The Quest for... Win?: White-Kettle Shufflepunk Reads Harry Potter

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Good to mention that this isn't something that just wares off, the next book tells us that the tail had to be surgically removed. Hagrid don't fuck around.

Still less harsh than this one fanfic where Severus got Vernon's soul sucked out and then proceeded to give Dudley autism, as vengeance for them giving Harry autism. Oh, and Hermione was a transboy called Hermes.

 

[TheAmbiguousLurker]

Still less harsh than this one fanfic where Severus got Vernon's soul sucked out and then proceeded to give Dudley autism, as vengeance for them giving Harry autism. Oh, and Hermione was a transboy called Hermes.

View attachment 7884923

Okay, but is Hermes autistic? And is Ron remembered? And is Draco hot?

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Okay, but is Hermes autistic? And is Ron remembered? And is Draco hot?

That’s the funny thing. Outside of the Harry and Hermes stuff, that fic was pretty decent? It was basically a bunch of student counsellor sessions between the students and the heads of houses, set during the first year. So, one chapter you’d have Ron discussing his self-esteem issues being the youngest boy in a set of seven kids, or a Muggleborn girl who’s sad her twin sister wasn’t a witch too, then you’d have a flashback to Mr. Granger screaming abuse directly into Hermione’s crotch. And then you’d have Snape feeding Dudley a literal Potion of Autism, which here means acting like a twee angel. It was called “Sessions.” Sadly not online anymore, because I would so be sharing some passages. Same with this other fanfic where we discover Harry is Snape and James’s son, and Lily sucked him out of James’s womb and brainwashed him into loving her. That one was a goldmine.

 

[TheAmbiguousLurker]

It was called “Sessions.” Sadly not online anymore, because I would so be sharing some passages.

Is it this, or are we gonna be doing the Doofenshmirtz 'It's weird it happen twice' meme?

and Lily sucked him out of James’s womb and brainwashed him into loving her

Damn, if her head game is that strong, no wonder Snape was willing to turn on the wizard nazis for killing her.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Is it this, or are we gonna be doing the Doofenshmirtz 'It's weird it happen twice' meme?

Huh, must’ve just been deleted on Archive. You know what you must do.

 

[big pauper]

I grew up reading the books as they came out, but the last one was definitely more of an obligation than actual interest.

The books have absolutely atrocious world building but are extremely adept at keeping pace and establishing the rules so you never have any errant questions. Things outside of the very narrow scope of the books direct plot are not very detailed

It's not a criticism of the book really but I've always found it curious that people really obsess over and want to occupy a space the author didn't find necessary to detail.

 

[LoverofPi]

Okay, I refuse to believe this would be allowed. Now, I'm Australian, not British, but our schools (public and private) commonly require uniforms, and we either buy them from the school directly, or from shops partnered with them. That's kind of the point of a uniform, that they're all the same! Tell me, Britbongs, are you really just allowed to turn up to school in clothes that only sort of resemble the uniform?

Pretty sure this was intended to be evidence of their neglect of Harry such that they were too skint to buy him a uniform so they died clothes vaguely the right color.

See, fanfic writers? Harry's full name isn't "Hadrian," it's "H.!" Also, as terrifying as this already is for the Dursleys, imagine being the ignorant parent of some Muggleborn, and getting a letter from someone who knows what bedroom your kid sleeps in.

Nah, It's Harristopher. Harristopher Potter. It's the only lengthened form I'll accept, precisely because it's stupid sounding.

I don't know exactly the form it should take, but a Young Ones/ Potter crossover would be delightfully absurd.

Doom is going to blow this kid's fucking mind.

Duke Nukem is probably already his favorite game.

I really want to know what The Great Humberto is like.

Sounds like a mediocre stage magician name. So of course you know someone's decided he's the foremost wizard of the century.

Aw shit, Dreadnought 3's crashed into the hut and has to pass on his powers to Harry.

(Someone write that)

Harry can't do a worse job than Tozer.

"And if you believe some enthusiastic corners of the internet, this gun trumps any wizard's magic!"

A standard rifle, nah, wizards can absolutely handle shields like that. It's the guns they can't see that would really fuck them up.

Hagrid: Good, because we ain't teaching you that at Hogwarts.

Yeah, the wizarding world is effectively crippling itself with its standard curriculum. Even more than the real world.

I assume wizard owls can fly through the space-between-spaces.

It's as good an explanation as any for how the hell they work. It's definitely not actual A to B flying.

Spoilers, the curse Voldemort used on Harry isn't actually known for causing property damage. It's basically just an off-switch for human lives.

That means the house was secretly a human the entire time!

I grew up reading the books as they came out, but the last one was definitely more of an obligation than actual interest.

I wound up never reading the last book after I guessed enough of the twists ahead of time, including one meant to be a joke spoiler. Eventually watched the films.

The books have absolutely atrocious world building but are extremely adept at keeping pace and establishing the rules so you never have any errant questions. Things outside of the very narrow scope of the books direct plot are not very detailed

JK is great at setting a scene, but terrible at global scale. I mean most people are, but JK is bad at anything much larger than school scale, which is why the world starts breaking down once the scope expands beyond it.

 

[Kari Kamiya]

Let me tell you, Stephen Fry makes that line sound utterly psychotic.

I had to look up the audiobook to hear it, and I don't get it, gonna be real with you (maybe my American ears raised only on Blackadder can't catch it). Just made it sound like Vernon was just casually but shortly waving it off.

Given what we see of Hagrid's sorcery skills throughout the books, I'm shocked he was so precise. I'd have expected Dudley to start shitting and vomiting letters till he died.

What I'd give to see that.

The movies took away Harry's attitude.

I don't know if I can blame Daniel Radcliffe for that, seeing as he was such a novice child actor at the time. Definitely all the more proof that the vast majority of HP fics were relying way too much on the movies instead of the books, like Harry totally has a personality, you just have to read it for yourself.

Autistic Story Time: Someone in my family has a video of teenage me at Harry Potter World banging on the door of the Dursley house set yelling "Child Services! We know you're in there, Dursley!". Before getting yelled at by security.

Based.

Still less harsh than this one fanfic where Severus got Vernon's soul sucked out and then proceeded to give Dudley autism, as vengeance for them giving Harry autism.

Same with this other fanfic where we discover Harry is Snape and James’s son, and Lily sucked him out of James’s womb and brainwashed him into loving her. That one was a goldmine.

What the fuck.

I grew up reading the books as they came out, but the last one was definitely more of an obligation than actual interest.

As soon as I finished Deathly Hallows, I put the book down and felt I was 100% done with Harry Potter and could move on. Was such a weird feeling, too. Meanwhile everyone else around me still kept to the Harry Potter craze...

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

It's not a criticism of the book really but I've always found it curious that people really obsess over and want to occupy a space the author didn't find necessary to detail.

I basically agree with everything you wrote, but may I direct you to this line in particular?

The books have absolutely atrocious world building but are extremely adept at keeping pace and establishing the rules so you never have any errant questions. Things outside of the very narrow scope of the books direct plot are not very detailed

I think the reason is that the bits Rowling actually put effort into just feel eminently liveable. Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, the Burrow, all them places. Of course, that doesn't explain why so much fanfic avoids and scorns those places like the plague in favour of manors and shit.

I don't know if I can blame Daniel Radcliffe for that, seeing as he was such a novice child actor at the time.

I maintain Rupert Grit was the best actor of the three, especially to start with. It's a good thing Dan got better at acting the older and less cute he got.

I don't know exactly the form it should take, but a Young Ones/ Potter crossover would be delightfully absurd.

Vyv is clearly a lost Weasley.

 

[TheAmbiguousLurker]

Huh, must’ve just been deleted on Archive. You know what you must do.

Blue dreadlocks? What on earth was the boy thinking?

Harry walked with a slight limp, his shoes undone and on the wrong feet. His tie was askew, and upon further examination, Severus saw that his robes were inside out. When he got closer to the head table, Severus could see that his eyes were not only wide, but they were slightly glazed. Somewhat alarmed at the child's appearance, he spared a glance down the table at Albus, only to see him staring down at Potter with a similar look of surprise.

Initial impressions: 'I believe that Ms. Granger is what is referred to in the muggle world as a 'tomboy.'

Harry: Wow, you're really warm. [sniffs Snape's robes]

Harry: Hey, did you know that I get my very own bed and it's just next door to Draco's room? I tried to visit him, but they kept saying he wasn't home, but he was, because he was hiding under his covers. I could smell him. You think he knows he smells like trees? I like trees. I like beds. Did you see my shoes? They're my very own. I put my name on the bottom of them, see? [Lifts foot for Snape to examine briefly].

I don't know if I can blame Daniel Radcliffe for that, seeing as he was such a novice child actor at the time.

I never blamed the actors for that, I think it was a general direction problem that the movies actively wanted to make Harry more of a YA blank slate whose main trait is being nervous and awkward. Even when they keep some of his sassy remarks, they deliberately play it off more like Harry's not intentionally trying to be snarky. Similar to the problem of them stripping away a lot of Ron's best qualities and scenes when streamlining certain elements, which hurts his dynamic with Harry in the long run because they don't even have Harry matching his immaturity where they both want to fuck around and find out.

Like, in the book everyone, including Harry, is making little judgements about Hermione being an annoying know-it-all eventually leading to the troll sequence, but in the movie it's made out like Ron and Draco are the only one who are annoyed by her and Harry was just on the sidelines.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

‘It was a dream,’ he told himself firmly. ‘I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I’ll be at home in my cupboard.’

Do Harry's dreams usually last weeks? Actually, that does sound like a bittersweet magical blessing for an abused child.

Morpheus: Live a better life in your dreams!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

‘All right,’ Harry mumbled, ‘I’m getting up.’

He sat up and Hagrid’s heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

What do wizards do when they need to ship something heavy? Or should we assume wizard owls can absurd weights?

The owl then fluttered on to the floor and began to attack Hagrid’s coat.

‘Don’t do that.’

Harry tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

‘Hagrid!’ said Harry loudly. ‘There’s an owl –’

‘Pay him,’ Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

‘What?’

‘He wants payin’ fer deliverin’ the paper. Look in the pockets.’

I'm guessing wizards haven't invented subscriptions. Or do you have to pay the paperboy directly every morning in the UK?

Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

‘Give him five Knuts,’ said Hagrid sleepily.

‘Knuts?’

‘The little bronze ones.’

Harry counted out five little bronze coins and the owl held out its leg so he could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then it flew off through the open window.

Don't even try to figure out how wizard money works, Rowling certainly didn't. Seriously, at least describe what the coins look like.

Today, we're heading up to London to buy Harry some school gear.

Um – Hagrid?’

‘Mm?’ said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

‘I haven’t got any money – and you heard Uncle Vernon last night – he won’t pay for me to go and learn magic.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. ‘D’yeh think yer parents didn’t leave yeh anything?’

Fun fact, for years fans debated amongst themselves whether Hogwarts was a public or private school, with some arguing that the student body was so small because many young wizards and witches were homeschooled or went to some magical equivalent of Stonewall High. Spoilers, Hogwarts is in fact free and educates the vast majority of British wizards and witches, but its relationship to the government is... strange.

‘But if their house was destroyed –’

‘They didn’ keep their gold in the house, boy!

I assume this means Vernon keeps all his money under a mattress and Harry thinks that's normal.

‘They didn’ keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards’ bank. Have a sausage, they’re not bad cold – an’ I wouldn’ say no teh a bit o’ yer birthday cake, neither.’

‘Wizards have banks?’

‘Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins.’

With how small the magical population seems to be worldwide, I find it kind of odd they have a formal bank, or a unitary fiat currency for that matter.

Yeah – so yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it, I’ll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe – ’cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o’ fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business.’ Hagrid drew himself up proudly. ‘He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him.

"Fetchin’ you-–gettin’ things from Gringotts--punishing all those who slander him."

Harry followed Hagrid out on to the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

Hagrid was sensitive enough to dispose of the owner's body before Harry saw him.

Imagine if as they left, Harry heard a gunshot, Petunia shrieking, then two more gunshots, and that was the last we ever heard of the Dursleys.

Vernon: You're clean, son... they can't touch you now...

‘How did you get here?’ Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

‘Flew,’ said Hagrid.

‘Flew?’

‘Yeah – but we’ll go back in this. Not s’pposed ter use magic now I’ve got yeh.’

That's a weird cut off point. What was Hagrid supposed to do if the boat dropped the family off and went back to the mainland? Send an owl and wait to be picked up? Kill the Dursleys and stitch together a corpse raft ala Watchmen? Also, I think this sort of qualifies as a continuity error, because the implication seems to be that Hagrid flew here like Superman, without a broom or his motorbike, when later human flight is treated as something only two highly skilled wizards in the whole series can do.

‘Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?’ Harry asked.

‘Spells – enchantments,’ said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. ‘They say there’s dragons guardin’ the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way – Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh’d die of hunger tryin’ ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat.’

When the London Underground was being constructed, you think the Ministry ever had to cover up Muggle workers stumbling onto goblin infrastructure?

Harry sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Harry had learnt from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, he’d never had so many questions in his life.
‘Ministry o’ Magic messin’ things up as usual,’ Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

You know, if Vernon wasn't such a mindless bigot, I feel like him and Hagrid would've gotten on.

‘There’s a Ministry of Magic?’ Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

‘ ’Course,’ said Hagrid. ‘They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o’ course, but he’d never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin’ fer advice.’

"Yer could call him the 'First Buddy.'"

"That sounds monstrously stupid, Hagrid."

‘But what does a Ministry of Magic do?’

‘Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there’s still witches an’ wizards up an’ down the country.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone’d be wantin’ magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we’re best left alone.’

Bahahhaha, I love this. We don't lead with the idea of like, religious conflict, breaking the minds of every Muggle scientist on Earth, or wizards interfering with Muggle politics, but that it'd be really annoying if Mrs Higgins from across the road kept bugging them for skincare solutions. Based Hagrid.

Passers-by stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Harry couldn’t blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, ‘See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?’

This is borderline acceptable coming from Hagrid, who at least has lived at Hogwarts year round since he was a teenager in the 1940s, but with most other wizards it really stretches credibility. Even in Hagrid's case, the guy makes trips to Diagon Alley regularly, which is in the middle of London. Not only that, unlike most other adult wizards, Hagrid can't Apparate, so he actually has to physically make his way through the city. I guess there's the Floo Network, but still. A smarter version of this joke I think would be if Hagrid had seen plenty of parking meters, but didn't know what they were for.

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes’ time. Hagrid, who didn’t understand ‘Muggle money’, as he called it, gave the notes to Harry so he could buy their tickets.

Thought, does the fact many wizards apparently go their whole lives without interacting commercially with the Muggle world imply Diagon Alley has like... grocery stores? You know, ordinary ish shops where you buy food. Wizards do in fact eat the same food as the rest of us, and we later learn food is one thing they specifically can't create ex-nihilo, though that of course raises other questions. It's just really funny imagining a greengrocer's nestled amongst all these shops selling bezors and junior reader Necronomicons. Now, let's take a look at some of Harry's school list:

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

Chris Columbus: Yeah, we're not doing that.

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags

It's the little mundane touches that makes Harry's world feel so real, even if Rowling is much closer to Baum than Tolkien, to put it mildly.

Set Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

I think it'd be a bummer knowing magic was real, but being categorically incapable of doing it, but I would be greatly cheered up if my wizard friends lent me their books. I'd be such a wizaboo.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

Only the first volume, though. The later ones are a bit crap.

Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way.

What, does he fly his motorbike over the streets?

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger bars and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Harry hadn’t known that the Dursleys had no sense of humour, he might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told him so far was unbelievable, Harry couldn’t help trusting him.

See, with the kind of numbers and distribution presented in the books, I'd expect magical commerce to look less like their own, secret shopping district, and more like a network cottage industries run out of magical homes or in pop-up locations. Like, I need potion ingredients, or a finished potion that's beyond my ability, so I pop over to my friend Morgana, who's an apothecary, and in exchange, I help her with some magic I'm better at. As we later learn, wizards and witches intermarry with Muggles a lot, so I could also see there being mundane businesses that provide services to wizards that don't require actual magic, like tailoring or making their potion equipment.

That's how I'd handle a wainscott society of magic users anyway. However, I'll say this, Diagon Alley itself is a great set piece, so in this instance, I'm pretty okay with Rowling's vision not making much economic sense. I mean, this book was aimed at middle-schoolers, and while I don't believe in talking down to children, I also believe in entertaining them. Not all worldbuilding has to be very "rigorous" and to some extent, suspension of disbelief is inevitable. For example, from what we see, the majority of children born to Muggle-magical couples are also witches and wizards, with Squibs (people born to magic parents without any powers) are quite rare. As I mentioned, witches and wizards marry Muggles a lot, with "half-bloods"--people with at least one Muggle or Muggleborn grandparent making up the bulk of the population. Magic, believe it or not, has a lot benefits, and as far as I can tell, no downsides. Wizards lead long lives, and are probably less likely to starve to death if the crops fail or whatever. They don't go nuts or get possesed like in Warhammer, or attract crazy magical predators like in Scholomance. What I'm saying is, unless magic is fairly new in the world, which it clearly isn't wizards and witches shouldn't be rare, they should be the dominant phenotype of humanity.

But that's not the kind of story Rowling wanted to tell, and I don't begrudge her that. That's not to say nitpicking isn't fun, or that her worldbuilding is never legitimately subpar. Trust me, we'll get to that. Anyway, the Leaky Cauldron!

or a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old barman, who was quite bald and looked like a gummy walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the barman reached for a glass, saying, ‘The usual, Hagrid?’
‘Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,’ said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry’s shoulder and making Harry’s knees buckle.

Clearly secretly Voldemort. Naturally, everyone loses their shit over the Harry Potter.

Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back.’

Harry didn’t know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realising it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and, next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

‘Doris Crockford, Mr Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.’

‘So proud, Mr Potter, I’m just so proud.’

‘Always wanted to shake your hand – I’m all of a flutter.’

I feel like mentioning there's a whole genre of fanfic where Harry has a twin brother who everyone thinks is the real Chosen One, so Harry grows up emotionally neglected and expected to subsume himself entirely in favour of his brother.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

‘Professor Quirrell!’ said Hagrid. ‘Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.’

‘P-P-Potter,’ stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry’s hand, ‘c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.’

‘What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?’

‘D-Defence Against the D-D-Dark Arts,’ muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he’d rather not think about it. ‘N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?’ He laughed nervously. ‘You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.’ He looked terrified at the very thought.

I'd be terrified if I was heading to buy House of Night, too.

‘Must get on – lots ter buy. Come on, Harry.’

Doris Crockford shook Harry’s hand one last time and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds.

And Garry Sparrow, about to step through the time portal back to WW2 to cheat on his wife.

‘Is he always that nervous?’

‘Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience … They say he met vampires in the Black Forest and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag – never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject – now, where’s me umbrella?’

Vampires? Hags? Harry’s head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the dustbin.

In the children's lit/YA world, it almost feels like a flex to establish vampires exist in your world, but never, ever elaborate on them. I myself am really curious about hags. Should we imagine a D&D style species of female looking humanoids? Or is there some weird form of dementia witches can get that makes them evil and want to eat babies?

(It's almost definitely not the second thing, I just like to worldbuild)

Three up … two across …’ he muttered. ‘Right, stand back, Harry.’
He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway on to a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.

‘Welcome,’ said Hagrid, ‘to Diagon Alley.’

And this is where I leave you for today, because it's like a quarter to one in the morning here on the upside down continent. Next time, shopping!

 

[TheAmbiguousLurker]

Do Harry's dreams usually last weeks? Actually, that does sound like a bittersweet magical blessing for an abused child.

Have you never had a dream where you seem to live out an entire lifetime that wakes you up just as everything in your life is going catastrophically wrong?

What do wizards do when they need to ship something heavy? Or should we assume wizard owls can absurd weights?

Wizard Owls lift, duh.

I'm guessing wizards haven't invented subscriptions. Or do you have to pay the paperboy directly every morning in the UK?

We move to the countryside because we're not allowed to stab the postman in the cities.

Don't even try to figure out how wizard money works, Rowling certainly didn't. Seriously, at least describe what the coins look like.

All my canon comes from the games; including the bit where the teachers require one student sacrifice to go inside their hell dungeon and fight off a troll in order to teach the rest of the class a new spell.

I assume this means Vernon keeps all his money under a mattress and Harry thinks that's normal.

Every time Harry tries to ask Vernon about it, Vernon just says that he's performed a few 'magic tricks' himself before he married Petunia.

When the London Underground was being constructed, you think the Ministry ever had to cover up Muggle workers stumbling onto goblin infrastructure?

I assure you, muggles have seen far stranger things in the London Underground. Like a Welshman.

This is borderline acceptable coming from Hagrid, who at least has lived at Hogwarts year round since he was a teenager in the 1940s, but with most other wizards it really stretches credibility.

My issue is that, even if you don't know what a parking meter is, it's not like it looks particularly notable. "A pole with a box on it? What will these muggles think up next!"

Anyway, the Leaky Cauldron!

But enough about your mother.

‘P-P-Potter,’ stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry’s hand, ‘c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.’

I'd kill for Voldemort's perspective here. Like, as far as I know, he didn't know that Harry Potter was going to be here, he's just focused on the stone right now. So, just imagine that you're in the final stages of your plan to rearrange the order of the world and you suddenly hear that the one schlemiel who made you look like a bitch and ruined your plans just so happens to be rocking up behind you eleven years later.

Ah, wait, Voldemort isn't here yet, is he? That was a movie only thing,

And Garry Sparrow, about to step through the time portal back to WW2 to cheat on his wife.

People always ask if you'd go back in time and kill Hitler, but few brave souls ask if you'd go back in time to fuck Hitler.

 

[LoverofPi]

That's how I'd handle a wainscott society of magic users anyway. However, I'll say this, Diagon Alley itself is a great set piece, so in this instance, I'm pretty okay with Rowling's vision not making much economic sense. I mean, this book was aimed at middle-schoolers, and while I don't believe in talking down to children, I also believe in entertaining them. Not all worldbuilding has to be very "rigorous" and to some extent, suspension of disbelief is inevitable. For example, from what we see, the majority of children born to Muggle-magical couples are also witches and wizards, with Squibs (people born to magic parents without any powers) are quite rare. As I mentioned, witches and wizards marry Muggles a lot, with "half-bloods"--people with at least one Muggle or Muggleborn grandparent making up the bulk of the population. Magic, believe it or not, has a lot benefits, and as far as I can tell, no downsides. Wizards lead long lives, and are probably less likely to starve to death if the crops fail or whatever. They don't go nuts or get possesed like in Warhammer, or attract crazy magical predators like in Scholomance. What I'm saying is, unless magic is fairly new in the world, which it clearly isn't wizards and witches shouldn't be rare, they should be the dominant phenotype of humanity.

As a result of this particular worldbuilding plot hole, I used to joke that there was a second, even more secret wizarding world that was actually hiding from the first wizarding world for not wanting anything to do with them for being too dramatic.
Makes as much sense as anything.

I feel like mentioning there's a whole genre of fanfic where Harry has a twin brother who everyone thinks is the real Chosen One, so Harry grows up emotionally neglected and expected to subsume himself entirely in favour of his brother.

That sort of story can absolutely work- there's one in which a young woman must pretend to be her chosen one brother after he's killed in battle and lead the troops, etc. - but Harry Potter is an odd choice for it. What makes people think Barristopher Potter is the chosen one and not the kid with the cool scar?

I'd be terrified if I was heading to buy House of Night, too.

The voice in Quirrel's head is constantly telling him to drink more brown pop.

And Garry Sparrow, about to step through the time portal back to WW2 to cheat on his wife.

If you told Gary Sparrow it was wrong to cheat on his wife with his other wife, he'd tell you, "You may think it's wrong what I'm doing, but I think it's pretty big of me, really."

Have you never had a dream where you seem to live out an entire lifetime that wakes you up just as everything in your life is going catastrophically wrong?

I've had them, but extremely banal. One dream was I had to go back to school for some bizarre reason and couldn't simply test out of it. These were typically semi lucid so I'd spend some time trying to figure out what I needed to do to get the dream to end and I'd wake up.

 

[Briananderson1138]

What do wizards do when they need to ship something heavy?

You thought that secret railroad was just for the Hogwarts Express? No: railroad sidings, railroad sidings everywhere (which sounds like something that the British would have actually tried to do at some point).

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

He grinned at Harry’s amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

Shit, Gary saved Clement Attlee, we're trapped.

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an apothecary’s was shaking her head as they passed, saying, ‘Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they’re mad …’

I assume that's expensive.

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry’s age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. ‘Look,’ Harry heard one of them say, ‘the new Nimbus Two Thousand – fastest ever –’

I always thought the line in the Columbus film was hokey exposition, but honestly it reads as blatant in the book.

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before

The reason there's so few wizards and witches is that very little of what they get up to could realistically result in children.

They had reached a snowy-white building which towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was –

‘Yeah, that’s a goblin,’ said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps towards him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet.

Tugs collar. I mean, I did recall the early books following in the footsteps of Roald Dahl...

(I don't actually think Rowling is anti-semitic, if only because most of the people who call her that think Hamas is based)

Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

‘Like I said, yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it,’ said Hagrid.

If they catch you, they'll read really basic poetry at you.

I'd like to take a moment to talk about the importance of Gringotts Bank to the Harry Potter fandom. Countless fanfics--usually set between book 5 and 6, but sometimes you get Harry going all Ender Wiggin at age eleven--begin with Harry, sick of being pushed around by "the Light" heading to Gringotts to get the truth. The goblins--who are apparently participate willing to facilitate grand conspiracies against their clients, but will immediately spill the beans when confronted by a teenage boy--will then perform what is called an inheritance test. The procedure is pretty much always the same. Harry will prick a finger onto a roll of parchment, which will then reveal he's the heir of one or more Hogwarts founder, have a dozen seats in the wizarding government, have loads of properties, sometimes including Hogwarts itself, and dozens of extra cool superpowers that have been suppressed by Dumbledore. Because that's something a bank would keep track of.

I have collated some examples.

“My turn!” He said excitedly as he began to read his wn results aloud. “Paternal Side: Potter, Peverall, Black, Salazar Slytherin (Chosen Heir), Morgana Le Fay (Chosen Heir)

Abilities: Parsel tongue, parsel magic, elemental magic, Dark/Grey core.”

The boy shrugged, “Well I certainly wasn’t expecting to be made a founder’s heir, or a magic disciple for that matter.”

"Dark/Grey core" refers to magical cores, the idea that there's some organ or other discrete physical quality that determines how strong you are and what kind of magic you're good at. Very phrenological. The "Dark/Grey" bit alludes to the common idea in fanfic that dark magic is a misunderstood form of magic one can be naturally attuned to, as opposed to the books, where it mostly seems to just mean magic that's fucked and evil.

God parents:

Sirius Orion Black (incarcerated).

Remus Lupin (unclaimed).

Frank Longbottom (indisposed).

Alice Longbottom (indisposed).

Severus Snape (unclaimed).​

Sometimes I think a lot of HP fans think godparents were something Rowling made up.

Magic Blocks:

Dark Magic (80% blocked)

Light Magic (50% blocked).

Parseltongue abilities (100 unlocked)

Metamorphmagus abilities (80% blocked)

​

People like claiming Harry has innate, Mystique shapeshifting powers because of when he regrew his hair. Which is a bit like me claiming I'm a master violinist because I can whistle. Also, I guess the reason people have to go to Hogwarts to learn magic is because Dumbledore blocks everyone's leet magic skills.

Compulsions: Keyed by Albus Dumbledore on October 31st 1981.

Loyalty to Albus Dumbledore

Loyalty to Weasley family

Hatred of Severus Snape

Distrust of Slytherins

Pride in Gryffindors​

Fanfic writers also give way more of a shit about houses than literally anyone in the books, or Rowling herself.

Hadrian Ignotus Black

Birth Father: Ralston Black neé Potter (Deceased)
Birth Mother: Cassiopeia Black (Deceased)

Sibling(s): Hermione Black

Active Marriage Contracts: N/A

Creature Inheritance: N/A

Genetic Abilities: Wandless Magic, Potential Master of Death

Active Heirships: Peverell

Rowling: To be the Master of Death is a symbolic title, referring to a man who has accepted the inevitability and necessity of death, and thus does not fear it.

Fanfic writers: It's a genetic trait that gives you necromancy powers or time travel!

Inherited Heirships:
Heir Potter - BA(P)
Heir Peverell - BA(P)
Heir Slytherin - Other

I never realised Bronze Age Pervert was a wizard. Here, I'll include the actual explanation for that:

"It's a B-A-P, child. Not a 'Bap'." Harry looked at him curiously. "It's an abbreviation, it means Blood Adoption, Paternal. The B-A-G is a Blood Adoption Glamour."

"Well what's that?" Harry asked quickly.

"A Blood Adoption is when an adult uses their blood in a ritual to make a child biologically theirs using magic. A Blood Glamour replaces one parent's physical features with another. It's usually used when both parents of the child are dead, but it's also used when three people are in a relationship together." Harry was floored. My parents were in a three-way marriage?

I think the first time I encountered blood adoption was a Smallville crossover fic where it was used to explain how Harry could be Kryptonian and a wizard.

Aside from all that silliness, there'll usually be something about the Weasleys stealing money from Harry's vault, because for some ghastly reason these fanfic writers hate gingers more than Cartman.

‘Got it,’ said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

‘That seems to be in order.’

‘An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,’ said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. ‘It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.’

Wizard justice is hardcore, they cut off Voldemort's dick and stuck it in a vault!

‘Very well,’ he said, handing it back to Hagrid, ‘I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!’

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog-biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall.

It's funnier if I don't explain. I kind of want to see Gringotts invent an ATM, but it's a horrid little imp who physically crawls through a tunnel to fetch your money.

Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downwards and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in – Hagrid with some difficulty – and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn’t steering.

You know Rowling was thinking ahead, because she was putting Universal Studio rides in the first book.

‘I never know,’ Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, ‘what’s the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?’
‘Stalagmite’s got an “m” in it,’ said Hagrid.

This is such a dumbass joke to stick in the middle of your children's fantasy book. Note, "dumbass" doesn't always mean "bad."

‘An’ don’ ask me questions just now, I think I’m gonna be sick.’

Petunia's wet and has no idea why.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

‘All yours,’ smiled Hagrid.

All Harry’s – it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn’t have known about this or they’d have had it from him faster than blinking.

There's a question, would the Durlseys' grasping nature outweigh their hatred of all things magic? Side note, it always amuses me when fantasy games and stuff treat gold coins like they were dollar notes. Throughout most of history, if you tried paying for your meal with gold, the innkeeper would probably think you were trying to buy the whole place out from under him. An interesting exception is Edwardian England, where the conquest of some valuable Boer mines meant there was so much gold floating around, they actually did start minting gold sovereigns worth a pound. Of course, back then, a pound was a much heftier sum of money, seen more in accounting than everyday transactions, and naturally the massive influx of gold caused severe inflation.

How often had they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London.

You can bet a lot of fanfic writers rankle at the word "small" in that sentence. I get the impression Harry's fortune is more on the side of "could live comfortably without working" than "the wizarding Jeff Bezos." Of course, the actual wizard Jeff Bezos is probably an owl breeder.

Hagrid helped Harry pile some of it into a bag.

‘The gold ones are Galleons,’ he explained. ‘Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o’ terms, we’ll keep the rest safe for yeh.’ He turned to Griphook. ‘Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?’

Feel free to try and figure how much a galleon is worth in pounds, I'm certainly not. Time to pick up that mysterious package.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

‘Stand back,’ said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

‘If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,’ said Griphook.

‘How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?’ Harry asked.

‘About once every ten years,’ said Griphook, with a rather nasty grin.

That's based as hell, but given what's actually inside there, it's not entirely out of the question someone could survive in there that long. Which kind of makes it worse.

One wild cart-ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn’t know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn’t have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he’d had in his whole life – more money than even Dudley had ever had.

And we all know Dudley has them stacks on deck.

‘Might as well get yer uniform,’ said Hagrid, nodding towards Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. ‘Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.’ He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin’s shop alone, feeling nervous.

See, if there was one thing I'd expect your average adult wizard to be able to conjure on their own, it's ordinary clothes. As far as I can tell, Hogwarts robes don't have any kind of enchantment on them, unless you count whatever mysterious spell in the video-games gives them the house trimming.

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.

And a third witch measured him for his leather pants.

‘Hullo,’ said the boy, ‘Hogwarts too?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry.

‘My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands,’ said the boy.

Seems a bit pointless given how selecting a wand works here.

He had a bored, drawling voice. ‘Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.’

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.

Remember this next time you see Draco portrayed as Blackadder Junior.

‘Play Quidditch at all?’

‘No,’ Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

‘I do – Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?’

‘No,’ said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

‘Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?’

During that brief period where woke was getting really intense, but the internet hadn't discovered Rowling had opinions of her own, I recall Hufflepuff being very popular for very Steven Universe reasons. You know, friendship and all that.

‘I say, look at that man!’ said the boy suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice-creams to show he couldn’t come in.

That and he couldn't resist gunning it for Draco's pale, supple cheeks.

(I'm sorry, Ambiguous Lurker)

‘That’s Hagrid,’ said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn’t. ‘He works at Hogwarts.’

‘Oh,’ said the boy, ‘I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?’

‘He’s the gamekeeper,’ said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less every second.

‘Yes, exactly. I heard he’s a sort of savage – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed.’

Clearly Draco hasn't heard what Hagrid does to disrespectful little boys. To be fair, that's all probably true.

‘I think he’s brilliant,’ said Harry coldly.

‘Do you?’ said the boy, with a slight sneer. ‘Why is he with you? Where are your parents?’

‘They’re dead,’ said Harry shortly. He didn’t feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said the other, not sounding sorry at all. ‘But they were our kind, weren’t they?’

‘They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.’

"Oh, I meant if they were white."

"...Do I look white?"

"You could be a Gypsy!"

"Oh right, we are in Europe, aren't we?"

‘I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways.

You'd be astounded how many fanfic writers seem to unironically agree with that. Of course, these people tend to imagine wizards are all pagans who worship the old gods, when as far as I can tell the only old religion among British witches and wizards is Anglicanism.

Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?’

It's interesting. So many fanfic writers (many of them American) imagine the wizarding world as something out of Bridgerton or Game of Thrones. You know, titled aristocrats with legal privileges over the common folk. Probably because Harry Potter is already Very British, and the wish fulfillment of being better than everyone else because of birth. Because apparently being born with the power to warp reality to your whims isn't enough for some people. Funnily, the classism/racism in Harry Potter seems much more inspired by America than that model. Despite what fanfic will tell you, Draco's dad is not once referred to as "Lord Malfoy." The only "Lord" in these books is Lord Voldemort, and that's just some edeglord shit he came up with. Purebloods make up the bulk of the magical upper class because they're mostly old families with a lot of money, not because they're titled. The Malfoys aren't the Windsors, they're the Rockefellers. Honestly, an aristocracy wouldn't make much sense anyway in a society where every adult citizen walks around armed.

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, ‘That’s you done, my dear,’ and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

‘Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,’ said the drawling boy.

Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice-cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

See, Rowling knows what's important.

‘What’s up?’ said Hagrid.

‘Nothing,’ Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote.

Hagrid: Gay.

When they had left the shop, he said, ‘Hagrid, what’s Quidditch?’

‘Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin’ how little yeh know – not knowin’ about Quidditch!’

‘Don’t make me feel worse,’ said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin’s.

‘– and he said people from Muggle families shouldn’t even be allowed in –’

‘Yer not from a Muggle family. If he’d known who yeh were – he’s grown up knowin’ yer name if his parents are wizard-in’ folk – you saw ’em in the Leaky Cauldron. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o’ the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in ’em in a long line o’ Muggles – look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!’

Hagrid: Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind.

‘And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?’

‘School houses. There’s four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but –’

"There's a reason they call the 'Puffs."

‘I bet I’m in Hufflepuff,’ said Harry gloomily.

‘Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,’ said Hagrid darkly. ‘There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.’

This of course implies all bad wizards and witches went to Hogwarts, thus making the British the most evil race on this Earth. Or Hagrid is being a bit hyperbolic, but that's impossible!

‘Vol– sorry – You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?’

‘Years an’ years ago,’ said Hagrid.

"Fucked me over personally, but we'll get to that."

They bought Harry’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all.

We call those "diaries."

Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these.

Dudley: Books without boring words? Count me in!

Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddle your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and much, much more) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

‘I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley.’

I know I complain about all the Quest heroes being psychopaths, but I kind of wish all the Dursley bits from now on were Harry gleefully tormenting them with black magic.

‘I’m not sayin’ that’s not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances,’ said Hagrid. ‘An’ anyway, yeh couldn’ work any of them curses yet, yeh’ll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level.’

"Yeh'll (yes, you, specifically) need to trace out the sigil in midair, then go through a deadly obstacle course. Mind you, many spells only work if they've been drawn onto the walls..."

Hagrid wouldn’t let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either (‘It says pewter on yer list’), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope.

Maybe I'm thinking too hard about this, but I like how here Hagrid is modelling appropriate adult authority, as opposed to the Dursleys' abusive authority. And it's a good thing he is. Seriously, so many fanfics out there with chapters that amount to shopping sprees of every gadget and doo dad in the books.

Outside the apothecary’s, Hagrid checked Harry’s list again.

‘Just yer wand left – oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.’

Harry felt himself go red.

‘You don’t have to –’

‘I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at – an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer post an’ everythin’.’

Should've gotten him a swarm of spiders.

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage which held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. He couldn’t stop stammering his thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

‘Don’ mention it,’ said Hagrid gruffly. ‘Don’ expect you’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now – only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.’

Being the second best wand guy in Diagon Alley must suck.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

Fun fact, the oldest extant company in the real world is generally agreed to be a Japanese construction company, founded in 578 AD. Ollivanders thinks those guys are fucking whippersnappers. Wizards do live longer than Muggles, but we're talking like, 150, not 500. Though, with all the ways we'll see wizards have of preserving a semblance of a deceased person, maybe that aids institutional longevity.

‘Good afternoon,’ said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

Do I make a Winston Smith joke, or a War Doctor joke? Wait, I know!

"What is an Irishman but a nigger turned inside out, Harry?"

‘Ah yes,’ said the man. ‘Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.’

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
‘Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.’

I have no doubt Harry Potter was a labour of Rowling, but she definitely had a keen eye for marketing, because this is just built for merch. Is it any surprise one of the attractions at Universal's Harry Potter park is Ollivander's shop? And you get to do this whole scene for realises?

Also, I found this digging through my bad fanfic archive, and I just have to share it:

Continuing as if nothing had happened he continued to say, “This means that if a half-blood had a first generation pureblood and a muggleborn parent’s family magic was compared to a half blood from a family from the sacred 28 who can trace their family line back beyond Merlin then the shear difference volume and complexity of the family magic would be astounding. The same principle applies to Purebloods who are wixen with 4 magical grandparents, the older the pureblood family line the more powerful and complex the family magic.”

Looking at Harry Ollivander asked, “you understand what I am saying?” nodding quickly Harry was pleased when Ollivander said, “this means that muggleborns only need to be 60% compatible with a wand where an old family from the sacred 28 need to be at least 90% compatible with their wand to prevent problems.”

It's like if Brandon Sanderson was a race realist. Also, the Sacred 28 is something from Rowling's supplemental material. Basically, some racist wizard in the 1930s with nothing better to do wrote a directory of wizarding families he thought were still pure-blooded. It was basically the Who's Who of lightly-to-severely inbred sorcerers. Also, hilariously, the Potters, then an old pureblood line, were excluded because the author thought their surname sounded too common. Naturally, many fanfic writers have taken it to be an objective list of elite wizarding bloodlines with special powers.

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger.

‘I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,’ he said softly. ‘Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands … Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do …’

He shook his head and then, to Harry’s relief, spotted Hagrid.

‘Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again … Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?’

You know what they say about a bloke with a long wand.

‘It was, sir, yes,’ said Hagrid.

‘Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?’ said Mr Ollivander, suddenly stern.

‘Er – yes, they did, yes,’ said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. ‘I’ve still got the pieces, though,’ he added brightly.

‘But you don’t use them?’ said Mr Ollivander sharply.

‘Oh, no, sir,’ said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

I like how if you get expelled from Hogwarts, you're never allowed to do magic again. It's like if you got kicked out of high school, and were legally barred from reading.

Hold out your arm. That’s it.’ He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, ‘Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.’

Naturally, exotic wand materials are a huge thing in fanfic. For example:

Severus seemed curious but chose to remain silent. Harry ignored the potions master and stepped forward, allowing Lady Aurora to begin her work. He was quickly measured, although much less theatrical than Ollivander had done before. Afterwards, large trays of core ingredients and different woods, all much more exotic and diverse than those used by Ollivander, were placed in front of him. In the end, Harry selected a large dark phoenix feather, a vial of priceless Basilisk venom, an incredibly expensive and rare fragment of Lethifold cloak, finished off by a very light piece of alder wood.

Lady Aurora smiled at the young customer in front of her: “A very unorthodox selection of cores, my dear. You have selected very strong ones. They will suit your core very well. I doubt that many will be able to wield magic by using these particular cores. But together? Nearly impossible. I will need your blood to bind them. Of course, your blood will not be used for anything else. You may watch.”

I especially like the basilisk venom. Does it just sort of slush around inside the wand? Oh, later on in the series, Ollivander does bring up exotic wand cores... namely, that he doesn't use them because they're not as good.

Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

‘That will do,’ he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. ‘Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.’

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

‘Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –’

Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

This is a fun example of how things change from page to screen. Here, the implication is Ollivander's professional senses are so keen he can tell Harry isn't suited to a wand from the subtlest motion. That doesn't fly as well in live action, so they inserted some Sorcerer's Apprentice fuckups.

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

I'm guessing Ollivander has some idea of how common various wood and core combinations are, but do you think he ever makes too many like, willow and unicorn hair wands and desperately has to flog them off?

‘Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.’

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, ‘Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious …’

"It just so happens you really need one of these willow wands I made last month. Please take some, my business is dying."

‘Sorry,’ said Harry, ‘but what’s curious?’

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

‘I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another
feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar.’

Harry swallowed.

‘Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember … I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter … After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great.’

He said with his hand down his trousers.

Harry shivered. He wasn’t sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand and Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

I wonder what a wand would be equivalent to as a purchase. I'm guessing not quite a car, but maybe an iPad?

The late-afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn’t speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn’t even notice how much people were gawping at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the sleeping snowy owl on Harry’s lap.

They probably thought they were Vampire: The Masquerade LARPers.

‘Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,’ he said.

He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

I like to think Hagrid paid with wizard money and the cashier chose not to question being handed a bunch of precious metal coins.

‘You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet,’ said Hagrid.

Harry wasn’t sure he could explain. He’d just had the best birthday of his life – and yet – he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

I assume his second birthday was that time the Dursleys went to Margate and forgot him for the whole long weekend.

Everyone thinks I’m special,’ he said at last. ‘All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander … but I don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I’m famous and I can’t even remember what I’m famous for. I don’t know what happened when Vol– sorry – I mean, the night my parents died.’

Hagrid: Yer leapt out of your crib and tore You-Know-Who's You-Know-What off between yer teeth!

Hagrid leant across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

‘Don’ you worry, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts – I did – still do, ’smatter of fact.’

The virgin Doc Impossible and the chad Hagrid.

Yer ticket fer Hogwarts,’ he said. ‘First o’ September – King’s Cross – it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she’ll know where to find me … See yeh soon, Harry.’

The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against the window, but he blinked and Hagrid had gone.

Given Hagrid can't Apparate, I'm guessing he was hiding behind a support column.

 

[TheAmbiguousLurker]

"Dark/Grey core" refers to magical cores, the idea that there's some organ or other discrete physical quality that determines how strong you are and what kind of magic you're good at. Very phrenological. The "Dark/Grey" bit alludes to the common idea in fanfic that dark magic is a misunderstood form of magic one can be naturally attuned to, as opposed to the books, where it mostly seems to just mean magic that's fucked and evil.

It's the same fandom shit with any magic system that explicitly has evil powers. "To use these abilities, you have to be in a very sadistic state of mind, ground yourself in toxic attitudes and we've purposely designed said abilities to be corrupting in nature." "Yeah, but what if we could just do all the cool stuff with none of the draw backs or moral considerations?"

People like claiming Harry has innate, Mystique shapeshifting powers because of when he regrew his hair. Which is a bit like me claiming I'm a master violinist because I can whistle. Also, I guess the reason people have to go to Hogwarts to learn magic is because Dumbledore blocks everyone's leet magic skills.

Dumbledore was ahead of the curve on the games industry, making all his money off of forcing you to pay extra for shit you're already supposed to have.

Fanfic writers also give way more of a shit about houses than literally anyone in the books, or Rowling herself.

Hufflepuff is the only real house.

Fanfic writers: It's a genetic trait that gives you necromancy powers or time travel!

I like the idea that there's just this record written down with 'Potentially a Master of Death' casually signed like his date of birth.

Wizard justice is hardcore, they cut off Voldemort's dick and stuck it in a vault!

I don't fuck with no Wizard Cops.

This is such a dumbass joke to stick in the middle of your children's fantasy book. Note, "dumbass" doesn't always mean "bad."

It feels like such a 'Someone said this to me and it's been stuck in my head forever' sort of line.

Remember this next time you see Draco portrayed as Blackadder Junior.

Does this mean Luscious is...

God, imagine Brian Blessed reacting to Dobby being given a sock.

That and he couldn't resist gunning it for Draco's pale, supple cheeks.

(I'm sorry, Ambiguous Lurker)

This is because I made a joke about your mum, isn't it?

See, Rowling knows what's important.

The brown ice cream is fine, but what Harry really needs is some sort of not!Coke beverage of a similar colour to wash it down with.

"Fucked me over personally, but we'll get to that."

"Was he really that bad?"

"He didn't like spiders, Harry."

"Yeh'll (yes, you, specifically) need to trace out the sigil in midair, then go through a deadly obstacle course. Mind you, many spells only work if they've been drawn onto the walls..."

I really want to see what shit like Deathly Hallows would have looked like if it had been done in the style of the old games.

Seems a bit pointless given how selecting a wand works here.

The impression I get is that the 'Wand Chooses The Wizard' shit is more a recommendation than mandatory, and that maybe the snobs don't put much stock into whatever wand Olivander creams his pants over handing to you so long as it's a good wand. Especially since we'll see that using someone else's wand just makes them harder to control.

I especially like the basilisk venom. Does it just sort of slush around inside the wand? Oh, later on in the series, Ollivander does bring up exotic wand cores... namely, that he doesn't use them because they're not as good.

It's dumb, but I almost kind of respect the fic writers trying to science some shit out of it.

 

[Greedy Fly]

It's like if Brandon Sanderson was a race realist. Also, the Sacred 28 is something from Rowling's supplemental material. Basically, some racist wizard in the 1930s with nothing better to do wrote a directory of wizarding families he thought were still pure-blooded. It was basically the Who's Who of lightly-to-severely inbred sorcerers. Also, hilariously, the Potters, then an old pureblood line, were excluded because the author thought their surname sounded too common. Naturally, many fanfic writers have taken it to be an objective list of elite wizarding bloodlines with special powers.

I already know the books inside out but wow I am learning so much about the Harry Potter fanfiction scene. What happened to these fic writers after Rowling fell from their graces? Did they get little tempest-in-a-teacup cancellations, or desperately renounce their old fics, or just quietly shelve them and hope nobody points out their obsessive fantasies about race purity?

 

[M3xus]

The commentary's wonderful, but I'm really digging the horrifying hilarious fanfic anecdotes. Fanfic is the one fandom thing I refused to touch, and every time I read about what depraved nonsense fic writers cooked up I'm glad I didn't. I understand we mostly hear about the horrible stuff because the sheer wtf factor is good for a laugh (see Transformers and *CLANG* *CLANG*), but I'd still rather hear it second or third-hand.

 

[LoverofPi]

You know what they say about a bloke with a long wand.

He can make big magical feet.

I wonder what a wand would be equivalent to as a purchase. I'm guessing not quite a car, but maybe an iPad?

High end cell phone or computer would be my guess. Something you plan on buying and using for years and years if you can.

It's dumb, but I almost kind of respect the fic writers trying to science some shit out of it.

While I did not write a fic about it, I did used to joke about a sort of anti methods of rationality, of someone science minded going to Hogwarts and slowly going mad at how little consistency the rules had. I think my impetus there was the highly lethal implications of "magic and electricity do not mesh well together" given the nervous system functions of electrical signals.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Harry's last month with the Dursleys wasn’t fun.

As opposed to all the previous months, which were a laugh riot.

True, Dudley was now so scared of Harry he wouldn’t stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn’t shut Harry in his cupboard, force him to do anything or shout at him – in fact, they didn’t speak to him at all. Half-terrified, half-furious, they acted as though any chair with Harry in it was empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

I assume the spiders have been cooking Harry's dinner.

Spiders: W̞̌̂e͍̦͐̍̌͆̾'̖͠͞l͑̅l̯̼̖̪̳̃͡ m̳͎̀́̆ͪͭỉͯͭ̒ͫ͟͠ss͕̰ y͛o͆̏͘͢ù̧̦͙͚͂̏ o͔ͤl̻͇̓͗̈͐͘d f̵̮̞͙͓̈ͨŗ̫̙̄ī̌e̔n̳d

Harry kept to his room, with his new owl for company. He had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A History of Magic.

Sadly, Harry missed the part where Hedwig the Horrible genocided the leprechauns of Italy.

Harry: I thought leprechauns were Irish?

Ron: They are now.

His school books were very interesting. He lay on his bed reading late into the night, Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window as she pleased. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn’t come in to hoover any more, because Hedwig kept bringing back dead mice.

Harry: They're delicious!

On the last day of August he thought he’d better speak to his aunt and uncle about getting to King’s Cross station next day, so he went down to the living-room, where they were watching a quiz show on television. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and Dudley screamed and ran from the room.

Good times.

‘Er – Uncle Vernon?’

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

‘Er – I need to be at King’s Cross tomorrow to – to go to Hogwarts.’

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

‘Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?’

Grunt. Harry supposed that meant yes.

‘Thank you.’

Wow, their relationship has improved dramatically.

‘Funny way to get to a wizards’ school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?’

Harry didn’t say anything.

Funnily enough, magic carpets are apparently a thing, but are banned in Britain... apparently for no reason other than racism, I guess? I'd honestly prefer a magic carpet over a flying broomstick. For one thing, I'm a man, so they'd be much more comfortable for me. Besides, you can relax on a flying carpet. Bring your friends! Who doesn't want to have a picnic a mile above London?

‘Where is this school, anyway?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Harry, realising this for the first time. He pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket.

Scotland, as it happens, though some of Rowling's knowledge of the region seems sketchy. I assume that's why she moved to a castle there, for research.

‘I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o’clock,’ he read.

His aunt and uncle stared.

‘Platform what?’

‘Nine and three-quarters.’

‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ said Uncle Vernon, ’there is no platform nine and three-quarters.’

‘It’s on my ticket.’

‘Barking,’ said Uncle Vernon, ’howling mad, the lot of them. You’ll see. You just wait. All right, we’ll take you to King’s Cross. We’re going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn’t bother.’

It's genuinely weird seeing Harry have something resembling a civil conversation with these people.

‘Why are you going to London?’ Harry asked, trying to keep things friendly.

‘Taking Dudley to hospital,’ growled Uncle Vernon. ’Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings.’

...What the fuck did the surgeon think? That the Dursleys were deranged furries? That Petunia had been unfaithful with a Japanese style orc? Or maybe he didn't inquire too hard, I imagine consulting with the Dursleys at length would be hard for any doctor. Hell, this is probably what drove Doc Martin to Cornwall. Also, I wonder, if you examined cells from the tail, would the DNA be human or porcine?

They reached King’s Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry’s trunk on to a trolley and wheeled it into the station for him. Harry thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

‘Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine – platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don’t seem to have built it yet, do they?’

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

I'll say this, Hagrid forgetting to tell Harry how to get to the train is very in character.

‘Have a good term,’ said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing.

Guys, if Harry can't get to the school, where do you think he's going?

He stopped a passing guard, but didn’t dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Harry couldn’t even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though Harry was being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o’clock, but the guard said there wasn’t one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time-wasters. Harry was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, he had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and he had no idea how to do it; he was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money and a large owl.

See, these days Harry could just look for the luggage stuck halfway through a wall:

At that moment a group of people passed just behind him and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

‘– packed with Muggles, of course –’

Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry’s in front of him – and they had an owl.

This is Molly Weasley, mother of Ron Weasley, who also winds up being the closest thing Harry has to a mother. Molly, I mean, not Ron. That'd be weird. It's also time for me to tell you all about what I call the Weasley Conspiracy.

The Weasley Conspiracy is a loose but very common collection of fanfiction tropes concerning the Weasley family. You see, for some goddamn reason, despite being generally cool, kind people, the Weasleys are despised by a huge chunk of the fandom. It's hard to pinpoint why, exactly, but I have some theories. Maybe it's because Ron and Harry, over the course of seven years of friendship, during their teens no less, had a couple of ugly arguments. Shocking and unforgivable, I know. Maybe it's because Ron and Hermione end up together, when--as the most prominent female character--she was clearly destined from birth to marry Harry, the main character. Many of these people often criticise Rowling for being a bad feminist, by the way. Another probable reason is that lots of HP fanfic people are embarrassingly obsessed with status and wealth, and the Weasleys have none of those. Or maybe it's because they're ginger, I don't know.

So, as fanfic writers are wont to do, they often give the Weasley family a bit of a gloom-down. It's like a glow-up but opposite, I am very clever. Ron--a growing boy who likes to eat--is often portrayed as a gluttonous ogre of a boy, interested in only where his next English breakfast is coming from. Because he likes to get his genius best friend to help him with his homework, he is of course a lazy idiot. Because he and Harry had two brief falling outs at the ages of fourteen and seventeen, he is also a craven, duplicitous coward, who only ever pretended to like Harry because he was famous. Now, that's all pretty standard for characters fanfic writers don't like. Less standard is this one fanfic where Ron somehow ends up being sorted into Hufflepuff, before being functionally castrated via a troll club between his legs, which is treated by him being installed with an amhole and renamed "Rhonda," but that's another story. So, where does the "conspiracy" come into things?

You see that bit I just quoted, where Molly comments on there being a lot of Muggles around? Why would she point out something so obvious? People in real life never point out obvious things in their environment!

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

‘Nine and three-quarters!’ piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand. ‘Mum, can’t I go …’

And mothers never feign ignorance to test their children's knowledge! Obviously, Molly was trying to get Harry's attention! Why? Why, it's all part of Dumbledore's plan. See, by placing Harry with the Dursleys, he ensured Harry would be so starved for affection, the Weasleys could easily swoop in and win his trust. Thus, they could enforce Harry's loyalty to Dumbledore and "the Light"--aka, the so-called good wizards and witches who oppress the neopagan rich people. What do the Weasleys get out of it? Well, usually in these kind of stories, we find out the Weasleys have been stealing from Harry's vault for years, despite clearly not having anything to show for it, and outright refusing to let Harry pay for shit on multiple occasions. Often, they also want to have Harry hitched to their youngest child Ginny, who Harry inevitably views as a little sister. Sometimes, the plan is to murder Harry after. All because Molly played the question game with her children. I know we talk a lot about fatherless behaviour, but this strikes me as very motherless behaviour.

What looked like the oldest boy marched towards platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it – but just as the boy reached the divide between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him, and by the time the last rucksack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

Shit, they ate him.

‘Fred, you next,’ the plump woman said.

‘I’m not Fred, I’m George,’ said the boy. ‘Honestly, woman, call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?’

‘Sorry, George, dear.’

‘Only joking, I am Fred,’ said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done, because a second later, he had gone – but how had he done it?

For some reason, Weasley Conspiracy types often carve out an exception for the twins, probably because they're le epic pranksters. Don't get me wrong, Fred and George are top blokes in their own right, but if any of the Weasley kids were going to turn evil, I think it'd be those two.

Now the third brother was walking briskly towards the ticket barrier – he was almost there – and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

‘Excuse me,’ Harry said to the plump woman.

Fun fact, Rosie O'Donnell campaigned to play Molly in the movies. Rowling was very firm about casting UK actors, though, so Rosie had to content herself with being Betty Rubble. I think that was for the best--the films are a treasure trove of all-time British greats--but I am looking forward to seeing John Lithgow as Dumbledore. Guy was a GOATed Churchill. Also, the new Molly was the second secretary on Doc Martin, a show I will never stop bringing up. Oh my God, Martin Clunes as Snape would've--

[WHITE-KETTLE SHUFFLEPUNK'S LONG TANGENT ABOUT BRITISH COMEDY EDITED OUT FOR LACK OF INTEREST]

‘Hullo, dear,’ she said. ‘First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.’

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose.

Maybe fanfic people hate Ron because neither he nor Rupert Grint grew into supermodels. Admittedly, never did Daniel Radcliff. Dude looks like a cheerful Warhammer dwarf who shaved his beard.

‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘The thing is – the thing is, I don’t know how to –’

‘How to get on to the platform?’ she said kindly, and Harry nodded.

‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.’

Man, it's been ages since we've seen a good mother in one of these threads. Harry, proceeds to do as she says, expecting to slam into the barrier, because Harry has not a drop of optimism in his body.

It didn’t come … he kept on running … he opened his eyes.
A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He had done it.

I am really curious where the train pulls out of from an outside perspective. Bet it's mindbreaking. Oh, if a train seems a bit out of place with the rest of the wizarding world's aesthetics, apparently they stole it because before, Hogwarts travel logistics were a nightmare. I do like Rowling throwing us Muggles a bone on occasion.

(Justice for Jakob)

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his trolley off down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, ‘Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.’

‘Oh, Neville,’ he heard the old woman sigh.

I'll save the Neville deep dive for later. I will however fondly recall one of my favourite badfics, which had a scene where Neville tortures his grandmother to death for some fucking reason. And no, he isn't meant to be evil.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

Shit, the Harry from Sessions crossed timelines via autism magic.

‘Give us a look, Lee, go on.’

Fun fact, Lee Jordan here was played in the films by Alfred Enoch, who is the son of William Russell, one of the first Doctor Who companions... who was born when his dad was sixty-four. Guy snagged a Barbadian baddie in his mid sixties. And she wasn't a trophy wife either, the woman was a doctor. Also, he was on the Council of Krypton in the original Superman flick:

I assume the Doctor stranded Ian there as a joke.

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry suddenly felt homesick. The Weasley twins kindly help Harry out with his luggage, where they realise he is in fact, the Harry Potter. Luckily, their mum calls them over before they can cause a scene.

‘Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.’

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

‘Mum – geroff.’ He wriggled free.
‘Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?’ said one of the twins.

‘Shut up,’ said Ron.

‘Where’s Percy?’ said their mother.

‘He’s coming now.’

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Harry noticed a shiny red and gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

Man, pureblood inbreeding has gotten out of hand. This poor lad needs a button to remind him what his name is! This is Percy, whose arc was pretty much cut entirely from the movies. In the same fanfic where Neville murders his grandma, we find out Percy copes with his mother's lack of love for any of her children by moonlighting as a gay porn star in the Muggle world.

‘Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?’

Harry leant back quickly so they couldn’t see him looking.

‘You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?’

‘Who?’

‘Harry Potter!’

Harry heard the little girl’s voice.

‘Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please …’

‘You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?’

‘Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there – like lightning.’

‘Poor dear – no wonder he was alone. I wondered.

...I have no jokes. It's just weird covering a story where people act like people.

‘Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?’

That's actually a good question, but we'll get to that later.

‘I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don’t you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school.’

‘All right, keep your hair on.’

I'm sure there's a fanfic where Molly is actually one of Roald Dahl's witches.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest red-headed boy came in.

‘Anyone sitting there?’ he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. ‘Everywhere else is full.’

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn’t looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

Ron: I keep telling Mum, it's a birthmark!

‘Are all your family wizards?’ asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.

‘Er – yes, I think so,’ said Ron. ‘I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.’

It's pretty clear Molly's cousin is a Squib, but I am charmed by the image of a wizard who was so enchanted by accountancy, he turned his back on magic like the mum from Halloweentown. Sadly, he couldn't work at Gringotts, because (((they))) control the levers of finance in the magical world.

So you must know loads of magic already.’

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

Nope. Wizards have no primary school system, not even for mundane subjects like English and maths. And no, Ron and his siblings didn't go to a Muggle school for that. Now, I'm sure most wizards and witches do their best to educate their kids in the fundamentals, but I feel like an unfortunate number of kids must come to Hogwarts not knowing how to ready.

‘I heard you went to live with Muggles,’ said Ron. ‘What are they like?’

‘Horrible – well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I’d had three wizard brothers.’

You can tell Harry has an above average heart because he hasn't become a ragging Muggle-hater.

‘Five,’ said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. ‘I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch.

Bill and Charlie are also common exceptions to the Weasley Conspiracy, probably because they have cool jobs and are mostly blank slates.

Now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand and Percy’s old rat.’

Okay, this is where Rowling's worldbuilding does legit bug me. Molly and her husband Arthur are not bad at magic. We later see they're quite good at it. One thing magic in Harry Potter tends to be quite good at is automation. I can believe wands being something both expensive and beyond their abilities to make themselves, but you telling me Molly couldn't just buy some material and magic it into new clothes? It's not like the Weasleys don't care either, we see the fact they can't afford the best for their kids.

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was asleep.

‘His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, but they couldn’t aff– I mean, I got Scabbers instead.’

Ron’s ears went pink. He seemed to think he’d said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Peter Pettigrew: I have seen this kid naked so much.

Harry didn’t think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he’d never had any money in his life until a month ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley’s old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

‘… and until Hagrid told me, I didn’t know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort –’

Ron gasped.

‘What?’ said Harry.

‘You said You-Know-Who’s name!’ said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. ‘I’d have thought you, of all people –’

Imagine if nobody said Hitler's name for fear of summoning him. You know, outside video-games published in Germany.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, ‘Anything off the trolley, dears?’

Harry, who hadn’t had any breakfast, leapt to his feet, but Ron’s ears went pink again and he muttered that he’d brought sandwiches. Harry went out into the corridor.

According to that West End play, the trolley lady is actually an immortal creature who scarcely remembers being human, and can shapeshift her limbs into candy weaponry. I have no idea how much of that play's story was really by Rowling, but I kind of hope the answer is either "none of it" or "specifically that." At least that's delightfully insane.

He had never had any money for sweets with the Dursleys and now that he had pockets rattling with gold and silver he was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as he could carry – but the woman didn’t have Mars Bars. What she did have were Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

See, this is what those fanfic writers miss. Harry's wealth is very much a wish fulfillment fantasy, but not one of lavish opulence or having power over others. It's about never having to worry about money, and being able to share good times with your pals. It's not warm, not avaricious. What I'm saying is, fanfic writers write about Harry's money the way the Dursleys would.

‘What are these?’ Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. ‘They’re not really frogs, are they?’ He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him.

Childhood anecdote, when the first film was new, they came out with actual chocolate frogs, which came with cards depicting scenes from the story. I collected them for a little while, and vividly recall the first one I got being Harry and Hagrid in his vault. I also remember I used them to play Cardcaptor Sakura, a show I remember watching a fair bit, but can recall almost nothing about.

No,’ said Ron. ‘But see what the card is, I’m missing Agrippa.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know – Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect – Famous Witches and Wizards. I’ve got about five hundred, but I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy.’

In the books, they're more like baseball cards, depicting--well, you can read, can't you? Harry's card is of Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore, currently headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Man, I'd love to see the story of how Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. I sure hope it won't be made into a film series that started off half-decent, but dropped radically in quality come the second film.

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore’s face had disappeared.

‘He’s gone!’

‘Well, you can’t expect him to hang around all day,’ said Ron. ‘He’ll be back. No, I’ve got Morgana again and I’ve got about six of her … do you want it? You can start collecting.’

Must be awkward when you're showing off the collection and Grindelwald is being reamed by a visiting Dumbledore. Also, no, I didn't leave anything out, the frogs don't seem to be alive in the books. Probably because food that moves would be a nuisance, as demonstrated in the film itself.

‘Help yourself,’ said Harry. ‘But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos.’

‘Do they? What, they don’t move at all?’ Ron sounded amazed. ‘Weird!’

I do like the idea of a wizard reverse-engineering photography, spicing it up with some magic, than telling other, less worldly wizards he came up with the idea himself.

He finally tore his eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans.

‘You want to be careful with those,’ Ron warned Harry. ‘When they say every flavour, they mean every flavour – you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavoured one once.’

See, that's a novelty good I can see.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but have you seen a toad at all?’

When they shook their heads, he wailed, ‘I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!’

It's for the best, Neville.

‘Don’t know why he’s so bothered,’ said Ron. ‘If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk.’

The rat was still snoozing on Ron’s lap.

‘He might have died and you wouldn’t know the difference,’ said Ron in disgust. ‘I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look …’

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

I find it funny that the wizarding UK has free, universal education, even for magical children born outside of the community, but doesn't have some kind of subsidy scheme so young wizards and witches can at least have a wand that isn't pining for its old owner. Well, actually, as we see later, apparently they do, but Ron sure as fuck doesn't benefit from it.

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

‘Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,’ she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth.

Don't worry, no fanfic writer ever remembers Hermione doesn't look much like Emma Watson.

‘Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.’

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

‘Er – all right.’

He cleared his throat.

‘Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.’

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep.

‘Are you sure that’s a real spell?’ said the girl.

He really shouldn't be; it's not shit Latin like almost every other spell. It's worth noting that in the Hindi translation, spells are rendered in classical Sanskrit, which is awesome.

‘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 – I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?’

She said all this very fast.

One thing Emma Watson really quite captured was Hermione's early obnoxious swot energy.

I’m Ron Weasley,’ Ron muttered.

‘Harry Potter,’ said Harry.

‘Are you really?’ said Hermione. ‘I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.’

God, that'd be even more of a headfuck than strangers thinking you're hot shit. At least most children probably have experience being dotted on by adults who remember them but not the other way around. After a bit more of Hermione being the Micro Machine Man crossed with Hyacinth Bucket, she leaves to keep looking for Neville's toad.

From a basic craft perspective, Hermione's introduction is very efficient. It establishes that she's annoying, though in a very innocent way, but also that she's at least kind enough to help a stranger look for his pet, even if one suspects it's partly so Neville can listen to her ramble about her books. It's solid character work.

‘Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,’ said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. ‘Stupid spell – George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.’

No shit.

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he’d finished school.

‘Charlie’s in Romania studying dragons and Bill’s in Africa doing something for Gringotts,’ said Ron.

No doubt preventing the BRICS from rising in solidarity against the Nibolg Entity! Turns out Gringotts got robbed between now and Harry and Hagrid's visit. Is it a robbery when nothing was taken.

They haven’t been caught. My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything, that’s what’s odd. ’Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it.’

I find it interesting that Rowling, at least in this book, tends to capitalise "Dark" but doesn't really imply any kind of coherent philosophy or affiliation, like the Sith in Star Wars. Dark magic in Harry Potter seems to simply mean magic that involves harming people in some way, or otherwise fucking with the world in ways you shouldn't.

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying ‘Voldemort’ without worrying.

In retrospect, maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise Rowling got such a bug up her butt about the misuse of names and language.

What’s your Quidditch team?’ Ron asked.

‘Er – I don’t know any,’ Harry confessed.

‘What!’ Ron looked dumbfounded. ‘Oh, you wait, it’s the best game in the world –’ And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he’d been to with his brothers and the broomstick he’d like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn’t Neville the toadless boy or Hermione Granger this time.

Ron's role early on is basically getting Harry up to speed on the basics of wizarding life. Hermione's also a major exposition source, but she tends to focus on stuff a burgeoning young nerd would pick up from books, like historical minutia or magical theory. Ron meanwhile is about the lived experience--what wizards do for fun, what sports they follow, that kind of thing. Argurably, he does suffer a little once Harry is more thoroughly integrated into the wizarding world, though it's much worse in the films, which cut a lot of Ron being funny or clever or good hearted in his own right. Which is a shame, because Rupert Grint did an excellent job.

Three boys entered and Harry recognised the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he’d shown back in Diagon Alley.

‘Is it true?’ he said. ‘They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing either side of the pale boy they looked like bodyguards.

‘Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,’ said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. ‘And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.’

Some fanfic likes to imagine that like, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle's dads drew up some sort of minion contract for when they boys went to school, which is admittedly pretty funny.

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

‘Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.’

Look, someone has to keep the wizarding community at replacement level.

He turned back to Harry.

‘You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.’

He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it.

‘I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,’ he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

See, if this was a fanfic, Draco would have let loose with some withering put down, despite that honestly being more Harry's speed.

‘I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,’ he said slowly. ‘Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it’ll rub off on you.’

Draco, upon failing to immediately impress the most famous wizard of his generation: Watch it, Potter, or you'll get murdered just like your parents!

This is not good networking, people.

Both Harry and Ron stood up. Ron’s face was as red as his hair.

‘Say that again,’ he said.

‘Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?’ Malfoy sneered.

‘Unless you get out now,’ said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron.

Linear warriors, quadratic wizards, boys.

But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys? We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.’

Goyle reached towards the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron – Ron leapt forward, but before he’d so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle’s knuckle – Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once.

Look, Pettigrew has precious little to live for, and he's not into bruises.

Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they’d heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

‘What has been going on?’ she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

‘I think he’s been knocked out,’ Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. ‘No – I don’t believe it – he’s gone back to sleep.’

Ron, expert vet.

‘You’ve met Malfoy before?’

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

‘I’ve heard of his family,’ said Ron darkly. ‘They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.’ He turned to Hermione. ‘Can we help you with something?’

‘You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up the front to ask the driver and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!’

One thing a lot of fanfic writers, even ones who don't have anything against Ron, try to play up is this supposed long feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. While Ron and Draco's dads do have some beef, near as I can tell, Ron doesn't seem to have thought much about the Malfoys at all before now. He just thinks they're scum. Because they are.

‘Scabbers has been fighting, not us,’ said Ron, scowling at her. ‘Would you mind leaving while we change?’

"This isn't Battle School!"
Hagrid is waiting for the children at the station, and leads them to some boats.

‘Everyone in?’ shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, ‘Right then – FORWARD!’

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

This is something that only happens in book one, though Rowling says seventh years leave the school via the boats. Shame we don't get to see Harry do that, would've been a lovely bookend.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.
‘Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?’

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

Turns out Hagrid made a stop at Latveria to ask for his money, fool.