Don't think I ever explained it, but the reason I like SWK accidentally killing Mac so much isn't actually for the whumpy apologies, tho the confrontation of it in fics is always so delicious, but what has me going insane is actually the layers of their relationship breakdown. Like, you have these two immortal monkeys, they are perfectly designed by fate for each other's companionship. There is genuine care there, and it never dies. Never. They were just torn apart so tragically. Nobody fell to the dark side, there was no jealousy, no hatred. There was just every manifestation of grief and miscommunication. You could never get the right words out. You couldn't help what came out of your mouth in that moment, the bitterness you would have swallowed back in for just one more morning of peeling tangerines in the summer breeze, all the quiet ways to say 'I love you.' Their break-up was like shredding bamboo, the faults and woes, the insecurities and failings, and the hurtful words and the entrapment and all the ways you can't reach, and the loss of everything and the denial and oh, the time just wasn't right, it all boiled over, and speaking a language that can no longer be heard, and the shattering of unconditionality. They had their own flaws, that you never could have thought would tear them apart, but it did. And they had to go on their own journeys of self-growth, had their own people and places they were devoted to, they were the only ones for each other, but they were not only meant for that. And goodness, was it the wrong time. Wukong, trapped, the loss of freedom he fought for, to be the strongest so he could be free and happy, and everyone else too. Macky, constantly grappling with having to follow the sun-streaked trail Wukong blazes, even the moon unable to pause the day unless the sun chooses to set in its ambition to climb higher into the sky, never coming down. The accident of it all? Even if Swk never did, the "did you think all this time, that I could kill you just like that? like you meant nothing to me?" is going to be SUCH a good broken, grief-stricken line delivery from Wukong. But if not, then ooh, the exploration for those who have a similar anger they try to control, when they release emotions externally, and might accidentally break something, those moments don't define you, but how could you undo the damage, how do you make it normal when its not an object you broke, you hurt a friend, it was you, but it also wasn't you had it only been, what if what if what if- if only, and that's a very basic explanation, and even I can't get all the words down right, but its just a realistic thing, how it all fell apart, I think. that conversation has layers, even if I explain it poorly XD you could grab every tragic tumblr post about fading friendships, and love metaphors with sharing quiet spaces and fruit together, and it could be them. also the "came back wrong" trope potential with Macky, ooh. is it him. despite everything, are you still you, could you ever be. are you the same person killed long ago, is this for the best, or shall we both start over again? can you be recognized underneath it all, and is that tragic or a second chance.
god they have so many layers and one of the cool things about lmk keeping Macky’s death and the specifics of shadowpeach’s relationship vague is how much nuance and subtext is left in there. you can peel back layers upon layers and pain upon pain and bond upon bond and still find new info and interpretations and nuances and—
I know you’ve seen me gripe about not being given enough info, but i do really enjoy it when the story allows us to infer and think deeply about certain aspects of the story. I like it when a story isn’t 100% clear or honest to the audience because that leads you to look deeper. think deeper. and try to fathom all the clues brought to you
(but i gripe about it because i’m inpatient af and like having all the pieces right in front of me. there are so many threads and plot theories i have on my little conspiracy board that i don’t want to touch just yet because i feel like i need more pieces before making a confident analysis)
another thing is that both swk and Macky are unreliable when retelling their past. they have their biases and emotions that are tied to the memories. however, swk omits the truth more than outright lies while Macky cannot keep his emotions away from skewing the past. and then the clear truth comes out when it’s forced out from them (think Samadhi fire and scroll memories)
(then again, swk doesn’t really say much of his past and likes to keep it brief. out of the two he is the most honest in terms of he’s self reflective and understands that his past self has issues. is he completely honest about shit tho? no but we’re talking about shadowpeach)
and the cool thing is that “the love was still there” in the past and even when both were on opposite ends. both monkeys were falling into a darker path and while they had communication issues the love was still there. and even while they fought under the mountain and even when they probably fought during jttw, the love was still there
but neither had the tools to save each other and neither really knew how to stop each other from their doom and isn’t that such a beautiful thing to analyze and think about on the screen?
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Based on the idea that Malfoy could not get the vanishing cabinet to work effectively, and decided to mention, instead, that Hogwarts was taking the Great Hall wards down for a six-fucking-week course on Apparation.
This is what wouldn't happen. But it's where my mind went, first.
Warning: Graphic Violence
A loud crack signified the first successful Apparition.
Harry’s eyes, closed in preparation for his own attempt, snapped open and his head turned. It wasn't a student standing at the other end of the Great Hall, though. Harry jolted for his wand as other students began to turn to the cloaked figure, but before he could take aim there were four more sharp cracks.
Dark-robed, masked Death Eater’s were apparating directly into the Great Hall, the only place the castle wards were down for Hogwarts students to learn how to do the same.
Bellatrix LeStrange was the first to appear sans mask, having no need for discretion. She took in the scene with a cackle, batting away Harry’s immediate curse effortlessly as she cooed, “Aww, look at the wittle student's trying to learn!”
In his periphery Harry saw Neville lift his own wand, and they cast simultaneously. This time, Bellatrix twisted out of the way. “Do the wittle babies wanna play?”
“Sectumsempra,” Harry hissed with malice, fully aware of the spell's effects, now. Bellatrix’s eyes widened a bit even as she turned out of the way, quick as a dancer. The Death Eater behind her fell to their knees as their body was pulled apart by deep, horrible gashes.
More cracks sounded; Harry began to send out indiscriminate stunners, hoping to catch the intruders before they realised they were being cast at. They all came prepared for battle to have begun, shield charms springing around them immediately.
“Bombarda!” Ron called grimly.
“Expulso!” shouted Neville.
“Protego Maxima,” murmured Hermione. “Accio Susan Bones. Protego. Stupefy—students to the teacher's entrance!”
The frozen bodies of some of their yearmates seemed to jolt, realisation settling. Many students turned tail and ran.
Susan Bones, having narrowly been pulled out of the way of a powerful cutting curse that had gouged into stone walls by Hermione, was casting stunners, petrification hexes, and disarming charms. Harry was not nearly so restrained, once he realised the stunners were ineffective. Sectumsempra broke through shields like a battering drill and Death Eaters were falling, ripped apart by his fury. Curses flew from Harry's wand as fast as he could think of them: conjunctivitis, blasting, jelly-fingers, reductors, even slug-vomiting. He conjured six venomous snakes that shot off without instruction, knowing his will. Yet again and again, Harry came back to the Half-Blood Prince’s spell, the most devastatingly effective of them all. People were dying from its effectiveness, but Harry didn’t care, because they had dared step foot in Hogwarts—
A horrible pressure was building in Harry’s head as half the hall emptied. A wand prodded Harry’s spine, and he stilled, shaking with rage and adrenaline. “Call—call off the snakes, Potter,” a somewhat familiar voice demanded shakily.
“I’d rather they bite your father, Nott,” said Harry coldly. “Drop your wand before I have to make you regret it.”
The wand trembled, for a moment, against his spine. “C-Cruci—”
Harry drove his elbow back, hard, and slammed down one foot on Nott's. The taller boy stumbled back in pain, and it was no great difficulty to stun him. He hit the floor, hard, and Malfoy’s grey eyes were large and frightened as he stared at Harry, still as prey.
At once, Harry realised what he had done “You,” he said, scar pulsing horribly. “You did this. You brought war to a school filled with literal children, you stupid, useless brat. You're scared of what Voldemort will do to you? Just wait, Malfoy. His punishment would be bliss compared to what you deserve for this.”
“Such a temper, Harry Potter,” came Lord Voldemort’s cold voice. He had made no sound as he apparated, not like his followers, but Harry’s viciously prickling scar had made his imminent arrival clear. “You have done well, Draco. You will be… rewarded.”
Malfoy’s eyes darted in fright from Harry to the Dark Lord, and Voldemort was barely in time to hiss “Stop,” to the snake that had snuck up on the boy.
“You don't obey him,” Harry hissed, “you’re mine. Do what you’re made for, dear one.”
Draco turned just in time to see the snake strike out at his neck. It vanished before its fangs could load the boy with venom, and Harry turned his hateful scowl to Voldemort, who’s gaze already rested upon him, intent, heavy and fascinated.
“Deal with it, Hermione,” he snapped.
“Harry—” came Hermione’s warning voice, but Harry couldn’t listen, had to dodge out of the way of Voldemort’s spell. The Dark Lord tilted his head, stare thoughtful, and then turned his yew wand… away.
Harry watched him with a wariness not misplaced: Romilda Vane, nearly out of the Great Hall via the Professor’s entrance, fell to the cruciatus curse with a cry of pain.
“Drop your wands, children,” the Dark Lord said, red eyes still locked on Harry as his soft, cold voice echoed through all corners of the room, carried by wandless magic.
Harry grit his teeth at the seeming opportunity, well aware of Voldemort's objective. And yet, truly, he could not have picked a worse target to try and bring Harry under his control than the girl who had nearly raped him. He cast a wordless sonorous on himself to refute the order: “Don't give an inch. There are First Years in these walls. Do to them what you would to Umbridge. They're twice her threat. Any student who raised a wand to help Voldemort’s sect will be treated as hostile. See how I handle my enemies, Goyle, and ask yourself if that cheap shot is worth your life.”
Even as he spoke, Harry turned from Voldemort, dismissive, and focused on thinning the herd. Thirteen Death Eater’s still stood, including Bellatrix, who was engaged with Neville and Ron. Harry used every spell that came to his mind, even those from the Half-Blood Prince’s book he had not tested before. One man was effectively eviscerated, much to Harry’s disgust. He only used that spell once.
When he saw one of his snakes change course he pulled the magic from them, an effective banishment, cold eyes finding Voldemort again. He had not heard the man speak parseltongue, and indeed he was still holding the crucio, face twisted strangely as he watched Harry.
“My, my,” said Voldemort, immediate once he had regained Harry’s attention, two more of his people fallen, “so vicious, little snake. Does Dumbledore know you have venom?”
“I don't give a fuck what he knows,” Harry said harshly. “This is a school.” This is my home. “Focus on the bloody Ministry, and leave children out of it.”
Voldemort had the gall to laugh, high and cold. “This is not merely a school, Harry Potter,” he said. “There is a reason you children stand your ground and fight. This is where Dumbledore trains his small, young army to go to war and die, as their parents did before them.”
Wrath bubbles in Harry, heavy and explosive, and he must look as unhinged and inhuman as the man watching him as he cages it behind his teeth. He flicks a shield charm around Bones and Abbott before a reductor hits, and a disarming charm hits the perpetrators back. He breaks the dark-wooded wand into two pieces the moment he catches it.
“You truly think Dumbledore has taught us anything? Even my ‘private lessons’ with the man are just memories of your life, as if I care that you got away with murder when you were still sixteen.” Hermione pulls Vane’s still writhing body from the room, and Voldemort’s cruciatus ends, but he does not seem to notice or care, eyes locked on Harry. “The only reason I fight is because I do not believe in the world you are trying to create. Because you say things like ‘magic is night' and still try to subjugate witches and wizards, as if the fresh magic in their veins is poisoned by the muggles they're born to. I defy you, Lord Voldemort, because you decided your best course was killing a baby over a half-heard prophecy, and still try to kill me to this day. I am not going to stand here and let you. I don't believe ‘magic is might’. I've already killed many of your people tonight… but that—that wasn’t over ideology. That is because I will kill as many as it takes to keep your grasping, greedy fucking hands out of my school.”
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