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

[M3xus]

I assume the bludgeons are just a couple dudes who wander around the pitch trying to beat up the players, occasionally getting into brawls with the Beaters.

Pretty close! I've also been to some where the Beaters hang out on the sidelines and throw balls at the Chasers and Seekers like it's dodgeball.

 

[Squanto Airi]

The point per house was both retarded and genius. Retarded because it's broken and completely unfair, genius because it's so childishly satisfying for the reader, while a good way to have fake stakes for the main characters actions.

The same for Quidditch, retarded game, absolutely great at building stakes and being a long running plotline.

Irl house point probably won't matter unless teachers deliberately play with the scores to be tied until the finals.

It just would've been nice if another house won it in either the 2nd or 3rd book.

As for Quidditch, its rules are dumb but it does seem fun to watch. I do also like how Rowling wrote a book on Quidditch (Quidditch Through the Ages) - it helped satiate my sports autism for the sport.

 

[Kari Kamiya]

It's a shame the movie cut Jordan and Minerva's double act.

I totally agree, their interactions are among my favorite moments in the books, probably unintentionally inspired how I write bickering characters. I sometimes wonder if there was some familial connection between the two (or he was related to another staff member) because I think if it was anyone else, McGonagall could've released the commentator for going too far off-topic or being too biased. Though the likely answer was just there was no one else in all those six years who could keep up with the players.

Also shame you can't put in all of Wood's words. You got this little kid who doesn't know much about Quidditch nervous for his first match, and literally you tell him "Yeah, I took a Bludger to the head two minutes in and woke up a week later in the infirmary. Fun times, you get used to it." Zero fucks given.

Also checking out the scene again first time in I think over a decade, holy shit the green screen effects and CGI setting aged like milk. What was the filming like for this sequence anyway? lol

Is now the time to mention the infamous recalled real life Nimbus 2000 toy? It was very popular with little girls.

I've heard about it, but I'mma be real here: how did the parents find this out to get it reported and recalled? Who exactly found this out? Something tells me it wasn't because a parent walked in on their kid, it must've been the opposite.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn’t even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand and whispered a few, well chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand on to the hem of Snape’s robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realise that he was on fire.

I really like how the movie handled this moment.

I feel like at least one Quidditch match has ended with a wizard cutting off his hand and throwing it at the Snitch.

That sounds metal as fuck. Probably was then added to the long list of fouls afterwards.

 

[big pauper]

I disagree. The world building is fantastic for the target audience, else people wouldn't read books on the expanded world. The issue is more of logical consistency in the grand scheme of things, things are arbitrary to set the plot. But due to the story being more personal (at least in the starting years) it is excusable.

I think what is best about the world building is that it is never limited to big things, stuff like the clock at the Weasly's house or Dagon Alley being a simple merchantile district stays with you because it is more interesting than what keeps the masquarde.

it's not a criticism of the books as books but it is a criticism of attempting to draw the same kind of nuanced world building from the books that people want out of tolkien's fiction. The masquerade is kept through good pacing. diagon alley sticks with people because it's one of the few bits of detail you get about the world at large before the story moves on to more pressing matters, and if i recall it's generally a preface chapter to foreshadowed events. a little bit of a palate cleanser before the real shit happens.

i remember the weasley's house from the order of the phoenix, when harry is on the run i think? you get a lot of little details about how the characters grew up and how they live. It doesn't help the masquerade at all but it's not a story about the masquerade. it does mean that anything based on the books with none of the characters from the books is going to lack any grounding though

 

[wtfNeedSignUp]

it's not a criticism of the books as books but it is a criticism of attempting to draw the same kind of nuanced world building from the books that people want out of tolkien's fiction. The masquerade is kept through good pacing. diagon alley sticks with people because it's one of the few bits of detail you get about the world at large before the story moves on to more pressing matters, and if i recall it's generally a preface chapter to foreshadowed events. a little bit of a palate cleanser before the real shit happens.

I think the issue is that the original 2-3 books had world building that was appropriate for the target audience, but afterwards Rowling had to scale up the world building for the older audience and there things started cracking, and you get some ridiculous things like rule lawyering for want property rights.

Maybe a good example is the Hobbit film trilogy? The original book was fine as it was, and the attempt to make it fit events in LotR retroactively really fucked the plot, not that the films were good anyways.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Christmas was coming.

Look, I think the Song of Fire and Ice Christmas Special is good fun, but George R.R Martin really should focus on finishing the books.

The lake froze solid

Think that makes life hard for the merpeople?

and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.

Bahahahha.

Voldemort: Ugh--when I get my body and followers back, I am definitely having at least one of you killed!

The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver post had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

How many pivotal of magical history have been decided because of wizardkind's dedication to the bit.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draughty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape’s classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

‘I do feel so sorry,’ said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, ‘for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.’

It really amazes me that Draco got this fandom reputation for being a wit.

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that Slytherin had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he’d realised that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having no proper family.

I kind of like the implication even a notable chunk of Slytherin were impressed.

It was true that Harry wasn’t going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come round the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn’t feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he’d ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying too, because Mr and Mrs Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.

I love family Christmas, but if I was a Hogwarts student, I'd want to spend at least one Christmas at the castle. Fuck it, I'd bring my folks. Imagine if the Dursleys spent Christmas at Hogwarts. Probably heal their hearts.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

Otherwise they would've assumed it was an evil Christmas tree from outer space:

‘Would you mind moving out of the way?’ came Malfoy’s cold drawl from behind them. ‘Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.’

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

‘WEASLEY!’

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy’s robes.

The films really did cut how willing and ready Ron was to throw down.

‘He was provoked, Professor Snape,’ said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. ‘Malfoy was insultin’ his family.’

‘Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,’ said Snape silkily. ‘Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.’

It's always five points with Snape.

‘I’ll get him,’ said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy’s back, ‘one of these days, I’ll get him –’

‘I hate them both,’ said Harry, ‘Malfoy and Snape.’

‘Come on, cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas,’ said Hagrid. ‘Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.’

A reminder that a lot of fanfic writers assume wizards only celebrate Christmas because of the Muggleborn Mafia.

The Hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

This chapter is really going to test my ability to both critique and make jokes, because I have nothing but affection and nostalgia for it. Christmas at Hogwarts gives me the feels. It's sweet dreams fuel, as the spergs on tv tropes so aptly put it.

‘How many days you got left until yer holidays?’ Hagrid asked.

‘Just one,’ said Hermione. ‘And that reminds me – Harry, Ron, we’ve got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.’

‘Oh yeah, you’re right,’ said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

‘The library?’ said Hagrid, following them out of the Hall. ‘Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?’

Fun fact, it used to be traditional to tell ghost stories during the holidays, hence A Christmas Carol.

‘Oh, we’re not working,’ Harry told him brightly. ‘Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we’ve been trying to find out who he is.’
‘You what?’ Hagrid looked shocked. ‘Listen here – I’ve told yeh – drop it. It’s nothin’ to you what that dog’s guardin’.’

I love how cheerful Harry is about his good natured disobedient sleuthing. Again, the films have an interesting tendency of making the kids less "naughty" in the kids book sense.

‘We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that’s all,’ said Hermione.

‘Unless you’d like to tell us and save us the trouble?’ Harry added. ‘We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and we can’t find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I’ve read his name somewhere.’

Given who Nicholas Flamel turns out to be (and any of you reading who're familar with the history of alchemy or the occult probably know) this does seem like a pretty futile endeavour on Hagrid's part. It's like trying to prevent the kids from learning who Isaac Newton is.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel’s name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn’t in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

If there's one thing I don't relate to regarding Harry (except, you know, having parents) it's that he isn't in here all the time.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn’t somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books and he knew he’d never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts.

More school libraries should have the equivalent of The Anarchist's Cookbook or The Turner Diaries on the shelves.

‘What are you looking for, boy?’

‘Nothing,’ said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

‘You’d better get out, then. Go on – out!’

"Children reading--not in my library!"

Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

‘You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?’ said Hermione. ‘And send me an owl if you find anything.’

I have seen people seriously compare the experience of Muggleborns at Hogwarts to native children at residential schools. I'm pretty sure those institutions didn't let their students go home for the holidays. I do look forward to people mistaking the Whomping Willow's roots for mass graves and burning down Hagrid's hut.

‘And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,’ said Ron. ‘It’d be safe to ask them.’

‘Very safe, as they’re both dentists,’ said Hermione.

Funnily enough, depending how well read they are, they might actually know.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork – bread, crumpets, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t work.

Ron: What if we turned Draco into a girl, and forced him to bear Crabbe and Goyle children!

Harry: How the fuck did you even come up with that sentence?

Ron: I didn't!

Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron’s set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him and they didn’t trust him at all. He wasn’t a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing: ‘Don’t send me there, can’t you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him.’

I like that wizard chess is kind of fucked in both the book and the film, for entirely different reason. In the book, you have to deal with disobedience. In the movie, wizard chess involves the pieces murdering each other, so you have to buy a new set after every game. I assume this is why the Weasleys are poor.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early next morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

‘Happy Christmas,’ said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his dressing-gown.

‘You too,’ said Harry. ‘Will you look at this? I’ve got some presents!’

‘What did you expect, turnips?’ said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry’s.

God, the feels.

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl.

Now, anyone who's familiar with the old adage is probably expecting Harry to use the flute to lull Fluffy to sleep in the climax. This doesn't actually happen, though it does in all the video-game adaptations.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Sellotaped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

‘That’s friendly,’ said Harry.

Apparently every Christmas Hedwig visits the Dursleys and physically attacks them until they offer up something, anything for Harry.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

‘Weird!’ he said. ‘What a shape! This is money?’

...Is wizard money not round? Rowling, you can't just dump this fact in our laps and not elaborate!

You can keep it,’ said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. ‘Hagrid and my aunt and uncle – so who sent these?’

‘I think I know who that one’s from,’ said Ron, going a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. ‘My mum. I told her you didn’t expect any presents and – oh, no,’ he groaned, ‘she’s made you a Weasley jumper.’

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of home-made fudge.

‘Every year she makes us a jumper,’ said Ron, unwrapping his own, ‘and mine’s always maroon.’

‘That’s really nice of her,’ said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

Anyone who doesn't like the Weasleys should be sterilised, or at least forced to bear light wizards children as part of a peace agreement.

(I have seen things)

His next present also contained sweets – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.
This left only one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor, where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

"Who sent you a handful of wizard splooge?"

Nah, it's actually an invisibility cloak.

‘There’s a note!’ said Ron suddenly. ‘A note fell out of it!’

Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you.
Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

Dumbledore: You know what an abused child on the brink of puberty could use? An invisibility cloak!

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the Cloak.

‘I’d give anything for one of these,’ he said. ‘Anything. What’s the matter?’

Just sacrifice Charlie and Bill to the Dark Forces, nobody will notice.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the Cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?

I find Rowling's capitalisation interesting. Generally, if she invented a term or is using it in a novel way, she capitalises it. So, wizard and witch, not capitalised. Apparate or Floo Network, capitalised. But it's not like she invented invisibility cloaks, nor do I imagine she's ignorant or conceited enough to think she did.

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the Cloak quickly out of sight. He didn’t feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

‘Merry Christmas!’

‘Hey, look – Harry’s got a Weasley jumper, too!’

Fred and George were wearing blue jumpers, one with a large yellow F on it, the other with a large yellow G.

‘Harry’s is better than ours, though,’ said Fred, holding up Harry’s jumper. ‘She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family.’

Someone should do a fanfic where Harry is a conceited monster and Ron a neglected child whose mother loves his best friend more. It'd be just as stupid and insane as the usual bad fanfiction, but it'd be novel. Also, Neville should be a Norman Bates style murderer who dresses up as his gran to kill. Post your seldom seen demonization in the comments. Oh! Luna is an esoteric white supremacist!

‘Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron?’ George demanded. ‘Come on, get it on, they’re lovely and warm.’

‘I hate maroon,’ Ron moaned half-heartedly as he pulled it over his head.

‘You haven’t got a letter on yours,’ George observed. ‘I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid – we know we’re called Gred and Forge.’

Writing witty dialogue is a skill. Writing the kind of dumb but funny jokes people tell each other in real life is another.

‘What’s all this noise?’

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly come halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy jumper over his arm, which Fred seized.

‘P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re all wearing ours, even Harry got one.’

‘I – don’t – want –’ said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the jumper over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

‘And you’re not sitting with the Prefects today, either,’ said George. ‘Christmas is a time for family.’

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his sides by his jumper.

I appreciate how sincerely dedicated to the idea of a family Christmas the twins are. It's an understated bit of dimensionality.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of fat chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table.

Dudley: I sense a disturbance in the Fat Force.

These fantastic crackers were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn’t just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear-admiral’s hat and several live, white mice. Up on the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard’s hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Again, it's amazing Harry isn't a wizard supremacist himself.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry’s amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lop-sided.

One striking difference between American children's media and stuff from the rest of the Anglosphere is that we (meaning, Australia and the United Kingdom) are much more willing to depict adult alcohol consumption in a neutral or positive light. Like, the grown-ups on Bluey are always having a drink, and that's a show for preschoolers. Anyway, this is great, and reminds me of this primary school dance when I was little. The teachers got pissed and decided to reenact the Nativity amongst themselves, complete with one teacher pantomiming Mary given birth.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a grow-your-own-warts kit and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs Norris’ Christmas dinner.

Is that better or worse than returning to the void of nonexistence?

It had been Harry’s best Christmas day ever.

What was his second best? The Christmas when Vernon couldn't be bothered dressing up as Krampus?

Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he’d drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry leant over the side of his own bed and pulled the Cloak out from under it.

His father’s … this had been his father’s. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

Neither the police nor the Aurors were ever able to solve the Dursleys' murders, nor did they try.

Suddenly, Harry felt wide awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this Cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back – his father’s Cloak – he felt that this time – the first time – he wanted to use it alone.

Plus, having a wank with Ron right next to you would be awkward.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He’d be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tight around him as he walked.

And then Harry became a dark warlock.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope which separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn’t tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn’t understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn’t be.

I assume someone had already checked out the Book of Sand and the Book of Eibon. Fun fact, Lovecraft specifically invented the Necronomicon because he actually had access to a few medieval grimoires, and he found them tedious.

A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, blood-curdling shriek split the silence – the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, ear-splitting note. He stumbled backwards and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside – stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch almost in the doorway; Filch’s pale, wild eyes looked straight through him and Harry slipped under Filch’s outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book’s shrieks still ringing in his ears.

I always wonder why black magicians and the like always gimmick their books like this. To what benefit is a book that screams while you're trying to read it, even to the wizard who owns it?

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn’t recognise where he was at all. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

Say hi to the slaves who do the cooking!

‘You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody’s been in the library – Restricted Section.’

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a short cut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied.

‘The Restricted Section? Well, they can’t be far, we’ll catch them.’

See, "greasy voice" doesn't make me picture a crotchety old man, it makes me picture this:

"Hey, relax, buddy."

Harry proceeds to hide in a disused classroom, but not an empty one:

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

I wonder what language that is? Something ancient, no doubt. Latin? Hebrew?

His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed – for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder – but, still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror’s trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

I kind of like the idea of an invisibility party, but no, that's not the case.

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he’d touch her, their reflections were
so close together, but he felt only air – she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just like Harry’s did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

‘Mum?’ he whispered. ‘Dad?’

...Okay, we've had the fun kind of feels, now it's time for the other. The best Christmas stories are both joyful and sad.

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees – Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

Emphasis mine. Remember, Harry's eyes are something from his mother's side. I really appreciate that Rowling thought to include Harry's Muggle relatives in this vision.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn’t know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother’s face, whispered, ‘I’ll come back,’ and hurried from the room.

J.K Rowling, as much as I joke about some of her foibles, has a brilliant capacity for whimsy and characterisation, but it's stuff like this that I think gives the books such lasting power. No front, this is making me a tiny bit misty-eyed.

You could have woken me up,’ said Ron, crossly.

‘You can come tonight, I’m going back, I want to show you the mirror.’

‘I’d like to see your mum and dad,’ Ron said eagerly.

Am I allowed to be touched Ron is that interested in seeing Harry's dead parents.

And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you’ll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone.’

‘You can see them any old time,’ said Ron. ‘Just come round my house this summer.

Fuck yeah!

Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren’t you eating anything?’

Harry couldn’t eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn’t seem very important any more. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

‘Are you all right?’ said Ron. ‘You look odd.’

As Harry Potter awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic spider. "Cool," he said.

That night, Harry takes Ron to see the mirror, but when he looks into it, he doesn't see Harry's family:

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

‘Look at me!’ he said.

‘Can you see all your family standing around you?’

‘No – I’m alone – but I’m different – I look older – and I’m Head Boy!’
‘What?’

‘I am – I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to – and I’m holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup – I’m Quidditch captain, too!’

"And there's Draco, dead at my feet!"

"Okay, Ron, maybe we should--"

"Eww, what am I doing to Hermione?"

"Gross. Okay, now you really--"

"What's that Hermione? I should kill the Queen in the name of the Dark Side of the Force?"

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.

‘Do you think this mirror shows the future?’
‘How can it? All my family are dead – let me have another look –’

And then Harry became a necromancer.

‘You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time.’

‘You’re only holding the Quidditch Cup, what’s interesting about that? I want to see my parents.’

‘Don’t push me –’

It's a mirror! Can't you both look in it?

Anyway, the boys attract Mrs Norris with their squabbling, and they flee.

The snow still hadn’t melted next morning.

Wonderfully terse description.

‘Want to play chess, Harry?’ said Ron.

‘No.’

‘Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?’

‘No … you go …’

‘I know what you’re thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don’t go back tonight.’

‘Why not?’

‘I dunno, I’ve just got a bad feeling about it – and anyway, you’ve had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape and Mrs Norris are wandering around. So what if they can’t see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?’

It genuinely annoys me Ron is often remembered as "the dumb one" when, among other things, he's the first to figure out the mirror might not be the healthiest thing in the world. That's impressive emotional maturity for an eleven year old who'll fight anyone.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn’t meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except –

‘So – back again, Harry?’

Richard Griffith: I did it! I finally got to Hogwarts!

Nah, it's Dumbledore.

‘I – I didn’t see you, sir.’

‘Strange how short-sighted being invisible can make you,’ said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

‘So,’ said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, ‘you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.’

I love this image. Sidenote, I really recommend Jim Kay's illustrated editions. He sadly had to step away from the project after book five due to mental health issues, but I have high hopes for his replacement Levi Pinfold, whose version of Half-Blood Prince comes out this October.

...Look, it turns out I actually enjoy these books, let me gush.

‘I didn’t know it was called that, sir.’

‘But I expect you’ve realised by now what it does?’

‘It – well – it shows me my family –’
‘And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy.’

‘How did you know –?’

‘I don’t need a cloak to become invisible,’ said Dumbledore gently.

Harry: Are--are you always watching us sir?

Dumbledore: Don't flatter yourself, Harry. I'm into men.

‘Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?’

No, because he'd still see himself with a bottle of Malfy gin.

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, ‘It shows us what we want … whatever we want …’

‘Yes and no,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth.

I love that line.

Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

‘The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don’t you put that admirable Cloak back on and get off to bed?’

I have to wonder who invented the Mirror, and why. Probably a sad, terrible story.

(As opposed to the explanation in Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, which is just a dumb, terrible story)

‘Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?’

‘Obviously, you’ve just done so,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘You may ask me one more thing, however.’

‘What do you see when you look in the Mirror?’

‘I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks.’

Harry stared.

‘One can never have enough socks,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.’

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.

Dumbledore: It depends. Sometimes I see my family whole and happy, much like Harry, other times I see the Kray Twins in the backroom at Esmeralda's Barn.

 

[IridiumDragon06]

I look forward to the Netflix documentary on the strength potion scandal.

You joke, but it is (an admittedly very minor and non-protagonist-centered) plot point in the Legacy game.

Imagine if the Dursleys spent Christmas at Hogwarts. probably heal their hearts.

First, I'd like to invite the audience to consider previous cringe fare. I think we see in this chapter those books' flaws laid out. Shitty superheros, psycho merfolk, and somehow-worse-than-Twilight vampires are all bad, but what makes the books bad books isn't their concepts, its their execution. The books are hollow and unengaging, and there is no sign that the authors care about their characters or their world. But more than that, the authors just seem to care about really fucked-up things, when they care about anything at all. It should not be fucking hard to write your character deepening their human connection with their friends during a holiday period that your readers should recognize and understand, even if strange customs unknown to civilized folk like Christmas crackers are involved. Hell, if I wanted to be pretentious, I'd say that the Erised mirror is specifically critiquing the "And then I get recognized as the specialist and then I get my gender-affirming partner and then I see anyone who didn't give me the respect I deserve bleeding at my feet!" plotlines we see in the cringe books.

But I have a bit of sympathy for the Dursleys, in their general attitude. Magic in HP is fucked up. It's arbitrary, seems to land on inflicting horrible body-horror in its lightest of failure conditions, and requires active effort and more magic and knowledge to fix those. Imagine if Hagrid's curse on Dudley had worked. He's now a pig, apparently permanently; that's a missing-persons case, horrible investigations for the family, the knowledge that they need to keep caring for that pig and not really knowing if it's still Dudley underneath...because Vernon insulted someone who is, to put it mildly, actually a bit of a poofter. (I think that's what poofter means.) And now imagine that you start getting large chunks of your memory arbitrarily deleted, and you don't know how, why, or by whom, or what you can even do to stop it, as you desperately try to help your son, because wizards can just fuck with your memory at will.

If you've dealt with even just the actual consequences of regular magic as a Muggle, much less any Dark shit, it's absolutely reasonable to get all Heinrich Kramer up in this biz-natch, I feel.

But it's not like she invented invisibility cloaks, nor do I imagine she's ignorant or conceited enough to think she did.

If I feel like being charitable, I'd say that this is subtle foreshadowing that the Cloak is special and not just a (aheh) mundane magical item, but it could also be that it was another central protagonist bit of kit that Rowling thought and cared about a lot, and that it being a Hallow was retrofit from there.

Post your seldom seen demonization in the comments.

The Weasleys as backwoods inbred murder-rednecks! I mean, they are apparently canonically from the south (of England), so I can see how if you had read that one fact on a forum somewhere and were not aware that multiple countries had a north and a south and opinions on what kind of people were in each.

Say hi to the slaves who do the cooking!

Slander! They're not slaves, they're pets. Or, alternately, if they are slaves, they're the twee BDSM lifestylers (complete with nonverbal safeword).

---

As for me, I will offer one light critique of this chapter; I feel like we've speedran Harry's internalization of the magical world. I feel that with just a few months, he would still be running into the odd sticking point and reminder that he didn't grow up here; that could actually be a good opportunity for him to bond more with Hermione at something that wasn't just whimsical or mystical, but just baffling. On the other hand, the books want to get Harry into his new cool wizarding life as soon as possible and emphasize that this is who he is now ("Yer a wizard, Harry!"), so it's thematically right even if it feels technically wrong to me.

However, I wish that we had Dumbledore mention specifically that Ron was the smart one for twigging to the mirror not being good, and mentioning to Harry that magic children grew up with a lot of stories and lessons that Muggle children didn't about what stuff was dangerous and what wasn't.

Still, very solid chapter, as you say.

 

[TheAmbiguousLurker]

Think that makes life hard for the merpeople?

Don't worry, they hang out with the tentacle monster, they're fine.

Imagine if the Dursleys spent Christmas at Hogwarts. probably heal their hearts.

The Harry Potter AU we really want to see:

If there's one thing I don't relate to regarding Harry (except, you know, having parents) it's that he isn't in here all the time.

It's all fun and games until you realize that you'll have do switch puzzles, platforming and literally fight the books coming off the shelves to bite you every time you need to do research for your homework.

I always wonder why black magicians and the like always gimmick their books like this. To what benefit is a book that screams while you're trying to read it, even to the wizard who owns it?

I'm sorry, do you need more reason than 'Scare the shit out of people'?

I wonder what language that is? Something ancient, no doubt. Latin? Hebrew?

It's backwards and cut up: "I show not your face but your heart's desire"

Am I allowed to be touched Ron is that interested in seeing Harry's dead parents.

Obviously Ron was just looking for another opportunity to further his brainwashing of Harry. If Ron could see Lilly, you know he'd point out that Ginny's a red head just like Harry's mother.

"What's that Hermione? I should kill the Queen in the name of the Dark Side of the Force?"

I'm just imagining that one quest in VtM: Bloodlines where you con that one confused thinblood into staking the president on the premise of him being the head vampire; but now it's wizards fucking with the Muggleborns.

It genuinely annoys me Ron is often remembered as "the dumb one" when, among other things, he's the first to figure out the mirror might not be the healthiest thing in the world. That's impressive emotional maturity for an eleven year old who'll fight anyone.

Out of the trio, Ron, despite appearances and being hot headed when people push his buttons right, ends up being the most mature and sensible of the three. He usually espouses common sense, he knows how to navigate people better (Harry isn't actively social and Hermione tends to put people off), he's shown as observant, strategic (dude outsmarted McGonigal's chess trial at eleven years old), and manages to keep his head on straight when shit hits the fan (as opposed to the movies where he's just screaming half the time).

 

[Pedophobe]

Someone should do a fanfic where Harry is a conceited mother and Ron a neglected child whose mother loves his best friend more. It'd be just as stupid and insane as the usual bad fanfiction, but it'd be novel. Also, Neville should be a Norman Bates style murderer who dresses up as his gran to kill. Post your seldom seen demonization in the comments. Oh! Luna is an esoteric white supremacist!

How the fuck did you even come up with that paragraph?

 

[PyrrhicRustle]

Writing witty dialogue is a skill. Writing the kind of dumb but funny jokes people tell each other in real life is another.

That part had me in tears laughing as a kid every time I read the book.

How the fuck did you even come up with that paragraph?

The old quote about staring into the abyss originally refers to the madness induced by reading too many HP fanfics.

 

[Grand Duke Snowfall]

First, I'd like to invite the audience to consider previous cringe fare. I think we see in this chapter those books' flaws laid out. Shitty superheros, psycho merfolk, and somehow-worse-than-Twilight vampires are all bad, but what makes the books bad books isn't their concepts, its their execution. The books are hollow and unengaging, and there is no sign that the authors care about their characters or their world. But more than that, the authors just seem to care about really fucked-up things, when they care about anything at all. It should not be fucking hard to write your character deepening their human connection with their friends during a holiday period that your readers should recognize and understand, even if strange customs unknown to civilized folk like Christmas crackers are involved

You know, that is all around a very good point actually. Brb, making a note to add in a bit of nice holiday relaxation for my MC and his friends in my own project.

 

[SleeplessEcho]

How the fuck did you even come up with that paragraph?

There's a nonzero chance that's he's just quoting the abstract of an actual, someone-really-wrote-this-shit 'fic.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Imagine if Hagrid's curse on Dudley had worked. He's now a pig, apparently permanently; that's a missing-persons case, horrible investigations for the family, the knowledge that they need to keep caring for that pig and not really knowing if it's still Dudley underneath

Look, have we considered maybe Dudley would prefer being a pig?

It's backwards and cut up: "I show not your face but your heart's desire"

How the fuck did you even come up with that paragraph?

I have powers you cannot imagine.

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the Invisibility Cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk.

What, not even going to use it to scare the shit out of Draco? At least spy on Snape! Actually, no, don't do that--there's a non zero chance you'd catch him rubbing one out over a photo of your mum and crying.

Harry wished he could forget what he’d seen in the Mirror as easily, but he couldn’t. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter.

‘You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad,’ said Ron, when Harry told him about these dreams.

I bet if you told a little witch or wizard about chatbot psychosis, they'd already have a whimsical name for the concept. "Echo-brain" or something.

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row (‘If Filch had caught you!’) and disappointment that he hadn’t at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

It's much less noticeable in the film due to how condensed it is, but Hermione is a main character in this for way less than you'd think. She's like the Sixth Ranger.

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn’t dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood’s side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the House Championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares when he was tired out after training.

Snape: A hundred points from Gryffindor for doing a wizard remake of Whiplash.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He’d just got very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

‘Will you stop messing around!’ he yelled. ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing that’ll lose us the match! Snape’s refereeing this time, and he’ll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!’

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

‘Snape’s refereeing?’ he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. ‘When’s he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He’s not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin.’

So, what happened to Madame Hooch? Did she drink too much of her namesake and now has a weeklong hangover? Has her fear of mortality and aging driven her to turn herself into a talking flap of skin? Did Cackles Academy offer her a better salary?

(Once a year, Snape and Miss Hardbroom meet at the Hogs Head Inn and have dry, angry sex)

The rest of the team hung back to talk to each other as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good for her.

Glorious.

Harry told the other two about Snape’s sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

‘Don’t play,’ said Hermione at once.
‘Say you’re ill,’ said Ron.

‘Pretend to break your leg,’ Hermione suggested.

‘Really break your leg,’ said Ron.

Nah, Pomfrey would fix it without blinking. It's a shame Lockhart isn't here, then we might stand a chance.

I can’t,’ said Harry. ‘There isn’t a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can’t play at all.’

That seems bizarrely negligent of Wood. You'd think he'd have a dozen clones of Harry gestating in bull hides buried around the grounds.

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone’s guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognised at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Everyone fell about laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed the counter-curse. Neville’s legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.

It was either lift the curse or get him a seasonal gig as an Easter Bunny at a shopping centre. Turns out Draco cursed him.

‘Go to Professor McGonagall!’ Hermione urged Neville. ‘Report him!’

Neville shook his head.

‘I don’t want more trouble,’ he mumbled.

Is getting cursed by a dickhead against the rules? Well, probably, if you ask Snape, but McGonagall?

‘You’ve got to stand up to him, Neville!’ said Ron. ‘He’s used to walking all over people, but that’s no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier.’
‘There’s no need to tell me I’m not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy’s already done that,’ Neville choked.

Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

Neville's chat with the hat must've been wild.

‘You’re worth twelve of Malfoy,’ Harry said. ‘The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it? And where’s Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.’

Neville’s lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the Frog.

‘Thanks, Harry … I think I’ll go to bed … D’you want the card, you collect them, don’t you?’

How else is Harry going to earn extra scars for his health bar, or get access to the special obstacle course?

‘Dumbledore again,’ he said. ‘He was the first one I ever –’

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron and Hermione.
‘I’ve found him!’ he whispered. ‘I’ve found Flamel! I told you I’d read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here – listen to this: “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”!’

Hurray! You know his name! Just like you did before! Anyway, Hermione fetches a book she was reading for fun.

‘Nicolas Flamel,’ she whispered dramatically, ‘is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone!’

As you probably know, the Philosopher's Stone is a real concept in folklore and alchemy. Naturally, it was changed to "Sorcerer's Stone" in the original American edition, because publishers were afraid Amerimutt kids would be frightened off by a book with "philosopher" in the title. The main cultural legacy of this decision was a joke my middle school class had where we'd bring up "philosophers" whenever possible and call them "sorcerers" instead.

This didn’t have quite the effect she’d expected.

‘The what?’ said Harry and Ron.

‘Oh, honestly, don’t you two read?

Nope.

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

If you're wondering why one stone would have the power to make you immortal and turn metal into gold, it's all to do with this logic of physical and spiritual refinement. My question is, how does the Stone produce the Elixir? Does it turn water and other lesser fluids into it? Is there a spigot?

There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

Problematic age-gap. It probably says interesting things about wizarding culture that a guy inventing immortality isn't a bigger deal. Also, I'm sure Nicholas and Perenelle are very happy together, but imagine divorcing the guy who supplies you with immortality serum.

Now, in case you didn't know this, Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel were in fact, real people. They lived in the 14th and 15th century and were known for their philanthropy. Nicholas himself was something like a civil-law notary, and he and his wife also ran a school that taught the trade. There was never any suggestion either Flamel was interested in alchemy during their lifetime, but for some weird reason, Nicholas gained a reputation for it during the 17th century, with various alchemical writing being attributed to him. It's a bit like if you were a civil lawyer, and two hundred years after your death people started claiming you made a Frankenstein.

It's interesting to me that, apart from the Flamels, Rowling generally avoids doing the World of Darkness thing of claiming real life historical personalities as witches or wizards, even fairly common targets like John Dee or Marie LaVeau. Although, now I'm wondering if there's a draft of book two or something where Voldemort teams up with Comte de Saint Germain.

‘See?’ said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. ‘The dog must be guarding Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they’re friends and he knew someone was after it. That’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!’

‘A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!’ said Harry. ‘No wonder Snape’s after it! Anyone would want it.’

I'm shocked it's taken this long for someone to try and steal it. The guy doesn't even hide what city he lives in!

‘And no wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,’ said Ron. ‘He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, is he?’

This is funny, but so is the idea you wouldn't mention a guy who invented immortality and apparently was still doing work relatively recently, just because he was born a while ago.

Next morning in Defence Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they’d do with a Philosopher’s Stone if they had one.

Given how werewolves are treated in wizarding society, I'm guessing the recommended treatment is--

It wasn’t until Ron said he’d buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match.

‘I’m going to play,’ he told Ron and Hermione. ‘If I don’t, all the Slytherins will think I’m just too scared to face Snape. I’ll show them … it’ll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win.’

‘Just as long as we’re not wiping you off the pitch,’ said Hermione.

Harry: Luckily we're eleven and have basically no concept of death.

Harry didn’t know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know they’d found out about the Philosopher’s Stone? Harry didn’t see how he could – yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

Spoiler, but... sort of?

Harry hardly heard a word of Wood’s pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn’t understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practising the Leg-Locker Curse. They’d got the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.

Because you cast spells with your legs.

Back in the changing room, Wood had taken Harry aside.

‘Don’t want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it’s now. Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much.’
‘The whole school’s out there!’ said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door. ‘Even – blimey – Dumbledore’s come to watch!’

Is that not usually the case?

Harry could have laughed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try and hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched on to the pitch, something that Ron noticed, too.

‘I’ve never seen Snape look so mean,’ he told Hermione. ‘Look – they’re off. Ouch!’

Should we assume Dumbledore actually made Snape referee as a joke?

‘You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?’ said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. ‘It’s people they feel sorry for. See, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.’

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

‘I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy,’ he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, ‘You tell him, Neville.’

Ron's such a good lad.

‘Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.’

Ron’s nerves were already stretched to breaking point with anxiety about Harry.

‘I’m warning you, Malfoy – one more word –’

“You, you will be worse. Rip and tear, until it is done.”

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked towards the ground like a bullet.

‘You’re in luck, Weasley, Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!’ said Malfoy.

Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.

Go forth, my sons!

‘Come on, Harry!’ Hermione screamed, leaping on to her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape – she didn’t even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe and Goyle.

Man, it's like Rowling heard Iridium's quibble about the lack of boy violence.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches – next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

‘Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game’s over! Harry’s won! We’ve won! Gryffindor are in the lead!’ shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

Snape: A hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor for fighting in the stands!

You know, it's one thing if a Hogwarts Quidditch match ends after only five minutes, but imagine paying good, strangely shaped money to see a professional match, and it's over before you've even finished your butterbeer.

‘Well done,’ said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. ‘Nice to see you haven’t been brooding about that mirror … been keeping busy … excellent …’

"You touched grass, my boy."

Snape spat bitterly on the ground.

Once upon a time, in the dungeons of Hogwarts, there was a hatin' ass nigga, who had no bitches at all.

Harry left the changing room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn’t ever remember feeling happier. He’d really done something to be proud of now – no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him on to their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

"It's the blood that makes our hair so red!" said Ron, licking his lips.

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

Look, Snape has to fund his lifestyle somehow, and where else is he going to conduct drug deals?

Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the Forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn’t see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided towards them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

Not going to lie, I completely forgot this bit.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn’t alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn’t make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

‘… d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus …’
‘Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,’ said Snape, his voice icy.

And then they banged, hard. Miss Hardbroom watched from behind a tree.

‘Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all.’

Harry leant forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

‘Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?’

‘B-b-but Severus, I –’

‘You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,’ said Snape, taking a step towards him.

Okay, question, why does Snape need to know how to get past Fluffy? If he needs to check on his contribution to the gauntlet, why not just get Hagrid to help? If he legitimately suspects Quirrell of trying to steal the Stone, why isn't he getting Dumbledore involved?

‘Harry, where have you been?’ Hermione squeaked.

‘We won! You won! We won!’ shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back. ‘And I gave Malfoy a black eye and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He’s still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he’ll be all right – talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone’s waiting for you in the common room, we’re having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens.’

Like the House-Elves wouldn't make you some if you asked.

‘So we were right, it is the Philosopher’s Stone, and Snape’s trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy – and he said something about Quirrell’s “hocus-pocus” – I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell which Snape needs to break through –’

‘So you mean the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?’ said Hermione in alarm.

‘It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,’ said Ron.

Then Snape and Miss Hardbroom can finally be together forever!

 

[TheAmbiguousLurker]

Jokes on you, I have no sense of humour.

She's like the Sixth Ranger.

So, she's only worth a damn when she's against the protagonist?

The main cultural legacy of this decision was a joke my middle school class had where we'd bring up "philosophers" whenever possible and call them "sorcerers" instead.

Explaining Philosophy class to others must have been fun.

Should we assume Dumbledore actually made Snape referee as a joke?

Dumbledore would totally do that.
"I don't even play the game, Sir."
"Yes, but the little kiddies will shit bricks."
"...Are you basing an entire prank on the premise that everyone despises me?"
"Even the wizard Nazis hate you, Severus."

"It's the blood that makes our hair so red!" said Ron, licking his lips.

The Weaslys are actually the wizard Mafia who've been busting heads since the Solomonari were riding Dragons.

Okay, question, why does Snape need to know how to get past Fluffy? If he needs to check on his contribution to the gauntlet, why not just get Hagrid to help? If he legitimately suspects Quirrell of trying to steal the Stone, why isn't he getting Dumbledore involved?

I assume that he's gauging how much Quirrel knows and is still trying to make sure Voldemort buys that he isn't loyal to Dumbledore just in case he still needs to keep up the double agent act.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

I assume that he's gauging how much Quirrel knows and is still trying to make sure Voldemort buys that he isn't loyal to Dumbledore just in case he still needs to keep up the double agent act.

I feel dumb

 

[LoverofPi]

I like that wizard chess is kind of fucked in both the book and the film, for entirely different reason. In the book, you have to deal with disobedience. In the movie, wizard chess involves the pieces murdering each other, so you have to buy a new set after every game. I assume this is why the Weasleys are poor.

Both versions are an interesting highlight of the absurdity of wizard culture, in that both aspects bring aspects of real war into chess in bizarre ways that change the nature of the game without changing the rules.

Writing witty dialogue is a skill. Writing the kind of dumb but funny jokes people tell each other in real life is another.

Don't mind me, just filing away Gred as a twin brother/ clone for long time X-men character Forge if I ever get a writer spot on the books. Or do fanfic, one or the other.

I appreciate how sincerely dedicated to the idea of a family Christmas the twins are. It's an understated bit of dimensionality.

I think part of their pleasure lies in making the rest of the family suffer. No, I lie. Most of it.

It genuinely annoys me Ron is often remembered as "the dumb one" when, among other things, he's the first to figure out the mirror might not be the healthiest thing in the world. That's impressive emotional maturity for an eleven year old who'll fight anyone.

In Tabletop terms, Hermione is the INT character, Harry is the CHA, and Ron is the much needed WIS character on the team.

There was never any suggestion either Flamel was interested in alchemy during their lifetime, but for some weird reason, Nicholas gained a reputation for it during the 17th century, with various alchemical writing being attributed to him. It's a bit like if you were a civil lawyer, and two hundred years after your death people started claiming you made a Frankenstein.

And then that Frankenstein went and made a monster.

Or to use a real world example, imagine if you're a devout, religious man who devoted his life to preventing the conquest of his lands by foreign non believers and then some asshole turned you into a vampire for a serialized novel.

So, what happened to Madame Hooch? Did she drink too much of her namesake and now has a weeklong hangover? Has her fear of mortality and aging driven her to turn herself into a talking flap of skin? Did Cackles Academy offer her a better salary?

(Once a year, Snape and Miss Hardbroom meet at the Hogs Head Inn and have dry, angry sex)

Yeah, I can see it.

It's much less noticeable in the film due to how condensed it is, but Hermione is a main character in this for way less than you'd think. She's like the Sixth Ranger.

She's like the opposite of the Silver Megaranger, in that she has to make sure all her work is complete and all the proper forms are filled out before she can sortie.

Should we assume Dumbledore actually made Snape referee as a joke?

Assume everything he does is a joke.

Like the House-Elves wouldn't make you some if you asked.

In this case 'stealing' means forcing the house elves to accept actual money for their services.

Then Snape and Miss Hardbroom can finally be together forever!

I am kind of shocked there aren't more crossovers between the two franchises.

Slander! They're not slaves, they're pets. Or, alternately, if they are slaves, they're the twee BDSM lifestylers (complete with nonverbal safeword).

Given that, IIRC, they were written as a send up of housewives who were happy being housewives and SPEW as the 'liberation' movements that utterly failed to connect with them due to strange messaging, that's not too far off the mark?

 

[Greedy Fly]

I love how cheerful Harry is about his good natured disobedient sleuthing. Again, the films have an interesting tendency of making the kids less "naughty" in the kids book sense.

Harry's a great example of a Chaotic Good protagonist, without resorting to the 'lulz so random' interpretation of "chaotic": he's uneasy doing things the lawful Hermione-approved way, he instinctively hides things from authority figures (even ones he likes), given a choice of methods he'll automatically choose the rule-breaking option, it's not until like the 5th or 6th year he even starts reporting to teachers/adults about whatever mystery-du-jour is going on. I haven't watched much of the movies but it's a shame to hear how much they cut or dumbed down.

 

[IridiumDragon06]

Because you cast spells with your legs.

I mean, if you need to do precise wand-work, you're probably getting most of your upper body into it; having your legs jerk involuntarily as you're re-establishing your stance sounds like it would legitimately fuck you up, especially given how tiny flubs in spell technique can cause wild backfires.

Man, it's like Rowling heard Iridium's quibble about the lack of boy violence.

Yeah, I like this. Again, I think Rowling does a better job than most of accurately portraying boys (and later teenage boys). But the point I was making was about the narrative and what it focuses on. Hagrid used his strength, yes, but just to take the gun out of the equation; he could have beaten Vernon unconscious casually to make his point, instead of permanently warping the flesh of his son. And while I like what we got (to show that Ron will put his ass on the line for his family's honor, and that Sad Ickle Nev ain't no bitch)...note that our viewpoint character is literally above the scuffle, and that we don't see anything really change because of the fight. There's no repositioning of status, Malfoy doesn't change his tune or his tactics, there's no actual consequences and none even threatened going forward...and while this is a wizardy book about wizards and not about fisticuffs, my point is that a male-centered book would at least think about the physical reality of being punched in the face by a bigger, meaner kid, because, you know, that happened to a fair number of us...and it did not happen to a fair number of girls growing up, and I'd bet it never happened to Rowling.

And again, I'm not saying that this is bad, or even that it's lacking. Rowling gets enough of the way there to at least gesture at it here, and give me something to comment on. But the comment is as far as we go.

Given that, IIRC, they were written as a send up of housewives who were happy being housewives and SPEW as the 'liberation' movements that utterly failed to connect with them due to strange messaging, that's not too far off the mark?

I imagine we'll have more to discuss later, when we see them properly. But since it is getting pointed out, it seems Extremely Plausible that F and G sneak into the kitchen for the first time having no idea what to expect, are immediately fawned on by the staff and leave at about their max carry weight of sweets and random entrees, and resolve to make up stories about sneaking and stealing them from watchful house-elves both to make themselves look good, but also because if everyone started doing this it would get noticed and shut down really fast.

And while it's pointed out already that Harry as super-Seeker makes a silly sport sillier, I feel like this bit in particular makes the protagonist-centered nature of the sport really unavoidable. We can (and have) gotten excellent description of Harry flying; having that be the Thing he's specifically good at is Fine, Actually; it's a cool thing that kids will empathize with and think about, and it gives him narratively-interesting things to do with the promise that he's having his time to shine, but only on specific occasions. He can't fly his way past all or even many of his problems.

But this feels like pure luck. Harry was able to capitalize on an opportunity because of his skill, sure, but the book didn't sell it that way. It didn't make Harry look good, it made Quiddich look bad.

 

[LoverofPi]

I genuinely have no idea how magical incantations work in this series. In some stories, magical incarnations are more about focusing the mind than anything, with some stories (like Dresden Files) explaining that wizards use archaic or rare languages in order to aid compartmentalisation, lest a wizard end up setting shit alight every time they say the word "fire." In other works like Eragon or Earthsea (both works of equal literary merit, I'm sure we all agree) spells are cast in a special, magical language. Sometimes, this language is Enochian, the language Elizabethan court magician John Dee claimed was the language of God, which Adam used to name the beasts of the Earth.

In Harry Potter... who knows. It seems like the actual words do in fact matter, because saying them wrong causes Bewitched style magical mishaps. We later find out it's possible for a wizard to cast a spell without knowing what it does, as long as they know the incantation and the motions. So, does it just so happen that Latin sounding gibberish is of great cosmic importance? Well, no, because later on, Hermione invents a spell (with such a simple and obvious function I'm shocked no one got to it before her) whose incantation is simply "Point me!" But again, it's not merely a focus thing, because while wizards can learn to cast spells without speaking, and even wandlessly, they still seem to need to know the magic words. Except, we've already seen that young wizards can do some pretty serious magic reflexively, without even the framework of a spell. It's a opaque mess, is what I'm saying.

I forgot to comment on this earlier, but my guess is that the words are specifically a safety mechanism for the untrained witch and wizard, because otherwise their magic can and will either pop off randomly or suppress itself and spontaneously turn into a magical curse.
So it's essentially a complicated release valve to direct the magic in the correct way, or barring that, a mostly harmless one. Same with wands. Not required per se, but they make the work easier and safer for the user.

I imagine we'll have more to discuss later, when we see them properly. But since it is getting pointed out, it seems Extremely Plausible that F and G sneak into the kitchen for the first time having no idea what to expect, are immediately fawned on by the staff and leave at about their max carry weight of sweets and random entrees, and resolve to make up stories about sneaking and stealing them from watchful house-elves both to make themselves look good, but also because if everyone started doing this it would get noticed and shut down really fast.

Also entirely plausible, yes.

And while it's pointed out already that Harry as super-Seeker makes a silly sport sillier, I feel like this bit in particular makes the protagonist-centered nature of the sport really unavoidable. We can (and have) gotten excellent description of Harry flying; having that be the Thing he's specifically good at is Fine, Actually; it's a cool thing that kids will empathize with and think about, and it gives him narratively-interesting things to do with the promise that he's having his time to shine, but only on specific occasions. He can't fly his way past all or even many of his problems.

But this feels like pure luck. Harry was able to capitalize on an opportunity because of his skill, sure, but the book didn't sell it that way. It didn't make Harry look good, it made Quiddich look bad.

I mean the biggest problem is that the snitch and thus the position of seeker is too important to the sport and the house cup. It's 150 points for the game, and the house cup and it ends the game immediately. To be an actual sport, the snitch needs to be worth far less and not end the game, or it needs to end the game, period, and thus catching it verse keeping the other seeker away from it needs to be a much more tactical decision in general.

Also, obviously parodies of Quidditch exist. I quote like Mittens from hello from the magic tavern, which is gridiron football, but wizardified so that a field is 2000 meters long, getting a potted plant from one end of the field to another is 1 point and catching a bird thrown onto the field for any reason is worth 700 points. Most of the stories around the game involve everyone who plays it hating the rules and wanting them to make sense.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Happy one hundredth post!

And then that Frankenstein went and made a monster.

"Frankenstein was not the monster, I, the one correcting you about his name, am the monster."

(I personally think it's perfectly acceptable to refer to Adam as a Frankenstein. It is, after all, his father's surname)

Quirrel, however, must have been braver than they’d thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn’t look as though he’d cracked yet.

Speaking of classic horror, Quirrel seems to be living through the 70s blaxploitation script I wrote, where a Black Panther finds himself slowly turning into a skinny, white insurance salesman.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell’s stutter.

And Voldemort was so touched by their kindness, he turned good and became a designer pillow salesman.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher’s Stone. She had started drawing up revision timetables and colour-coding all her notes. Harry and Ron wouldn’t have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same.

Stephen Fry: And, eventually, the Red Dwarf crew found their way home.

Feel free to decide what became of Lister and the Cat in the 20th century. I think Kryten opened a laundry business in Diagon Alley because the Muggle repulsion charms don't work on mechanoids. Everyone just assumes he's some sort of golem.

‘Hermione, the exams are ages away.’

‘Ten weeks,’ Hermione snapped. ‘That’s not ages, that’s like a second to Nicolas Flamel.’

‘But we’re not six hundred years old,’ Ron reminded her. ‘Anyway, what are you revising for, you already know it all.’

Hermione becomes one of those Bay Area weirdos obsessed with transhumanism and immortality. Wait, there's already a fanfic about that. We'll get to it.

‘What am I revising for? Are you mad? You realise we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They’re very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don’t know what’s got into me …’

Oh, God, it really is like Rimmer and Kochanski had a baby.

Perhaps I'm underestimating the adaptability of children, but it's still wild to me so many wizarding kids seem to grow up basically unschooled, but so readily adapt to a traditional ish academic environment in their preteens.

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren’t nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon’s blood or practising wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their extra work.

‘I’ll never remember this,’ Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window.

Man, the first kid to bring ballpoints to Hogwarts is going to make a lot of friends.

It was the first really fine day they’d had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

It occurs to me Harry's probably going to be one of those people who don't like summer much.

Harry, who was looking up ‘Dittany’ in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, didn’t look up until he heard Ron say, ‘Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?’

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

"Wait, do you little shits think I don't read?"

‘Jus’ lookin’,’ he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. ‘An’ what’re you lot up ter?’ He looked suddenly suspicious. ‘Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?’

‘Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,’ said Ron impressively. ‘And we know what that dog’s guarding, it’s a Philosopher’s St–’

‘Shhhh!’ Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. ‘Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?’

I love these little shits so much. Desperate, Harry tells the kids to come to his hut if they want to talk, instead of blabbering about school secrets in the middle of the library.

‘What was he hiding behind his back?’ said Hermione thoughtfully.

‘Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?’

‘I’m going to see what section he was in,’ said Ron, who’d had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

‘Dragons!’ he whispered. ‘Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide.’

Harry: The Dragon Lady of Singapore?

Ron: Uh, I don't think that one's related.

‘Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him,’ said Harry.

‘But it’s against our laws,’ said Ron. ‘Dragon-breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, everyone knows that.

Fandom: Ron's a big, stupid idiot who eats to much.

Ron: Rattles off three hundred year old legislation off the top of his head.

It’s hard to stop Muggles noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden – anyway, you can’t tame dragons, it’s dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie’s got off wild ones in Romania.’

‘But there aren’t wild dragons in Britain?’ said Harry.

‘Of course there are,’ said Ron. ‘Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our lot have to keep putting spells on Muggles who’ve spotted them, to make them forget.’

Again, I wonder what criteria there is for deciding if a species is magical, and needs to be hidden from Muggles. Dragons at least probably defy physics in a bunch of ways that would make scientists suspicious.

The gang visit Hagrid's hut, which is as hot as a sauna.

It was stiflingly hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

Don't be rude, kids, Hagrid ground a lot of bones to make that bread. Hagrid initially refuses to tell the kids about anything more, but then Hermione turns on the flattery:

‘Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here,’ said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid’s beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling. ‘We only wondered who had done the guarding, really.’ Hermione went on. ‘We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you.’
Hagrid’s chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at Hermione.

I've talked about how Ron got ill-served by the films, but while they did gas up Hermione a lot, I think she loses a little something, too.

Well, I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that … let’s see … he borrowed Fluffy from me … then some o’ the teachers did enchantments … Professor Sprout – Professor Flitwick – Professor McGonagall –’ he ticked them off on his fingers, ‘Professor Quirrell – an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.’

I love we got the plant teacher in on it. I assume Trelawney declined because they wouldn't let her contribution be a sherry drinking contest. Maybe I'm underestimating her, though. If you believe Perfect Lionheart, Trelawney's willing to castrate an eight year old with a waffle iron, force Petunia to have another baby, alter the Dursleys' memories and the kid's appearance so they think it's Harry, and leave him to be abused in the real Harry's place.

...I'm amazed we aren't doing Partially Kissed Hero sometimes.

‘You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid?’ said Harry anxiously. ‘And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?’

‘Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,’ said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, us an' Zagreus."

In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

‘Ah,’ said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard. ‘That’s – er …’

‘Where did you get it, Hagrid?’ said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. ‘It must’ve cost you a fortune.’

‘Won it,’ said Hagrid. ‘Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.’

Shock twist, it was Quirrell. I'm going to assume he was using Polyjuice potion or something.

‘But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?’ said Hermione.

‘Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,’ said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. ‘Got this outta the library – Dragon-Breeding for Pleasure and Profit – it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ’cause their mothers breathe on ’em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here – how ter recognise diff’rent eggs – what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.’

I wonder if Asian dragons look very different from their European counterparts.

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn’t.

‘Hagrid, you live in a wooden house,’ she said.

This is a metaphor for the Boriswave, I'm sure.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

‘Wonder what it’s like to have a peaceful life,’ Ron sighed, as evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. Hermione had now started making revision timetables for Harry and Ron, too. It was driving them mad.

People joke about the trio having a mystery or challenge to deal with every year, but I like to pretend Hogwarts, which does seem to be a bit alive, arranges year long narratives for all the kids as an educational thing. It just has a lot more to work with with Harry and company.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: It’s hatching.

Scary thing is, he's not talking about the egg.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: It’s hatching.

Shout out to the PS1 Philosopher's Stone game, where Hagrid straight up pills Harry out of school and takes him to Diagon Alley for dragon supplies. And implicitly makes him pay for them.

Sadly, Draco appears to have been listening in, but no time to worry about that now!

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped on to the table. It wasn’t exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body and it had a long snout with wide nostrils, stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon’s head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

‘Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!’ said Hagrid.

Maybe that's how wizarding Britain maintains such a sophisticated economy and set of institutions with such a small population--most of the jobs are actually done by Roger.

Hagrid,’ said Hermione, ‘how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?’
Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face – he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Someone was lookin’ through the gap in the curtains – it’s a kid – he’s runnin’ back up ter the school.’

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

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

"Don' worry," said Hagrid, unzipping the fly on his trousers, "I'll 'andle 'em."

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy’s face during the next week made Harry, Ron and Hermione very nervous.

I'm shocked Draco had the restraint to not tell Snape immediately. Trust me, this is not a kid with great impulse control.

‘I’ve decided to call him Norbert,’ said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. ‘He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where’s Mummy?’

‘He’s lost his marbles,’ Ron muttered in Harry’s ear.

"I know," said Harry. "That movie sucked."

‘Hagrid,’ said Harry loudly, ‘give it a fortnight and Norbert’s going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment.’

Hagrid bit his lip.

‘I – I know I can’t keep him for ever, but I can’t jus’ dump him, I can’t.’

You've got it better than movie Hagrid. The poor blighter only got to keep his horrible pet for, like, an hour. Harry gets the idea to send Ron's brother Charlie a letter asking to take Norbert off their hands.

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione and Harry sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. He had been down at Hagrid’s hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

‘It bit me!’ he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. ‘I’m not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon’s the most horrible animal I’ve ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you’d think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby.’

"Luckily I got away before he started trying to breastfeed it again."

Hedwig turns up with Charlie's reply.

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter - I’d be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won’t be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn’t be seen carrying an illegal dragon.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it’s still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love,

Charlie

Charlie: I am happy to help you with your illegal dragon smuggling operation, eleven year old brother. We really are the best family.

There was a hitch. By next morning, Ron’s bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn’t know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey – would she recognise a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert’s fangs were poisonous.

Sadly, Ron doesn't get a badass prosthetic hand with an inbuilt wand-finger.

Harry and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

‘It’s not just my hand,’ he whispered, ‘although that feels like it’s about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me – I’ve told her it was a dog but I don’t think she believes me

I wouldn't worry, Ron. Madame Pomfrey has dealt with way too many cases of wank-sprain to be judgemental about anything.

(They always claim it's wand-sprain, but Pomfrey can tell the difference)

So, that's Ron out of Operation How to Crate Your Dragon.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

‘He’s got lots o’ rats an’ some brandy fer the journey,’ said Hagrid in a muffled voice. ‘An’ I’ve packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely.’

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as though teddy was having his head torn off.

‘Bye-bye, Norbert!’ Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and Hermione covered the crate with the Invisibility Cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. ‘Mummy will never forget you!’

Clearly another example of Joanne Rowling's anti-trans agender.

(Heh, heh, heh)

As Harry, Hermione, and Norbert make their way up to the astronomy tower, they pass Draco getting yelled at by McGonagall.

‘Detention!’ she shouted. ‘And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you –’

‘You don’t understand, Professor, Harry Potter’s coming – he’s got a dragon!’

‘What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!’

I wonder why Draco didn't just go to Snape.

Charlie’s friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harry and Hermione the harness they’d rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

I don't really have a joke here, so have a picture of a bunch of wizards from The Power Fantasy:

(Go read Power Fantasy after this, it's really good)

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon – Malfoy in detention – what could spoil their happiness?

The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch’s face loomed suddenly out of the darkness.

‘Well, well, well,’ he whispered, ‘we are in trouble.’

They’d left the Invisibility Cloak on top of the tower.

This is of course fucking stupid, but I'm thirty years old and do something at least that dumb once a week.