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

[Penne Dreadful]

Ron's a clueless retard in romantic matters (which is the birthright of every teenaged boy), not an autist.

He's an avid chess player. His life may have gone in a very different direction if any magical board game maker had noticed the release of Europa Universalis in 1993 and made a wizarding clone.

 

[Gentlebastard]

He's an avid chess player. His life may have gone in a very different direction if any magical board game maker had noticed the release of Europa Universalis in 1993 and made a wizarding clone.

Honestly, I had completely forgotten he was not only a chess player, but a great one. I don't recall that ever being relevant after Sorcerer's Stone, so it's easy to forget.

 

[PyrrhicRustle]

Honestly, I had completely forgotten he was not only a chess player, but a great one. I don't recall that ever being relevant after Sorcerer's Stone, so it's easy to forget.

I think it maybe gets mentioned in passing as something they do during holidays and down time but it’s never plot relevant again.

 

[Alabama Gamer]

Maybe the magical state generates revenue from tariffs? Despite the existence of teleportation, invisibility, transfiguration, and all manner of illusions and mind-bending spells, they somehow still have the capacity to enforce import/export restrictions. Come to think of it, protectionism would be incredibly important for Wizarding Britain's fake economy, because the end of the small business LARP due to Chinese mass-produced Fanged Frisbees and factory-farmed dragon organs would probably lead to the collapse of the whole system.

 

[Staticness]

Maybe the magical state generates revenue from tariffs? Despite the existence of teleportation, invisibility, transfiguration, and all manner of illusions and mind-bending spells, they somehow still have the capacity to enforce import/export restrictions. Come to think of it, protectionism would be incredibly important for Wizarding Britain's fake economy, because the end of the small business LARP due to Chinese mass-produced Fanged Frisbees and factory-farmed dragon organs would probably lead to the collapse of the whole system.

The whole universe falls apart when you look at what the rest of the world must be like. You are supposed to accept that the parallel society (still Bri*ish patriots) is somehow in its own vacuum. Harry Potter as a setting is dependent solely upon vibes. This is the same universe where a magic wand that makes its user invincible can only transfer owners as a result of combat. This is the same universe where the means of splitting one’s soul through acts of pure evil has how-to manuals accessible to schoolchildren with a minimum of effort. It is literally all vibes and adventure hooks.

 

[OtherLastTrainHome]

can only transfer owners as a result of combat

nah you just kill them in their sleep. easy.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Despite the very heavy load of homework that the fourth years had been given for the holidays, Harry was in no mood to work when term ended, and spent the week leading up to Christmas enjoying himself as fully as possible along with everyone else. Gryffindor Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were being so much rowdier than usual. Fred and George had had a great success with their Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people kept bursting into feather all over the place.

"Bursting into feather" is just a wonderful phrase.

Before long, however, all the Gryffindors had learned to treat food anybody else offered them with extreme caution, in case it had a Canary Cream concealed in the center, and George confided to Harry that he and Fred were now working on developing something else. Harry made a mental note never to accept so much as a crisp from Fred and George in future. He still hadn’t forgotten Dudley and the Ton-Tongue Toffee.

Fred: Food and drink is too obvious a delivery mechanism.

George: What we're thinking next is a kind of microscopic vector that can hide in people's spittle, allowing it to jump victims through the air.

Harry: ...That's a virus. You're talking about a virus.

Fred: Tell us more.

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid’s cabin, while the Durmstrang ship’s portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost.

I still want to know what the other visiting students are doing all this time between the tasks.

The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

“It is too ’eavy, all zis ’Ogwarts food,” they heard her saying grumpily as they left the Great Hall behind her one evening (Ron skulking behind Harry, keen not to be spotted by Fleur). “I will not fit into my dress robes!”

Notice apparently the other Beauxbatons aren't whinging. Fleur is just that French.

Oooh there’s a tragedy,” Hermione snapped as Fleur went out into the entrance hall. “She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn’t she?”

“Hermione — who are you going to the ball with?” said Ron.

He kept springing this question on her, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she least expected it. However, Hermione merely frowned and said, “I’m not telling you, you’ll just make fun of me.”

Shock twist, she's actually taking Ron, she just fucked with his memory to teach him a lesson.

“You’re joking, Weasley!” said Malfoy, behind them. “You’re not telling me someone’s asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?”

Harry and Ron both whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to somebody over Malfoy’s shoulder, “Hello, Professor Moody!”

Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

“Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you, Malfoy?” said Hermione scathingly, and she, Harry, and Ron went up the marble staircase laughing heartily.

I love these kids so much. This leads Ron to notice that, hey, Hermione's teeth aren't particularly massive anymore.

“No, I mean, they’re different to how they were before he put that hex on you. … They’re all … straight and — and normal-sized.”

Hermione suddenly smiled very mischievously, and Harry noticed it too: It was a very different smile from the one he remembered.

“Well … when I went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were,” she said. “And I just … let her carry on a bit.” She smiled even more widely. “Mum and Dad won’t be too pleased. I’ve been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they’re dentists, they just don’t think teeth and magic should — look! Pigwidgeon’s back!”

...Hermione had braces? Were they the transparent kind, or is every official illustration lying to me? Did Hermione remove them every summer before leaving for school? Or did she use magic to make them invisible? Also, I find it interesting that magic can instantly de-British your teeth, but not do anything about acne.

Ron’s tiny owl was twittering madly on the top of the icicle-laden banisters, a scroll of parchment tied to his leg. People passing him were pointing and laughing, and a group of third-year girls paused and said, “Oh look at the weeny owl! Isn’t he cute?”

“Stupid little feathery git!” Ron hissed, hurrying up the stairs and snatching up Pigwidgeon. “You bring letters to the addressee! You don’t hang around showing off!”

Pigwidgeon hooted happily, his head protruding over Ron’s fist. The third-year girls all looked very shocked.

“Clear off!” Ron snapped at them, waving the fist holding Pigwidgeon, who hooted more happily than ever as he soared through the air.

With all the Ron hate fics out there, I'm surprised more don't make him an animal abuser. The only one I can think of is The Last War, where Ron murders a little bird his son Hugo had taken in.

Dear Harry,

Congratulations on getting past the Horntail. Whoever put your name in that goblet shouldn’t be feeling too happy right now!

I wish someone would point out that there are much easier ways of murdering Harry than hacking a magic cup to enter him into the Sorting Squid Game.

(That's both the most niche and most obvious reference I've made in a while)

I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitis Curse, as a dragon’s eyes are its weakest point — “That’s what Krum did!” Hermione whispered — but your way was better, I’m impressed.

I do appreciate Rowling didn't have Sirius suggest the same thing Harry ended up doing.

Don’t get complacent, though, Harry. You’ve only done one task; whoever put you in for the tournament’s got plenty more opportunity if they’re trying to hurt you. Keep your eyes open — particularly when the person we discussed is around — and concentrate on keeping yourself out of trouble.

Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual.

Sirius

“He sounds exactly like Moody,” said Harry quietly, tucking the letter away again inside his robes. “ ‘Constant vigilance!’ You’d think I walk around with my eyes shut, banging off the walls.”

You can tell Harry is a teenager now, because he's reacting to good advice not even delivered in a hectoring tone like Sirius just told him to wipe properly.

“But he’s right, Harry,” said Hermione, “you have still got two tasks to do. You really ought to have a look at that egg, you know, and start working out what it means. …”

“Hermione, he’s got ages!” snapped Ron. “Want a game of chess, Harry?”

If Harry had only either Ron or Hermione as a friend, he'd be quite dead by the time he's seventeen.

Harry awoke very suddenly on Christmas Day. Wondering what had caused his abrupt return to consciousness, he opened his eyes, and saw something with very large, round, green eyes staring back at him in the darkness, so close they were almost nose to nose.

“Dobby!” Harry yelled, scrambling away from the elf so fast he almost fell out of bed. “Don’t do that!”

I feel like you can tell Rowling is above average as an author just by the fact Dobby actually is more endearing than annoying.

Harry pulled back the curtains around his four-poster, took his glasses from his bedside table, and put them on. His yell had awoken Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. All of them were peering through the gaps in their own hangings, heavy-eyed and tousle-haired.

“Someone attacking you, Harry?” Seamus asked sleepily.

“No, it’s just Dobby,” Harry muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

Seamus: Ah, so he's already broken your legs, grand.

“Nah … presents!” said Seamus, spotting the large pile at the foot of his bed.

I don't know why, but the fact Seamus is Irish makes that line read way funnier to me. It's a bit like Sebastian being Jamaican in The Little Mermaid, it just adds a little kick to some lines.

Harry turned back to Dobby, who was now standing nervously next to Harry’s bed, still looking worried that he had upset Harry. There was a Christmas bauble tied to the loop on top of his tea cozy.

“Can Dobby give Harry Potter his present?” he squeaked tentatively.

“ ’Course you can,” said Harry. “Er … I’ve got something for you too.”

It was a lie; he hadn’t bought anything for Dobby at all, but he quickly opened his trunk and pulled out a particularly knobbly rolled-up pair of socks. They were his oldest and foulest, mustard yellow, and had once belonged to Uncle Vernon. The reason they were extra-knobbly was that Harry had been using them to cushion his Sneakoscope for over a year now. He pulled out the Sneakoscope and handed the socks to Dobby, saying, “Sorry, I forgot to wrap them.”

Sometimes I wonder if it makes sense a family as obsessed with appearances as the Dursleys would be willing to make their nephew publicly cosplay as A Child Called It.

But Dobby was utterly delighted.

“Socks are Dobby’s favorite, favorite clothes, sir!” he said, ripping off his odd ones and pulling on Uncle Vernon’s. “I has seven now, sir. … But sir …” he said, his eyes widening, having pulled both socks up to their highest extent, so that they reached to the bottom of his shorts, “they has made a mistake in the shop, Harry Potter, they is giving you two the same!”

Okay, this is very funny, but Dobby's been making that dolla dolla a while now--surely he's at least been inside a clothes shop?

“Ah, no, Harry, how come you didn’t spot that?” said Ron, grinning over from his own bed, which was now strewn with wrapping paper. “Tell you what, Dobby — here you go — take these two, and you can mix them up properly. And here’s your sweater.”

He threw Dobby a pair of violet socks he had just unwrapped, and the hand-knitted sweater Mrs. Weasley had sent. Dobby looked quite overwhelmed.

“Sir is very kind!” he squeaked, his eyes brimming with tears again, bowing deeply to Ron. “Dobby knew sir must be a great wizard, for he is Harry Potter’s greatest friend, but Dobby did not know that he was also as generous of spirit, as noble, as selfless —”

“They’re only socks,” said Ron, who had gone slightly pink around the ears, though he looked rather pleased all the same.

At last, someone else who appreciates our man.

Dobby now handed Harry a small package, which turned out to be — socks.
“Dobby is making them himself, sir!” the elf said happily. “He is buying the wool out of his wages, sir!”

The left sock was bright red and had a pattern of broomsticks upon it; the right sock was green with a pattern of Snitches.

“They’re … they’re really … well, thanks, Dobby,” said Harry, and he pulled them on, causing Dobby’s eyes to leak with happiness again.

Harry, you've been wearing Uncle Vernon's wank socks for years, don't pretend this isn't a banger pressie. Eh, I shouldn't criticise, you only know you've truly become a grown-up when you actually start appreciating a good pair of socks as a present. Dumbledore agrees! Dobby has to go help cook Christmas dinner, so he pops off.

Harry’s other presents were much more satisfactory than Dobby’s odd socks — with the obvious exception of the Dursleys’, which consisted of a single tissue, an all-time low — Harry supposed they too were remembering the Ton-Tongue Toffee.

But was it used?

Hermione had given Harry a book called Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland; Ron, a bulging bag of Dungbombs

Ron: I didn't have any money, so I had to make the dung myself.

Sirius, a handy penknife with attachments to unlock any lock and undo any knot

Trying to remember if this ever gets used.

and Hagrid, a vast box of sweets including all Harry’s favorites: Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, and Fizzing Whizbees.

Man, imagine how pissed Harry is going to be when they stop putting beans in the next game. It was the only thing that got him through the Goblet of Fire one! Mrs Weasley put a dragon on Harry's jumper (or sweater, as this edition calls it), so that's cool.

They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Hermione chose to watch Harry and the Weasleys’ snowball fight rather than join in, and at five o’clock said she was going back upstairs to get ready for the ball.

This is Hermione's version of yaoi.

“What, you need three hours?” said Ron, looking at her incredulously and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the head. “Who’re you going with?” he yelled after Hermione, but she just waved and disappeared up the stone steps into the castle.

Again, Rowling gets boys so much better than authors who make their entire thing portraying interactions between the sexes.

There was no Christmas tea today, as the ball included a feast, so at seven o’clock, when it had become hard to aim properly, the others abandoned their snowball fight and trooped back to the common room.

The younger students can get fucked.

The Fat Lady was sitting in her frame with her friend Violet from downstairs, both of them extremely tipsy, empty boxes of chocolate liqueurs littering the bottom of her picture.
“Lairy fights, that’s the one!” she giggled when they gave the password, and she swung forward to let them inside.

Lairy was a Squib whose dad made him fight other defective children in a pit.

Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville changed into their dress robes up in their dormitory, all of them looking very self-conscious, but none as much as Ron, who surveyed himself in the long mirror in the corner with an appalled look on his face. There was just no getting around the fact that his robes looked more like a dress than anything else. In a desperate attempt to make them look more manly, he used a Severing Charm on the ruff and cuffs. It worked fairly well; at least he was now lace-free, although he hadn’t done a very neat job, and the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.

Look, maybe Ron would be able to transfigure his robes into a zoot suit or something cool if they hadn't wasted four years torturing small animals and kettles.

“I still can’t work out how you two got the best-looking girls in the year,” muttered Dean.

“Animal magnetism,” said Ron gloomily, pulling stray threads out of his cuffs.

The common room looked strange, full of people wearing different colors instead of the usual mass of black. Parvati was waiting for Harry at the foot of the stairs. She looked very pretty indeed, in robes of shocking pink, with her long dark plait braided with gold, and gold bracelets glimmering at her wrists. Harry was relieved to see that she wasn’t giggling.

So, in the film, the Patil sisters wear Indian saris to the Yule Ball. This is often used to accuse Rowling of "Orientalism", because as we all know, people with immigrant backgrounds never dress up in outfits from their heritage at special occasions. Putting aside the fact that that's a bullshit argument invented by racial paranoiacs, notice Padma is just wearing pink dress robes in the actual book. You'll see a lot of people using stuff from the films as evidence of Rowling's myriad bigotries (Irish lad Seamus making shit explode, Gringotts having stars on the floor), because either they can't read and assume the films and books are identical, and think Rowling was in charge of every aspect of the filmmaking, down to the prom dresses.

“Hi,” said Padma, who was looking just as pretty as Parvati in robes of bright turquoise. She didn’t look too enthusiastic about having Ron as a partner, though; her dark eyes lingered on the frayed neck and sleeves of his dress robes as she looked him up and down.

“Hi,” said Ron, not looking at her, but staring around at the crowd. “Oh no …”

He bent his knees slightly to hide behind Harry, because Fleur Delacour was passing, looking stunning in robes of silver-gray satin, and accompanied by the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davies. When they had disappeared, Ron stood straight again and stared over the heads of the crowd.

“Where is Hermione?” he said again.

Ron needs to remind himself what he's into.

A group of Slytherins came up the steps from their dungeon common room. Malfoy was in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, which in Harry’s opinion made him look like a vicar.

Draco wishes.

Crabbe and Goyle were both wearing green; they resembled moss-colored boulders, and neither of them, Harry was pleased to see, had managed to find a partner.

Ah, excuse me, Harry, clearly they're each other's date.

The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by a pretty girl in blue robes Harry didn’t know. Over their heads he saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights — meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.

I like to imagine the statues were like, polished marble, Greco-Roman style. It's the manly Santa from that Grant Morrison comic I recommended once.

Then Professor McGonagall’s voice called, “Champions over here, please!”

Parvati readjusted her bangles, beaming; she and Harry said “See you in a minute” to Ron and Padma and walked forward, the chattering crowd parting to let them through. Professor McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside; they were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies stationed themselves nearest the doors; Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could hardly take his eyes off her. Cedric and Cho were close to Harry too; he looked away from them so he wouldn’t have to talk to them. His eyes fell instead on the girl next to Krum. His jaw dropped.
It was Hermione.

But she didn’t look like Hermione at all.

Krum had transformed her into a bear.

But she didn’t look like Hermione at all. She had done something with her hair; it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow — or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling — rather nervously, it was true — but the reduction in the size of her front teeth was more noticeable than ever; Harry couldn’t understand how he hadn’t spotted it before.

“Hi, Harry!” she said. “Hi, Parvati!”

It amuses me that, a year before the first movie premiered, and well before it became clear the actress was growing up quite nicely, Rowling wrote a beat that can be summarized as "just this once, Hermione actually looked a bit like Emma Watson."

Parvati was gazing at Hermione in unflattering disbelief. She wasn’t the only one either; when the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum’s fan club from the library stalked past, throwing Hermione looks of deepest loathing.

They're just angry Krum isn't dancing with Cedric tonight.

Harry concentrated on not tripping over his feet. Parvati seemed to be enjoying herself; she was beaming around at everybody, steering Harry so forcefully that he felt as though he were a show dog she was putting through its paces. He caught sight of Ron and Padma as he neared the top table. Ron was watching Hermione pass with narrowed eyes

And a hand down his trousers.

Padma was looking sulky.

Padma is understandably put out at being a third wheel on her own date. Naturally, people use this to accuse Rowling of racism also. Because I guess they assume we're meant to think it's perfectly alright for Ron to neglect Padma because she's brown? Mr. Crouch isn't at the ball, instead being represented by Percy Weasley.

“I’ve been promoted,” Percy said before Harry could even ask, and from his tone, he might have been announcing his election as supreme ruler of the universe.
“I’m now Mr. Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing him.”

To be fair, the Weasleys now represent a fairly decent chunk of the state.

“Why didn’t he come?” Harry asked. He wasn’t looking forward to being lectured on cauldron bottoms all through dinner.

“I’m afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn’t well, not well at all. Hasn’t been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising — overwork. He’s not as young as he was — though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then, Mr. Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the misbehavior of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called. Naturally, he dismissed her immediately afterward, but — well, as I say, he’s getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he’s found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with — that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around — no, poor man, he’s having a well earned, quiet Christmas. I’m just glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place.”

Percy: I have of course offered him both of my kidneys.

Harry: We're wizards. We can grow those back with a pill.

Percy: Oh, he doesn't need them. I just thought he might like me around the house.

Harry wanted very much to ask whether Mr. Crouch had stopped calling Percy “Weatherby” yet, but resisted the temptation.

Stronger man than me.

There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Harry picked his up uncertainly and looked around — there were no waiters. Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, “Pork chops!”

And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed their orders with their plates too. Harry glanced up at Hermione to see how she felt about this new and more complicated method of dining — surely it meant plenty of extra work for the house-elves? — but for once, Hermione didn’t seem to be thinking about S.P.E.W. She was deep in talk with Viktor Krum and hardly seemed to notice what she was eating.

Activism.txt.

It now occurred to Harry that he had never actually heard Krum speak before, but he was certainly talking now, and very enthusiastically at that.

“Veil, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking,” he was telling Hermione. “Ve have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But ve have grounds larger even than these — though in vinter, ve have very little daylight, so ve are not enjoying them. But in summer ve are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains —”
“Now, now, Viktor!” said Karkaroff with a laugh that didn’t reach his cold eyes, “don’t go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!”

Sweden. Also, imagine if Yale and Harvard kept their locations top secret.

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Igor, all this secrecy … one would almost think you didn’t want visitors.”

“Well, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, displaying his yellowing teeth to their fullest extent, “we are all protective of our private domains, are we not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our school’s secrets, and right to protect them?”

What secrets? Is it really that important no one knows how many animals McGonagall murders a year?

“Oh I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts’ secrets, Igor,” said Dumbledore amicably. “Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon — or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder.”

Harry snorted into his plate of goulash. Percy frowned, but Harry could have sworn Dumbledore had given him a very small wink.

Foreshadowing. Also, you can tell Dumbledore has some Muggle in his family tree because he didn't just piss himself on the spot.

Meanwhile Fleur Delacour was criticizing the Hogwarts decorations to Roger Davies.

“Zis is nothing,” she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. “At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we ’ave ice sculptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course … zey are like ’uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb. And we ’ave choirs of wood nymphs, ’oo serenade us as we eat. We ’ave none of zis ugly armor in ze ’alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, ’e would be expelled like zat.” She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently.

Roger Davies was watching her talk with a very dazed look on his face, and he kept missing his mouth with his fork. Harry had the impression that Davies was too busy staring at Fleur to take in a word she was saying.

It probably says good things about Bill Weasley he didn't up like a Confessor's lover from those Sword of Truth books.

Hermione was now teaching Krum to say her name properly; he kept calling her “Hermy-own.”

“Her-my-oh-nee,” she said slowly and clearly.

“Herm-own-ninny.”

“Close enough,” she said, catching Harry’s eye and grinning.

I'm surprised I don't hear more stuff about Krum, a legal adult by wizarding standards, talking a fifteen-year-old on a date (Hermione has a late birthday). I mean, I think it's not a huge deal, but this is the internet, and Rowling's public enemy #1. I'm pretty sure, like, a quarter of the reason twincest took off is the lack of problematic age gaps.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, and Harry, who had been so interested in watching them that he had almost forgotten what was coming, suddenly realized that the lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and that the other champions and their partners were standing up.

“Come on!” Parvati hissed. “We’re supposed to dance!”

Harry tripped over his dress robes as he stood up. The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; Harry walked onto the brightly lit dance floor, carefully avoiding catching anyone’s eye (he could see Seamus and Dean waving at him and sniggering), and next moment, Parvati had seized his hands, placed one around her waist, and was holding the other tightly in hers.

It is now my deepest displeasure to share "Do the Hippogriff" by the Weird Sisters:

You know, Tom Riddle may have had some behavioural issues before Hogwarts, but I feel like wizard rock was what made him a monster. People say black people invented rock and roll, but it was actually wizards--black people were just among the first human to make it listenable. I can only assume at some point, wizard musicians discovered they could use glamour spells to make people like whatever shit they played. I can see why wizardkind would later abandon making music entirely and just listen to Nick Cave songs from the future. This song makes me want to throw myself into a black hole for my crimes.

You know what's even worse? The actual band in the film? That's Jarvis Cocker and Steve Markey from Pulp, and Johnny Greenwood and Phil Selway from Radiohead. I assume the shame of being involved in the making of this song was what made Pulp go on a ten year hiatus, and Radiohead to record "Burn the Witch." There's a couple other guys from a band I don't know, so feel free to decide how humiliating this was for them.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, Harry thought, revolving slowly on the spot (Parvati was steering). He kept his eyes fixed over the heads of the watching people, and very soon many of them too had come onto the dance floor, so that the champions were no longer the center of attention. Neville and Ginny were dancing nearby — he could see Ginny wincing frequently as Neville trod on her feet — and Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin; however, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg.

I wonder if wizards can't regrow limbs at all (they can certainly reattach them) or if Moody just had the misfortune of being on the business end of some particularly nasty dark magic.

Nice socks, Potter,” Moody growled as he passed, his magical eye staring through Harry’s robes.

“Oh — yeah, Dobby the house-elf knitted them for me,” said Harry, grinning.

“He is so creepy!” Parvati whispered as Moody clunked away. “I don’t think that eye should be allowed!”

I really hope Barty Crouch Junior was too busy being a fanatic to do the obvious.

Harry heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe with relief. The Weird Sisters stopped playing, applause filled the hall once more, and Harry let go of Parvati at once.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?”

“Oh — but — this is a really good one!”

I bet it's not.

“No, I don’t like it,” Harry lied, and he led her away from the dance floor, past Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so exhuberantly that people around them were backing away in fear of injury, and over to the table where Ron and Padma were sitting.

While God does allow wizards into Heaven, magic does give you shit taste in music.

 

[Stardust_Ziggy]

This is another fun chapter in an otherwise slog of a book. Since this series is aimed at YA, it’s really perfect. Have you ever tried to go to a Valentine’s Dance as a 14-year-old? It’s pure horror.

Side note, I keep wanting to pronounce Hermione as “Her-mine” even though I know it’s wrong. Well, why do you Brits keep putting vowels fucking everywhere?

It is now my deepest displeasure to share "Do the Hippogriff" by the Weird Sisters:

No, they did not…no. This was in the movie? No. Why?

 

[Fun Factory]

Okay, this is very funny, but Dobby's been making that dolla dolla a while now--surely he's at least been inside a clothes shop?

Dobby down the sock aisle in magic Fortnum and Masons:

You'll see a lot of people using stuff from the films as evidence of Rowling's myriad bigotries (Irish lad Seamus making shit explode, Gringotts having stars on the floor), because either they can't read and assume the films and books are identical, and think Rowling was in charge of every aspect of the filmmaking, down to the prom dresses

The most laughable example of this I ever saw was concept art of some of Sirius's prison ink, one of which was one of the million or so vaguely Celtic designs that some white nationalist somewhere used at some point, and which didn't even make it into the films. Naturally this was being held up as evidence Rowling is herself a literal white nationalist, rather than that Sirius might have wanted some of the other lags watching his back on the landing.

Also, imagine if Yale and Harvard kept their locations top secret.

Begs the question of what Karkaroff was going to do if Durmstrang was hosting - tell the other schools 'work it out for yourselves' and, if they don't show up, claim the win by default?

Side note, I keep wanting to pronounce Hermione as “Her-mine” even though I know it’s wrong. Well, why do you Brits keep putting vowels fucking everywhere?

This, for the record, is why Rowling included that bit of Hermione spelling it out phonetically for Krum's benefit - even in Bongland it's not a particularly common name, and it definitely wasn't before a generation was raised on Harry Potter.

 

[Mola Ram]

Side note, I keep wanting to pronounce Hermione as “Her-mine” even though I know it’s wrong. Well, why do you Brits keep putting vowels fucking everywhere?

The name is in fact Greek.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

The name is in fact Greek.

It’s a feminine form of Hermes, specifically, hence the trend of fanfics making Hermione a trans boy named Hermes. Fun fact, Demetri is a male form of Demeter.

 

[Mola Ram]

It’s a feminine form of Hermes, specifically, hence the trend of fanfics making Hermione a trans boy named Hermes. Fun fact, Demetri is a male form of Demeter.

Sometimes I think my disdain for fanfiction is snobbish and closed-minded, considering how little of it I've actually read. Then I see something like this and I think it's perfectly justified.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

Sometimes I think my disdain for fanfiction is snobbish and closed-minded, considering how little of it I've actually read. Then I see something like this and I think it's perfectly justified.

For the most part, it is. There are many good fanfics, but as a whole, fanfic is stupid and now actively harming literature.

 

[Gentlebastard]

Fred: Tell us more.

And thus began the 199? Rubberhose Plague.

I still want to know what the other visiting students are doing all this time between the tasks.

Someone has to scrape barnacles and do carriage maintenance. I can't see Karkaroff ever doing manual labor, even through the proxy of magic, nor Maxime laying on the ground and squeezing herself under a vehicle to grease some axles, not when there are some perfectly good unpaid interns young minds eager to learn new experiences about. We know she can live rough, but why spoil your silks and satins when you have a small squad of students loafing around for the next half-year?

Trying to remember if this ever gets used.

I think it was used once or twice.

To be fair, the Weasleys now represent a fairly decent chunk of the state.

There has to be a wizard equivalent of conspiracy theorists/A&Ners who, instead of blaming the jews for every stubbed toe, sulk about in dark corners, whispering angrily about the Ginger Menace.

I wonder if wizards can't regrow limbs at all (they can certainly reattach them) or if Moody just had the misfortune of being on the business end of some particularly nasty dark magic.

I might be mistaken, but at the beginning of Hallows, it is stated that Fred/George's ear couldn't be regrown because it was sliced off with Sectumsempra. So, I'm assuming it is possible as long as it wasn't dark magic and, as Moody spent a lifetime fighting dark wizards, he carries the consequences around.

As much as this thread made me realize I remember way too much from a series of books I haven't touched in over a decade, I can't recall anyone else being a cripple or missing limbs outside of dark magic usage. Hell, the only reason Harry, a rank amateur in the Dark Arts, didn't outright murder Malfoy in HBP was because Snape was around the corner to administer Dark First Aid and carry him to the nurse's office.

 

[Honka Honka Burning Love]

Fred: Food and drink is too obvious a delivery mechanism.

George: What we're thinking next is a kind of microscopic vector that can hide in people's spittle, allowing it to jump victims through the air.

Harry: ...That's a virus. You're talking about a virus.

Fred: Tell us more.

In the future George went insane from his twin's death and modified this vector into a plague that caused people to laugh themselves to death.

 

[Kornheiser]

As much as I try to say the books never captivated me they absolutely did. The fact that I remember almost everything so far made me try to find the books again to read as an adult is something I never dreamed of doing. Thank you @White-Kettle Shufflepunk for doing this.

 

[Honka Honka Burning Love]

As much as I try to say the books never captivated me they absolutely did. The fact that I remember almost everything so far made me try to find the books again to read as an adult is something I never dreamed of doing. Thank you @White-Kettle Shufflepunk for doing this.

Yeah once i am done with wheel of time i think i need to get the new audiobooks

 

[Alabama Gamer]

I wonder if wizards can't regrow limbs at all (they can certainly reattach them) or if Moody just had the misfortune of being on the business end of some particularly nasty dark magic.

Obviously he doesn't trust anyone to regrow it for him. They could have been gotten to by a Dark Wizard. The possessed leg gambit is the oldest trick in the book.

 

[White-Kettle Shufflepunk]

There has to be a wizard equivalent of conspiracy theorists/A&Ners who, instead of blaming the jews for every stubbed toe, sulk about in dark corners, whispering angrily about the Ginger Menace.

And then Hugo Weasley marries Esther Goldstein and things get real crazy.

 

[IridiumDragon06]

Fred: Food and drink is too obvious a delivery mechanism.

George: What we're thinking next is a kind of microscopic vector that can hide in people's spittle, allowing it to jump victims through the air.

Harry: ...That's a virus. You're talking about a virus.

Fred: Tell us more.

On one hand, being briefly transformed into a bird seems considerably more prank-like than the horrible engorgement of your tongue. On the other hand, birds are fucking fragile, being transformed when you're not expecting it may well lead to you getting crippled by a door or heavy bag of books, and the whole bit with the magic dentistry shows that magic transformations don't default to wearing off nicely. Again, this strikes me as way more terrifying than whimsical, but I can also see how people absolutely do fuck around with dangerous shit because the danger isn't seen as obvious.

...Hermione had braces? Were they the transparent kind, or is every official illustration lying to me? Did Hermione remove them every summer before leaving for school? Or did she use magic to make them invisible? Also, I find it interesting that magic can instantly de-British your teeth, but not do anything about acne.

I don't know if the braces were mentioned specifically, but her unfortunate teeth and that her parents were dentists were. It's an economy of detail thing; it could have been one sentence about her coming back with them, but given that Hermione was sensitive about her teeth, I can also see her just aggressively deflecting any curious wizardly questions about her strange Muggle mouth-bedazzlements.

Eh, I shouldn't criticise, you only know you've truly become a grown-up when you actually start appreciating a good pair of socks as a present.

It goes in phases, I think; I have reached the phase in my life where I decided it was worth the expense to pick out a brand of sock I liked and just buy loads of those socks, all in the same color, so I'd never have to worry about matching socks again.

What secrets? Is it really that important no one knows how many animals McGonagall murders a year?

Ah, but she conjures an equivalent number of animals from random objects, so it evens out!

Foreshadowing. Also, you can tell Dumbledore has some Muggle in his family tree because he didn't just piss himself on the spot.

Dumbledore: "...OK, but why not a bathroom with plumbing?"

Room: "Because we both know what you *need*."

Dumbledore: "I...don't know what that means."

Room: "And also what I need! I want to watch!"

Dumbledore: "And I am leaving!"

Room: "Sometimes I spontaneously manifest students and drop them into horrible deathtraps, so I can give them the keys to get out! It's great fun!"

Dumbledore: "I have too much headmaster shit on my plate to worry about that right now!"

...or if Moody just had the misfortune of being on the business end of some particularly nasty dark magic.

As said above, this feels strongly implied enough to be basically canonical, but I also wouldn't be surprised if Moody's leg was an attached backup wand and anti-anti-tech-hex blunderbuss to be used for emergencies.

Man, Moody feels like such a waste in retrospect. We get a strong and clear read on who he was clearly meant to be, and then we find out that we were never interacting with that guy, and that if that guy were that guy, the plot of the book couldn't have happened.

...Hmm. So, plot consideration thoughts; would the books have been improved if Moody had been himself, but also secretly evil the entire time? After all, if you don't trust anyone, and you can make a deal with someone, you can make a deal with anyone, so why not work out a deal with Voldemort? You'd need to spend page count to justify it, but given what we end up getting, I feel like it could hardly be worse; one of the more aggravating sensations as a reader is being told that time spent with a particular beloved character or in a setting just didn't count, and never actually revealed anything about the greater narrative.

One thing I am wondering about the ball in retrospect is how exactly the Krum-Hermione dance paring started up. I don't know of any time the two of them would be sharing space, and Krum does appear to be too straightforward to be engaging in machinations. Is the implication supposed to be that Karkaroff told him to mack on this student in particular, because he'd observed her as helping the Hogwarts Bonus Champion and hoped he could pull her off of Harry by the power of Krum's athlete rizz?

...Huh again. Given the wild shit that the fanfic communities get up to, I wonder how many stories there are that develop the Krum-Hermione romance further.