#i included annotations mostly for me but i left them there for whoever wants to read thru them

[oderu]

woohooo designs of my deathless demon and white wolf for the exile by @exilethegame​.... took forever but im proud of it!! bonus as well.. their scars and such underneath the clothes

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Theurgist

Chapter Five: A Quick Laugh at Death

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: I am so sorry it took so long. I had a busy week last week and was gone all weekend. I got really tired of trying to right this chapter so I am sorry if it seems rushed and choppy. I mainly just wanted the quirky bits. And I have so many things already pre-written I'd like to get to. Including the temple. And then tying in the bite scene later on.

Read here on Ao3

Ferelith looked down into the reflection of the water, examining the dried blood on the side of her face. A small shard of anger slithered into her thoughts when she thought about the creature from the crash. The worm was trying to fight it, but the twirling shadow had clouded it’s thoughts. Her patron was still there, protecting her the best he could. But he would not speak. Ferelith looked up to the moon and saw it was still a few days away before she could perform the ritual to speak with him. Though there was always the option to try. She sighed, setting her gloves to the side to wipe them off later and she dipped her hands into the water. As she began to wipe off her face, Gale had approached her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a word once we’ve settled in for the night,” he said.

“If this is about what happened earlier,” she rose to her feet, “then I assure you I’m quite alright.”

“Actually, no,” he paused as he turned. “But I’m glad to see you’re feeling a bit more like yourself.”

A swift breeze pulled her hair into her face, but she was quick to tuck it behind her ear. Gale watched her eyes closely, but saw nothing peculiar within them. They were just as they always had been. Pale yellow with nothing of importance gleaming inside. No hint of anger or excitement. Just simply mindful and content. And the lingering dark essence he had sensed before disappeared. There was just Ferelith with her pale skin and dark hair holding her arms against her chest to brace herself against the cold wind of the river.

“You know,” she said, squeezing her arms. “I’ve met many wizards in my travels. Have you… met many warlocks?”

“A few,” he nodded.

“What were they like?”

Gale paused for a moment. A warlock was unlike a wizard in the sense of how they obtained their power. A wizard was impatient, in most cases. They desired power, but that wasn’t any different than any one else. What separated a warlock was the means in which they obtained that power and what sort of desire drove them. It varied upon the person. And when he looked at Ferelith, the quiet woman who cradled the apron with her books and her singed quill, he did not see a desire for power. He saw a woman with secrets. A woman blanketed by a protective shadow. He took a deep breath.

“Nothing like yourself,” he smiled at her in adoration.

Her eyes, once cold and gazing lost across the river came round to acknowledge the compliment of her companion. He caught the reflection of gratitude within them and knew her smile to be true.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she looked back out to the water. “It even makes me sound a bit dangerous. But I’ll take the ambiguity as a compliment.”

“I simply don’t know enough about you to say otherwise,” he attempted to correct his statement.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she let a little sigh slip through, leading Gale to believe she was finished with his company. “For the record… you’re one of the kindest wizards I’ve ever met.”

“I do try… my lady.”

“Alright enough flattery,” she waved her hand slightly as he left her line of sight, her gaze still focused on the rolling stream in front of her. “I’ll see you later.”

His footsteps faded out, only to be replaced by another. Ferelith glanced up at the sky, realizing they had a few hours of daylight left before she could retire. There was still much to be done, but she had a sudden urge to be alone. Whoever it was behind her, they were in no rush. And she wondered how long she could stay silent before they urged her to speak.

“The breeze will just get colder as the sun goes down,” she said eyeing the colors shifting as the sun set. “It will draw me closer to the fire. Soon enough.”

“Take your time,” a male’s voice startled her.

Ferelith turned, seeing Astarion with his newly gifted bow strapped to his back, a few crude arrows in his hand.

“Oh, I though you were- well, it doesn’t matter…”

“I was just leaving,” he stated, glancing back to the rest of their party gathering around the pit as Gale prepared a fire.

“And you’re, what? Taking requests?” she smirked over her shoulder.

“I’m afraid the prime rib will be unavailable tonight,” he shifted his weight to his other foot. “But, in order to make up for it, I’ve offered a few bolts to your collection.”

Ferelith lowered her arms, granting him her full attention. “To my what?”

“The village coward dropped his quiver. There were a few arrows in there a bit too short to be considered an arrow. I tossed them onto you bedroll.”

“Oh… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. At the quality they appear to be in, they could have just been poorly made arrows that couldn’t be used by a proper bow,” he cringed. “They might just snap straight in half.”

“Right,” she nodded, admitting that her thoughts were lost on him.

Astarion could see her drifting back out into the open evening, eyes faded into a distant plane. After what he had witnessed of her earlier that day, he had expected a change to her behavior at camp. The outburst to him meant a reveal of character. Not this reclusive woman who was lost in thought. While Ferelith had been a mostly quiet person from the beginning, there were still those snarky comments between he had rather enjoyed. This was simply just disappointing. She did not even bother to send him away as he turned to leave.

***********************************************************

After an evening delegating a very passive aggressive discussion between Shadowheart and Lae’zel over what she would consider dinner, Ferelith was forced to resist the urge to turn in for the night. Her head had been pounding, likely a side affect of the illithid’s mental damage from before. Still, she had agreed to have a moment with Gale. And least with him, she knew half of what to expect. That included walking up to see him observing his own double.

“Be with you in a moment,” his voice echoed.

His attention never left the mirror image, his eyes focused upon his own face. Ferelith snorted a bit, rolling her eyes with a sigh as she glanced around for something else to keep her occupied. She allowed him a few more seconds before she grew impatient.

“Is there a reason you’re studying your own image?”

Gale turned, a smirk shot at her to acknowledge the teasing tone.

“Indulging in a spot of vanity. Handsome devil, aren’t I?” he spun around with a wave of his, causing the image to vanish. “Be that as it may.”

It slowly fizzled down to a few sparks. He folded his hands behind his back, very much in the estute sort of way she would have imagine. His brow lowered and she could feel the tone shifting to a more serious manner. Though, she felt she had enough of it that day.

“Ceremorphosis. What does it make you think of?”

“The tadpole,” she answered, knowing it was what he expected.

Still, he responded with utmost enthusiasm.

“Spot on,” he winked. “Day one: fever and memory loss. Day two: hallucinations and graying skin. Day three: hair loss and blood leaking from all orifices. Need I go on?”

“By all means,” she nodded.

“Day four: excruciating pain as the skeleton and organs reform and reposition. Day five: the host's personality has disappeared. Fingers, toes, and limbs elongate,” he became a bit aggravated as a small chuckle fell from her lips. “I take it you get the picture.”

“I’ve already committed to the lesson, Gale,” she grinned. “Might as well get my money’s worth.”

“Day six,” he lowered his brow, clearly not humored by her sarcasm, “The flesh around the mouth splits to make way for tentacles. Day seven: a mind flayer is born. This is the most annotated version, of course.”

“What you’re saying,” she shifted with crossed arms, “is that I can at least keep my sense of humor until the fifth day? I’d say we only have another night’s worth of laughs, Gale.”

“I’m glad your coping mechanism consists of deflecting the seriousness of this problem with jokes,” he replied.

“You’re no fun tonight,” she tilted her head to the side. “But no worries. We’re two days in. We should have clearly turned gray by now.”

“Spot on again,” he flicked a finger at her. “Orifices remain blissfully unbloodied. Our heads remain clear, and our blood temperature is normal. Any expert will agree: this is… abnormal.”

“Don’t question it so much,” she shrugged. “In all my existence, the only reason I owe my life to anything is because of the abnormal. I’m just lucky to be alive.”

“I’ll toast to that,” he smiled uneasily with a hint of intrigue. “The pragmatic in me, however, sees only the silence before the storm. Something to sleep on. We should get some rest.”

“Thank you for leaving me with that imagery,” she gave a slight nod. “I’m sure it will soothe me as I mediate tonight. Good night, Gale.”

“I’m only here to help,” he gave a half solute.

Ferelith grinned, waving her hand slightly to bid farewell as she retreated to her bedroll. They had acquired a few extra blankets. And she was lucky enough to procure an additional pillow. Leaning against her new luxurious cot was her pack, waiting patiently for her hands to dive into it. And standing directly across it from the fire, just as he was the night before, was Astarion. He seemed to be waiting as patiently as her pack.

“I saw you getting a lecture from our magical friend,” he said the moment she glanced in his direction.

“It was quite informative,” she took a break from straightening her blanket to address him. “Descriptive, at the very least.”

“I have to say,” he said leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “I thought you’d look worse. But no. Not a tentacle in sight.”

“Thank you?” she pulled back, turning a shoulder to him. “I’m hoping it will stay that way.”

“Naturally,” he rose a brow. “But I was thinking… what if it doesn’t?”

Ferelith had thought about what would happen if she did change. But the ever growing stubbornness inside her made her truly believe it would never happen. She was not willing to believe it. Nor was she willing to admit to anyone else that it was a possibility. He let the sentiment settle with her for a moment. Though he could see it had little impact. The blank stare with a slow blink signaled him to proceed.

“Of course,” he went on, tilting his chin to the side with a gleam in his eye, “first sign of change and I’ll have to stop that pretty little heart of yours.”

He almost seemed too excited at the thought of putting her down. Like a wild animal. She crossed her arms, as if to guard her chest from his stare. It did not matter, he could hear the sound of her pounding heart. And it had only grown louder from his statement.

“I am open to suggestions. Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer not to die,” she said dully.

“Well now you’re just being closed-minded,” he teased. “There are some lovely ways to go.”

“First I listen to Gale talk about the details of turning into a terrifying monster and now you’re telling me all the options I have in which you could kill me? Whoever said chivalry was dead must have no taste for macabre.”

“To be fair, you were the one that pushed the wizard to give those wonderful details. I am giving you these options as a gift.”

“I am ever so grateful. Do go on about the beautiful ways in which I can ensue death,” she opened her arms, flicking her wrists in a manner as if she were receiving the said gift he spoke of.

“You know, I watched urchins freeze to death on the street. It looks peaceful – just like falling asleep.”

“Very poetic… I wonder if drowning feels the same.”

“Ha!” his shoulders fell back as he lifted his head with laughter. “Oh, come on. Humor me. If you had to choose…”

“Fine,” she took a deep breath with a few seconds of thought. “I suppose a knife. Straight to the chest. That seems quick.”

“A classic,” he nodded with approval. “One good thrust to the heart and you’re gone. We need a good blade, of course. Don’t want to waste time hacking and prodding with a dinner half.”

It was the first time in a long time it had happened. The welling feeling in her chest. The tightening of her cheeks. The widening of the eyes. The burst of air from her mouths as her voice let out a loud series of rhythmic laughter. It caught her off guard. So much that she covered her mouth, leaning forward, and looking to Astarion with surprise. She rose her brows in disbelief that he had truly made her laugh.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward toward her like they were a couple of children cackling in school, “I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all a worst case scenario, obviously.”

“You’re terrible,” she giggled, lurching forward with one last tit of laughter. “What about you? Is there any way you’d like for me to end your life?”

“Oh, my dear,” he said with a condescending tone. “I’d like to see you try.”

Ferelith reared back, a bit offended that he held himself so much higher than herself. But she knew he was only testing her. Pushing her to see what sort of outcome he could obtain by doubting her strength.

“Dealer’s choice then,” she said firmly. “I’ll make sure it’s a lovely surprise.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll disappoint me,” it was meant to be a positive reinforcement, but the way he said it still made it sound more like a threat. “Now, enough of this talk. Let’s get some rest. The sooner we start tomorrow, the better our chances of keeping this hypothetical.”

“I take it you’re joining us to the tiefling camp, then?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied. “I’ll go wherever you lead.”

“I’d be careful with those words,” she said darkly. “You’ll never know what path I’ll lead you toward.”

“Even better.”

She shook her head at his advancements with a foolish smirk she could not hide. “Good night, Astarion.”

“Good night, Ferelith.”

************************************************************

The next day brought a heavy fog over the camp, dampening both their supplies and their spirits. Ferelith could smell the moisture in the air and knew it would lift as the sun rose. And sure enough, the moment they began to snack on their morning rations they could see a bit of orange illuminating the sky. Their pace quickened and they got to their feet, ready to begin to their journey into a new part of the forsaken land they had been thrown into. The human, the gith, and the two elves made their way out of camp, leaving Shadowheart to sulk to herself as they had agreed to take Lae’zel to question the tieflings and seek further assistance for themselves against her wishes. Though Ferelith had promised the temple would come soon, as she had an interest in what laid within it herself.

The path was quite clear to the camp. And Ferelith wondered how they had missed it so easily before. Or perhaps, they had been far too occupied with their troubles and each other to pay attention to path carved among the rocks. She kicked at the dirt, still a bit dry despite the wet morning, and looked up to the back of her companion who was the only one who managed to sustain any of the information the tieflings had given before. He stopped for a moment, glancing behind him to smile at her, then looking to the others.

“I think we should take a moment to really prepare ourselves for this camp,” he said with an overthought of wishful thinking. “Our main goal is information. We don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“It’ll be fine, Gale,” Ferelith stated, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “We’re only asking a few questions. Getting supplies. There won’t be enough time to do any real damage.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gale whispered slightly to himself with a shrug. “I can think of a few things that could go wrong.”

She ignored him, rummaging through the items in her pack until she felt the cold texture of leather beneath her fingertips. Pulling them out, she gave them one good look before she turned Astarion.

“Here,” she handed him brown leather folded neatly to show the string tied at the top around the collar.

He took them, a bit disgruntled but willingly. Though he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do as she kept searching through the pack.

“Am I supposed to hold onto these?”

“Put them on,” she directed, otherwise paying no mind.

“Right now?” he dipped his head low as he questioned her, staring her in the eyes while waiting for her acknowledgment.

“Yes, right now,” she finally turned to look at him but only for a moment. “You’ve been wearing the same city clothes for days. You should put on some actual leather. One, because it’s more useful. And two, so you don’t look like a complete lost cause.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that last part because this is a very expensive doublet. And this blouse is of the finest threads in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I’m sure,” she grinned lovingly, looking back down into her pack.

Astarion tossed his new leather armor to the side to free his hands. He began to work on his doublet right away. It was already sliding down his arms when Ferelith looked up, catching the back of him in just his white shirt. He looked… nice. It almost made him feel more humble than he really was. Or at least, more approachable. His hands came up, his fingers loosening the collar. Still facing the rock, he pulled the shirt up and her eyes widened as he lifted it. His back flexed and his hands grasped the bottom of his shirt as he pulled it over. She swallowed… hard… as he turned around. What she had assumed was the doublet in all its puffed out glory… had been the actual thickness of the man’s chest. He was lean, but he far from frail. Seeing it off was a revelation and normally she would have felt annoyed at being so wrong about someone’s character. She inhaled a heavy dose of air, holding it for a few moments as she let her eyes wander. He shook the leather tunic out and she admired the muscle in his forearm tensing as he did. Slowly, she exhaled, observing him turn around with his arms raised trying to pull down the armor. She counted each curve of his abdomen with a small smile. Then, nodding with a bit of appreciation, she looked back down into her bag.

“Well, you certainly have no shame,” Gale nudged her.

“What?” she shrugged with a coy smile. “I’m in the wilderness. My eyes get hungry, too.”

“Careful. Some of the tastiest looking berries are the most poisonous.”

“Better than death by ceremorphosis.”

******************************************************

The back of Zevlor whisked away, his tail thrashed back and forth with irritation as he left. There was something about a tiefling that left an excitement behind for Ferelith. Like a small trail of flame. She breathed a heavy sigh, knowing that the flames would grow larger the longer she stared at them. After all, she had just witnessed them in battle. Turning to her comrades, she noticed a slight irritation within their faces.

“What are we messengers, now?” Astarion seemed particularly the worst.

Ferelith stepped close to him, too close for comfort. It made him shift backward, which is exactly what she wanted. He took several steps back just so she could hiss at him out of hearing range of anyone else. She kept her head down as she spoke.

“Listen, we keep all options open. There’s no agreeing. No disagreeing. If we’re stuck here, we best leave all doors open in case we need a way out. That means seeing what we can do about the druids.”

“Ah, I understand, now,” he said, his chest still out further than than his chin to keep her at bay. “This is the sort of thing we should have discussed before our arrival rather than my appearance.”

Ferelith blinked, her eyes gliding up toward him. “I didn’t expect you to complain in front of the whole sodding camp after watching one of them take an arrow to the chest.”

“Like it makes a difference? They’re all going to die anyway.”

Ferelith crossed her arms, her fingers tapping against her forearm. “If we’re not careful, we’ll die too.”

“Fine, fine,” he waved his hand.

“If you’re done,” Gale interrupted. “I believe there’s a merchant just down the hill.”

She gave him one last warning glance before she turned to the direction Gale was pointing. There was a small set up just on the edge of the camp beneath a stretch of a rock archway. It was a grand entrance, nothing at all comparable to a refugee camp. They followed the trail down, glancing further into it and noticing the make shift buildings and rails along the sides. They seemed misplaced to her. Even the shop they approached looked more like a scatter array of things more than any kind of marketplace.

“Refugees… adventurers. No one in years. And suddenly, we’re overwhelmed. Well me,” he greeted them begrudgingly. “Thank you for beating back those goblins. Most brave of you.”

“I do what I can,” she shrugged, not feeling quite worthy of his gratitude just yet.

“Is there anything you need? Act fast if you do. The ritual will be complete before too long.”

“I do,” she paused, observing Astarion round the display. “We’re a bit short on supplies. But we do have a bit of coin. Are they really locking down the grove? I was hoping to rely on the business here for a short time.”

“I know it’s drastic, but more monsters seem to terrorize this region every day.”

“And the tieflings?”

“We druids will be safe-”

The sound of the merchant drowned as she became distracted by Astarion looking through the array of weaponry. She watched as he ran his fingers over the blades along the table, glancing at her with a mischievous smirk. Her eyes shifted back to the vendor, trying to pay attention as best she could. But she kept wandering back to the rogue. He held up a knife, displaying it for her with a raised brow. She shook her head slightly. But he ignored her, giving the air a few jabs and shrugging, setting it back down with a frown. The next one he picked up, waving a hand down in it like it were a grand prize. She swallowed the lump forming to stop herself from bursting with laughter. It did not work and she was forced to clear her throat rather loudly.

“It sounds like these are dire times,” she blinked to regain her focus.

“You sound just like Khaga.”

“Are these the only weapons for sale?” Astarion interrupted, setting down the knife he was holding with a loud thud.

“These are the only ones I am selling,” he lowered his brow. “There’s a blacksmith further into the camp. Though I’m not sure he has much to offer.”

“Thank you,” Ferelith said loud enough to draw his attention back. “Here’s what I have for… oh, I think a few potions will do.”

“Of course.”

She passed Gale the bottles as they were handed to her who began to slip them into the back of her pack. Astarion had lost interest in the wares and moved back to Lae’zel who was impatiently waiting behind them. Her stare was into the gorge, examining the tieflings as if she were able to spot the one with the information she needed. Ferelith was certain she would have already caused chaos if they were not with her. As she turned around, she could hear Astarion grumbling into her ear.

“Things are about to get a lot more dire with those sad excuses for weapons.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she said as she brushed by the two of them. “Let’s find the blacksmith. Find the lead. And get out.”

“Is the blacksmith necessary?” the gith rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” Ferelith said firmly. “I’ve only got two bolts for my crossbow. The ones Astarion found are useless.”

“I warned you,” he shrugged.

“A snapped bolt could have meant my death.”

“It wouldn’t have been my first attempt to kill you.”

“Nor the last,” she said over her shoulder as she trailed further down into the camp.

[maiji]

Niounomiya / Kaoruchujo (The Perfumed Prince / The Fragrant Captain), 2018 Tale of Genji (Uji chapters)

“He [Kaoru] gave off [...] an otherworldly fragrance, and it was a wonder how no matter where he went, the breeze that eddied behind him seemed really to perfume the air to a hundred paces. [...]This most unusually personal fragrance roused His Highness of War [Niou] to special rivalry. He purposely suffused his clothes with the finest incenses[...] In spring he contemplated his garden’s plum blossoms...”

- The Perfumed Prince, Tyler translation

Fountain pen ink and waterbrush - Papier Plume Sepia, Kyo Iro Cherry Blossom of Keage, KWZ Confederation Brown, Kyo no Oto Yamabukiiro. Many thanks to my dad for supplying his calligraphy for me to copy!

Kaoru’s nice smell, which I mentioned previously, may seem odd/random from a Western perspective, but it’s tied to a major theme of his character. A beautiful fragrance is supposed to be sign of an enlightened being, so it’s a carryover of his karma from a past life. Except in this life it drives him crazy because he can’t get rid of it and everybody always knows when he’s in the area.

I wanted to include some brief thoughts about these characters and their relationship, but it accidentally exploded into an essay. See below the cut and I am so sorry to anyone for whom the cut fails.

(The Kaoru - Ukifune - Niou love triangle is such an obvious, common point of discussion in their relationship, so I won’t spend time on that here.)

Of the three generations of friendship-rivalries in Tale of Genji, the third is by far the most diametrically opposed. Niou's a hotshot prince who chases practically any woman because he can, being so notorious that even his servants and guardians are constantly like, where the hell is Niou NOW and for god’s sakes, don’t tell him about whatever or he’s going to get into it!! Kaoru is a wannabe monk who keeps getting derailed in this pursuit, in the beginning because he's taking care of his mom, and later because he’s asked by the aging and dying Prince Hachi (whom he greatly respects and has been studying Buddhist scriptures with) to take care of his daughters. People have summarized Niou as successor of Genji’s dynamism, charm and passion, and Kaoru as successor of Genji’s spiritualist sensitivities. So I guess you can call them Genji without the morals VS Genji without the libido, which is simplified but fairly accurate.

It’s also interesting to compare/contrast their actual heritage. Niou is Genji’s grandson through his daughter the Akashi Empress. He was also Murasaki’s favourite, and he was a cute kid, but she might have been appalled to see how he turned out. Kaoru meanwhile is the result of an affair between Kashiwagi (To no Chujo’s son) and the Third Princess (Genji’s youngest wife), and though everyone involved kept the secret pretty well, he’s always had this unsettled feeling of displacement and a sense that something was weird about his mother’s situation. (I’m a huge sucker for quietly and privately sad scenes, and the brief one where Kaoru, after learning the truth about his birth, with his real father's incriminating letters in hand, rushes home to talk to his mother - and then decides never to let her know that he knows because it would only upset her - was definitely one of those to me.)

From my perspective, Murasaki Shikibu or whoever wrote these chapters did a decent job making the Kaoru-Niou friendship believable and even supportive (mostly thanks to Kaoru) before all the crap hits the ceiling later (mostly thanks to Niou). The Uji chapters are rightfully considered a tragedy, but as I was reading I found the predicaments these two kept getting themselves into, and the sheer contrast of their positions and dispositions, rather hilarious.

At one point in the story, the pair have befriended the sisters Oigimi and Nakanokimi (the daughters Kaoru’s been asked to take care of, mentioned earlier). Because both Kaoru and Niou are of excellent status, getting married to either of them is about as much assurance that a woman would be taken care of as you could get in aristocratic Heian society. Only dad kinda FORGOT TO TELL HIS DAUGHTERS that he asked Kaoru to take care of them before he died, so they think their father wants them to stay hermits in their isolated house forever. GJ DAD YOU HAD ONE JOB

So anyways, both of them are courting the sisters. Well, Niou is definitely courting one (or both, he was kind of confused who he’s talking to/exchanging poetry with, but he is Very Serious about whomever it is). Kaoru’s doing whatever Kaoru does, which mostly seems to be talking a lot to this old woman who serves the sisters because she knew his real father, and chatting with the sisters, and slowly falling in love with the elder sister Oigimi.

But Niou being an imperial prince can’t get out and travel as easily as Kaoru can, plus he’s frequently put under house arrest for his bad behaviour. This leaves Kaoru to visit the sisters regularly and plead the case of his best friend’s sincerity. I kept picturing Kaoru all bundled up and paddling out to the middle of nowhere, and apologetically explaining for the umpteenth time, “I am so sorry. Niou couldn’t make it again. Yes, he’s grounded again. No, he really is grounded. I know you’ve heard that he’s a terrible playboy, and, well, he is, but he really is very in love with you. Uh, with one of you. He’s really very serious about whichever one of you was writing to him. Really” And the sisters behind their screen are like “WTF KIND OF IDIOTS DO YOU THINK WE ARE” (Please don’t take this as an accurate description of the story)

And then you get passages like this scene. Here we have Niou observing Kaoru in private mourning over Oigimi’s death:

"After many days of tears [Kaoru’s] features had changed, although not for the worse, for they now had so fine a beauty and grace that [Niou], who deplored his own waywardness, saw that he would certainly lose his heart to him, if he himself were a woman."

- Trefoil Knots (Tyler translation)

The next few lines, beginning with "That was a worry" makes me interpret it as either Niou going, "Uh oh, better get my brain onto a new train of thought", or "Uh oh, better get my new wife - whom KAORU HELPED ME TO WIN OVER AND IS STILL TRYING TO HELP CONVINCE WHAT A DECENT GUY I AM - to my house quick in case she falls in love with him."

Obviously, I'm biased towards Kaoru. But hey, I’m not alone! Many readers from the Heian period onwards felt the same. The Mumyozoshi or Nameless Book - a 13th century work of prose criticism by an author many believe to be Fujiwara Toshinari no Musume (“Shunzei’s Daughter”), whose family was dedicated to study of Genji Monogatari - argues that Kaoru is perfect and defends him from criticism. I don't know if I'd go quite that far, but I was super amused. And there are quite a few ancient writings that extend or reimagine things to better favour Kaoru - or at least cut Niou down to size. Here’s an example:

And His Majesty the Emperor Niou said, "Wow, you found Ukifune? Really? That’s great! Uh, you’re not still mad at me after all this time, are you? Boy, I was such an asshole back then and caused so much shit for both of us. Blah blah blah grovel grovel sob sob grovel." The Palace Minister Kaoru was so thoughtful even when he was young that he put everybody else to shame, and he barely ever complained. He now knew even more that life was fleeting and everything was impermanent and that really they’d all been at fault and his depth of compassion and understanding was way beyond even what even the most devout monk could achieve. So he wasn’t bitter at all. He replied, "It’s OK, there’s no point being angry about the past. Whatever happened was fated to happen." And he chatted about this and that until they all felt better. After he left His Majesty said, ‘Goddamn he’s amazing. I’m not worthy to be in his presence.” Actually His Majesty was annoyed because the women in his service were always going on and on about how wonderful the Minister was.”

- extremely paraphrased by me from Kumogakure Rokujo (Tale of Genji apocryphal chapters)

I hope you will agree that this amazingness would not be out of place on fanfiction.net.

Conversely, to balance out this biased post, Royall Tyler wrote an essay titled "Pity Poor Kaoru" that argues the whole narrative is set up to make you feel sorry for him to the exclusion of consideration for the other characters, and that even bearing this in mind he's not really the deep nice guy everyone thinks he is. I don't necessarily agree with all of it, but I do agree the reader is intended to sympathize with Kaoru (there’s a reason I haven’t seen any readers rushing to Niou’s defence). In any case, it's an interesting read with some good points. Centuries-spanning annotated fandom debates are so fascinating!

Wrapping up with some thoughts on Niou. As you may already know, I don’t like him, but to be fair that’s kind of the point. For the most part, aside from his amoral philandering ways and his heightened sense of suspicion that everybody’s doing the same thing he is, he seems otherwise a decent...ish... person. I guess lol. He's authentically very passionate about whatever his stupid inclinations are at the time, he really was housebound against his will at those critical parts in the story (although it’s partly his own fault…), and there are multiple points where he appears to feel genuine remorse at his own asshattery. 

Regardless of whether I’d like him as a real person or not, he’s a character. I recognize the Niou/Kaoru dynamic and relationship is central to the Uji chapters, his role makes the story what it is, and this is what creates conflict, interest, and entertainment. After all, while *I* would read 1200 pages about Kaoru being a monk, not everybody would. And even as I’m writing that, I admit it’s not the most exciting-sounding material.... and 1200 pages is a lot of pages... Ultimately Kaoru and Niou are great reminders that stories are only more compelling when you have interesting relationships and interactions. And I can say with greater confidence that I would read 1200 pages of Kaoru trying to be a monk and dealing with Niou being a turd. Thank you for reading my long wall of text.

[canvaswolfdoll]

CanvasReads: Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

PS | CoS | PoA | GoF | OoP | HBP | DH

Don’t worry, I’m still reading the Harry Potter books! I didn’t suddenly stop for the second time in my life!

Half Blood Prince also happens to be the last Harry Potter film I watched. I… didn’t really understand what was going on, as I recall it being pretty choppily written (though it’s been many years since I’ve watched the movies[1]).

That has been my interesting trivia and context before we actually get into the review.

For the first time, we open a book outside Harry’s perspective. In fact, as far as I can recall, this is the first time we’re given material that Harry’s not privy to. Even in Goblet of Fire, which opened in the Riddle House[2], was revealed in the next chapter to be a dream vision by Harry tapping into Voldemort’s mind, if a bit loose with camera angles.

Book 6, however, that goes out the window, as instead we see part of the life of the British Prime Minister! As in, the actual Muggle one, not the bizarre Wizard one.

I actually know very little about the mechanics of the British Government, so I have no way to guess which Prime Minister this is supposed to be, or his exact functions within the government besides… being the highest authority, I guess?

Look, rest of the world, we shove the mess that is our government down your throats. You’re welcome to return the favor.

Point is, the chapter establishes that the muggle and wizard governments are so thoroughly divorced the muggle Prime Minister didn’t even know about wizards until the night of his… inauguration? The very night he officially takes office. So, yes, Muggles and Wizards have no political power over one another, and that sounds like it’d be the biggest possible mess.[3] Like… come on guys, you losers share an island, it’d probably work much better if you jawbreakers would at least have monthly meetings.

Anyways, the actual chapter tells how Fudge goes from greeting the Prime Minister on that first night, saying “Don’t worry, you’ll probably never see me again,” to popping in on a yearly basis to give a very rough summary of the escalating chaos from Harry and Voldemort’s shenanigans. It serves both as a ‘previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and world building!

But Fudge got… impeached? Kicked out of Office?

Fudge isn’t the boss anymore, what with the utter incompetence he displayed during Order of the Phoenix.

So he’s being kept on as the official liaison to the Prime Minister, so new Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour can keep focus on dealing with the return of the Dark Lord.

Also, we get a brief overview of how Voldemort’s been causing damage to Muggles (despite how even Voldemort prefers to leave muggles alone).

Then we go to follow a different character: Draco Malfoy’s mom!

I… okay? I mean, it’s a very important chapter that establishes some details, but Mrs. Malfoy hasn’t really played a role until now.

Actually, considering the nature of previous books, it’s actually a little against the typical narrative for Rowling to tell us about the unbreakable vow and that Draco’s been selected by Voldemort to do something malicious this year, instead of letting that mystery grow as per usual, and the following chapters seem to be written in that usual way.

Then again, maybe it’s just reassurance that Snape and Malfoy, both red herrings in the past, are actually up to something this time.

Also, Wormtail lives with Snape. And literally everyone calls him Wormtail. I feel there’s something to be inferred from everyone using Pettigrew’s schoolboy nickname, shared with three men he betrayed so utterly.

You know what? I really want to hear Pettigrew’s story. What happened there? Was he always a toady, without much of a spine? Except he was in Gryffindor, which implies some characteristics he doesn’t display, and he had the tenacity to become an Animagus with James and Sirius, which isn’t supposed to be easy. He was close enough to know about Lupin’s lycanthropy. All details about Pettigrew indicates a very complex and competent individual, considered trustworthy by the other Marauders and an actual friend, not just a sad gopher they kept about for convenience. Yet the glimpses of the era he’d be at Hogwarts, whether by Lupin’s words, or Snape’s memories, rarely (if ever) mention Pettigrew. And he currently acts like such a weak-spined minion, loyal to the biggest bully.

Who is Peter Pettigrew?

We will not know at this juncture.

Instead, in chapter 3, we finally see Harry Potter himself, asleep against his bedroom window, waiting for Dumbledore to come and take him away.

Dumbledore arrives, takes Vernon’s usual bluster with ease, then forces the Dursleys to sit down and be quiet as he and Harry settle some matters, chiefly Sirius Black’s will. Good news, Sirius left everything to Harry! Bad news, Number 12 Grimmauld Place is compromised and the Order of the Pheonix needs a new Headquarters.

Also, Harry owns Kreacher, the Black family house elf. Harry just tells the ungrateful thing to go work at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore then chastises the Durselys for treating Harry unkindly, and informs them Harry must be allowed to return once more the next summer to finish the last leg of the ill-defined spell allowing the Dursleys protection from Voldemort.

Then the two wizards leave, and presumably the Dursley’s are relieved to finish a wizard encounter without damage to body or home.

Slightly tangent, this book has shown Dumbledore apparating booze pretty frequently. I… don’t know if I’m supposed to read anything into that, but it’s a noticeable pattern.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, has one more errand before taking Harry to the Burrow;[4] time to enlist a new faculty member.

Not a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, of course. Snape finally gets that job, presumably because he was the only Order member willing, and Dumbledore needs to obey the pattern (Death Eater, third party, Order member), and Snape’s history with the Death Eaters may translate into making him an inexplicably good teacher for the post.

But then again, he is Snape.

Slughorn, meanwhile, is a serviceable Potions Master, and a Slytherin of the hob-knobbing sort, gaining privileges as a sideline manipulator.

Slughorn doesn’t really want to come back to Hogwarts, but Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, is far too tempting a morsel to ignore, so Slughorn gives in. Also, Hogwarts is mostly safe.

I mean, the only teacher to die was Quirrel, who was working for Voldemort. Or so Harry explains to Slughorn.

This is omitting the teacher that oblivated himself; the second Death Eater that snuck in, and was instrumental in Voldemort’s resurrection; the power-hungry toad that took over the school, and was taken away by centaurs; having Dementors hanging about for a year; the giant spider in the local forest; all of Hagrid’s other oddities; the casual defiling of space-time; the basilisk that was living in the plumbing; an evil diary; Crouch Sr. also dying on school grounds; Harry’s many Quidditch injuries; the Triwizard Tournament in general; Hagrid’s full-giant half-brother hanging about; and Dumbledore's re-emerging alcoholism.

Hogwarts isn’t a very safe place.

Still, Slughorn agrees, and Dumbledore takes Harry at last to the Burrow. Whereupon he takes Harry into a broomshed and tells Harry he’s going to give the boy private lessons over the school year, and he’s free to tell Ron and Hermione stuff, because just because Dumbledore is a bumbling secret-keeping fool, doesn’t mean Harry should be.

Besides, he’ll need both Hermione’s smarts and Ron’s bullheadedness to cope.

And, by the way, Harry’s the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain now. Why not.

At the Burrow, we learn Hermione’s been staying for the summer, too, and Bill Weasley is engaged to Fleur Delacour, who was also a Triwizard champion. No one but Bill and Ron like having her around, and Molly is trying to turn Bill’s head toward Tonks instead.

Also, with Voldemort now making a spectacle of himself, security’s been heightened. Just… just in general. Wizards are scared. So that’s fancy pants fun.

Fred and George have their joke shop up and running, including a backroom of items designed to fight against dark magic. They seem to be doing well for themselves.

Oh, and Harry catches Draco Malfoy doing something sneaky. It’s all very suspicious, but no one’s got Harry’s back on the matter, even though we, the audience, know something's up.

On the train, Hermione and Ron again must do prefect duties, so Harry goes to sit with Neville and Luna. Luna hopes for the Dumbledore’s Army meetings to continue, because it’s almost like she has friends.[5]

Slughorn, not wanting to waste time, tries to befriend prospective celebrities, which Harry finds a bit off putting.

After getting away from the gathering, Harry sneaks off to eavesdrop on Draco, where the idiot’s bragging to his friends about the evil he’s about to get up to.

However, Draco, being actually perceptive, discovers Harry, beats him up, and intends to leave him on the train to miss Hogwarts.

Because Harry just can’t keep his streak of catching the House Sorting. Always have to have some difficulty.

Tonks finds Harry anyways, and together the two head towards the school.

In short order, the actual faculty changes are addressed, and Harry is able to advance with potions classes, pursuing his dream of being an Auror.

But he also doesn’t have potion supplies, so Slughorn lets him and Ron borrow class supplies as needed, until they can order their own.

Harry ends up with a used book, annotated and written in by some jerk former students.

What monster writes in books? Whoever this ‘Half Blood Prince’ guy is, he’s clearly without morals.[6]

After two books of the subtitle not having a heavy importance to the plot, The Half-Blood Prince brings the relevance slope upwards, as the book brings both good and ill to Harry’s life, and Snape’s actions ultimately have the greatest effect on the plot moving forward.

While we’re on Snape, let’s take time to assess his DADA skills.

Information is inconclusive. We only truly get the first day of the class, where Snape, like every previous teacher, has commented on how behind the shenanigans of the previous teachers have put them. Though, to be honest, only Lockhart and Umbridge have actually caused any set back, and during Umbridge’s tenure, there was the DA to keep a portion of the class moving forward.

Which means the damage Lockhart left in his wake was that detrimental. Literal villains did a better job, you pompous fool.

Anyways, we don’t get much material on how well Snape teaches the subject, putting him about equal Quirrel’s ‘Must’ve been average enough to warrant no comment’.

Which means the DADA teachers are symmetrical. It went unnotable, bad job, great job, best job, worst job, unremarkable.

Huh.

I look forward to see how the final one compares.

So the potions book helps jump Harry forward in the art of potions. Which means if he spent less time glaring at Snape and more time listening and taking notes, he’d probably been pretty strong in the subject.

This allows Harry to win a Luck Potion from Slughorn during the first day of class. Which, of course, will be used against the man later.

Dumbledore also begins his private lessons with Harry, the subject: Tom Riddle!

Junior!

He’s catching Harry up on Voldemort’s backstory so Harry can keep the great work going in case something happens to Dumbledore.

Yet,despite this, Dumbledore keeps vital and reassuring knowledge from Harry!

Like, Dumbledore’s great sin is honestly Pride. The man, whose dark past and brilliance has left him a Hero’s Complex greater than Harry, seems to have a problem trusting anyone with the whole game table he’s operating with. Even as Dumbledore enters this final stage, where he must relinquish the throne of control to Harry and move himself to the expendable camp, Dumbledore still cannot conceive that trusting his subordinates with what he’s up to might help things along.

For all his talk of how important Love is; for his instance that Harry keep Hermione and Ron up to date; even as he derides Tom Riddle for forming no friendships and using his Death Eaters only as tools, Dumbledore is of the same ilk, just happened to be on the other end of the game table.

This is not just about Dumbledore not telling Harry the full story behind Snape, which, after six years of Harry receiving nothing but reasons to mistrust Snape, would’ve been a good thing to pass on before his death; or that he knows Draco is up to something, that Harry’s concerns are warranted and being addressed; or that, possibly, Dumbledore will die either hunting the Horcruxes or by other machinations by the Dark Lord, and Harry must be prepared for what that means.

He doesn’t even tell McGonagall the deal with Snape. Like, I get it, McGonagall isn’t a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but… She’s next in line to head Hogwarts. She’s the one to be left with the fallout. McGonagall needs to have been made aware of what Dumbledore and Snape were planning, and what should be done with Hogwarts.

Dumbledore probably views his actions as a necessary evil, yet lacks the wisdom of literature’s greatest Necessary Evil: Havelock Vetinari.

Because Vetinari knew to give authority and partial control to others, and build a self-maintaining city while keeping himself irreplaceable to his allies and, most importantly, to his enemies.

Ankh-Morpork without Vetinari risks another Snapcase.[7]

Dumbledore did a good job of making himself nonexpendable by the arms of good, so that when the enemy, to whom he is very expendable, gets a lucky shot in, Dumbledore leaves a fractured force in his wake.

With only a lone boy (and his two friends) with a clear goal, and an Order of the Phoenix and a school staff facing the unknowable darkness without context.

Like… don’t keep secrets. If there is no greater lesson to be learned from media, it’s that keeping secrets never works out.

Have a confidant. Have someone to call you on your missteps. Have a back-up!

The descent of Dumbledore from mystical guide to fallible mortal, while a potentially strong arc, is still scarred by the worst trope.

I… just stop serving me this trope, Media. It’s the fastest way to kill my trust in a character and strength of the plot.

If your plot only works because someone is keeping vital information from someone else, with zero repercussions with its revelation, rewrite it. Or make sure the one keeping the secret is both the stupidest cast member and actual scum of the Earth.

I haven’t even seen the fallout from this choice, I just know narratives well enough to know the ramifications could’ve been easily avoided.[9]

Right, we were talking about the infodump of Voldemort’s back story.

It has some worrisome elements? I mean, I prefer redemption stories, or at least some optimism that the bad guy can be saved, which I know isn’t this story, and that’s fair, but… Dumbledore offers no sympathy to Tom Riddle along the way.

Yes, Voldemort was a right jerk from the start, terrorizing the other orphans and being a sociopath but… dude was orphaned, with no knowledge of his mother, only his father’s name to go on, and inexplicable powers with no explanation for the first decade of his life.

It’s easily a very tragic tale about a boy incapable of forming actual connections with anyone, nor having a firm place in the world. Even from the start, Dumbledore is suspicious of the boy.

Yes, I’m forcible dragging out sympathy. Fight me.

Also, there’s Dumbledore’s theory that Tom Riddle is the way he is because he was conceived while under the influence of a love potion, which… really, Rowling? Like…

Actually, no, the implications of that is obvious, I won’t address it.[10]

I mean, I get the Dark Mirror of Harry aspect Rowling was going for, but it does kind of jumbles the message; that great evil and great good can only come from extraordinary circumstances. That a being like Voldemort is the result of inbreeding, abuse of his mother, a loveless conception, and a lonely childhood. I think it might’ve been a tad more interesting if Voldemort actually came from an unremarkable background.

But then you’d still need to clean up the loose ends of Voldemort having a family.

The Horcruxes/Phylacteries are a good element to introduce. A tangible list of challenges to conquer before we can get our final showdown.

And the book does explain why Voldemort didn’t just make one of his horcruxes a grain of sand, guys! The man is literally too melodramatic. His soul jars have to have some emotional connection, and he can’t conceive of anyone capable of matching his intellect and power to destroy the things, so why does it matter. Why do you have to judge Voldy?

There must’ve been a boar somewhere in the Gaunt family line, because Tom Riddle is a thick slice of Ham.

So that’s what Dumbledore tells Harry, but he does need Harry to get an unaltered memory from Slughorn to prove that Voldemort knows about Horcruxes because… due process or something?

Dumbledore has the ring Horcrux during the first meeting, and presumably destroys it, so shouldn’t it be obviously the nature of the beast?

I don’t understand what Dumbledore thinks he’s doing in this book. Albus is a mess.

But Harry has other concerns! Like captaining the Quidditch team! It goes… alright? The graduation of Lee Jordon left the announcer’s box open, allow some fun guest announcers, the best being Luna.

But Quidditch is still the least interesting and low stakes part of the narrative, and as nice as it is that Harry has Hobbies, I don’t care.

Gryffindor wins at the end, as always.

Let’s see, other significant plot lines…

Well, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater now. Harry figures it quick, because he eavesdropped on the right conversations. Harry tries to figure out what Malfoy’s scheme is, and while some progress does get made from time to time, Harry never gets in a position to solve the mystery, because Malfoy does ultimately need to succeed, but it does mean a lot of pages spent on Harry trying to get into the room of requirement and failing.

Also, I love how there’s a version of the room that’s just a massive warehouse to hide junk. Even Trelawney knows the room well enough to dump her sherry bottles in there.

There’s suddenly a lot of alcohol use. Is it because Harry could legally drink beer now? What is the deal.

I’d actually enjoy a breakdown of what characters know what Hogwarts secrets. That’d be neat.

Other ongoing plots…

Ooh! Fenrir Greyback!

We’ve got another werewolf! There’s another werewolf!

He’s a bad guy. And cannibalistic. And a total monster.

Yaaay?

We don’t get much information about Greyback. Is he also a wizard? If so, did he forsake magic to instead savage people? Why does he think teaming up with blood-purist Tom Riddle will further his cause? Because I do like the subtle thread of both he and Lupin trying to find equality for werewolves, but approaching from massively different angles.

Was Greyback a muggle? If so, what was it like to suddenly get pulled into the wizard world, but as a very low caste?

When do I get that story? Does… does anyone else want that Harry Potter-verse story?

Maybe Fantastic Beasts 2?

What other plotlines? There’s got to be something else.

Fine.

I’ve ran out of delaying tactics.

Harry and Ginny…

Look, it’s not well written. I know it, you know it, and yet… we’re told to just accept it? That Harry and Ginny are truly compatible and…

They never talk! Like… okay, you want to write a good romantic subplot for the main character, wherein it’s not the main focus of the narrative? Here’s the Canvas Method:

First, make both characters independently compelling. Since Harry’s the main character, he’s good. Enough material, we’ve followed him for 5 or 6 books now, so he is compelling. Ginny, meanwhile, isn’t. The last time we saw Ginny be really important was Chamber of Secrets. Since then, she’s just been part of crowd scenes, to fill a seat, either as a Weasley or as a DA member. She’s just there, at best a checklist of traits, if that.

I need to be interested in both involved parties for me to become invested in the relationship. Remember, 50% is a failing grade.

So if the character is defined only by their relationships to others, then you’ve written a Romantic MacGuffin. A Horcrux of Love. A nonentity character.[11]

Second, the two characters must talk to each other about something besides how much they like one another, and leading up to the relationship. And I mean there needs to be dialogue written out. No ‘They played quidditch at the Burrow’ and ‘They had talked’, Rowling. If you want to convince me this is the match, actually write Harry and Ginny, sitting on the Hogwarts Express, casually discussing Quidditch, their school experiences, whatever. Place Ginny, constantly, with the golden trio. Mix her into the dynamic.

If the audience doesn’t see it, it doesn’t happen. Build the romance the same as any other part of the story.

Even Harry and Cho had more build up, and that was written to fail, even though that also was mostly ‘Harry felt this way,’ we saw a lot more of Harry stumbling about with his crush, and small conflicts.

Two point five, the two characters should also be interesting as a unit.[12]

We haven’t seen much of Harry and Ginny on page for me to analyze this further.

Three, the relationship needs to have a narrative purpose and make compelling stories from the union, before leading up to it and during the relationship.

So, yes, Rowling, we lose Ginny making out with other boys in the background, but literally no one cares about Dean Thomas.

Rowling doesn’t even care about Dean Thomas.

I don’t even know if Dean Thomas has any defining characteristics besides ‘named Dean Thomas’ and ‘Isn’t Seamus’!

Cho had Cedric Diggory, who was a Triwizard Champion, and died, so him being in the love triangle worked.

This is why people ship Harry and Hermione, by the way. Not just because the whole ‘Lead Boy and Lead Girl’ angle, but because Hermione is literally the only age appropriate female Harry ever interacts with for extended periods on various topics.

And you know what? Hermione and Ron is done well. They’ve been orbiting the relationship and alternating jealousy since Goblet of Fire, and more or less both parties are well aware, but are too stubborn to bow first. And it’s only gently implied at the end of this book that Hermione and Ron are now together. I’m not even sure if Dumbledore’s funeral is the canon starting point.

But that doesn’t matter! We’ve seen both grow as unique characters, their relationship build and move in arcs. Rowling put the work in, and it worked.

Well, okay, I’m not a fan of Ron and Hermione, but that’s because I’m not a shipper in general, and I am very pessimistic about high school romances, and I’d prefer the main three to be friends over romances, but that’s personal taste.

So I’m throwing Ginny into the ‘dull love interests’ bucket under my desk.[13]

And, because I probably should address it: Lupin and Tonks.

Ew. Like… no! Lupin’s 13 years her senior! Harry’s obliviousness and Dumbledore keeping him away from meetings means this has less build up than Harry and Ginny. And… massive age differences really creeps me out. A lot. No. No to Lupin and Tonks. Stop it. Ugh. Or, at least, make Tonks older. It would’ve been so easy! Just add 10 more years. It would change so little.

Why do you do this to me, Rowling. I like Lupin, why’d such a creepy relationship for him?

Well, how does the rest of the story go?

Well, I like how the Locket Horcrux was kept in a Zelda dungeon. Have to swim to the entrance, spill blood to get past the entryway, navigate around a giant pond to find a boat to take you to the island, and presumably keep your hand at the level of your eyes.[14]

Then there’s a torturous potion to drink to get to the locket at the bottom, which Dumbledore just drinks down… If Dumbledore split duties on that with Harry, maybe they’d only be half sad apiece, and things would’ve gone better.

Stop martyring yourself, Dumbledore! It’s dumb.

Oh, and redeads. Have to fight off the glomps of redeads.

With fire!

Seriously, why is this one horcrux given this level of protection, and meanwhile the Journal was handed off to Lucius Malfoy, and more just sort of litter the Hogwarts School ground.

Did Voldemort put in the work on this one dungeon, step back, exhausted, and think ‘Screw it, I’m not doing this five more times. Malfoy! It’s Milkshake time!’

“Why do I have to pay, Dark Lord?”

‘Shut up, Malfoy.’

“I just don’t feel like you appreciate me.”

‘Look, just… listen, I hereby entrust you with my diary. Don’t do anything stupid with it, like secret into the hands of an eleven-year old in some sort of petty revenge scheme.’

“That’s oddly specific.”

‘Shut up, Malfoy.’

I’m a little sad Voldemort screen time was limited to flashbacks. Sure, dude was being suave to all kinds of people, but he was rather subdued this time. Didn’t even do any extravagant actions to curse the DADA post. Just kind of flipped off Dumbledore on his way out the door.

After drinking an unknown potion he found lying in a cave, Dumbledore gets dragged home by Harry, where they see the Dark Mark hovering over Hogwarts.

Oops.

So they grab broomsticks, flyover, and then Dumbledore petrifies Harry so the boy can’t do anything dumb like save lives while Dumbledore Dumbles on with Draco, spelling out what the boy was doing during the year. Which is nice exposition.

Other Death Eaters storm up to peer pressure Draco into straight murderin’ a dude, eventually Snape wakes up, comes up in an irritated grog, Avada Kedavra’s Dumbledore off the tower, then heads home.

Harry makes chase, ignoring the tiny scuffle between Death Eaters and Order of the Pheonix, chases Snape and Draco across the lawn, Snape sets Hagrid’s house on fire, gets sick of Harry yelling at him, so he pauses his escape for a moment to be like ‘Listen, you idiot, I’m the Half-Blood Prince, stop using my jinxes on me. Also, stop calling me a coward. Your dad did that, and that loser needed back-up when he bullied me.’

Which actually a well cloaked compliment.

Snape essentially tells Harry he’s braver than his Dad was.

Snape is such a sweetie.

Who murdered Dumbledore.

Exit, Snape! Only DADA Teacher to leave on his own terms. Good for him.

Harry helps Hagrid put out the fire, stumbles back to the school, helps spread the news of Dumbledore’s death, then goes to McGonagall's sweet new office to decide the fate of Hogwarts.

They’re probably going to try and keep it open. Also, Dumbledore’s getting entombed at Hogwarts. So let’s have a funeral.

They have a Funeral, Harry does the lame ‘Sorry, Ginny, but my life is too dangerous, being with you is too dangerous. We need to break up. I’m Spiderman.”

I mean, sure, Ginny’s a member of a blood-traitor house, both her parents are currently members of the Order of the Phoenix, she is aligned with the DA, was involved with one of Voldemort’s horcruxes getting stabbed, but yes, her relationship with Harry alone would make her a target for Death Eaters.

You idiot. Stop emulating Dumbledore. Look where that got him!

Harry walks off to do the edgy lone wolf hero thing, but Hermione and Ron catch up and are like ‘Nope, we’re coming with you. Let’s kill a Lich.’

Which, to his credit, Harry accept with very little fight.

They leave with two final loose ends to sever before the final leg:

Have to visit the Dursley’s one last time, because Harry did promise.

He shouldn’t give a chocolate frog about them at this point, but Harry did promise Dumbledore.

Also, Bill and Fleur are getting married.

Bill’s a near werewolf, too, by the by. Lucky dude.

Fawkes the Phoenix also flies away, probably to find a place far away from this madness.[15]

The book was… good. It’s not really a stand out story, as it’s mostly set up for the end, closing some things while preparing the final segments. There was almost no Wizard World building, Luna had an even smaller role, and all the romance subplots were… not great. The Half-Blood Prince mystery, while filled with interesting details, also wasn’t really that big of a deal. It’s a breather episode, and feels like a de-escalation in the series. Even Dumbledore’s death (admittedly, marred by being the biggest spoiler) wasn’t really that epic.

I may go so far as to say it’s my least favorite, but that has more to do with having Chamber of Secrets level of excitement in the middle of the plot intense end of the story.

One more book to go. Until then, feel free to interact with me, check out my other projects, and consider backing me on Patreon. Thank you.

Kataal kataal.

[1] Excepting when I watched Sorcerer's Stone with Rifftrax a couple months ago. [2] Riddle House sounds like a puzzle-heavy bonus dungeon, where the player can collect the party’s joke weapons. [3] And we’re doing the same thing with Magical Congress. The magic world is dumb, the longer you look at it. [4] Which, at this point, should have, and deserves to have, Harry’s love shield protecting it. Maybe it does but… eh? [5] Ha ha! I completely empathize! [6] Yes, none of Snape’s crimes are greater than this. [7] Readers who have not read the Discworld books must be so lost.[8] [8] Please read the Discworld books. [9] I… can I even conceive of a way to justify this trope? I… like to experiment with making weird and bad tropes work, but… how. [10] Though I am really concerned that Love Potions are openly sellable at the Weasley Twins’ shop. That… is not a good thing to not have any government oversight on. [11] I’m looking at you, Asami! Too busy being defined by her ex-boyfriend, her father, and Korra to actually be interesting! [12] Or ‘This is why I ship Zuko and Ty Lee’! Zuko and Mai is too much of the same. Ty Lee adds contrast. [13] With Asami, Mai, Asuna and... let’s say Mikiru. And Lagoon Boy? I don’t actually maintain a list. Also Tom. [14] Well, technically you’re pretending to hold a pistol, ready to fire, or I guess a wand in this case… I’m referencing Phantom of the Opera. [15] Maybe Princess Celestia will adopt him.