I was on the bus thinking about Harry Potter tonight and I remembered the part where the Dementors all show up at the Quidditch game, and I remembered how they were all looking up at Harry, and I wondered why they would all be staring at him, and then I realized that it’s because he has two souls in him.
On this note, wouldn’t that also be a reason why Harry would have had a more negative reaction than his friends (even Ginny)? He was hearing his mother’s voice as she was protecting him, which in itself was his worst memory. but the Dementors were also forcing the piece of Voldemort to relive its worst memory as well… The memory of being ripped apart by the curse that backfired. No wonder Harry passed out so often.
I literally never thought about that.
omg…
HOLY
Oh FUCKING HELL, you just made me realize that it wasn’t Harry’s memory that was his father telling Lily to take Harry and run, and it wasn’t Harry’s memory of Lily screaming.
Here I was, just eating a cup of applesauce under the 14-year-long assumption that the reason a small infant was able to remember something was because this was a fictional world of magic, but no, now this entirely reasonable and somewhat less terrifying bubble has burst and I’m never going to recapture that innocence.
I’m going to fucking bed.
It does make sense - and the part in Deathly Hallows where Harry relives his parent’s murder through Voldemort’s perspective and memory doesn’t exactly discredit the theory either
THE GREEN!
THE GREEN THAT HARRY SAW!
I was always under the assumption that he was remembering seeing it as a one-year-old, even though as an Education Major I know that people usually can’t remember that far back but I was just like, hey, he’s magical and maybe Jo just stretched the suspension of disbelief
But now
What if the green that Harry always saw, especially when the Dementors were around, was the small part of Voldemort’s soul reliving that moment that, as someone else pointed out, is probably the worst moment of his life.
I MEAN GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY THIS EVEN DESCRIBES WHY HARRY’S SCAR HURTS WHENEVER HE THINKS ABOUT THIS. BECAUSE IT’S THE PIECE OF SOUL INSIDE OF HIM HURTING!
political comics that are just kids holding books and going “what’s this?????? not a electronic? no computer???not phone?? how can be??” will always crack me up
I think old people do this just to feel better about themselves because they don’t know how to use a computer and think that it works the other way around for some reason.
little known historical fact: pharoahs were burried with their hands crossed over their chests because it was a popular belief there would be countless water slides in the after life
concept: instead of Kylo Ren getting a redemption arc, we get a Captain Phasma redemption arc
but not like, “ok she’s good now and made of sweetness and rainbows and she had a really tough childhood and didn’t know what she was doing” kind of way.
but like
Captain Phasma leaves the First Order, not because she’s necessarily morally opposed to its callous slaughter of innocents, but because she and Hux are barely holding the organization together; all they ever do is clean up after Kylo’s tantrums, and at some point Kylo (probably under Snoke’s orders) comes up with a plan that is so utterly ridiculous that Phasma is like “f this shit I’m out.”
only what no one counted on are the number of Stormtroopers who are completely and utterly loyal to Phasma and Phasma alone because dammit, she’s a good commander. She’s terrible to the ones who don’t fit in or don’t live up to standards, of course, but that just means that the First Order’s most ruthless and efficient soldiers are defecting to follow Phasma.
because Phasma may be cruel, be she at least understands that there have to be limits to cruelty in order to lead effectively. Really, she’s more practical than cruel, and destroying perfectly functional computer equipment in a fit of rage, or killing underlings for minor infractions (may or may not be canon, but it’s the sort of thing you’d expect from KR) is simply not practical.
and so with Phasma gone and Kylo in charge, Phasma suddenly finds herself fighting against the First Order. At first it was simply self-defense as they tried to hunt her down as a deserter, but when she quickly proved herself more than a match for them, it turned into a guerrilla war to take them down - it is, after all, the practical thing to do.
so that is how Phasma and Leia find themselves on the same side, and of course the practical thing to do is for them to team up. It’s an uneasy truce, and Phasma and Finn make a deliberate effort to avoid each other - neither ever ends up forgiving the other, despite being allies. Phasma and Leia never come to like each other, either, but there is a grudging respect.
and after everything, when the First Order is finally taken down, Phasma and her soldiers are offered pardons for their service, which they accept. They become mercenaries, which has much better pay and job security than the First Order did. And if a lot of their dealings are on the shady side of the law, it’s never quite severe enough of an infraction for anyone to want to risk going after them.
seriously, i don’t actually want her to be good; give me “cool motive, still murder” Phasma. Let her be the villain who is undeniably evil but that everyone still loves.
A patronus, Harry tells Hermione, is acing a test and the warmth of a butterbeer between your hands. It is your friends holding you when you fall, and Ron’s sparkling eyes when you whisper hi. And there’s an otter, swimming, and Hermione is blushing.
A patronus, Harry tells Ron, is Ginny’s shaky smile lighting up the world at the end of second year. It is winning the Quidditch World Cup, unwrapping yet another knitted jumper, and your startled surprise at the sight of Hermione punching Draco in the face. And there’s a dog, chasing the otter, and Ron is laughing.
A patronus, Harry tells Luna, is the feeling of starlight on your skin and grass between your bare toes. It is snow melting through your fingers, the magic your mother used to make, something singing in your heart when you stare at the impossible. And there’s a hare, jumping, and Luna is shining.
A patronus, Harry tells Cho, is Marietta shouting the lyrics of her favourite song, dancing in the rain during a storm. It is the look on Cedric’s face when he saw you at the Yule Ball, his hand holding yours and never letting go. And there’s a swan, sliding, and Cho is crying.
A patronus, Harry tells Seamus, is Dean’s funny expression when he is about to burst into laughter and the sound of a explosion that turns out right. It is the fireworks, bright flowers blossoming in the night sky; and the fire burning in your lungs as you fly. And there’s a fox, running, and Seamus is smirking.
A patronus, Harry tells Ginny, is the world expanding underneath you and the wind playing with your hair. It is dancing and laughing until there are tears on your cheeks, Molly’s disapproving voice and Arthur’s amused eyes after one of the twins’ pranks. And there’s a horse, flying, and Ginny is grinning.
A patronus, Harry thinks, is that weird feeling that lives in his chest when the Room of Requirement glows silver, speaking of times when the world was golden.
A patronus, Harry tells Neville, is the scent of freshly turned earth and the feel of the sun through the Greenhouse glass. It is working with your hands in a garden, helping fragile plants and tender seeds grow. It is being buried under friends at a Closing Feast, having won the victory through a different kind of courage. But there’s no victorious moment here, no animal appearing in swirling silver. Just a puff of smoke, insubstantial and insignificant and isn’t that just the way of it for him?
You’ll get there, Harry tells Neville. I mean, it took me ages to learn. You’ll find the right memory. Though Neville sees an uncertainty in his eyes when he says it that he’s all too used to.
And Harry is wrong. Neville doesn’t get it. Not that year, not in the year that follows, and not when Harry disappears and Neville is left to try and fill a space he knows he will never fit into. It’s his secret, the one he doesn’t tell anybody, that their leader, their hero, their general, can’t produce a patronus of his own.
A patronus, he tells so many others, is the feeling of your mother hugging you goodnight, of your father telling you he’s proud of all you’ve done. It’s family-filled Christmas mornings and sun-drenched summer days and the knowledge that you are protected, that you are safe, that you are loved. He feeds them the memories he wishes he had, and it works, for them, and he is proud of their successes. He is. He is.
And then, when the battle comes, as he always knew it would, they appear, black and lethal and full of despair. And he watches them swoop down on the battlefield, watches them prey on his friends, his soldiers, his comrades, and he fills with fury, that they dare come here, that they dare try to hurt the ones he has sworn to protect.
He is filled with fire, and he doesn’t even need the words. He points his wand, and a silvery shape explodes from its end, banishing the Dementors with its strength and size and power and fury. And as the massive lion makes its way back to where Neville stands, he knows the truth.
A patronus, he thinks, isn’t the feeling of dirt on his hands or the smell of the lilacs that grow outside his bedroom window. A patronus is a sad story told in bubble gum wrappers and vacant stares, a lifetime of criticisms and reprimands and knowing that he’ll never be good enough. It is a childhood with not enough happy memories in it, and a child who somehow overcame all that to stand where he is today.
Someday, a patronus will be the scent of flowers, the laughter of his child, the feeling of his beloved in his arms. Someday, it will be all those moments and memories he fed to others. But today, a patronus is seeing with his own two eyes that even in a world as dark and bleak and black as this one has become, there are things and people and ideas worth protecting. It is doubting yourself and your abilities and your worth, but in spite of that, never once doubting for the briefest instant that protecting those things and people and ideas matters so much more than protecting yourself.
