Tag: harry potter

Here There Be Dragons

metronomeihear:

Harry, when he was young, was violent.

(He raged and he burned. The clouds gathered and the winds grew)

When Dudley tried to beat him up, he didn’t meekly take it and step down. He fought back. When Vernon and Petunia tried to make him do an absurd amount of chores, he didn’t bow his head and do as he was told. He refused. When the Dursleys tried to make him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, he didn’t allow it. As soon as his inexperienced mind figured out that making a child sleep there was wrong, he walked up the stairs and claimed Dudley’s second bedroom for his own.

(At night he dreamed. He dreamed of dragons and far off places. He dreamed of muscle moving smoothly, power in his limbs. He dreams of blood and gore and bones snapping under his hands. He could never quite remember them when he woke)

When the Dursley’s spread rumors about him, Harry fought back. When the teachers discriminated against him, he fought back. When his classmates got it into their heads to bully him, he fought back.

(Even if he didn’t know it–remember it–he was still a storm. Relentless attacks, never bowing down; that was what a storm was meant to do)

When Harry was 6 years old, Vernon Dursley tried to kill him.

Vernon had, of course, had the urge to off his nephew before. The brat was abrasive, rebellious, and horrible for the family image. He beat up Dudley whenever the boy tried something. He refused to cook or do chores. He was crass, stubborn, and an all around irritant. He never responded to punishment, physical or mental, and attempting to punish the brat lead only to one unnatural disaster or another. The boy was a freak, the son of a pair of freaks, and that unnaturalness refused to be stamped out.

Sometimes, he dreamed of wrapping his hands around that thick neck and just tightening the hold.

When Harry was 6, Vernon did just that.

(This was a turning point. Perhaps, if it hadn’t happened like this, then nothing would have changed. Perhaps, the turning point would have still found its way to Harry. Perhaps–)

Petunia was away shopping. Dudley was over at Pier’s. Harry and Vernon had been the only two people in the house and Harry had said something that just made Vernon… snap.

A pair of meaty hands were wrapped around Harry’s throat and squeezed. Air was cut off. His vision blurred. Spit ran down his chin and black spots started to decorate his vision. Harry, contrary to how most would act in his situation, didn’t feel panicked. He felt a wave of calm wash over him, the world moving in slow motion. He was all too aware of the hands around his throat, the look in Vernon’s eyes, his own life slipping away by the second.

I don’t want to die, he thinks. I want to live. I want to live.

Something within him broke. It shattered to pieces and his hands were on fire and Vernon was burning and the air around him felt hot.

(Like dragons just under his skin)

Flames, scarlet in color (red like a storm) roared around him and something just– clicked. Like this was right. Like he had been blind before and he was only just seeing the world for the first time. This fire dancing along his limbs, heating the air, disintegrating his uncle, felt so much like a part of him, like home, that he wondered why he had never felt it before.

When the flames vanished (hovering just beneath his skin–like dragons) and Harry could breath again, Vernon Dursley was nothing more than a burnt corpse on the ground.

Harry, knowing the way the rest of his relatives would react to finding a corpse on the floor, ran. He gathered every bit of money in the house he could find, packed a backpack full of food, water, and blankets, and ran as far as he could.

(That night, when he was sleeping in an out of the way alley, he dreamed of a chinese man with a long braid who had mastered every martial art he came across.. When he woke up in the morning, he remembered very little of it, only feeling like he was missing something important)

…

In which Harry Potter is the reincarnation of Fon. This changes things.

joisbishmyoga:

Imagine Hermione and Rita Skeeter working together.

Hermione snares her early on by promising her ALL the dirtiest dirt EVER no really you can’t come up with this stuff in a million years the public will go ballistic… but ONLY if Rita brings her the records of Sirius Black’s trial.  She wants to know every tiny detail they squeezed out of him before chucking him in there, so that she knows what she’s up against in protecting Harry.

The dirtiest dirt, of course, begins with the fact that Sirius never had a trial (the scion of a noble house!  the homicidal traitor who knew everything about You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters!  and no one wanted a single scrap of intel!  Isn’t that MYSTERIOUS), and then Hermione starts up with Pensieves and Veritaserum and who knows what else to tell Rita aaaaaaaaaaall about the first three years at Hogwarts.

Romances and weeping orphans, bah, writing about that is beneath you, Rita, any halfwit intern can do that.  You want the REAL news, the REAL scandals, the shocking details that will have your readers up in arms slavering for your next byline.

And here’s poor bemused Harry sitting on the sidelines, obliviously trying to figure out the egg while the wizarding government and Hogwarts staff falls down around his ears.

It would’ve been beautiful.  Like a mushroom cloud.

joisbishmyoga:

Here’s another something frightening about Harry Potter.  (I have so many of those headcanons that Hogwarts is terrifying.)

Justin Finch-Fletchley was going to go to Eton.  Hermione Granger is, well, Hermione Granger, if her parents were going to send her off to boarding school they’d have sent her to, like, wherever gets her into Oxford by age 15.  And yet they go to Hogwarts.  HOGWARTS.  Some school they’ve never heard of, where they aren’t going to be educated with royalty and nobility and diplomats’ kids, or be on track for their first doctorate by 25, or anything.  Hogwarts doesn’t have math, or foreign languages, or even literature.  What kind of school doesn’t teach literature, Muggle parents ask?  (And ask, and ask, so many questions, so much ignorant disapproval and distrust about a perfectly normal and clearly objectively better education, how very frustrating!)

And what do good wizards do when faced with Muggles frustrating them?

Keep reading

marisatomay:

I don’t wanna name an actual author so let’s just make one up; let’s call her ‘JK Rowling.’ So I’ll fall in love with this author’s work and I’ll ask her, ‘Can we have some happiness?’ And she’ll go, ‘No. They all end up straight or dead.’ And I go, ‘Okaaay!’ And then I go to the bathroom. Then I come out of the bathroom and I go, ‘How about a sequel?’ and she goes ‘Ha, you get one (1) weird play. Now take this shitty play that paints everyone you loved as super out of character and leaves you feeling queerbaited, go fetch!’ And I go ‘Okaaay!’ and I go over to Pottermore and go, ‘Can I have anything please?’ and they go ‘NO!’ And I go ‘Okaaay!’ And they go, ‘Everything JKR does is good because she considers herself a feminist!’ And I go ‘Nooo,’ and they go ‘SAY IT!’ and I go ‘Everything JKR does is good because she considers herself a feminist.’ And then I go over to look at the diversity and representation in Harry Potter, which is an oxymoron, and I go, ‘Can we please have an openly gay character?’ and they go ‘No! In fact, we’re not even going to mention the sexuality of the one (1) gay character we revealed to be gay post canon despite his central roll in the new movie series that we’re pushing at you! And we’re going to support a man who beat his wife instead of listening to the scores of fans who feel hurt and alienated by our decisions!’ And I go ‘Why are you doing this?!’ And they go, ‘Because we’re JK Rowling and Warner Bros, and life is a fucking nightmare!’

mehofkirkwall:

The thing about The Boy Who Ran au is that I, as Harry James Potter, have literally no real idea if certain things work the way i think they do. So i can guess crystal protections work, but i don’t know

So like i’m going to just end up, like, sellotaping Serpentine to Mr. Weasley’s head or something. Hot glue turquoise to literally everyone’s robes on the inside. Chrysoberyl, amber, and amethyst is getting glued inside Ginny’s hat while i insist that i’m just in an arts and crafts phase. 

“Harry, why are.. why is your necklace so many.. that.”
“I like rocks.”
“Why so many?”
“I may need them.”

At the very least, I can then throw things really hard at Death Eaters.

mehofkirkwall:

I am suddenly gripped by the realization that commercial potion bottling in Harry Potter would likely be just as ridiculous if not more so than muggle perfume companies. 
Because you have a very magical and fancy product– put it in something very fancy to show off someone can afford it. 
“What is that, dear, on the shelf?”
“Oh, a sleeping aid by the wizard Richard Golding. What do you have around your neck, there?”
“A bit of liquid luck.”
“Amazing.”

mehofkirkwall:

I’m feeling better but now i just keep imagining Harry via The Boy Who Ran au collecting a bunch of sharp and possibly lethal perfume bottles that can be used later and just. Fill them with dangerous potions and hide them around Hogwarts.
Instruct people on how to use them as blunt weapons and also grenades. 

Just so when the Carrows are there, the general populations can slam one on the ground and yell “SCATTER!”