?’

I feel a sudden urge to get Kreacher away from these books.

He raised the wand. She screamed. Two young children came running into the hall. She tried to shield them with her arms. There was a flash of green light —

Oh, Tommy, you silly goose. You can’t get information out of dead people.

Unless they can? Can you extract memories out of dead bodies?

‘Harry, please don’t insult our intelligence,’ said Hermione, taking deep breaths.

But, Hermione, it’s so easy.

‘Fine. I’ve just seen Voldemort murdering a woman. By now he’s probably killed her whole family. And he didn’t need to. It was Cedric all over again, they were just there …’

And you don’t kill people even when you need to. So I guess you’re both very special and stupid.

‘Harry, you aren’t supposed to let this happen any more!’ Hermione cried, her voice echoing through the bathroom.

Um?

What d’you suppose Harry can do about it?

‘Dumbledore wanted you to use Occlumency!’

Oh yeah, Harry will get right on that.

‘I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me . . .’

People can really take those words the wrong way, Harry.

‘Forget Dumbledore. This is my choice, nobody else’s. I want to know why he’s after Gregorovitch.’

Huh, would you look at that. At least he’s not a completely brainless Dumbles pawn.

Also, shouldn’t it already be obvious why Tommy is after wandmakers, Harry? Need I remind of you Book Four? Or chapter four in this book?

Well, okay, Harry is still brainless even if he isn’t a completely brainless pawn.

‘Maybe he agrees with Krum, maybe he thinks Gregorovitch is better … or else he thinks Gregorovitch will be able to explain what my wand did when he was chasing me, because Ollivander didn’t know.’

Oh, look at that. He does realise the connection. He’s just not interested in doing anything about it himself, ha ha.

‘Harry, you keep talking about what your wand did,’ said Hermione, ‘but you made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own power?’

Ha ha!

Because Harry has never demonstrated his “own power”?

‘Drop it,’ he advised her. ‘It’s up to him. And if we’re going to the Ministry tomorrow, don’t you reckon we should go over the plan?’

Oh, Ron. Just completely squandered potential.

In the meantime, they returned to the basement kitchen, where Kreacher served them all stew and treacle tart.

For the love of gods, someone get this house-elf away from these morons.

Harry, who was now sleeping in Sirius’s room . . .

‘You look terrible,’ was Ron’s greeting, as he entered the room to wake Harry.

Ron, that’s not fair. That’s just how he normally looks.

They found Hermione downstairs in the kitchen. She was being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher . . .

They gulped down their breakfast then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak and kidney pie ready for them when they returned.

I genuinely cannot believe what Rowling did to Kreacher.

‘Bless him,’ said Ron fondly, ‘and when you think I used to fantasise about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall.’

Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back for Harry.

Is she seriously the only one of them who can apparate?

Oh no wait, Harry just did it on his own at the beginning of this chapter so what the hell?

‘ – and we wait,’ Ron finished, throwing it over Hermione’s head like baize over a budgerigar and rolling his eyes at Harry.

Baize?

Verka? That’s not really helpful.

A thick, soft, usually woolen cloth resembling felt; often colored green and used for coverings on card tables, billiard and snooker tables, etc.

Okay, that’s more helpful.

Budgerigar?

Oh, it’s a bird.

Why would you be throwing cloths over birds?

Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny pop and a little Ministry witch with flyaway, grey hair Apparated feet from them, blinking a little in the sudden brightness; the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. She barely had time to enjoy the unexpected warmth, however, before Hermione’s silent Stunning Spell hit her in the chest and she toppled over.

Soooo… are the golden trio of morons going to get into any sort of trouble for ruining this poor woman’s life or getting her killed? Because I doubt the death eaters and Tommy wouldn’t either throw her in Azkaban or execute her for “failing to fulfil her duties” of not getting attacked and impersonated?

Hermione plucked a few hairs from the witch’s head and added them to a flask of muddy Polyjuice Potion she had taken from the beaded bag.

You know, in Book Two polyjuice was supposed to be this complex, dark potion that took months to prepare. And nowadays everyone is chucking it back like pumpkin juice.

‘She’s Mafalda Hopkirk,’ he said, reading a small card that identified their victim as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Wait.

Isn’t Mafalda that poor ministry worker who never gets a vacation?

Why, yes. She is.

No one else seriously works in the improper use of magic office.

Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope colour . . .

Heliotrope?

Oh, it’s a flower.

Doesn’t Harry just know every colour in existence.

As she removed Mafalda’s spectacles and put them on . . .

And they’re stealing her eyeglasses too. Don’t they know how expensive and essential those are to some people?

‘I’m sorry to hear you’re under the weather,’ said Hermione, talking firmly over the little wizard as he tried to expound upon his problems; it was essential to stop him reaching the street. ‘Here, have a sweet.’

‘Eh? Oh, no thanks – ’

‘I insist!’ said Hermione aggressively, shaking the bag of pastilles in his face. Looking rather alarmed, the little wizard took one.

The effect was instantaneous. The moment the pastille touched his tongue, the little wizard started vomiting so hard that he did not even notice as Hermione yanked a handful of hairs from the top of his head.

Why didn’t they just stun him too?

. . . as he splattered the alley with sick.

He choked and retched, trying to continue on his way despite being unable to walk straight.

The wizard had collapsed, heaving, on all fours, still trying to crawl towards the main street.

Using a repulsed Hermione to claw his way back into a standing position, he turned on the spot and vanished, leaving nothing behind but the bag Ron had snatched from his hand as he went, and some flying chunks of vomit.

. . . holding up the skirts of her robe to avoid the puddles of sick.

Faeces, snot and vomit. Aren’t these just the most special books ever.

‘It would have made much less mess to Stun him too.’

So is there a good reason why you didn’t?

‘Yeah,’ said Ron, emerging from under the Cloak holding the wizard’s bag, ‘but I still think a whole pile of unconscious bodies would have drawn more attention.’

Two.

Two bodies, Ron.

Not a whole pile.

And that’s why you hide them.

‘Keen on his job, though, isn’t he?’

Probably because the ministry is supposedly overrun with death eaters?

‘Now wait here,’ Hermione told Harry, who was still under the Invisibility Cloak, ‘and we’ll be back with some hairs for you.’

He had to wait ten minutes, but it seemed much longer to Harry, skulking alone in the sick-splattered alleyway, beside the door concealing the Stunned Mafalda. Finally, Ron and Hermione reappeared.

For the love of gods.

They had an entire month and this is what they came up with. Instead of — oh, I don’t know — finding out Dolores’ address, ambushing her in her home, and then either imperiusing or polyjuicing as her?

Once the painful transformation was complete, he was more than six feet tall and, from what he could tell from his well-muscled arms, powerfully built.

Huh. So we can probably infer that Harry is under six feet?

‘Blimey, that’s scary,’ said Ron, looking up at Harry, who now towered over him.

Huh. And considering Ron has consistently been the tallest of the trio, Harry is probably well under six feet. That midget.

Fifty yards along the crowded pavement, there were spiked black railings flanking two flights of steps, one labelled Gentlemen, the other, Ladies.

Why, though?

This is an entrance, not a toilet?

‘See you in a moment, then,’ said Hermione nervously, and she tottered off down the steps to the ladies’. Harry and Ron joined a number of oddly dressed men descending into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet, tiled in grimy black and white.

Oh my god, they’re actually toilets.

Ahahaha, the government is a public toilet, isn’t Rowling just so tremendously funny.

And it’s not even that I necessarily disagree but… by this point? I’m just so sick of her writing.

‘Morning, Reg!’ called another wizard in navy blue robes as he let himself into a cubicle by inserting his golden token into a slot in the door. ‘Blooming pain in the bum, this, eh? Forcing us all to get to work this way! Who are they expecting to turn up, Harry Potter?’

As I said.

To Harry’s left and right came the sound of flushing. He crouched down and peered through the gap at the bottom of the cubicle, just in time to see a pair of booted feet climbing into the toilet next door. He looked left, and saw Ron blinking at him.

‘We have to flush ourselves in?’ he whispered.

‘Looks like it,’ Harry whispered back; his voice came out deep and gravelly.

They both stood up. Feeling exceptionally foolish, Harry clambered into the toilet.

He knew at once that he had done the right thing; though he appeared to be standing in water, his shoes, feet and robes remained quite dry. He reached up, pulled the chain, and next moment had zoomed down a short chute, emerging out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic.

For the love of gods, these fucking people.

Like, are the wizards just really, really into humiliation rituals? Or what the hell is this aside from Rowling being exceptionally unsubtle and thus unfunny?

The great Atrium seemed darker than Harry remembered it. Previously, a golden fountain had filled the centre of the hall, casting shimmering spots of light over the polished wooden floor and walls. Now a gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. It was rather frightening, this vast sculpture of a witch and a wizard sitting on ornately carved thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of fireplaces below them. Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words: MAGIC IS MIGHT.

Eh, honestly?

It’s better than the endless gold and the statue of centaurs, goblins and house-elves slavishly worshipping wizards.

Harry looked more closely and realised that what he had thought were decoratively carved thrones were actually mounds of carved humans: hundreds and hundreds of naked bodies, men, women and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces, twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards.

Ha ha ha!

So excessive and histrionic.

‘Muggles,’ whispered Hermione. ‘In their rightful place.’

I’ve talked about this over and over and over again, and I’m tired of repeating myself, so I’ll just interject here:

SHOW, ROWLING. DON’T TELL.

What a complete hack.

Ron gave a nervous laugh. Yaxley’s eyes widened.

‘You think it’s funny, Cattermole, do you?’

‘You realise that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I’m quite surprised you’re not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pure-blood next time.’

‘But if my wife were accused of being a Mudblood,’ said Yaxley, ‘– not that any woman I married would ever be mistaken for such filth – and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I would make it my priority to do that job, Cattermole. Do you understand me?’

Soooo… will they get into trouble for quite possibly getting this man’s wife killed?

‘What am I going to do?’ Ron asked the other two at once; he looked stricken. ‘If I don’t turn up, my wife – I mean, Cattermole’s wife – ’

Ha ha, he’s still so sweet most of the time.

‘That’s mental, we haven’t got much time. You two find Umbridge, I’ll go and sort out Yaxley’s office – but how do I stop it raining?’

‘Try Finite Incantatem,’ said Hermione at once, ‘that should stop the rain if it’s a hex or curse; if it doesn’t, something’s gone wrong with an Atmospheric Charm, which will be more difficult to fix, so as an interim measure try Impervius to protect his belongings – ’

‘Say it again, slowly –’ said Ron, searching his pockets desperately for a quill, but at that moment the lift juddered to a halt.

But seriously, Ron, you’re a pureblood. Start acting like one.

The golden grilles slid apart again and Hermione gasped. Four people stood before them, two of them deep in conversation: a long-haired wizard wearing magnificent robes of black and gold and a squat, toad-like witch wearing a velvet bow in her short hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.

What. a. cliffhanger. And coincidence. *monotone*

But at least that was that for this chapter.

You know, I kind of miss Dolores’ comments. I hope she gets to say something mean but funny and true again.

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

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

Irreversible Death

If a character continues to exist in any shape or form after their death in the narrative then, nope, death is not a theme.

Call me cold but I really don’t understand stories in which 1) the afterlife is a literal thing, 2) people can pop up for visits as ghosts, 3) reincarnation is a thing, and 4) the characters know this, and yet they’re so devastated when one of them dies. Like, they’re literally not gone. In the context of stories like this, it’s basically the equivalent of moving to another country. Sure, it’s difficult to visit and sure, the phone calls are expensive but hey, at least the characters know they’ll eventually see them anyway.

*sighs*

If there’s one thing I dislike, it’s inconsistent writing.

I mean, some themes just don’t work when you put them in a fantasy context — of course, depending on how you do that fantasy.

Extras Need Not Apply

Is the possible speck of good in a mostly evil person worth more than the lives of mostly not evil people?

Why won’t these stories ever answer that question?

You know what’s the real worth of a person in these stories? Being a character with a name and a face. That’s all.

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I tried to come up with a clever title but it’s two a.m. and I need to go to sleep. So you’ll just have to do with the lameness, ha ha. Maybe I’ll come up with something later.

And no, I’m not advocating for the rights of background characters. It’s about the narrative and narrative dissonance. In other words, it’s about bad writing and dumbness.

I kind of feel like saying more — particularly about a certain genre of fiction that mostly originates from America and I think is the dumbest genre of fiction ever created. But I don’t know, I think I’ve already managed to insult half the world’s population with my blog so… maybe I’ll refrain this time. On the other hand, they’re personal opinions so it’s like, take it or leave it.

Nobody Main Characters

I tried to come up with some clever title for this post but it didn’t work out. Maybe I’ll come up with something later.

There is this substantial subset of stories — most often for kids, young adults and adult-children — about seeming nobodies who, in an unsurprising plot twist!, turn out to be congenital or fated somebodies after all. And this, more often than not, seems to irritate people.

I kind of agree with these people on some points but at the same time I can’t really bring myself to get worked up about it.

Because, you see, here’s the thing: stories like these are as old as time. In fairy tales, legends or myths you have a main character who seemingly starts from humble origins — such as being raised by wolves or farmers or, gods forbid, merchants — and then they turn out to be royalty, demi-gods or gods.

This is practically all the Japanese fairy tales too; a humble farmer or a woodcutter adopts a child he found in the wilderness (the good old days when you could just pick up abandoned kids in the wilds), and the child turns out to be a dragon or a god (same difference, really), and once the child comes of age he goes back home, leaving the farmer with unimaginable fortunes as thanks.

I mean, at worst you can say these stories give a really skewed view of foster care.

The appeal of these underdog nobody stories is self-insertion that you can become somebody through hard work. Which, okay, is kind of true while at the same time it isn’t.

Hard work alone isn’t a guarantee of anything, as evidenced by the minor characters in these stories.

Just like genius alone isn’t going to do anything for someone.

You know what’s the actual guarantee of becoming somebody from an underdog nobody? Being the main character. If these “nobody main characters” were actual nobodies, the stories simply wouldn’t be about them.

Besides — depending on what kind of underdog nobody story we’re talking about — it’s not like the main character finding out that they’re actually part of blah blah blah or descended of some such is suddenly going to erase or negate all the hard work they did up to that point.

On the other hand, there are also stories about those underdog nobodies who aren’t geniuses, and who don’t work hard, but who still get everything handed out to them because they’re the author’s little pet power fantasies. Like Harry Potter or Midoriya Izuku.

Which actually brings me to the reason why I’ve never found underdog stories appealing, at all. Because, more often than not, they tend to be duplicitous, stupid and bad. Kind of like those stories for young women that assure the reader that the main character is totally for real an ugly duckling, but then she gets all the actually pretty girls murderously jealous and all the good-looking boys drooling after her.

So, yeah.

If I think of my favourite characters, they all tend to be hard-working, good-looking rich geniuses who are also massive dorks:

Lara Croft
Kageyama Tobio
Bakugou Katsuki
Draco Malfoy
(Also Raki)

So instead of having this (frankly unnecessary) dichotomy between congenital genius and hard work, why not have both?

Moreover, the really ironic thing is that once these underdog nobodies embark on a journey to save the world or what have you, they usually end up becoming somebodies. They become bloodlines or — if they don’t happen to have children of their own — they become heroes. Which means! living legacies.

As such, you’re never going to have a story that’s genuinely about nobody at all because those stories don’t get written.

Like most of my posts, this is a bit rambling. I would rewrite it to some kind of coherence buuuut… I can’t be bothered. So people just have to make do with the rambling meanderings of my written thoughts.

I trust people will catch the meaning anyway.

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Edit 5.7.2022: I added and clarified a few bits anyway.